Chrissy folded her arms. ‘But we’re not going anywhere.’
‘I’m taking you out to breakfast. Does the scrap need a bottle or something?’ He surveyed Rosie uncertainly.
‘She’s nearly two and a half,’ Chrissy said drily.
A broad shoulder sheathed in a black cashmere sweater moved in a careless shrug. ‘Children are a closed book to me.’
Maybe he thought they were in need of a good square meal. She couldn’t think of any other explanation for his arrival. Her cheeks flaming, she said, ‘Look, we’re not going anywhere. We don’t need breakfast—’
‘You’re so thin you look anorexic. You’re not, are you?’ he prompted with a sudden frown.
‘Of course I’m n-not,’ she snapped in frustration.
A mocking grin slanted his mouth. ‘I couldn’t cope with an anorexic. I’m crazy about food.’
It didn’t show anywhere on that long, lean body. He didn’t carry an ounce of surplus flesh. His black jeans hugged sleek thighs and narrow hips, his sweater delineating a muscular chest and a stomach as flat as a washboard. About there she dragged her gaze away from him, angry with herself.
Blaze, at Rosie’s prompting, was obediently retrieving her rabbit from the floor and receiving a beatific smile in reward. Chrissy couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. There was no sign of irritation or impatience in his dark, mobile features.
‘I’ve got a job offer for you,’ he told her almost in an aside.
Chrissy tensed like a greyhound scenting a hare. ‘Where? Who with?’ she demanded.
‘I talk better on a full stomach. Don’t get excited,’ he warned. ‘It’s not in London and it might not appeal to you.’
So this was why he was here. His conscience had pushed him into further effort on their behalf. She reddened fiercely. It was petty of her but he was the last male in the world she wanted help from. It smacked too much of noblesse oblige and stung her pride. But then what was pride when it came to Rosie? And why was she getting excited? She might not get the job whatever it was and, even if she did, where would they live and what about Rosie? One problem simply led to another.
In the cab, Rosie stayed anchored to Blaze. She sat there very solemn and quiet and on her very best behaviour, but no way would she return to Chrissy.
‘No...no want Kissy,’ she said quite clearly.
‘Kissy?’ Blaze cast Chrissy a sudden lancing look of derision. ‘She’s not Kissy. She’s Mummy,’ he informed Rosie firmly. ‘Mummy. Say it.’
Rosie obliged.
‘What the heck do you th-think you’re doing?’ Chrissy spat at him furiously.
‘I’ve got no time for women who won’t let their children call them Mother—’
‘It’s nothing to do with you!’ Chrissy vented in an explosive response. ‘How dare you interfere—?’
‘I know exactly what I’m talking about.’ He was quite unrepentant. ‘She needs to know who you are.’
Chrissy bit down on her tongue. She was angry, but did it matter? After today, she was unlikely to see him again, and Rosie would soon forget. Since she couldn’t trust him with the truth, she would keep quiet.
He took them to a really fancy hotel where the head waiter treated them to an incredible amount of personal attention. As soon as Rosie was settled, Chrissy unleashed her impatience. ‘The job,’ she reminded him.
‘Live-in. Child not objected to. It’s a big house,’ he volunteered, lounging back in his chair to regard her with clear, cool eyes. ‘One permanent occupant, occasional guests.’
Her brow furrowed. This she had not expected. ‘A private house?’
He nodded.
‘Where?’
‘Your home stomping grounds.’
Chrissy tautened in dismay. That was equally unexpected. ‘How close?’
‘About five miles from Southfork.’
Chrissy reddened. Her father had christened his home The Towers. It hadn’t really matched up with the Spanish arches and the lamp-posts lining the drive. The locals had gone one better.
‘What’s the job?’ she asked anxiously, striving not to think of what it would be like to be working so close to her own home.
Blaze was tucking into an enormous fry-up with gusto. There was silence for several minutes. She could have screamed. He had her hanging on his every word. Finally, he let his knife and fork rest and lifted his coffee instead. ‘Cook...housekeeper...general maid of all work. I’ve got to be honest. The job description would have to be fairly elastic. If you can’t be flexible, it won’t suit you.’
‘Are you telling me that I’m likely to be worked to death?’
‘No. Other staff will be brought in if it’s necessary. Right now, there’s no need for them,’ he asserted. ‘The house is being extensively renovated. It’s in one hell of a mess and mostly unfurnished. The owner hasn’t moved in yet and you would be left to your own devices quite a lot. There is a phone, though, and the use of a car. So what do you think?’
‘Any idea of the salary?’
He came back with a very generous quote. ‘Not a lot, I know, but you wouldn’t have any bills to worry about.’
Chrissy grinned. ‘Are you kidding? I’d be in clover.’ And then she strove to suppress her excitement and be sensible. It was too good to be true. There had to be more drawbacks than he had mentioned. ‘Why am I getting a chance?’
‘Someone else backed out at the last minute. Took one look at the state of the house and said, ‘No way’,’ Blaze revealed.
‘I have no references—’
‘If you can cook worth a damn, you’re in,’ he assured her.
She bit her lip. ‘What’s he like...? The owner, I mean.’
Blaze lazed back in his seat with a reflective air. A satiric brow elevated. ‘He’s not likely to come creeping into your bed in the middle of the night, if that’s what you mean—’
‘Th-that thought hadn’t even occurred to me!’
He raked grimly amused eyes over her pink cheeks. ‘He does have a sex life, though.’
Chrissy studied her plate. ‘H-hardly anything to do with me.’
‘He likes a quiet life in every other way. Prefers horses to people, spends most of his time outdoors. He’s not fussy about his surroundings. You won’t be expected to polish the furniture to a mirror shine—’
‘If he gets married all that will change,’ she mused absently.
‘He’ll never get married,’ Blaze countered with a sardonic smile. ‘No reason to, every reason not to.’
‘How soon could I get an interview?’ Chrissy pressed.
‘You’ve just had it,’ Blaze told her carelessly, his attention switching to Rosie, who was striving hopelessly to stretch a short arm far enough from her high-chair to filch a mushroom off his plate.
‘Stop that, Rosie. You can’t have it,’ Chrissy admonished by rote. ‘Are you saying that I can have the job on your recommendation?’ she said, turning back to Blaze.
Rosie got her mushroom.
‘If you want it, it’s yours.’
‘He must be a very good friend.’ As bait, it failed, drawing no response.