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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