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His Christmas Bride
HELEN BROOKS


The billionaire's bride–by Christmas!Blossom was not the type to attract eligible rich men and keep them–her marriage lasted six months before her husband dumped her–on Christmas Eve! So when Zak Hamilton–a billionaire businessman–demanded a date, she was determined not to get involved.But Zak found Blossom's modesty a challenge. In fact, he decided he would claim her as his bride–by Christmas!









His Christmas Bride

Helen Brooks











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN




CHAPTER ONE


HOW could the room be reduced to this state when she had only been gone for a minute? Blossom White surveyed the scene in front of her, and tried to make herself heard above the rampaging infants. There might be only four of them but they were making enough noise for a couple of dozen children. ‘Harry! Simone! That’s enough. Stop throwing cake at Rebecca and Ella this instant.’

The twins ignored her and continued to pelt two-year-olds Rebecca and Ella—who appeared to be screaming with delight and not distress—with lumps of chocolate gateau.

Jolly Aunty Blossom went out of the window as a good dollop of gooey cake landed splat on her forehead. Forgetting she had promised herself that with her sister, the children’s mother, in hospital she would be patience itself with her nephew and nieces, Blossom sprang across the room and seized the elder children in a firm grip.

Her fingers itching to smack small bottoms, Blossom contented herself with hissing ferociously, ‘Did you hear what I said? That’s enough. No TV after tea for you, now. You’re straight to bed after your bath.’

‘We want to watch our programmes.’ Harry’s angelic face—which was all at odds with his volatile and difficult nature—frowned at her and he wriggled in her grasp.

‘No deal, Harry. Not until you can do what you’re told.’

‘Mummy always lets us.’

Mummy no doubt lived in a state of perpetual exhaustion. ‘I’m not your mummy, and I tell you what to do, not the other way round. Understand?’

This was clearly a new concept for her nephew, along with the other side to Aunty Blossom he was seeing, and he responded to it by erupting in a storm of tears, the three girls joining in after a startled moment or two.

How Melissa copes with two sets of twins under the age of five I just don’t know, Blossom thought grimly. She had been in charge of them for one day and she felt like a wet rag. Glancing at the fragments of cake and cream splattered on Melissa’s white walls, and the table swimming in spilt orange juice which was steadily dripping onto the varnished floorboards, Blossom contemplated the idea of joining in with the children and bawling her head off. Instead she said firmly, ‘No more crying. We’re going to clear this mess up together, Harry and Simone, OK? Who can clear up the most?’

‘Me, me.’ Harry’s tears stopped like magic.

Sending the older two to fetch the kitchen cleaner and kitchen roll, Blossom stared at her younger nieces. They too had stopped crying and were engaged in licking their small hands clean of chocolate, giggling as bits continued to drop on the floor from their clothes and hair.

Whisking them up in her arms, Blossom carried the little girls into the sitting room where she popped them in their playpen until she could deal with them. She’d never agreed with the concept of playpens before Melissa had had the children, but now she was all for them. It might be a bit like putting a child in a cage, but she was now of the opinion it also kept hard-worked mothers sane.

Returning to the dining room, she found Harry and Simone busily clearing up. It took a while. Eventually, though, the room was restored to order, all four children had been bathed, read to and were asleep, and Blossom staggered downstairs for a cup of coffee. She had been trying to make one earlier while the children were occupied eating their tea—a big mistake.

Suddenly, after the mayhem of the day, she had a chance to sit and think, and she almost found herself wishing the children awake—almost. Ever since her brother-in-law Greg had called her that morning in a blind panic to say that Melissa had been rushed into hospital with terrible stomach pains, she had had her sister in the back of her mind whatever she’d done. Now all was quiet and still, fear for Melissa became paramount.

She had rushed to the house in a leafy suburb of Sevenoaks from her flat in London in record time early that morning, to find Greg tearing his hair out.

‘She was all right last night,’ he’d said desperately, meeting her at the front door with Rebecca and Ella in his arms, and Harry and Simone just behind him, a slice of buttered toast in each of their sticky hands. ‘And then she woke about three, saying she felt sick, and half an hour later the pain kicked in. Within a short while she couldn’t stand or move, she was so bad. The doctor thinks it might be her appendix. He says it can happen like that sometimes, with no warning whatsoever.’

‘Well, I’m here now, and I’m staying until I’m not needed,’ Blossom said firmly. ‘You get off to the hospital and forget everything here.’

He’d gone like a shot but, Blossom reflected ruefully now, she hadn’t meant he forget them so completely he didn’t let her know what was happening. Reaching for the telephone at her elbow, she called the hospital, and after being transferred twice she eventually spoke to a Sister Pearson, who informed her very kindly that Melissa was at present in Theatre. ‘Mr Robinson, the consultant in charge of your sister, thinks she may have suffered a severe attack of appendicitis, and that the appendix might possibly have ruptured. He felt an operation to find out what was what was the safest option.’ The Sister paused. ‘I’m afraid your brother-in-law is a little…tense at the moment. Shall I get him to ring you later, once your sister is out of Theatre, and he can give you some news?’

‘That’d be great, thanks.’ Blossom replaced the receiver and reached for her coffee. She could imagine Sister Pearson was mistress of the understatement. Greg would be climbing the walls, no doubt. He was a brilliant physicist with a top job in a major electronic firm in London, but on a practical, day-to-day level absolutely useless. Highly strung and mind-blowingly academic, he barely existed in the real world. But ever since he and her sister had set eyes on each other at university they had been inseparable. That Greg relied on Melissa utterly and completely was indisputable; he wouldn’t know what day it was unless she told him. She was his sun, moon and stars.

Oh, Melissa, Melissa. Blossom leant forward, the mug of coffee in her hands and her eyes tightly shut. She had to be all right, she just had to be. Anything else was unthinkable. Although not identical twins, Blossom and Melissa were nevertheless very close, in spite of Melissa having married Greg at the age of twenty-two and moved here. Blossom, on the other hand, had chosen the career path and stayed in London, carving a hard-won niche for herself as a freelance fashion photographer after years of blood, sweat and toil.

Blossom raised her head and glanced mistily round the sitting room, before reaching for her handkerchief. It wouldn’t be fair if anything happened to Melissa now, not when she had finally got the family she had waited for for so long. Right from their honeymoon Greg and her sister had tried for a baby, but Melissa had endured one miscarriage after another. She and Greg had spent a fortune going to the best doctors, both abroad and at home, but as the years had crept by they had eventually accepted it was just going to be the two of them. And then Melissa had found herself pregnant with twins just after their seventh anniversary, and lo and behold Rebecca and Ella had followed twenty months later. In spite of the timing, Melissa had been ecstatic.

Telling herself she couldn’t give way to the flood of tears threatening to burst forth, Blossom forced herself to go into the kitchen to make a sandwich. She had eaten nothing all day, and her stomach was still twisted in a giant knot, but she was feeling distinctly lightheaded now. It wouldn’t do to be anything but one-hundred-per-cent fit if one of the children woke up and needed her. Especially if it was Harry.

She reached for the loaf of bread in the bread bin—home-made. She didn’t know how her sister did it, but Melissa insisted she wanted the children to have nothing but good, home-made produce every day. She had just set it on the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. No more than a second later, it rang again.

Worried it would wake Harry, who was the lightest of sleepers, Blossom galloped to the front door, mentally cursing whoever was standing on the doorstep. Wings she didn’t have!

‘Hi there.’

He had dark hair, the bluest of blue eyes and a tall, lean frame that seemed to go on for ever. Six-foot-four at least, Blossom thought inconsequentially. Maybe six-five. Suddenly she was vitally aware that she was in her oldest jeans, and that her white shirt bore evidence of everything the children had eaten during the day. And she hadn’t stopped to put any make-up on that morning. Or do anything with her hair other than drag it back in a ponytail. ‘Hello,’ she managed weakly. ‘Can I help?’

‘I’m Zak Hamilton.’ He extended a tanned hand which emerged from the crisp sleeve of a pristine clean and definitely designer-cut pale blue shirt which had never come within a mile of grubby little hands and mouths. Neither had his immaculate pale-grey trousers, come to that. ‘Greg works for me?’ he added helpfully as Blossom continued to gaze at him.

Zak Hamilton. Of course. This was the big boss of Hamilton Electronics. She remembered Melissa saying the son had inherited the company six years ago, when the father had died unexpectedly, and that since then it had mushroomed into a huge giant of a success. Zak Hamilton had the Midas touch, Melissa had stated, partly due to the fact that he was intimidatingly intelligent and forward thinking, but also because he wasn’t afraid to take a risk now and again. It had been he who had head-hunted Greg within months of inheriting the firm, making him an offer he couldn’t refuse. She also remembered she’d got the impression Melissa wasn’t very fond of Greg’s boss, although her sister hadn’t actually said so. Greg, on the other hand, couldn’t speak highly enough of him. He sang his praises all the time.

Pulling herself together, Blossom said, ‘I’m Melissa’s sister, Greg’s sister-in-law.’ And then felt slightly idiotic. Of course she was Greg’s sister-in-law if she was his wife’s sister. Any fool could have worked that out, and this man was no fool.

‘Hi, Greg’s sister-in-law.’ He looked amused. ‘Do you have a name as well as that title?’

Here we go. She just hated telling anyone her name for the first time, but especially this man somehow. ‘Blossom White.’ She waited for the blue eyes to register surprise and for his amusement to increase. Neither happened. Instead he continued to survey her steadily. ‘Melissa and I are twins,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Although we don’t look it. Our mother thought it kind of cute to call the elder twin, my sister, Melissa—which means “bee”—and the younger Blossom. The bee going to the blossom, you know? She thought the elder would look after the younger, I guess.’ The number of times she’d explained this.

‘Did it work?’ he asked with what seemed genuine interest.

‘Not really.’ It was more the other way round, if anything. Melissa had always been the shy, retiring one whereas Blossom rushed in where angels feared to tread. Well, until Dean, that was. She had changed a lot since then—in her private life, at least. In her work she had to be as loud and confident as ever. Aware he was still staring at her—probably thinking what a gawky mess she was compared to Melissa, who was always beautifully turned out in spite of the children—Blossom said, ‘You’ve come to ask how things are?’ Another daft question in the circumstances.

He nodded. ‘Greg was going to call, but he hasn’t.’

‘I can’t tell you much, except Melissa is having an operation and I’m waiting for Greg to call to say how things went.’

‘An operation?’

He looked concerned, genuinely concerned, and to Blossom’s horror she felt her nose prick and the tears she had banished earlier bank up behind her eyes. ‘They…they think her appendix might have burst or something.’ Don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

‘I’m so sorry; I didn’t realise it was serious.’ His voice was rich, deep, and carried the slightest of accents which she couldn’t place. ‘Can I do anything to help at all?’

Taking a deep breath, she realised she’d been terribly rude in not asking him in, which wasn’t like her. Mind, she didn’t feel like herself with Melissa perhaps at death’s door. ‘No, everything is under control,’ she lied politely. ‘But perhaps you’d like to come in for a coffee or something?’

‘Thanks.’

He didn’t hesitate. Blossom admitted to being a little taken aback. He must realise she’d had a day of it from the way she looked, surely, and that she wanted nothing more than a hot bath? But perhaps he assumed she always looked like something the cat wouldn’t deign to drag in. ‘You’ll have to excuse the state of me,’ she said somewhat stiffly as she led the way into the sitting room, remembering too late she hadn’t got round to cleaning the playpen after Rebecca and Ella had gone to sleep. ‘The children had a battle with chocolate cake.’ She indicated the state of the play pen with a wave of her hand. ‘As you can see.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I wondered what it was on your forehead. Obviously the chocolate cake won.’

Well, that wasn’t very tactful. She forced a tight smile, reminding herself this man was Greg’s boss. ‘I’m not used to looking after four young children,’ she said in a voice that was just off-frosty. ‘And Harry’s something of a handful.’

He nodded again. She didn’t know if it was a ‘that’s pretty obvious’ nod, or a ‘poor you’ nod, but she rather suspected the former. That being the case—and especially because he was standing there looking like he had just stepped out of a top magazine for the well-dressed man—her voice remained at the same temperature when she said, ‘If you’ll excuse me a minute, I’ll see about the coffee.’ And left the room with as much dignity as she could muster in the appalling circumstances.

Once in the hall, she shut the sitting-room door firmly behind her and then darted into the downstairs cloakroom. Looking into the small round mirror, she groaned softly.

It was as bad as it could be. Wild, scarecrow hair, shiny pink face—except for the bits smeared with chocolate cake—and she even had a couple of leaves from the weeping-willow tree lodged in her hair, from when she had romped with Harry and the girls in the garden before tea. She had been trying to tire the four of them out before bedtime but in the event the only person who had nearly collapsed with exhaustion was her.

‘Great, just great,’ she muttered at the scowling reflection in the glass. And then she shrugged. What did it matter how she looked with Melissa so ill? Zak Hamilton would have to take her as he found her. She would give him his cup of coffee and then politely make it clear she expected him to leave.

In spite of herself, though, she found she couldn’t leave the cloakroom without washing her hands and face, and brushing her hair with the brush Melissa kept in the cabinet for when the children needed quickly sprucing up. Looping her hair back into a ponytail that was now sleek and shiny, she quickly checked herself once more and then made her way to the kitchen.

Instant coffee would have to do. She reached for the jar she had bought herself on her last visit to the house two months before, when she had babysat the children over a weekend while Melissa and Greg had gone to Paris for their wedding anniversary. She had been too shattered coping with the children to bother with the coffee-maker, and she saw now the coffee hadn’t been used since. Melissa was the original earth-mother; ‘instant’ didn’t feature in her sister’s vocabulary. It made up the main content of hers.

She had just spooned a generous amount into two china mugs festooned with poppies when the telephone rang. Snatching up the kitchen phone, she said breathlessly, ‘Yes?’

‘Blossom? It’s Greg. She’s out of Theatre, and the consultant is happy with how things went. The appendix was on the point of bursting, so it’s as well he operated immediately. She’ll be in a few days, though. Something to do with her blood.’

‘Oh, Greg.’ Blossom found she had to sit down fairly quickly on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, her ears ringing. ‘Have you spoken to her? How is she feeling?’

‘She’s out of it, will be till morning, according to the staff. In spite of that I think I’d like to hang round a bit longer, if that’s OK with you? Can you cope with the kids?’

He sounded so lost and shaken, Blossom’s heart went out to him. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You stay as long as you want. The kids are fine and they’re all asleep. Have you eaten anything?’

‘Eaten?’ he repeated vaguely. ‘Oh, yes, I think so. Some sandwiches. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you in the morning.’ And he put the phone down. Typical Greg.

‘You OK? I heard the phone. Was it the hospital?’

The quiet voice from the kitchen doorway brought Blossom’s head up. Zak was standing there, his blue eyes narrowed. It was a totally inappropriate moment to register that he had to be one of the most handsome men she had ever set eyes on. She gulped, then said, ‘That was Greg. Melissa’s out of Theatre, and everything went well. She’s sleeping off the anaesthetic.’

He nodded. ‘Good. Now I’m going to ask you what you just asked Greg—have you eaten anything?’

She stared at him. ‘It’s been too hectic.’

He nodded again. ‘You look like death warmed up,’ he said bluntly. ‘You’re not going to faint on me, are you?’

He had a nerve. Adrenalin pumped a healthy dose of anger into her wilting limbs. She knew she looked awful, he needn’t rub it in. ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she said coldly. ‘Thank you. And I have never fainted in my life.’

It was as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Why don’t you go and have a bath while I order some food in?’ he said in a tone which made it more of an order than a suggestion. ‘I haven’t eaten yet, and I’m starving. What do you prefer—Indian, Chinese, Italian, Thai? My treat. I insist.’

He could have grown two heads from the way Blossom was staring at him. Talk about taking charge, she thought resentfully.

It took her a few seconds before she could say, ‘I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.’ She hoped he’d take the hint.

‘You’ll be perfectly safe.’ The smoky voice now held a definite thread of dark amusement. ‘I’m not about to take advantage of the situation, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

Blossom wondered what it was about ‘I don’t think so’ that he didn’t understand. Drawing on her limited store of patience, which the day with the children had seriously depleted, she slid off the stool, saying, ‘I didn’t think that for a moment.’

It was true, she hadn’t. Zak Hamilton looked like the sort of man who chose his women for the wow factor they’d present when seen out on his arm. Even when she had her glad rags on and was all made up she wouldn’t qualify. She just didn’t want to play the part of the needy recipient in his Good Samaritan scenario, that was all, not when he had made it clear she looked pretty dire to him. Even with the temptation of Thai food. She loved Thai cooking.

‘Good. What’s it to be, then? I rather favour Thai, but I am open to suggestions.’

She had a very good suggestion for him and it wasn’t anything to do with food. ‘Look, Mr Hamilton, I don’t want to appear rude…’ she said coolly, reminding herself yet again he was Greg’s boss and the owner of the firm to boot. ‘But I have got things to do. Now, if you’d like that coffee before you go?’

Cornflower-blue eyes held her dark brown ones. ‘You’re not the easiest of females to get on with, are you?’ he observed mildly. ‘Definitely a bit prickly round the edges.’

Actually, she could get on with absolutely everyone, everybody said so. ‘I’ll tell Greg you called by to see how Melissa was,’ she said icily. So now clear off, Mr Big-Boss Hamilton!

‘Actually, I didn’t.’ He was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and expression benign. ‘Call to see how Melissa was, that is.’

‘But you said that’s why you had come.’ Hadn’t he?

‘You asked me if I’d called round to see how things were, that’s slightly different.’ He looked at her from steady eyes.

Not in her book. It was exactly the same.

‘I didn’t realise your sister was in hospital; Greg merely mentioned his wife had been taken ill with stomach trouble to my secretary when he phoned this morning. I imagined she’d eaten something that had disagreed with her, something like that. I called round to make sure Greg remembered we have an important meeting in Watford tomorrow morning.’

Blossom glared at him. ‘My sister is lying in a hospital bed after an emergency operation, and you expect him to go with you to a meeting in Watford?’ Her voice had risen with each word. What was with this man? Had he no feelings at all?

He sighed. ‘I told you, I didn’t know the circumstances,’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘Of course I don’t expect him to accompany me now. I wouldn’t dream of it, in fact.’

Slightly mollified, Blossom tipped boiling water into the two poppy mugs. ‘Milk and sugar?’ she asked him without looking at the doorway again.

‘I take mine black.’

She had rather thought he might. And he would take ten-mile runs as a matter of course before breakfast, and drive a snazzy, top-of-the-range sportscar, and always sleep in the buff on black linen sheets. This last thought was more than a little disconcerting. Blossom took her time adding sugar and milk to her own mug, so the pink in her cheeks had subsided a little when she handed Zak his coffee, making sure their hands didn’t touch.

‘Thanks.’ He straightened up from the wall with animal grace. Her tummy did a funny little kind of hop, skip and jump.

‘Would you like a biscuit or a piece of cake with that?’ After refusing the offer of a meal—especially as he had mentioned he hadn’t eaten and was starving—she felt politeness necessitated the offer. Besides which, her stomach was rumbling and demanding food—another moment and he’d hear it.

‘What kind of cake? It’s not the remains of the chocolate one, is it?’ he asked, straight-faced.

He was laughing at her, even if it didn’t show. For answer, Blossom opened the cupboard and brought out Melissa’s cake tins, leaving the one containing the other half of the chocolate gateau on the shelf. His loss. She’d picked up a morsel from the table when she had been helping the twins clear up, and it was absolutely delicious. Mind you, the fruit cake and fat ginger-and-walnut cake the other tins held looked fantastic too, but then everything Melissa made was wonderful.

‘I’ll have a piece of that one, please.’ He pointed to the ginger-and-walnut cake. ‘Did you make these?’

Any of her friends would have collapsed with laughter if they had heard that. ‘I don’t cook,’ she said briefly. ‘These are ones Melissa’s baked.’ She cut a generous portion, placed it on one of Melissa’s china teaplates and handed it to him before doing the same for herself. ‘Shall we go through to the sitting room?’ Funny, but since he had appeared in the doorway the kitchen seemed to have shrunk to half its size and was far too intimate. ‘We can sit in comfort in there.’

Once in the sitting room, Zak seated himself on the sofa. Blossom made sure she took the armchair furthest away from it. After taking a king-size bite of cake, he pronounced it delicious and then eyed her lazily. ‘So, you don’t cook.’ One black eyebrow quirked. ‘What do you do?’

‘I’m sorry?’ He was laughing at her again, she just knew it.

‘Your job—or don’t you work?’ he asked smoothly.

‘Yes, I work.’ He was rattling her, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Drawing in a deep, hidden breath, she told herself to relax before she proffered, ‘I’m a fashion photographer, actually.’ Make of that what you will.

The eyebrow rose higher. ‘Really?’

Yes, really, in spite of my present attire. She forced herself to smile. ‘’Fraid so.’ She took several sips of coffee and then decided to play him at his own game. ‘Do you find that surprising?’ she asked sweetly. Agree if you dare.

‘Yes, I do.’ He eyed her expressionlessly.

This guy took the biscuit, he really did, but he could darn well spell it out. ‘Why is that, Mr Hamilton?’

‘Zak, please.’ He had the gall to smile. ‘No formality.’

That smile. Perfect white teeth. She bet he had never endured the mortification of the braces and dental work which had hampered her teenage years. ‘Why is that, Zak?’ she asked with grim civility. Greg’s income depended on this man.

‘You say you and Melissa are twins, but from what I’ve seen, and more especially from what Greg says, Melissa is the epitome of the contented wife and mother without a career bone in her body. I thought twins were supposed to be the same.’

She stared at him. ‘We’re twins,’ she pointed out. ‘Not clones.’ Why was it men like him always had the sort of wicked, lusciously thick eyelashes women would kill to possess? It gave them an unfair advantage. Dean’s had been an inch long.

‘Point taken.’ He grinned and took another huge bite of Melissa’s yummy cake. ‘This is absolutely fantastic, by the way.’

Blossom silently pondered whether she would have preferred him to say he had been surprised because she looked the exact opposite of anything remotely fashionable. Probably not.

‘So, fashion photography.’ He had finished the cake in record time. ‘Tough field to break into, I’d imagine. Do you work for a studio or fashion house or magazine?’

Blossom shook her head. ‘I’m a freelance photographer; I prefer it that way. And yes, it was tough to get into, and is just as tough to continue in, but I like it. I guess I have a knack of selling my techniques and the pictures I produce, though, that helps. There’s lots of excellent photographers who don’t know how to market their skills.’

He nodded. Settling back on the sofa, he crossed one leg over the other after draining the mug of coffee, his arms along the back of the seat. It was a very masculine pose. Blossom ignored the quickening of her heartbeat as grey cloth pulled tight over hard male thighs. She tried to think of something to say to fill the silence and failed miserably, gulping at her coffee instead. Suddenly she wasn’t at all hungry.

‘So.’ The piercing eyes were tight on her face. ‘No husband around?’ He nodded at her left hand, which was devoid of rings.

Blossom felt the question in the pit of her stomach, which was ridiculous. She was well past that stage. Before tonight she hadn’t thought of Dean in days, and when she had it had been with acute loathing. Her voice crisp, she said, ‘No, there’s no husband, and isn’t likely to be. That’s another area Melissa and I differ in.’ She raised her chin a fraction of an inch.

‘Right.’ The blue eyes narrowed. ‘That taken as read, do you fancy going for a drink one evening?’

Surprise robbed Blossom of speech. It was the last thing she’d expected, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. He wasn’t interested in her, surely? He was the sort of man who would definitely go for a certain type—a tall, willowy blonde or vivacious redhead, the sort of female who would cause the conversation to lull whenever they entered a room—and she didn’t fit the bill. She wouldn’t crack any mirrors, admittedly, but she wasn’t particularly tall or small, just average. Her brown hair and eyes were pretty average too. Melissa had been the one to get the looks. At five-feet-ten, with liquid brown eyes and natural ash-blonde hair, her twin was a stunner. Not that Melissa was vain, just the opposite.

Without considering her words, Blossom blurted, ‘Sorry, but I don’t date. I made up my mind years ago that I’m a career girl, and romance and getting to the top in any profession don’t mix. Not for women, at least.’

He straightened slightly. ‘If you’re saying a woman can’t have a love life as well as a top job, I disagree. This is the twenty-first century, not the dark ages.’

‘I’m aware of that.’ She agreed with him, but wasn’t about to say so. The excuse she’d used could very well be the coward’s way out but it had sufficed in the past to put men off. She wasn’t about to bare her soul to any man, especially Greg’s boss. Besides, she had the feeling he was the kind of guy who would be persistent when it came to getting his own way unless he was satisfied there was no chance whatsoever. And there was not. Not with her. The last thing she needed was a Zak type.

‘Another piece of cake?’ The silence was stretching on and becoming uncomfortable. She did so hope he would say no.

‘Thanks, I’d love one.’ He held out his plate. She noticed with a pang of what could have been pique that he wasn’t particularly devastated she was off the menu. He was probably the sort of male who felt compelled to try his luck with any unattached female below a certain age, she thought maliciously. Date them, persuade them to fall for him, and when the challenge was gone move on to the next poor sop. But perhaps she was just being hideously unfair. She knew Dean had soured her. Mind, she doubted Zak Hamilton would go to the trouble some men did to get a woman into bed—he wouldn’t have to, for one thing. Dean had been a head-turner, but Greg’s boss was in a different league altogether. As he very well knew, no doubt.

Becoming aware she was staring at him, Blossom hastily reached for the proferred plate. ‘Another coffee?’ she offered for good measure, feeling a little guilty about her uncharitable thoughts—although they were probably all bang on the mark.

‘Great.’ He settled back against the billowy sofa with every appearance of relaxed enjoyment. ‘And make the cake a big slice, would you? I’m starving.’

Cheeky hound. Blossom smiled frostily. Utterly sure of himself and arrogant with it—just the sort of male she’d walk a mile to avoid. Still, she’d offered seconds now.

Once in the kitchen she made the coffee and cut a generous wedge of cake—not that the other slice had been small, she thought grimly. She looked at the half of cake remaining in the tin, and for a moment was tempted to put that on his plate rather than the slice she’d cut. She resisted. Less because he was Greg’s boss and more because he’d probably eat it quite happily, remaining oblivious to any sarcasm. Giant ego.

Walking through to the sitting room, she silently handed him the plate and mug, deciding the cool, non-speaking approach was the quickest way to get rid of him. No more repartee.

‘Thanks.’ He took the cake with boyish enthusiasm. ‘Your sister is some cook. She didn’t strike me as the sort of woman who would bake her own cake when I met her at Christmas.’

The work do. Blossom had babysat on that occasion too, and she remembered Melissa had looked like every man’s fantasy with bells on in the draped-silk jersey dress with plunging neckline she had worn. Talk about stereotyping! Blossom eyed him severely. ‘My sister is extremely domesticated,’ she said coolly. ‘All Melissa ever wanted from when she was a child was to be a wife and mother, and she does both extremely well.’

‘And you disapprove of that?’ he asked evenly.

‘No, I do not.’ Coolness went out of the window and she glared at him. ‘Of course I don’t. Everyone, man and woman, should follow their own path. We’ve chosen very different ones, that’s all. I wouldn’t dream of expecting Melissa to want what I want. We respect each other as individuals.’

‘Greg’s crazy about her, isn’t he?’

‘She’s crazy about him.’

Zak’s nod was thoughtful. ‘He’s something of a mad professor, but brilliant, quite brilliant. I can see it would suit him to have someone to look after him.’

She couldn’t imagine Zak wanting to be looked after. Blossom sipped at her now-cool coffee as she watched him eat the second slice of cake. It was gone in a few big bites. He ate with relish; she could imagine he was a man who tackled every area of his life with the same unabashed gusto. Something in the pit of her stomach curled, and she lowered her eyes to her empty mug. When she raised them, Zak was looking straight at her.

‘You’re clearly wiped out, I’d better be going,’ he said softly. He stood to his feet. ‘Thanks for the coffee and cake.’

Flustered, Blossom rose a moment later, furious that her cheeks had turned pink when there was no logical reason for it. ‘I’ll let Greg know you called by when he comes home.’

‘Tell him I won’t expect him in until Melissa’s home and feeling herself again while you’re at it,’ he said lazily as she led the way to the front door. ‘There is nothing brewing in the pipeline that can’t keep for a week or two.’

‘Right.’ She nodded. She felt ridiculously out of her depth. What was it about this man that made her feel she’d regressed to the painful teenage years, when she’d been gawky, awkward and tongue-tied? Whatever it was, she could do without it. She opened the front door and stood aside for him to exit the house. Instead he stopped in front of her.

His eyes unfathomable, he murmured, ‘It’s been nice meeting you. Do I take it you’ll be sticking around for a day or two?’

It was a simple question, so why the agitation in her breast? ‘Until I’m not needed,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘That won’t prove difficult work-wise?’

She shook her head. ‘As luck would have it, I’ve just finished a pretty extensive spell of work and had promised myself a break.’

‘We might see each other again, then. If anything crops up I need to speak to Greg about.’ He smiled a slow smile.

He was the head of a major electronics firm and he was talking about face-to-face contact? Without pausing to consider how it sounded, she said, ‘Have you got Greg’s mobile number?’

He continued to regard her for another moment before his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Do I take that as a polite way of saying I wouldn’t be welcome?’ he asked mildly.

The pink in her cheeks had turned to a fiery red that would have rivalled a boiled lobster. Her embarrassment wasn’t helped by the fact that he seemed to find her amusing rather than offensive. ‘Of course not,’ she said tightly. ‘I was just checking you could contact him if you needed to, that’s all.’

‘Just checking.’ Two words, but they carried a huge amount of disbelief.

‘Absolutely.’ She stared straight back into the blue eyes.

‘Right.’ His tone had not changed. He held her gaze for one more eternal moment, and then stepped out of the house and walked towards a low-slung sportscar parked at the side of the pebbled front garden. It was a beauty, an Aston Martin, in a delicate shade of silver grey, gleaming in the summer twilight.

Blossom wondered why she hadn’t noticed it when he had arrived, and wouldn’t admit it was because she’d had eyes for nothing but him. She shut the front door, not waiting to see him drive away, and then stood leaning against it as she strained her ears. There was the sound of a car door shutting, the throb of a powerful engine and then the scrunchy noise of tyres on stone. He was leaving, so why was her heart still thudding?

It was only when all was quiet that she became aware she had been holding her breath. Letting it out in a great sigh, she straightened. That was that. He had gone. Undoubtedly with the impression that Melissa’s twin sister was a cold, hard and somewhat rude career woman without a romantic bone in the whole of her body.

‘And I’m not.’ She spoke aloud into the quiet, slumbering hall where the only sound was the steady ticking of the magnificent antique grandfather clock in the far corner. Was it her imagination, or was it staring at her with a reproachful look on its superior face?

Blossom stuck out her tongue in a manner which belied her thirty-four years, resolving to put Zak Hamilton and his possible opinion of her out of her mind. She had more than enough to cope with as it was in the forseeable future; the whirling dervish that was her nephew would be waking at the crack of dawn, if the weekend she’d babysat Melissa’s children before was anything to go by. And, once Harry was awake, the world had no choice but to follow.

She squared her shoulders, breathed in and out very deeply, and made her way into the sitting room to clear away the mugs and plates.




CHAPTER TWO


ANNOYINGLY, once Blossom was lying under the tastefully scented, crisp linen sheets in the generous double bed in Melissa’s guest room, sleep became an impossibility. She found herself embroiled in a minute-by-minute post-mortem of the whole day, right from when Greg had first called her.

The crazy dash to the house, Greg’s poor little wan face, the frantic pace that had ensued with the children, not to mention the mistakes she’d made in dealing with Harry—and overall the awful knowledge that her sister was in terrible pain and she couldn’t help her. That had been excruciating.

Finally, when she couldn’t keep him at bay a moment longer, she allowed Zak Hamilton to walk through the door of her mind. This resulted in a distinctly harrowing, squirmingly hot and embarrassing twenty minutes when she replayed every word he had said and she had said, every gesture, every look. She did this several times. More than several. It got worse, not better.

When she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, Blossom slid out of bed and walked into the en suite, running herself a hot bath and adding a liberal amount of bath oil which magically promised to soothe and calm in equal measures. Stripping off the practical ‘I’m dealing with children’ pyjamas she had bought especially for her last babysitting endeavour, she surveyed herself in the full-length mirror to one side of the deep cast-iron bath before climbing into the perfumed water.

Only someone as effortlessly slim as Melissa could think having a mirror you couldn’t avoid when you were naked was a good idea, she reflected ruefully as she inched her bottom slowly into water which seemed to be a good few degrees hotter than she had thought. Not that she was a two-ton Tessie by any means. She just wasn’t naturally willowy like her sister.

She was now resting on the bottom of the bath, and breathed out thankfully. It had been obvious from an early age she took totally after their mother, whereas Melissa had inherited their father’s to-die-for genes. Yet it had been apparent to anyone within a five-mile radius of their parents that their father had worshipped the ground his sweet but homely wife walked on.

Blossom’s face took on a tender quality. She was so glad her parents had lived long enough to see Harry and Simone before they had been killed in a multiple car-crash three months after the twins had been born. They’d been so thrilled Melissa had achieved her heart’s desire. She and Melissa had had the best of childhoods, and their parents had continued to be utterly supportive even after she and her sister had left home—Melissa to married life, and Blossom to follow her career in London. She had always dreamed she’d find a relationship similar to the one her parents had had one day, a love which would lead to marriage, perhaps even children, whilst her career was put on hold for a short time.

And then, a few months after her parents had died, Dean had come along just when she’d been beginning to doubt there would ever be a Mr Right among all the Mr Wrongs she’d dated in the past. She hadn’t known then that, if all the Mr Wrongs in the world had been gathered up into one bundle, they wouldn’t be as wrong as Dean had been.

Blossom tried to close her mind against the memories now pouring in, but it was too late; she had opened Pandora’s box.

They had met at a fashion shoot; he had been one of the male models, and she had been bowled over by his dark Latin looks and smouldering charm. As he had intended she should be.

They had married two months to the day they had met, and already her photographs had begun to open doors for him. She had established good contacts over the years, and she had used every last one of them for Dean. He was her husband, her love; there was nothing she wouldn’t have done for him.

She had been so looking forward to their first Christmas together. Blossom clenched her teeth as the pictures in her mind rolled on with relentless accuracy. On the day before Christmas Eve she had come home to the flat—her flat; Dean had been sharing a grotty bedsit with a friend called Julian when they had met. She found all his clothes and belongings gone and a note waiting for her, propped inappropriately—or perhaps completely appropriately, she thought bitterly—against their wedding photograph. A small, neatly folded piece of paper.

He was holidaying in the Caribbean, Dean had written. He would not be returning to the flat when he came back to England. Their marriage had been a terrible mistake. It was better they faced it now than later. This was all for the best, and he hoped she understood. They had been married for seven months.

It had got worse. Oh, how it had got worse.

When she had gone to the bank after Christmas it was to discover Dean had withdrawn every last penny from their joint savings account, which had housed her half of the inheritance from her parents’ estate. A tidy nest-egg. All gone.

A week later a concerned work colleague had reported he had heard whispers Dean had taken someone with him to the Caribbean. Subsequent enquiries had revealed the woman had in fact been living with him in the bedsit when Blossom had met him—‘Julian’ was ‘Juliette’, and the two had never stopped seeing each other.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow, but Blossom had had to accept Dean had married her purely for the size of her bank account, and the influential circles within the modelling and TV fraternity she could introduce him to. His career—due mainly to her efforts on his behalf, along with the cash she had lavished on him for anything he had needed—had taken off far better than even he could have hoped for. He’d begun to fly high, and he and his Juliette must have been congratulating themselves at Blossom’s gullibility as they had basked in the warm Caribbean sun, laughing at her as they’d sipped their cocktails.

She had been ill for some time after that.

Blossom moved restlessly in the warm water, drawing a mental veil over the emotional devastation she had suffered. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. She nodded to the thought which had been voiced by Greg, of all people. He had been right. When she had surfaced from the blanket of grief and despair, she found she’d become curiously autonomous, and she welcomed it. She never, ever wanted to put her trust on the line again. Her heart was her own, and she intended it would continue to remain so.

She understood work. Work was safe, secure, sure, even taking into account the inevitable backstabbing and diva-like skirmishes which were part and parcel of the fashion world. That world could be irritating, false and cruel; it could make her angry or plain disgusted on occasion. But the ups more than made up for the downs and, more importantly, even the worse aspects didn’t touch the inner core of her. Didn’t make her feel as though life wasn’t worth living, that she was the ugliest, most unattractive, unworthy female since the beginning of creation. A man had done that, and she never intended to give another male the same opportunity. Once bitten, definitely twice shy.

Her mouth tightening, she stood up, reaching for the fluffy bath sheet and wrapping it round her. Why was she thinking about Dean tonight, reliving it all? She had thought that was behind her. It wasn’t as though she cared about him any more.

Zak Hamilton. The name popped up as an answer all by itself. Blossom frowned. Over her dead body. She wouldn’t give a man like Zak the tiniest chance of entering her life. But—the frown deepened—he had unsettled her. Rattled her. She didn’t know why, but he had. And it wasn’t his looks or wealth; she came into contact with plenty of drop-dead-gorgeous men in her line of work, and more than a few were well-heeled. Nothing like that intimidated or impressed her any more.

So—what was it about Zak she didn’t like? His confidence, which definitely bordered on arrogance? The fact that he was probably one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, and certainly possessed a male charisma that was dynamite? The way he’d looked at her, the amusement in his eyes, along with the fact he had made her feel like an insect under a microscope? A bumbling, somewhat ineffectual insect at that. His manner, which had spoken of unlimited wealth and the knowledge people would jump as high as he ordered them to?

Dropping the sheet, she pulled on the pyjamas again and then rubbed the bottom of her shoulder-length hair with the handtowel. It had got slightly wet as she had lain in the bath.

She was probably being monumentally unfair, because she really knew nothing at all about Zak Hamilton, but she didn’t care. She didn’t like him. The brown-haired reflection in the mirror stared back at her, and as though it contradicted her she said firmly, ‘I don’t. Not one iota.’

Padding into the bedroom, she climbed into bed and was asleep within a minute or two.



The next days were hectic, but by the time Melissa came home Blossom felt she had got a handle on running a home and caring for four energetic and high-spirited little ones. Admittedly she hadn’t attempted to bake—she knew her limits—but she had learnt how to manage Harry, and that was an accolade for anyone. The house was spick and span, she was up to date with the washing as well as the ironing, she’d even found time to cut the lawns and weed the flowerbeds. The children had been fed well on Melissa’s cooking—courtesy of the well-stocked freezer—and had fully accepted Blossom after the somewhat disastrous first day.

‘Thank you so much for holding the fort, everything looks lovely,’ Melissa said gratefully once the initial hullabaloo caused by the children having their mother home again had died down. ‘I feel positively guilty, having spent hours in bed watching TV and reading books in that lovely room at the hospital.’ Courtesy of Greg’s handsome private-health package at work.

‘It was a pleasure.’ Well, parts of it had been. Things such as reading Rebecca and Ella their bedtime story, when the two little girls had been damp and sweet-smelling from their bath and curled up sleepily beside her. Wrestling the rake off Harry when he’d snuck into the garden shed while her back had been turned hadn’t been so hot. Her nephew had been intent on terrorising his sisters with it, and hadn’t taken kindly to his fun being spoilt.

‘Were they good?’ Melissa turned fond eyes on her little brood, who were playing with Greg in the garden while the two sisters had a welcome cup of coffee. Fresh ground, now Melissa was home. She wouldn’t dare to suggest anything else.

‘Angelic,’ Blossom lied stoutly. Some of the time.

‘I bet you can’t wait to get back to your flat and your own way of doing things,’ Melissa said. ‘Peace and quiet for hours on end if you want it.’

Blossom knew her sister didn’t mean a word of it. Melissa couldn’t think of a more wonderful existence than being with her children, and she expected everyone else to feel the same. Surprisingly—and she admitted this with a very real feeling of astonishment—Blossom knew she was really going to miss her nieces and nephew when she left. She loved them very much, of course, she always had, but over the last days she had begun to thoroughly enjoy their company and she hadn’t expected that. They were funny and cute, and naughty and exhausting, but overall so alive, so brimming with wonder and excitement about the most ordinary things. And it kind of rubbed off on her, she’d found.

‘Harry found a stone with a face in it this morning,’ she said vaguely, her eyes intent on the children. ‘He’s wrapped it up as a present for you later, so make a big thing of it when he gives it to you, won’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Melissa said softly, taking her twin’s hand and squeezing it tight as she added, ‘You’re a star, sis, but you don’t have to stay any longer if it’s making things difficult with your work.’

‘It isn’t.’ That was the truth, but even if work had been piling up to the ceiling she wouldn’t have left. She had been shocked at how pale and washed out Melissa was. The doctors had discovered she was severely anaemic on top of having her appendix out. The result of having two sets of twins within twenty months of each other probably. Whatever, she intended to stay at least another week or so, and make sure Melissa had plenty of rest and sleep. She’d try and fit in a talk about not having to be superwoman all the time too if there was a suitable opportunity. The children wouldn’t expire on the spot if they had to have a bought loaf now and again or a microwave ready-meal.



The next morning Blossom let Melissa and Greg sleep in—Greg had looked worse than her sister the day before—while she got the children up, gave them their breakfast and took them to nursery. On her way home she visited the local supermarket and bought a load of convenience foods without the merest shred of remorse. Melissa was going to have to lighten up a bit.

As she drew off the road on reaching the house, and into the pebbled front garden which had been given over solely to parking due to the fact that Greg needed a space the size of a football pitch to park successfully, Blossom saw the silver-grey car parked next to Greg’s people-carrier and groaned softly. Zak Hamilton. Damn it. And she was in her oldest jeans and a cotton jumper that had been washed so often and become so baggy it could pass for a dress. But she had taken the time to apply some mascara that morning and curl the ends of her hair, so that the bob just skimmed her shoulders, having known she was calling in at the supermarket. Overall it was an improvement on the last time they’d met. Not a big one, but something at least. Not that it bothered her what Zak Hamilton thought of her. Not in the least. Not for a second. The very idea!

Ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind that was saying nastily, ‘And pigs fly,’ she parked the car and began to lift the bags of shopping out. Along with the little voice she was determined to pay no heed to, her stomach was fluttering about as though it was host to a flock of butterflies. If butterflies came in flocks? She wasn’t sure about that.

‘Hi again.’ The deep, faintly accented voice was behind her.

She straightened up so quickly she heard her neck snap, but it was more the fact that she caught a carrier bag on something sharp in the boot, tearing it so that a can of baked beans dropped on her foot, that brought forth the exclamation of pain. Turning, she saw Zak Hamilton walking towards her.

‘Want some help with all that?’ he offered, waving a hand at the bags round her feet. ‘You look pretty loaded up.’

She would have liked to say no, but as she wasn’t an octopus it would have been rather silly. She forced a smile, wondering if her toe was broken. ‘Thank you,’ she said politely.

‘You’re very welcome.’

As he bent and picked up several of the bags, she caught a whiff of a deliciously sexy and definitely very expensive aftershave. The torn carrier-bag chose that moment to empty itself completely, and in the ensuing scramble for tins and packets of this and that Blossom got control of her breathing. Until she registered Zak crouching down, trousers pulled tight over muscled thighs as he stuffed some of the food into another bag. He was more sexy than any man had the right to be.

‘I thought Melissa cooked everything from scratch.’ He glanced up at her, a packet of cherry bakewells in his hand, and his eyes so piercingly blue their brightness made Blossom blink.

‘She does,’ Blossom said shortly, wishing he would stand up. When he obliged in the next instant she felt sufficiently in control again to add, ‘But I’m in charge for the next few days until she’s feeling a bit better.’

‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘I wonder if they’ll get the kids back to the healthy option once they’ve tasted fish fingers and oven chips.’ He grinned at her, eyebrows raised. ‘What do you think?’

‘The odd meal like that does no harm at all.’ Even to herself she sounded schoolmarmish. ‘They’re quite nutritious.’

‘You know that and I know that, but mother love is a strange force,’ he said gravely.

He was laughing at her—again. The difference was this time she found she was having a job not to smile. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m just the aunty.’ Picking up two bags of her own, she made for the house. There was safety in numbers.

Melissa and Greg were in the sitting room, a tray of coffee and a plate of shortbread fingers on the low oak coffee-table in front of them. Blossom paused at the open door long enough to say, ‘I’m just putting the shopping away,’ before continuing to the kitchen. A cosy foursome? Not on your life.

‘I think I got them out of bed.’

Zak had followed her, and now he dumped his bags on the breakfast bar as she glanced his way. ‘It’s half-past ten, don’t worry about it,’ she said briefly. ‘They’d slept enough.’

‘Greg made the coffee.’ It was faintly plaintive.

There was a message in there somehow, and Blossom raised her eyebrows enquiringly even as she wondered what it was about raven-haired men and pale blue shirts. Killer combination.

‘It’s as weak as dishwater.’ Zak’s eyes were laughing at her.

‘Oh dear.’ That’d teach him to call without warning. ‘I’ll put the shopping away and make some more; the other is probably cold by now, anyway.’ I’m putting shopping away—hint, hint.

He nodded. ‘Want some help?’

Even standing six feet away he was too close for comfort. Not that she thought he was going to try anything. He was far too sophisticated for anything so gauche and clumsy, she knew that. ‘No thanks. I won’t be long.’ Just go before I drop something else. Give me a few minutes to do some deep-breathing exercises.

He didn’t take the hint. Folding his arms, he leant back against the open door and watched her. It was disconcerting to say the least. Having grown up with someone as totally stunning as Melissa, she had never liked being stared at, always assuming she was being compared unfavourably to her twin. Maybe that was why she’d chosen a career behind the camera? Interesting thought, she told herself feverishly. Freud would probably have had the time of his life messing with her head. If he hadn’t been dead for eight decades, that was.

The shopping disposed of in record time—she’d never be able to find anything now—Blossom switched the kettle on and steeled herself to smile and glance at Zak as she said, ‘Shall we join the others? I’ll make the excuse about the coffee and bring the tray out.’

‘OK.’ He made no effort to move. ‘Look, I was thinking, with Melissa home after being away so long—’ he made five days sound like five lifetimes ‘—I’d imagine Greg and her would like some time to themselves in the evening once the kids are in bed. And I should think you could do with a change of scene. How about I take you for a meal somewhere tonight? Just as friends, of course. I understand how things are with you.’ He smiled lazily as though he didn’t care if she came or not.

Blossom stared at him, completely taken aback. ‘But we’re not friends,’ she pointed out gracelessly. ‘We don’t even know each other, at least not properly. You’re just Greg’s boss.’

The smile held, but the temperature dropped several degrees. ‘I’m not just anything,’ he said silkily. ‘Believe me.’

In spite of the smile Blossom knew she had hit him on the raw. ‘I didn’t mean—I wasn’t insinuating…’ She stopped. She had expressed herself incredibly badly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that—’

‘You don’t want to go out with me. Yes, I know. But you must socialise with the male species now and again, surely?’

She was right. She had annoyed him. Dented his ego. She imagined Zak Hamilton hadn’t been turned down before, even on a friendship level. Well, why would he be?

‘Of course, if you feel Melissa’s still too ill…’

‘No, it’s not that.’ What was it with him? He had the hide of a rhinoceros. Surely he knew she didn’t want to go out—no, socialise, she corrected herself with grim humour—with him? But perhaps that was exactly why he was pushing it. Maybe he was one of those men who couldn’t resist a challenge. Not that she had intentionally set herself up as a challenge, but she’d bet her last dollar that was how he was viewing this. She didn’t buy the ‘doing Greg and Melissa a favour’ thing, men like Zak weren’t that philanthropic. Sharks in disguise.

‘So?’ Blue eyes held hers. ‘What, exactly?’

Oh, blow it, it was going to be easier all around to agree to have a meal with him this evening. She hated that she was going to shy away from further confrontation, but he was Greg’s boss, and she didn’t want to cause waves for her brother-in-law. And that was the only reason she was going to have a meal with him, she reaffirmed firmly to herself. ‘I was just thinking of Melissa and Greg,’ she lied carefully. ‘But I suppose I could see to their meal before you pick me up.’

Zak smiled. ‘I’m sure you could, Blossom.’

Blossom wasn’t sure about that smile. Was it nice or nasty? A ‘great you’re coming’ smile or a ‘knew you’d crumble’ one? Either way it was unnerving, to say the least.

‘Eight o’clock all right?’ he asked easily. ‘Enough time to feed and water all your charges?’

‘Half-past eight.’ She wasn’t going to let him think he had it all his own way. Although he had, of course. ‘It takes a while to put the children to bed after their meal and bath, and I shall need to see to Melissa and Greg’s meal too,’ she said primly. ‘Melissa is still far from well.’

Zak’s mouth twitched. ‘Fine,’ he said meekly. ‘Half-past eight it is. And I promise to not be a second early. OK?’

Wretched man.

The next half hour seemed much longer to Blossom as the four of them sat and chatted over fresh coffee and the shortbread fingers. Although, to be fair, Melissa and Greg didn’t touch the shortbread and Zak only had a couple. It was she who had eaten the rest, Blossom thought irritably when Zak stood up to go. It was a failing of hers that she always ate when she was nervous or upset. Comfort thing. And she was doubly nervous at present; Zak’s presence in itself was unnerving, but she didn’t want him to allude to their meal out together tonight until she’d had a chance to tell Melissa and Greg herself. They knew how she felt about men in general, and non-dating in particular. They’d wonder what on earth was going on if they found out before she could explain properly. If she could explain properly. Whatever properly was. She didn’t think she knew any more. Oh, darn it…

‘Thanks for the flowers,’ Melissa said to Zak as he made his goodbyes. There was a massive bouquet perched on a chair, waiting for Blossom to see to it. ‘And for the champagne.’ A bottle of the very best, by the look of it.

‘Thought you and Greg might like to celebrate your homecoming,’ Zak said lazily. He turned to Blossom. ‘You could put it on ice before I pick you up tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ Melissa honed in, looking hard at Blossom.

‘Zak’s taking me out for a meal tonight.’ Blossom’s eyes told her twin to leave well alone as she ushered Zak into the hall. A ‘you ignore this at your peril’ kind of look.

He paused at the front door, his wickedly long black lashes shading the expression in his eyes, so they were unclear as he said, ‘I don’t think your sister altogether approves of me.’

Considering Melissa and Greg’s livelihood was tied up with Zak, Blossom felt she couldn’t give an honest answer to that one. Privately she agreed with him. ‘Really?’ She hoped she looked innocently surprised. ‘Why is that?’ she asked carefully.

‘Just an impression.’

He didn’t sound as if he was bothered, but then why would he be? He was holding all the cards. ‘I’m sure that’s not the case,’ she said briskly, opening the door. ‘See you later, then.’

He pulled out a pair of expensive sunglasses and stepped into the bright July sunlight, walking to the car and sliding into the luxurious interior without glancing behind him. This time she watched him leave, raising her hand when he waved at her. She stood for some moments after the sound of the engine had faded away, her head whirling. Somehow she had promised to go out with Zak Hamilton tonight. It would have seemed an impossibility when she had woken up that morning, but it had happened. This was not good. This was so not good.

A movement behind her brought her head turning to Melissa, who was standing in the sitting-room doorway, a worried expression on her face. ‘Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I don’t like the idea of you seeing Zak,’ her sister said, straight to the point as always. ‘He’s not for you, Blossom.’

Blossom shut the front door. ‘It’s not like you think.’

‘Blossom, the man’s a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor with a different woman for each day of the week. He makes no secret of it. In fact, according to the grapevine, he makes a point of spelling it out to any woman he sees so they don’t get the wrong idea. Of course, most of them fall for him hook, line and sinker nonetheless.’ Melissa’s tone was scathing.

‘Melissa, this really isn’t what you’re thinking.’

‘He could charm the birds out of the trees, I’ve seen him in action, but Greg says he can be as hard as iron in business when it’s necessary. And if he can be like that in business…’

‘Come and sit down and let me explain,’ Blossom said patiently, taking her sister’s arm and leading her to the sofa beside Greg. ‘You’ve got the wrong idea.’

‘Greg thinks I’ve got a down on Zak, but it’s not that, not really,’ Melissa began again before Blossom had a chance to say more. ‘It’s just that men like him eat ordinary people up and spit them out for breakfast. Greg’s useful to him at the moment, but I keep telling him that if that changed he’d be out on his ear and Zak wouldn’t give it a second thought.’

‘Melissa, I’m not saying I think you’re wrong—just the opposite, in fact.’ Blossom jumped in when her sister paused for breath. ‘But this meal tonight is not a date, not in the traditional sense. It’s purely platonic, I assure you.’

‘Oh, Blossom, don’t be so naïve.’

‘No, I mean it. Really. He actually said he wanted to give you and Greg an evening to yourselves and that he was taking me out purely as a friend. OK? He said that.’

‘And you believed it? Kiddo, it’s the oldest line in the book when a wolf sees a juicy little lamb.’

‘I’m not a juicy little anything.’ She didn’t think she’d ever been juicy, even before Dean. ‘And I’m hardly what you’d call his type anyway. I’m sure he goes for long-legged model types with interesting cheekbones and a clothing allowance to die for. Am I right, Greg?’ She glanced at her brother-in-law, but didn’t wait for him to reply before she went on, ‘Anyway, I told him I am not dating. I laid it absolutely on the line. My career’s all that matters, he knows that.’

‘Then how come you’re going out with him tonight?’ Melissa asked reasonably. ‘The two things don’t add up, sis.’

‘I told you, it’s purely platonic.’

Melissa gave one of her snorts. They were legendary within the family, and had always said far more than words could express.

‘It is, believe me.’ Blossom was getting exasperated.

‘I believe you might think so, but you’re wrong, Blossom. The man’s a walking sex machine; you only have to look at him to see that. He can cause the juices to flow without even trying.’

‘Melissa!’ Greg was shocked.

‘Oh, I don’t mean I’m attracted to him,’ Melissa said quickly. ‘I love you, you know that, but I have got eyes in my head, Greg, and your boss is…well…’

‘She means unattached women would find him drop-dead gorgeous,’ Blossom said drily when her sister ran out of words.

‘There, you see, you do fancy him,’ Melissa said triumphantly. ‘And you mustn’t, Blossom. This going out with him is a bad idea.’

‘You’ve been telling me for the last couple of years that I should date again,’ Blossom pointed out. In fact, her sister had waxed lyrical on the subject until they’d nearly fallen out about it and had had to agree to disagree. And not so long ago, either.

‘Date, yes, even get involved if the man in question is right for you, but Zak Hamilton…I can’t think of anyone worse. He’s too…too much of everything.’

They agreed on that at least, then. ‘Melissa, I have no intention of seeing Zak again after tonight,’ Blossom said very firmly. ‘I promise, OK? This was just the easy way out tonight. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I couldn’t be bothered to argue. It was simpler all round to say yes.’

Melissa stared unhappily at her twin. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘I mean it. I don’t like him, to be honest. He’s too…’ Blossom couldn’t find the words to describe Zak Hamilton. ‘Too much of everything, like you said,’ she finished weakly.

‘I just don’t want you hurt again, that’s all,’ Melissa said woefully. ‘You’re not a toughie like his other women.’

‘I’m not keen on the idea myself.’

‘And, you’re right, I do think you ought to start dating. There are lots of lovely men out there who would give their eye teeth to have someone like you,’ Melissa said earnestly. ‘Men like Greg, who are gorgeous but still real family-men and completely faithful to one woman. Good, honest, reliable men.’

Greg preened.

Blossom didn’t like to point out that, perfect though Greg was for her twin, he would drive her mad after ten minutes. Instead, she smiled, saying, ‘We’ve done this one to death before, sis. And you’re looking tired; I think you ought to go for a nap. You don’t want to overdo it now you’re back home.’

Greg was instantly all concern as Blossom had known he would be. Between them they managed to persuade Melissa to go and lie down, and Greg led her sister out of the room as though any sudden movement would cause her to break.

Blossom carried the coffee cups through to the kitchen, but instead of loading the dishwasher she stood gazing idly at the blue sky dotted with cotton-wool clouds. In truth the conversation with Melissa had unnerved her more than a little. It was stupid to go out with Zak Hamilton tonight, be it on a friendship basis or whatever else. A bit like sticking your head in the jaws of a crocodile and not expecting it to do what crocodiles did.

She made a sound of deep irritation in her throat. She wasn’t going to think about all this right now. She was going to fetch her nieces and nephew from nursery once she’d finished the chores here and then fix lunch for everyone. This afternoon she would take the children to the nearby water-park. She’d keep busy and active and not allow herself to dwell on the evening ahead for one moment. And when it came she’d play it by ear. She was getting this all out of proportion, for goodness’ sake. The man had asked her out for a meal, no strings attached, no expectations. And after tonight she’d probably never run into him again.

‘No probably about it.’ She watched a tiny blue-tit hanging from a nut holder. He was having the most marvelous time. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

Why was she standing here talking to herself? Tut-tutting again, she loaded the dishwasher, cleaned the kitchen floor, did a couple of other chores, and then picked up the car keys from the coffee table and went to fetch the children.




CHAPTER THREE


‘SO WHAT are you going to wear?’

The children had been fed, read to and were now fast asleep. The stuffed shoulder of lamb Blossom had bought ready-prepared earlier that day was cooking gently in the oven, and Greg had instructions when to put the roasted vegetables in to join it. She had bought a raspberry trifle for pudding, so that was simple enough. Having bathed, and with her wet hair turban-style in a handtowel, Blossom was standing looking at her meagre wardrobe when Melissa drifted into the room.

‘I thought you were sitting having a glass of wine before dinner!’ Blossom accused. ‘Relaxing with your husband?’

‘I was. I shall be again soon. So, what are you going to wear tonight?’ Melissa repeated.

‘There’s not a lot of choice.’ When Greg had called to say Melissa had been rushed into hospital, Blossom had grabbed whatever was handy and stuffed it willy-nilly into a suitcase. ‘I only brought two dresses with me. I’ve got jeans and shorts and T-shirts, of course. And a pair of trousers I bought last year.’

Melissa dismissed these with a wave of her hand. ‘I like that dress,’ she said, pointing to a cream-and-caramel flowered frock with spaghetti straps. ‘Those colours look good on you.’

The dress was fine, but she hadn’t brought anything to go with it, and although it was July the evenings could still turn chilly when the sun went down. When she voiced this, though, Melissa’s eyes lit up. ‘Wait there.’ She was back in two minutes, holding a cream ruche-cashmere cardigan and a pair of high wedge-heeled mules in the same colour. ‘Bought these a couple of weeks ago to go with a pink dress I’m wearing for a wedding next month,’ she said happily. ‘You can borrow my diamond bracelet and studs, too, they’d look perfect with this.’

‘I can’t wear these when you haven’t even worn them yet,’ Blossom protested. ‘What if I spill something down the cardy?’

‘When you’ve been an absolute angel, shooting down here and looking after everyone for days on end? I think so,’ Melissa said firmly. ‘Ooh, and I’ve some gorgeous nail varnish, “opal fire”, to set those mules off. Twinkling toes and all that.’

‘Melissa, this isn’t a date.’ If she had been feeling panicky before her sister had come in, she felt a hundred times worse now.

‘I know, I know,’ Melissa said soothingly. ‘But you can’t go out with a man like Zak and look anything less than perfectly turned out. Not with the sort of women he’s seen with.’

Funny, but that didn’t help.

At eight-twenty-five Blossom was ready. She had sent Melissa downstairs a long time before this; her sister had been in danger of reducing her to a gibbering wreck.

Blossom stood staring at herself in the bedroom mirror. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken such trouble with her appearance, but it had been worth it. The divorce had robbed her of her self-confidence so badly she’d only wanted to melt into the woodwork when she’d gone out since then. And that wasn’t like her. From a child she had always been the chatty, adventurous one, probably to compensate for not matching up to Melissa in looks, although she hadn’t realised this until all the heart searching since Dean had left her. But tonight she didn’t look too bad. Pretty good, in fact. Passable, at least.




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