Bargain in Bronze

Chapter Five

Someone was pounding on her door and Libby—currently lying face down on her bed—wasn’t in the mood.

“Libby? It’s Jack Barnes.”

The mattress squeaked as she sprang to all fours. She jumped right off the bed and glanced at her watch. Three hours since she’d shut the door in his face and she’d forgotten him, right?

Never.

She opened the door and her heart flipped. She’d thought her imagination had embroidered his fit-factor, but he was even more handsome than her memory reckoned. She drew in a sharp breath, aiming to restore order to her arresting vital organ, but it didn’t work. Time for evasive action.

She stepped outside to the landing and closed her door behind her. He wasn’t getting an invitation in.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, determined to be perfectly polite and never again let him know how much he got to her.

He smiled, looking so friendly and charming compared to when he’d first seen her this morning. “Tom’s missing the hazelnuts.” His shoulders lifted in a helpless gesture. “Do you think you can help out?”

He had to be kidding. “You’d like me to come and make more?”

“Yes, please.” His smile widened, so gorgeous that Libby was rendered incapable of speech.

“Are you going to make me grovel?” he asked with a soft tease after a long minute.

“It’s an appealing idea.” Libby admitted frankly.

“Okay I’ll grovel,” he stepped closer to her. “My brother is young and obsessive and right now the two things he’s obsessed about are rowing and your muesli. He doesn’t think he can do the former without the latter.”

Libby blinked and took a step back. She’d known Tom was a fan given he’d hunted her down, but that he was obsessed by her muesli? “He thinks it helps his form?”

Jack nodded. “It’s the thing that’s going to get him gold.”

Good grief. “So I need to do this for Queen and country, is that right?”

“Absolutely.”

Libby stared in silence, half spellbound by Jack’s vivid blue eyes. She didn’t believe him, but he was looking incredibly intense. And gorgeous.

“I’ve got a deal for you,” he tempted quietly.

“What?” She tried to keep her cool on, but couldn’t help her curiosity.

“And a reward.”

“What kind of reward?”

“Come down to the car and find out.”

She lifted her brows. “You’re not going to kidnap me. I’m good at ju-jitsu.”

“I’m guessing you learned that at the circus too.”

“That’s right,” she answered loftily, following him down the concrete stairwell.

The far-too-flashy convertible was parked right out front again—like he owned the place. He popped the trunk and stood beside it.

She stared at the open-topped box he’d placed in the middle of it. “How many bottles did you buy?”

“I wasn’t sure which sort you liked so I got all of them. Three of all of them actually. All organic of course.”

She stared at the bottles of bronze—delicious—syrup. There was a lot of money in the trunk and there was madness in his action.

“You’ve lost your production premises.” He didn’t ask, he stated.

She nodded.

“Fire?”

Had he spent the last three hours snooping on her? “You’ve been doing some homework.”

“Yeah,” he unashamedly admitted. “Have you found somewhere new yet?” he picked up one of the bottles and held it out to her.

“No,” she said firmly, carefully ensuring their fingers didn’t brush as she took the bottle from him.

“Were you just going to give up?”

“I’m still waiting on the insurance payment,” she said slowly, holding the bottle to the light. “They wouldn’t pay out until the cause of the fire had been confirmed and even though it has been they’re still dragging.”

“And they’ve investigated it?”

“They investigated me,” she answered harshly, glancing at him. Didn’t he know this already? Hadn’t he done his research properly?

His eyes narrowed. “It was an electrical fault.”

So he did know. “Yes, my dodgy landlord hadn’t done the repairs properly.” But before that had been discovered, she’d been grilled for days—by arson investigators, police and her landlord. It had been hideous.

“So your payment should come through any day.”

“Even so, I’m struggling to find another commercial kitchen I can use at the right times to fit in with my day job.”

“Is that because of the fire again?”

“Possibly.” She flipped the bottle in her hands, focusing on the label.

“I have a place you can use.”

Oh she wasn’t going into his house ever again. “As jaw-dropping as your kitchen is, it’s not a commercial one.”

“I know. I have access to another—you may have noticed the bakery a couple of doors along from my building? You can use it to make your muesli at night. So long as you leave it pristine and ready for them in the morning.”

She almost dropped the bottle she was so surprised. “Of course I would.” Too excited at the thought of having a space to hide her enthusiasm behind a faux “cool”.

“It has certification of course.”

“So do I.”

He took the bottle from her hands and replaced it with one of the other brands. “So you can get into production again.”

She didn’t look at the new bottle, only at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because Tom believes your muesli has superpowers and he wants more. With hazelnuts. And he’s almost eaten the lot you left him this morning.”

“You’re kidding.”

Jack shook his head.

“He can’t possibly have eaten it all.” She’d used a mountain of apricots, and a continent of oats.

“Almost.”

“So you’re doing this for Tom?”

“Mostly. I’m doing it for you too. You can get it back into stores again. Get your company back up and running.”

“Why do you want to do that for me?” Her heart skittered dangerously.

“Because I want you to help Tom,” he laughed. “But there’s one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want you to see Tom.”

“You’re kidding.” She gaped.

He shook his head. “Stay away from Tom and you can use the kitchen.”

“What do you think I am? Some kind of cradle-snatcher?”

Amusement burst from him—his laugh, the vibrancy of his eyes, the ease of his body. Much more relaxed than he’d been this morning made him even more attractive. “How old are you?”

“It’s rude to ask a lady her age.” She studied the bottle so she’d stop staring stalker fashion at him.

“I guess I’ve got bad manners then.” He carelessly shrugged. “How old?”

“Twenty-four.”

“That’s hardly a cougar gap between you and Tom.”