Czytaj książkę: «A Puppy for Christmas»

A Puppy
for
Christmas
On the Secretary’s
Christmas List
Carole Mortimer
The Patter of Paws
at Christmas
Nikki Logan
The Soldier,
the Puppy and Me
Myrna Mackenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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On the Secretary’s Christmas List

Dear Reader,

It’s that time of year again!

And what better way to celebrate the love of the Season than a love story between a heroine who has been deeply hurt by the past and a hero who realises she’s the only present he wants under his Christmas tree? Throw a gorgeously endearing little boy and an endearing puppy into the mix, and you have the recipe for a perfect Christmas.

A Happy and Perfect Christmas to you all!

Carole Mortimer

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978 and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Mills & Boon^®. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

To everyone who loves Christmas—

and puppies—as much as I do!

CHAPTER ONE

‘OUR appointment was for this afternoon, Roger. Not tomorrow, not next week, but today!’

Bree looked up in alarm the moment her employer entered her office, growling into his mobile phone. Wincing, she realised he had to be talking to his two o’clock appointment today, Roger Tyler, a rock star who had become a legend in his own lifetime.

‘I don’t give a—’

Jerome Jackson Beaumont broke off mid-sentence, checking himself as he realised Bree was an unwilling listener.

‘I don’t give a—a flying monkey what’s “come up”, Roger. You asked—no, begged me to do the photo shoot for your next album, so you either get yourself over here this afternoon or forget the whole damn thing!’ He listened to the other man’s response for about two seconds before interrupting him. ‘You have five minutes, Roger, to cancel your date this afternoon with whatever bimbo has caught your attention this time, before ringing me back to say you’ll be here at two this afternoon after all!’

He flipped the mobile phone across the desk to Bree who, after almost a year of practice, caught it neatly in the palm of her hand, checking that Jackson had indeed ended the call—something he had a habit of forgetting to do, often exposing the unfortunate caller to the expletive-filled aftermath, before giving him a reproving glance.

She remembered when she’d first met him. ‘Just call me Jackson,’ he had ordered Bree when she’d come to work for him a year ago. ‘Not Jerome, never, ever Beau or Mr Beaumont, but Jackson.’

‘I really wish you would let me deal with all the incoming calls.’ She had unfortunately missed this particular call because of a two-minute visit to the bathroom!

Jackson gave an unrepentant grin as he leaned against the side of her desk. ‘I can’t imagine why!’

And really neither could Bree; this man seemed to be able to insult people, be rude to them, even totally ignore them and still they came back for more!

Because he was Jerome Jackson Beaumont, world-renowned photographer, whose work hung on the walls of royal palaces as well as in galleries all over the world. What was a little rudeness, the odd insult, a snub or two, when in the end you could own an original Jerome Jackson Beaumont?

The way he looked didn’t do him any harm either—especially where women were concerned. Six feet two inches of lean, tanned muscle, emphasised by the fitted T-shirts and denims he habitually wore—a blue T-shirt today, and black jeans—with eyes as clear and blue as the sky on a cloudless summer’s day, strong, high cheekbones, a sharp blade of a nose, and a mouth that was so wickedly sensual it should have a warning label attached to it.

As if that wasn’t enough Jackson had long silky hair that reached almost to his shoulders in a raggedly windswept style, and it was the colour of golden honey and molasses—neither gold nor brown but somewhere in between—the same burnt-sugar colour that women paid hundreds of pounds to achieve in exclusive salons all around the world!

Within minutes of meeting Jackson for the first time Bree had realised he was exactly as everyone described. Unique. A perfectionist. And utterly brilliant. He was also, she had registered in those same few minutes, totally and utterly impossible!

She had heard the rumours, of course—who hadn’t read about the eccentricities of Jerome Jackson Beaumont in the gossip columns of every newspaper? The employment agency had warned her too, telling her of the three other assistants they had sent to him in the previous month, two of whom had returned as gibbering emotional wrecks, and the third of whom had not come back at all.

Bree had taken those warnings in her stride. The job not only paid well, but also offered immediate rent-free occupation of the self-contained basement flat beneath the London mansion where Jerome Jackson Beaumont lived and worked. For Bree, who had been homeless at the time, the apartment had provided her with more than enough incentive to make up her own mind about her notorious new boss.

Yes, Bree had very quickly discovered Jerome Jackson Beaumont to be every bit as arrogant and impossible to work with as people had warned. With one exception.

His six-year-old son, Daniel.

Considering Jackson had never been married, Danny’s mother remained something of a mystery. A mystery Jackson had repeatedly refused to shed light on when questioned by members of the press about the one-year-old son he had brought to live with him five years ago.

As the woman was obviously no longer present in either Jackson’s or Danny’s life, her identity didn’t affect Bree on a day-to-day basis. That didn’t mean Bree didn’t feel a certain curiosity about her—mainly because Bree wondered how any woman could have just handed her son over to his father like that. Especially when that father was the charismatic Jerome Jackson Beaumont!

Danny was tall for his age, with hair of corn-gold, eyes the same clear blue as his father’s, and a sweetly mischievous disposition. And he was, without a doubt, his father’s one saving grace.

Bree had fallen in love with him on the very first day she’d come to work at Beaumont House.

The son, not the father.

She had already paid—and paid dearly—for loving the wrong man, and had no intention of repeating that painful experience!

This had turned out to be a wise decision, considering there had been legions of women flitting in and then quickly out of Jackson’s life over the past year. Redheads, blondes, brunettes, and every shade in between—all of them tall and beautiful.

Bree knew there was no danger of Jackson ever seeing her as anything more than his capable assistant: she was only a little over five feet tall, passably pretty rather than beautiful, and had a slender figure that men found all too easy to dismiss—something Bree knew only too well after her engagement had come to a traumatic end just over a year ago.

Just over a year ago …?

Oh, God! What was the date? Surely it couldn’t be—?

It was, Bree realised heavily, the colour draining from her cheeks.

‘You aren’t really concerned about my conversation with Roger Tyler, are you?’ Jackson frowned down at his assistant as he noticed her face growing paler.

Bree blinked before looking up at him.

‘Not if you aren’t, no,’ she dismissed in her usual brisk, no-nonsense tone.

Jackson was always taken by surprise by Bree’s long dark lashes and smoky-grey eyes: remarkable eyes in an otherwise unremarkable face. Bree had a smooth brow, with a smattering of freckles on her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose, and a mouth that was usually thinned in disapproval above a small but determined chin. Her hair was the rich blue-black of ebony, but as it was always scraped back and secured with a clasp on the crown of her head even after a year Jackson had no idea as to its length.

He didn’t want to know either. Jackson had made a point of never taking a personal interest in any of the women who had been his assistants over the years—much to the annoyance of some, he acknowledged ruefully.

But not Bree. At twenty-six years of age, Sabrina Jones was cool, calm and totally unflappable. From the beginning she had made it absolutely clear that she had no personal interest in him either. Which was probably the reason they had lived and worked together so harmoniously for almost a year now. Put just one little spark of sexual intent or innuendo into that mix and the whole thing would fall apart. And as Bree was the best personal assistant Jackson had ever had, as well as being only too happy to sit with Danny in the evenings if Jackson wanted to go out, he had no intention of stepping over that line. Even if that steady calmness of hers did occasionally tempt him to do something to shake her out of her cool complacency!

‘I wouldn’t waste my time worrying about a man like Tyler,’ Jackson replied drily, standing up to snag his leather jacket from the peg on the wall on his way to the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Bree demanded as he shrugged into the jacket.

Jackson straightened. ‘Out.’

‘What about your appointment with Mr Tyler?’

He raised a mocking brow. ‘What about it?’

‘He’s due at the studio in just over an hour,’ she pointed out impatiently.

Jackson gave an indifferent shrug. ‘When he phones back in a couple of minutes, reschedule him for some time after Christmas.’

‘But you just told him to cancel his other engagement so that he could make this afternoon’s appointment with you,’ Bree pressed.

Jackson grinned unabashedly. ‘Sometimes greatness needs reminding that not everyone is here to jump at its beck and call.’

Bree breathed deeply. ‘I believe that statement could just as easily apply to you!’

He gave it some thought. ‘You’re right, it could.’ He finally nodded in agreement. ‘And?’

‘And I’m flattered that you think I’m great, Bree,’ he drawled mockingly.

Bree’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is it my imagination, or are you actually more impossible than usual this morning?’

Jackson grimaced. ‘I probably am,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Danny and I called on my mother last night to deliver her Christmas presents before she leaves for her Caribbean cruise later today.’

‘Oh.’ Bree’s brow cleared as understanding dawned on her: Jackson and his widowed mother, Clarissa Beaumont, had a way of rubbing each other up the wrong way.

Tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, Clarissa was a classical beauty who’d had cosmetic surgery in the past, and now received regular Botox injections. As a consequence Clarissa looked no older now than she had when the photographs in Jackson’s study had been taken—when he and his sister, Jocelyn, were small children. Jocelyn had died several years before Bree came to work for Jackson, so she had never met her, but if Jocelyn were still alive she and her mother could probably have passed for sisters!

‘Exactly.’ Jackson grimaced. ‘For some reason Danny’s present wasn’t ready last night, so she’s calling round with it on her way to the airport in …’ he looked down at the slim gold watch around his wrist ‘… oh, half an hour or so.’

‘Which is precisely the reason you’ve decided to go out,’ Bree concluded drily.

‘Which is definitely the reason I’m going out.’ Jackson looked completely unperturbed by her astuteness. ‘Seeing my delightful mother twice in as many days is asking too much of any man! Especially as she’ll have the latest pretty-boy hanger-on with her today,’ he added scathingly. ‘Although I do believe this one may be marginally older than me!’

Bree’s expression lightened as she resisted the urge to smile at Jackson’s look of total disgust. Clarissa Beaumont had been left a very wealthy widow when Jackson’s father had died twenty years ago, allowing her to flit around the world from one social engagement to the next, usually with a handsome young man half her age in tow. In the past year Bree had seen the older woman accompanied by at least half a dozen or so such young men.

Much to Jackson’s obvious disgust.

‘Just stick the present under the tree with all the others when it arrives,’ Jackson told her dismissively. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’

‘You really are—’ Bree broke off her accusation as the mobile on her desk began to ring.

‘That’ll be Tyler,’ Jackson predicted, grinning. ‘So you’ll have to save any more compliments for me until later!’

‘As if!’ Bree snorted as she picked up the mobile, ready to take the call. ‘Make sure you don’t forget to collect Danny from school at three-thirty.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Jackson straightened to give her a salute. ‘And good luck with my mother,’ he added tauntingly as he disappeared through the door.

Bree sighed in exasperation before taking the call, with an apology for Jackson’s unpredictable behaviour at the ready. As usual.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHAT the hell is that?’

Bree glanced up at an astounded Jackson, standing in the doorway of the main sitting room at Beaumont House. He was staring across at her in horrified disbelief.

‘Well, correct me if I’m wrong,’ she quipped, ‘but it looks like a puppy to me.’

‘Very funny.’ The scowl on Jackson’s brow deepened as he stepped into the room, where Bree sat in front of the log fire, playing with a small dark grey and white bundle of fur and a ball of wool. ‘What I want to know is what it’s doing here? I’m sure I told you I didn’t allow pets when you first came to work for me!’

‘You did, yes,’ she confirmed nonchalantly.

‘Well?’ Jackson prompted impatiently.

Bree smiled, raising a rueful eyebrow. ‘You obviously forgot to mention that particular house rule to your mother.’

‘My mother? What the hell does she—’ Jackson stared down in horror at the mischievous puppy. ‘No … She wouldn’t. She didn’t!’

‘Oh, I think you’ll find she would and she did,’ Bree retorted, picking up the puppy as she rose to her feet. ‘Come and meet Danny’s Christmas present.’

Jackson made no effort to go anywhere near the puppy Bree held in her arms.

‘Has my mother gone completely insane? I can’t have a puppy here, chewing up the furniture and causing mayhem amongst my photographic equipment!’

‘I think your protest may be a little too late, given that he’s here already,’ Bree teased.

‘No! No way am I having a dog.’ Jackson gave a determined shake of his head. ‘It will have to go back to wherever it came from,’ he announced firmly. ‘And before I collect Danny from school,’ he added with grim finality.

‘I have no idea which breeder your mother purchased the puppy from, and as she’s currently on her way to the Caribbean to join her cruise ship I don’t see how we’re going to find out, either.’

Bree held the puppy protectively against her chest. She had already grown fond of the fluffy little thing in the hour since Clarissa Beaumont had breezed in, deposited it into Bree’s arms and breezed out again with a casual ‘Merry Christmas’ once informed that her son wasn’t at home. The latest ‘pretty-boy hanger-on’ had deposited all the paraphernalia a young puppy would need in the entrance hall before quickly following her.

‘Of all the irresponsible—! I’ll call her on her mobile,’ Jackson reasoned evenly as he formulated the plan in his head. ‘Then while I’m collecting Danny from school you can drive the puppy back to the breeder—’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that!’ Bree interrupted in protest, gazing down adoringly at the puppy. ‘Why don’t you just hold him for a moment, Jackson?’

‘No!’ He backed away, hands raised defensively as she held the puppy out to him.

‘But he’s so cute!’

‘All puppies are cute, Bree,’ Jackson said briskly. ‘It’s what they grow up into that’s the worrying part. And from the look of those paws he’s going to be big!’

‘Your mother said he’s a Bearded Collie,’ Bree mentioned absently as she stroked the puppy’s ears.

‘Big,’ Jackson announced disgustedly as he pictured the fully grown dog. ‘And not only big, but I believe the breed is slightly insane too. Nope, he’s going back. And the sooner the better!’

Bree gave him an aggrieved look. ‘Danny would love to have a puppy to play with.’ She used the ‘D’ word unashamedly, knowing that although Jackson could be impossibly arrogant and selfish he had absolutely no defences against anything that might bring pleasure to his motherless son.

As expected, the statement made him pause for thought—if only briefly.

‘No,’ Jackson stated finally. ‘I draw the line at a puppy.’

‘But—’

‘Bree, it’s going to need taking out to the garden to pee.’ He glared at her exasperatedly. ‘Constantly, if I don’t want little puddles all over the house! And feeding. And numerous trips to the vet for its vaccination shots. And—’

‘Your mother said he’s completely housetrained and up-to-date on his vaccinations,’ she put in quickly. ‘And I’ll do all those other things if you don’t want to do them.’

‘I don’t want a puppy!’ he repeated emphatically. ‘Besides which, who’s going to be answering the phone and all those other numerous jobs you do for me every day while you’re outside in the garden or at the vet’s? Who’s going to look after it all day while Danny is at school?’

‘He breaks up for the Christmas holidays tomorrow—’

‘I’m talking about after the holidays.’

‘We can put the puppy’s basket in here with me during the day. It’ll make it easier for taking him outside anyway.’

‘Bree, I really don’t think you’re hearing a word I’m saying! I do not want a puppy!’

Her eyes widened. ‘There’s no need to shout.’

‘There’s every need to shout when you clearly aren’t listening to me,’ he snapped impatiently, running an exasperated hand through his long hair.

Hair that, annoyingly, sprang back into the same tousled style that even Bree could see would make a woman ache to run her own fingers through it. Other women. Not Bree.

At this precise moment Bree was too annoyed with Jackson to feel even remotely appreciative of his wickedly handsome good looks. In fact right now Bree could cheerfully have punched him on his perfectly straight nose!

She had been feeling slightly out of sorts all day, since realising that it was the anniversary of her wedding that never was—although cuddles with the puppy had certainly gone a long way towards healing the breach that the memory had made in her defences.

Bree softened her tone persuasively. ‘Look, Jackson, I realise this is a bit of a surprise for you …’

‘Make that a shock!’

Bree eyed him warily. ‘Okay, so it was a shock to return home and find your mother has given Danny a puppy for Christmas—something I decided probably shouldn’t go under the tree with the other presents as you suggested earlier, by the way!’ She tried to add a little lightness to the subject—only to receive a scowl for her trouble. ‘But try looking a little further than that, hmm?’ she cajoled. ‘Danny is an only child—’

‘And likely to remain so,’ Jackson assured her coldly.

Bree winced at his vehemence. ‘He’s an only child,’ she repeated firmly. ‘He has no other children close by to play with. It must get a little lonely for Danny here in the evenings and at weekends, what with only you, me and your housekeeper for company.’

‘Thanks!’ Jackson grimaced.

‘I did include myself in that number,’ she pointed out wryly.

‘So you did.’ Jackson gazed down at the puppy Bree still held in her arms. There was no doubt it was a cute little thing: grey-blue eyes, a black button nose, and that soft, curly grey, black and white fur …

‘No, it’s impossible.’ Jackson straightened determinedly away from the lure of all that cuteness. ‘I’ll go and call my mother—and if you won’t do it I’ll have to make other arrangements to take the puppy back to the breeder.’

‘How can you be so cruel?’ Bree glared up at him.

‘Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.’ He sighed as she continued to glare. ‘Dogs are a tie, Bree. A serious complication when it comes to going away on holiday—or even out for the day. And what about Danny’s reaction when it eventually dies? A breed like that will live—what?—ten, twelve years at most? By which time Danny will be—’

‘Sixteen or eighteen years old, and perfectly capable of understanding and accepting that death is merely a part of life,’ she assured him firmly. ‘Especially when he’s enjoyed ten or twelve years of companionship and unconditional love!’

Unconditional love, Jackson mused. Now, there was a concept not too many adults understood. Well, not the adults Jackson came into contact with anyway.

Over the years he had found that everyone had their own agenda. Wealth. Success. Stardom. Whatever they believed would give them the happiness they craved. Well, Jackson had all three of those things, and yet he hadn’t known even a glimmer of real happiness until Danny had come into his life five years ago. Because Danny gave him that unconditional love Bree was talking about? Probably. But, damn it, a puppy …? Did he really have to let Danny keep the damned puppy?

‘He really won’t be any trouble,’ Bree persevered eagerly, sensing a weakening in Jackson’s resolve. The ‘D’ word had once again worked its magic charm on him. ‘Your mother also brought a basket for the puppy to sleep in, and lots of food, and bowls, and brushes for grooming him—’

‘Okay, okay, okay!’ Jackson’s voice rose in volume with each successive ‘okay’. ‘But the first time he gets into my camera equipment he’s banished outside to the garden shed.’

‘Woo-hoo! You’re being allowed to stay, puppy!’ Bree held the furry bundle up in the air.

Jackson watched in total surprise as his usually calm and unruffled assistant did a little victory dance around the sitting room. He felt completely taken aback by Bree’s obvious happiness and the way it lit up her face, making her look almost beautiful: those smoky-grey eyes glowed, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips curved into a wide and happy smile. They were full and slightly pouty lips, he realised with a frown. The sort of lips that could drive a man crazy if applied to the right part of his anatomy …

‘Isn’t it time you got back to work?’ Jackson rasped harshly as he straightened abruptly to glare down at her.

Bree came to an abrupt halt, the light fading from her eyes, the colour fading from her cheeks, and those sensual lips no longer smiling but once again set in their usual line of disapproval.

Jackson could deal with Bree’s disapproval—hell, he was happy to deal with her disapproval! What he didn’t need, didn’t want to deal with, was that inexplicable, insidious physical awareness he had felt towards her just now …

‘I’m going to get Danny from school,’ he glowered.

‘Fine.’ She nodded dismissively, no longer looking at him but at the puppy held comfortably in her arms.

No, it wasn’t ‘fine’ at all, Jackson thought to himself, frowning as he walked slowly outside to his car.

Bree had worked for him for almost a year. Lived in his house. Spent time with his son. She wasn’t just good at her job, she blended perfectly into his life—organising his appointments, taking his clothes to be laundered, deciding on the menus for the week with the housekeeper, Mrs Holmes, looking after Danny when Jackson had to be elsewhere. It was like having a wife without any of the complications. Or the sex, of course—

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Wherever it had originated, it could go right back there again. It would ruin everything if he even started to think of Bree in a sexual way!

In fact over the past year Jackson had made a point of never seeing or treating Bree as anything more than his assistant and occasionally Danny’s babysitter.

To the extent, he now realised, that he had never even bothered to enquire about her private life before she came to work for him. He had likewise had no reason to enquire about it during the past year: to his certain knowledge Bree didn’t have a private life now. She never went out in the evenings. If she had family and friends she never invited them to her apartment.

Moments ago, when she had danced so spontaneously around the sitting room with the puppy in her arms—when she had looked so nearly beautiful—for the first time Jackson had found himself wondering exactly why that was …

CHAPTER THREE

‘NOW, aren’t you glad you changed your mind and decided to let Danny keep the puppy?’ Bree murmured softly, smiling down indulgently at the little boy and the puppy an hour or so later.

She had come to tell Jackson that she was leaving for the day, and the first thing she’d seen was Danny and the puppy rolling about on the carpet together—luckily avoiding contact with the eight-foot-tall Christmas tree standing in the corner of the room surrounded by presents! Danny’s happy chuckles filled the room as the puppy licked his nose.

‘The jury’s still out on that one,’ Jackson muttered, looking up from where he slouched in one of the armchairs. ‘Beau,’ he growled across at Bree. ‘He named the damned puppy Beau!’

Bree had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing at his obvious disgust. ‘Ah, how sweet—he named his puppy after you!’

‘Very funny!’ Jackson rose lithely to his feet before striding across to where she stood in the doorway.

‘It suits him, don’t you think?’ Bree couldn’t resist teasing.

‘No, I don’t think!’ Jackson scowled down at her.

She looked up at him quizzically. ‘My, you’re in a cheery mood this evening!’

Jackson was well aware of his dour mood. Just as he was aware that the main reason behind that mood was standing in the doorway.

He felt surprisingly little lingering annoyance over Danny’s puppy; anyone with eyes could see how happy Danny was with his grandmother’s Christmas gift. No, he was willing to admit defeat where the puppy was concerned. Danny was so excited, what with Christmas being only six days away, that Jackson very much doubted whether he would be able to prise the puppy out of his son’s arms now!

It was that sudden stirring of interest in Bree earlier—interest in her past as well as her present—that had continued to unsettle Jackson for the last couple of hours. It had unsettled him to the extent that he felt the need for company. Female company.

‘Bree, could you sit with Danny later this evening while I go out?’

‘Ah …’ A perplexed frown creased her brow. ‘Ordinarily you know I would have been happy to, but … Actually, I’m going out myself this evening,’ she explained reluctantly.

‘Your offer to take care of the puppy didn’t last very long, did it?’

‘I believe my exact words were “during the day”,’ she reminded him primly.

Was it Jackson’s imagination or was that a blush spreading across Bree’s slightly freckled cheeks? A guilty blush? As if she were hiding something …

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Can it be that you’re going out on a date this evening?’

‘Well, there’s no need to look so surprised, Jackson!’ She was suddenly irritated. ‘I’m twenty-six, not eighty-six!’

That might be the case, but as far as Jackson was aware not only did Bree never go out in the evenings, but she hadn’t been out on a date since she’d come to work for him a year ago. Which, when he thought about it, was decidedly odd.

And Jackson had thought about it—for the past couple of hours. Several times. Several times too many as far as he was concerned!

For Bree to suddenly reveal that she was going out on a date this very evening—the first since he had known her—was a coincidence that only added to his already unsettled mood.

‘Meeting up with an old friend?’ he prompted curiously.

‘A new one, actually,’ she mumbled softly.

‘Anyone I know …?’

She bristled. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, Jackson.’

Jackson forced himself to relax at the deserved rebuke. ‘I just thought perhaps I could vet him for you when he arrives.’ He arched a mocking brow. ‘You know—a man-to-man thing, to see if he measures up.’

Bree’s lips thinned. ‘He isn’t coming here. I’m meeting him at a restaurant.’

‘Oh, that’s bad, Bree.’ He shook his head, taunting her. ‘You should never trust a man who isn’t gentleman enough to call and collect you for a date!’

‘Says the gentleman who rarely—if ever—collects his own dates!’ she retorted tartly.

‘I make a point of it.’ Jackson gave an unrepentant grin. ‘That’s how I know you shouldn’t trust a man like that!’

Bree eyed him darkly. ‘I’ll bear your advice in mind.’

In actual fact it was precisely due to Bree’s uncertainty about having dinner with Roger Tyler that she had decided to drive to the restaurant alone: at least that way Bree could drive herself home if Roger behaved in any way she found in the least objectionable.

Jackson’s assumption when he went out earlier that the incoming telephone call would be Roger Tyler, confirming their two o’clock appointment, had been totally wrong; it had been someone else completely—another client confirming an appointment for next week. Roger Tyler hadn’t telephoned back at all, and neither had he answered any of Bree’s calls when she had attempted to inform him that Jackson was no longer available that afternoon. Instead Roger had appeared in person at Beaumont House promptly at two o’clock.

Tall and dark, probably in his late thirties or early forties, and with a craggily handsome face, Roger Tyler hadn’t seemed too perturbed when Bree had smoothly delivered the excuse that Jackson wasn’t there because he had been called away on business. In fact the other man hadn’t seemed bothered at all—instead he had chatted away quite happily with Bree for over half an hour, culminating in an invitation to dinner that evening.

Bree could only suppose that the ‘bimbo’ Jackson had referred to earlier hadn’t been willing to reschedule their date for the evening! Whatever the reason for Roger’s invitation, Bree had surprised herself by saying yes.

She had no idea why.

No, that wasn’t true; Bree knew exactly why she’d acted so completely out of character by accepting Roger Tyler’s dinner invitation. Because earlier she had realised that today was the one-year anniversary of her wedding that never was. In the circumstances Bree would probably have accepted a dinner invitation from the devil himself as a distraction from those crushing memories! Except the devil she knew hadn’t asked …

Whenever Bree thought back to a year ago—which she tried to do as seldom as possible—it was never without feeling that same sting of humiliation she had suffered on the day in question. The day that had changed her life.

Meaning to put up some curtains, Bree had gone to the house she and David had purchased together and had planned to move into after their Paris honeymoon only to discover David was already there. Not just David, but also her married sister Cathy. And, as Bree had discovered painfully, the two of them had been in bed together—in what should have been Bree and David’s marital bed.

Not only had Bree called off the wedding, but the scandal of David and Cathy’s several-months-long affair had ripped a hole in Bree’s family that still hadn’t completely healed.

So, yes, Bree knew exactly why she had so impetuously agreed to go out with Roger Tyler this evening. Her acceptance was based not on any attraction Bree might or might not feel towards him, but because she desperately needed a diversion from her feelings of hurt and betrayal. Of inadequacy. Because David had so obviously preferred her older sister to her.

Feelings like that didn’t seem half so important when a man like Roger Tyler had invited her out to dinner!

Doubts had begun creeping in after Roger had left Beaumont House—to the point where Bree had spent the afternoon toying with the idea of telephoning him to say that she couldn’t make it this evening after all!

Jackson’s obvious surprise that she was going out on a date, along with his cynical teasing, had brought about a complete change of heart on her part. Bree no longer cared whether or not Roger Tyler was a man she could trust—she had every intention of going out to dinner with him now. If only to prove to Jackson that she wasn’t the unattractive piece of furniture he obviously believed her to be!

Her chin rose stubbornly. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help out with Danny this evening, Jackson. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and get ready.’

Jackson reached out and placed a hand on Bree’s arm as she turned away.

‘What aren’t you telling me …?’ He looked down at her searchingly.

She laughed lightly, dismissively. ‘I don’t believe we’ve ever had the sort of relationship where we’ve confided about our private lives to each other, Jackson!’

No, they hadn’t, Jackson acknowledged with a frown. And he had always been grateful for Bree’s silence on the subject before today; he

couldn’t abide women who wanted to fill you in on every minute detail of their lives. Yes, in the past Jackson had always been glad that Bree kept her own counsel. Until now.

There was something different about Bree this afternoon. A brittleness. An air of recklessness he had never seen in her before. Almost as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump over—

What the hell …?

As Bree had already pointed out, she was a grown woman and could do exactly as she wished in her free time. And if her dinner date this evening meant that Jackson couldn’t go out after all, then that was just too bad. Hell, Bree was as entitled to a social life as he was.

Except she’d never had one until tonight …

He gave a tense, irritated shrug. ‘I feel a sense of responsibility for you—’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jackson!’ Bree snapped with irritation. ‘I’m not your daughter!’

‘You live in my house …’

‘I live in the basement apartment as part of the wages you pay me—not in your house.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘And if I were a man you wouldn’t be asking me these ridiculous questions!’

If Bree were a man Jackson wouldn’t have felt that stirring of physical interest in her earlier either!

‘Come and play with me, Bree.’

Jackson had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed Danny joining them until he spoke at his side. Looking down, he saw that his son carried the now-panting puppy in his arms. It had been love at first sight for both of them when Danny had come home from school and rushed into Bree’s office to see his Christmas present from Granny.

Jackson took great delight in seeing the way his mother cringed every time Danny called her that; only her deep love for the little boy kept her silent on the subject. Jackson found that he could forgive his mother for a lot of things when he saw the genuine love she had for her grandson.

‘Bree can’t play right now, Danny, because she has to go and get ready to go out this evening.’ Jackson sank down on his haunches beside his son.

Danny looked up at Bree with guileless blue eyes. ‘You’re going out?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Jackson heard her mutter under her breath as she shot him an irritated glance before forcing a smile for Danny. ‘I’ll only be gone for a little while,’ she reassured him lightly.

‘Don’t worry, Danny, I’ll wait up and make sure that Bree arrives home safely,’ Jackson drawled smoothly.

Bree narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, thank you.’

‘No problem,’ he dismissed lightly, straightening up. ‘Be sure and come into the main house to let me know you’re back, won’t you? Otherwise I’ll only worry.’

Bree wasn’t fooled for a moment by those innocent blue eyes Jackson levelled on her—he was enjoying himself now, damn him. At her expense. And all because she had impulsively accepted a dinner invitation from a man she didn’t even have any real interest in!

It had all seemed so romantic eighteen months ago, when she and David had decided on a pre-Christmas wedding. An occasion and a time of year that would always have special significance for them both. As it turned out that Christmas had been nothing but a nightmare for Bree, lost in a haze of crying and heartbreak, of family rows and the slamming of doors, until she hadn’t been able to stand it any more and had moved into the anonymity of a hotel in order to escape it all. Which was the very reason she had been so desperate and homeless when she’d come for her interview with Jackson almost a year ago.

Bree had so wanted it to be different this year, had so wanted to be able to enjoy Christmas again—and had been sure that she could do so with Danny’s help. There was something about children and Christmas that no adult could resist.

And Bree had almost managed to fool herself—until she had realised earlier that it should have been her first wedding anniversary today. Not that Bree had even a residual ounce of love for David left inside her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still grieve for her own lost hopes and dreams.

To now find herself the butt of Jackson’s warped sense of humour was just too much!

She gave him a sweet, insincere smile. ‘Of course, Daddykins!’

Danny gave a giggle. ‘Did you hear that, Daddy? Bree called you Daddykins!’

As Bree had hoped, Jackson’s mocking blue eyes were now totally devoid of humour. ‘I heard what she called me,’ Jackson bit out tersely, glaring at Bree over Danny’s head. ‘Just make sure you let me know you’re back so that I can be sure everywhere is locked up after you.’

When he put it like that it was a reasonable request; there were security gates at the end of the driveway that Bree would have to come through, and an alarm system fitted in her apartment as well as in the main house. Human safety apart, Jackson had some very expensive photographic equipment in his studio, as well as several original paintings in the house.

‘Will do,’ she breezed flippantly. ‘Have a pleasant evening, you two.’

Jackson knew he should have wished her the same, and yet as he watched Bree leave something held him back.

It was that recklessness he sensed in her, perhaps, and the image he’d had of her earlier, standing on the edge of that cliff …

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS almost midnight when Bree quietly let herself into the darkness of Beaumont House, moving softly through the silence to the kitchen and out into the entrance hall, before making her way to the sitting room, where she could hear the low murmur of the television. Jackson had evidently waited up for her to return from her dinner date as promised.

Or not, Bree realised with wry amusement as she entered the sitting room and observed Jackson, sleeping peacefully in one of the armchairs. The fire in the hearth had burnt down to just a few hot coals; only the flickering television and the coloured lights on the Christmas tree illuminated the comfortable room.

Bree crossed the room with the intention of switching off the television, only to hesitate beside Jackson’s chair. She had never seen him asleep before—there was no reason why she should have—and she couldn’t help noticing how much younger he looked without that mocking glint in his eyes and that cynical twist to those sensual lips. His golden honey-and-molasses hair had fallen untidily over his brow, which only added to that illusion of boyishness.

Because it was an illusion, Bree told herself sternly; Jackson was both mocking and cynical. And sarcastic. And rude. And completely impossible. And—

And quite possibly the most sensually handsome man Bree had ever set eyes on.

She had been both hurt and hurting when she’d first come to work for Jackson almost a year ago. Totally disillusioned with all men. And the often outrageous, too-handsome Jerome Jackson Beaumont was a man who enjoyed the constant stream of women coming and going in and out of his life—and his bed. Or rather the woman’s bed; Danny’s presence at Beaumont House meant that Jackson never brought women back here to spend the night with him.

All that had only served to confirm Bree’s belief that men simply weren’t capable of faithfulness and love for one single woman.

Which didn’t mean that she couldn’t appreciate what all those other women saw in Jackson!

He was certainly a handsome devil—if a devil could have long golden hair and mocking sky-blue eyes. And a wicked sense of humour. And a lean and muscled body that had to be every woman’s deepest fantasy …

Exactly when had Bree stopped feeling so hurt by David’s betrayal and become so aware of all those things about Jackson? Was it only today? Or had she noticed these things before but just never acknowledged them?

‘What the—? Bree, is that you?’

Bree had been so lost in thought as she gazed down at Jackson appreciatively that she hadn’t noticed when he awoke. Now he was gazing up at her—not with cynical or mocking blue eyes, but with the slow, lazy appreciation of a man who liked what he saw. Which happened to be Bree!

She took a couple of wary paces backwards. ‘Well, of course it’s me!’

Of course it was, Jackson acknowledged sardonically as he heard the familiar sharpness in Bree’s tone. But this was a Bree he had certainly never seen before …

In the office Bree wore businesslike dark tailored trousers or skirts, usually teamed with jumpers in the winter and blouses in the summer; the soft, silky black dress she was wearing this evening could never be considered even remotely businesslike!

It was a sheath of a figure-hugging dress. Strapless and knee-length, it showcased a large expanse of her bare shoulders and the soft swell of the tops of her breasts, along with the shapely length of her legs, and her feet, tiny and slender, in black strappy three-inch heels.

Very, very nice. And yet, despite all the femininity on show, it was Bree’s hair that held Jackson’s fascinated gaze. Earlier today he had wondered briefly how long her hair would be when loose, and now he had his answer: it was so long and thick and curly that it almost reached down to her shapely bottom, and it was the rich colour of sable!

She looked, Jackson realised as he sat up slowly, like a woman out of a Renaissance painting, with the softness of her skin appearing a pearly and lustrous white against the darkness of that long, flowing hair and the fitted black dress. Hers was skin that tempted a man to touch and taste it. As for those incredible sexy smoky-grey eyes and the long dark lashes that framed them …

‘Jackson?’

Bree had no idea what thoughts had been going through Jackson’s head during the past few moments, but whatever they were she had become increasingly aware of the deepening tension that crackled in the air: a physical awareness that she sensed was no longer just her own …

‘What have you done with Beau this evening?’ she prompted, as a distraction from that awareness. ‘I didn’t see him in the kitchen earlier when I came through, and he obviously isn’t in here, either …’

A rueful smile curved Jackson’s lips as he saw the concern in Bree’s face. ‘Well, I haven’t sent him to the stray dogs’ home, if that’s what you’re imagining!’ He grinned.

She gave him a reproving glance. ‘I’m pretty sure Danny wouldn’t have allowed you to do that!’

Jackson arched a mocking brow. ‘Well, for your information I tried putting Beau and his basket in the kitchen when Danny went to bed, but he cried and whined so much—Beau, that is,’ he explained drily in response to Bree’s questioning look, ‘that I eventually brought him in here with me. Where he continued to cry and whine.’ Jackson frowned at the memory of that piteous sound.

Bree nodded. ‘Obviously he’s grown as attached to Danny as Danny has to him.’

‘Obviously,’ Jackson snapped.

Bree eyed him quizzically. ‘So where’s Beau now?’

Jackson grimaced. ‘I put his basket upstairs in Danny’s bedroom. Normally I wouldn’t approve of allowing dogs in the bedroom, but it was the only place where he would stop whining,’ he explained defensively.

Bree was having trouble holding back a smile. ‘Of course it was,’ she said, humouring him lightly.

‘If you dare to laugh—’ Jackson broke off the warning as Bree did exactly that. ‘It isn’t funny, Bree,’ he muttered gloomily, but she seemed unable to contain her amusement at his expense; those velvety soft grey eyes were glowing with humour.

‘Of course it is,’ Bree chuckled finally. ‘Big, strong, I-don’t-want-a-puppy Jerome Jackson Beaumont, worn down by the cries of that same little puppy!’

‘You would have done the same in my position,’ he muttered gruffly.

‘Undoubtedly.’ Bree felt herself softening at the realisation that beneath his gruff exterior Jackson was as tender-hearted as she was when it came to a defenceless, cute little puppy like Beau.

Jackson sighed. ‘I told Danny to make sure Beau stays in his basket.’

An instruction that Danny—and Beau—had probably completely ignored, as they were both well aware. The puppy was no doubt curled up fast asleep on the little boy’s bed at this very minute.

‘You really are just a big softie!’ Bree smiled at him teasingly.

Jackson’s gaze, glittering brightly, continued to hold hers and a derisive smile curved those sensuous lips. Bree took another step backwards.

Her eyes widened in alarm as Jackson countered that movement by taking a stealthy step forward, standing so close now that Bree was able to feel the heat emanating off his body.

‘What are you doing …?’ she breathed softly.

‘Nothing …’ he murmured.

She swallowed hard. ‘That’s goo—’

‘… yet,’ he added huskily.

Bree had been aware of the stillness of the house when she’d first come in, but now that silence was charged with something else: a tense expectancy much like the loaded pause before a predator pounced on its prey!

She moistened lips that had gone suddenly dry. ‘I only came in to let you know that I’m back.’

‘And did you have a nice evening?’ Jackson asked softly.

‘Very nice, thank you.’ Bree answered warily, not fooled for a moment by the casual pleasantry when she could still see that speculative gleam in Jackson’s eyes as he continued to look down at her so unblinkingly.

It was a wariness that Jackson’s next comment proved was completely warranted.

‘Did you go out in that dress?’ he enquired as his gaze swept over her from head to toes.

Bree swallowed. ‘I … Yes, of course.’

It was one of the dresses Bree had bought a year ago to take on her honeymoon to Paris. Bought but for obvious reasons never worn—before this evening …

‘It’s … very nice.’

‘Thank you.’

The speculation deepened in Jackson’s eyes. ‘Did you come home alone?’

‘Well, of course I came home alone!’ Bree snapped, glaring at the impertinence of the question.

Jackson shrugged the wide and muscled shoulders that were clearly defined in the fitted black T-shirt he was wearing. ‘Just checking.’

Bree still frowned her irritation. ‘Why?’

‘Before I do this.’

Jackson took the single step that separated them, sliding his arms about her waist and pulling her into the heat of his body before his head lowered and his mouth claimed hers in a searingly hot kiss that totally took Bree’s breath away.

She clung to those wide shoulders as her knees buckled slightly. Not that there was any possibility of her falling when Jackson’s arms were clamped like steel bands about her waist. His hands stroked the length of her spine, his fingers a hot and arousing caress against the bare skin above her gown as his lips continued that plundering exploration, his tongue moist against her lips as he parted them before thrusting deep into the heat of her mouth.

His tongue stroked intimately against hers, evoking an explosion of pleasure, an aching response deep inside Bree. She felt heat burning between her thighs. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened as they pressed against the material of her dress, and she became fully aware of the hard throb of Jackson’s answering arousal as his hands cupped her bottom to pull her up and into him.

A hard and throbbing arousal that was entirely in response to her, Sabrina Jones!

Bree felt empowered by that realisation, moving her hands up as she gave in to the temptation to entangle her fingers in that honey-and-molasses hair, finding it just as she had always imagined it would be: thick and long and silkily soft, and so—

As she had always imagined it would be …?

She had imagined something like this happening between herself and Jackson?

Since when?

What—?

All thoughts fled—Bree even forgot to breathe—as Jackson’s hand cupped her breast before his questing fingers sought the swollen tip.

Bree gasped as Jackson’s lips left hers and his other hand moved to twist the long waves of her hair in his fingers. He arched her neck back, exposing it to his lips, teeth lightly nipping the lobe of her ear, before he softly kissed the swell of her breasts.

‘Your skin is like velvet!’ Jackson groaned.

His lips found her aching nipple through the silky material of her dress, his tongue stroking intense heat through the fabric to her breast for long, pleasurable seconds before he clamped his lips around her nipple and pulled it deep into the heat of his mouth.

An almost unbearable burning coursed through Bree’s body as she gazed down at him, his lashes long and thick against his sculpted cheekbones. His hand moved to cup her other breast, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing against the nipple in the same rhythmic caress. Raging fire burned between Bree’s thighs and she felt herself swelling and moistening there in a deep and aching throb that beat with the same rapidity as her heart.

She realised that it was Jackson kissing and caressing her so intimately!

Jackson of the wild and dangerous good looks. Jackson of the lean and muscled body. Jackson who had to be every woman’s wildest fantasy in the flesh. Jackson who could—and did—have any woman he wanted.

But at the moment he seemed to want Bree.

At the moment.

Chilling reality hit Bree with the force of a physical blow, erasing all pleasure, all arousal, as she acknowledged that this couldn’t—shouldn’t!—be happening. Not between herself and Jackson, of all people!

She knew for a fact that Jackson never became involved with the women in his working life. Not the models he occasionally used for commercial photo shoots, and certainly not his assistants. He had several times stated—as a warning, perhaps?—that he wouldn’t work alongside any woman with whom he had been intimately involved.

Tonight could definitely be described as intimate involvement.

How on earth was Bree going to extract herself from this explosive situation without also finding herself out of a job?

CHAPTER FIVE

‘JACKSON, is it possible that you’ve been drinking?’

‘What—?’ Jackson staggered backwards, dazed, as Bree pushed him away with a suddenness he hadn’t been expecting, before turning her back on him to rearrange her dress.

Expecting?

Hell, Jackson hadn’t been expecting a single thing about the way he had reacted to Bree this evening!

Not the way she looked with that beautiful waist-length hair loose about her shoulders. Not how sexy that thin scrap of a dress was, leaving so little to the imagination. Not the lure of those smoky-grey eyes. He certainly hadn’t expected her to taste and feel so good. Or the way she’d responded so readily to the caress of his lips and hands on her soft, creamy flesh …

And Jackson hadn’t expected to become aroused just by looking at her—nor the fact that he was still aroused, his shaft a hard and throbbing ache against his denims!

In spite of the accusatory way Bree was now glowering at him.

‘Have I been drinking?’ Jackson repeated harshly, stepping away and running a hand through the tousled length of his hair. ‘You’re the one who walked in here a few minutes ago looking like some slinky femme fatale from a forties movie!’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s just a dress, Jackson. You’ve been photographed with dozens of women wearing far less than I am tonight!’ she added defiantly.

And truthfully, Jackson admitted with a dark frown. In fact Bree’s dress could be called modest in comparison with some of the evening dresses he had seen on other women. Except those other women weren’t Bree!

What the hell was wrong with him this evening? He had worked alongside Bree for almost a year now without so much as a single sexual thought.

Well … maybe the odd thought. But he wouldn’t be a healthy thirty-four-year-old man if he didn’t have the occasional fantasy about an attractive twenty-six-year-old woman, whether she worked for him or not!

Yet he was now totally physically aware of Bree.

Because he didn’t like the idea of her spending the evening with another man?

Or because of that small but tangible difference he had sensed in Bree today?

There was absolutely no reason why it should matter to Jackson if Bree went on a date, so it had to be the difference in her that had ignited this physical awareness.

But it was a physical awareness he must have been out of his mind to act upon.

‘I still can’t believe you went out in that dress!’ Jackson was more comfortable on the attack than on the defensive.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jackson,’ Bree snapped irritably.

‘It’s positively indecent!’

‘Roger didn’t seem to find anything wrong with it!’

‘I don’t—Roger Tyler?’ Jackson gaped. ‘Your dinner date this evening was with Roger Tyler?’

‘That’s right,’ she replied coolly. ‘And I must say that, unlike some people I could mention, he behaved like the perfect gentleman all evening.’

‘Roger Tyler was the man you went out to dinner with this evening …’ Jackson repeated, as if to himself.

It was a little difficult for him to comprehend the fact that his assistant—a woman who hadn’t been out on a single date since she’d begun working for him—had just spent the evening with one of the most infamous womanisers in the public eye.

Damn it—of all men, Bree had been out with the reprehensible Roger Tyler!

Jackson’s eyes narrowed ominously as he sat down on the arm of the chair. ‘And exactly how did that come about?’

Bree shrugged her shoulders. ‘He arrived for his two o’clock appointment, after all.’

The muscles in Jackson’s jaw clenched. ‘And the two of you enjoyed a pleasant hour or so chatting, no doubt?’

‘More like half an hour, since we’re splitting hairs,’ she replied sharply.

‘Long enough, in any case, for the man to invite you out on a date!’ Jackson growled.

Bree stuck out her chin challengingly. ‘Is there some unwritten rule I’m not aware of that prevents your assistant from dating any of your clients?’

Jackson hesitated, frowning. ‘Not exactly, no …’

‘Then what exactly is your problem, Jackson?’ Bree demanded, hands on hips.

In spite of her earlier apprehension about the dinner date, Bree had actually enjoyed Roger Tyler’s company this evening. Besides his obvious good looks and confidence, he was amusing and fun to be with, and not at all the egomaniac she had expected him to be. He had been charming and attentive all evening: the ‘perfect gentleman’ Bree had claimed him to be, in fact.

The restaurant where they had eaten dinner was obviously an exclusive one—the fact that there had been no prices on the menu confirmed that!—and Bree had tried hard not to stare at any of the other diners, many of whom she’d recognised from either the big or the small screen. The food and wine had been delicious, the service unobtrusive, and the company more pleasant and entertaining than Bree could ever have imagined. All in all it had been a surprisingly relaxing and enjoyable way to spend the evening.

Until her return to Beaumont House and this awful scene with Jackson. Well … the first part of it hadn’t been awful at all, but the aftermath was certainly far from pleasant!

She would never admit as much to Jackson, but she was still reeling from her response to him just now. It had been an out-of-control response that was totally at odds with her usual reserve. An out-of-control response that Bree had never felt in the arms of the man she had planned to marry a year ago …

‘Do you intend to see Tyler again?’ Jackson enquired coldly.

‘I don’t believe—’

‘And don’t even think about telling me it’s none of my business who you go out with!’ he growled warningly. ‘You’re my assistant and Roger Tyler is my client—of course it’s my business if the two of you are now dating!’

Was it? Bree wondered. Or was Jackson just being difficult?

Bree had only brought Roger Tyler into the conversation at all because she’d thought attack might be the best form of defence in what had become a very awkward situation. But perhaps in retrospect she would have been wiser not to mention that Roger Tyler had been her date this evening!

She grimaced, frustrated. ‘We aren’t dating. We’ve just been out to dinner together.’

‘And I asked if you intend to see him again,’ Jackson repeated evenly.

Bree sighed heavily before answering. ‘He said he would call me tomorrow.’

‘And?’

Bree was so annoyed by the interrogation she almost stamped her foot. ‘And if he does call tomorrow and wants to see me again I’ll decide then and there whether or not I want to see him!’

Jackson barely managed to bite back his frustration.

Just why the hell should it matter to him if Bree had finally decided to come out of her shell and start dating?

It shouldn’t. As he had told himself earlier today, Bree was as entitled to a private life as he was.

Except Jackson had just kissed her.

He had acted against every self-imposed rule he’d ever had concerning his assistants. Against every instinct telling him not to ruin a good thing when he found it: namely, the best damn assistant he had ever had!

Damn, damn, damn!

He rubbed his temples, trying to rein in his anger. ‘Do you actually like Tyler?’

Bree raised cool brows. ‘Well, obviously—seeing as I’ve just spent the evening with him.’

Jackson paused to let his irritation subside. The woman could be so infuriating!

‘No. I meant do you really like him?’

She shook her head impatiently. ‘I know what you meant, Jackson—and, again, I don’t consider that to be any of your business. I certainly don’t need some big brother figure breathing down my neck, checking up on every man I choose to go out with!’

Big brother? Jackson had just almost made love to her, damn it! He could still see the damp patch on Bree’s dress where his mouth had been exploring only moments earlier!

The memory instantly reawakened the aching throb in Jackson’s jeans—and the fact that he was sitting down made it all the more painful!

He stood up abruptly, in the hope of easing that burning ache, and realised immediately how obvious his arousal was against his denims.

‘Perhaps it’s time you returned to your apartment?’ he suggested abruptly, his tone clipped. ‘We can talk about this again in the morning.’

‘I don’t think so, Jackson,’ Bree replied firmly.

He rolled his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I am your employee, Jackson—that’s where my responsibilities begin and end. As such, I don’t believe I have to answer to you for anything I might choose to do in my private life!’

Jackson tightened his jaw in an effort to stop himself from giving Bree the reply she deserved: what the hell had just happened between the two of them if Bree was just an employee?

Damned if he knew.

And it was probably best if it remained that way. Kissing Bree in the first place had been a mistake on Jackson’s part. Almost making love to her had been an even bigger one. It would be better all round if they both tried to forget it had ever happened.

If either of them could forget.

‘You’re right: it is time I went to my apartment,’ Bree agreed suddenly, still totally unsettled by their argument over Roger Tyler—not to mention the fact that she and Jackson had almost made love just now!

A fact that would definitely make it difficult for the two of them to work together in future.

Was that the only thing worrying her about this evening? Whether or not she and Jackson would be able to continue working together?

Bree didn’t dare to think about the reasons why she and Jackson had almost made love.

‘Fine. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Jackson nodded curtly and looked away, a frown darkening his brow.

A similar frown remained on Bree’s brow long after she had returned to her apartment.

CHAPTER SIX

‘GOOD morning, Bree! And how are you on this—?’

Jackson’s deliberately cheery greeting was cut off abruptly as he entered Bree’s office the following morning, after dropping Danny off at school. A small bundle of dark grey and white fur rushed across the room, becoming entangled in his legs and almost tripping him up in the process.

‘Damn it, Beau!’ Jackson regained his balance, bending down to pick up the squirming puppy before he could cause any more mayhem.

So much for Jackson’s bright and breezy entrance!

He had debated long and hard with himself as he’d stood in front of the mirror shaving this morning, considering the best way to behave towards Bree today. They had stepped over an imaginary but definitive line between work colleagues and lovers—a line Jackson had only yesterday told himself must never be crossed if he and Bree were to continue working together …

Never be crossed? Last night Jackson had trampled it completely underfoot in his haste to kiss Bree!

The memory of which had not been in the least conducive to his having a dreamless and trouble-free sleep …

In fact Jackson hadn’t slept well at all, as his reflection in the mirror had confirmed: he had dark circles under his eyes and a grim expression on his face. The dark circles wouldn’t fade until he’d had a decent night’s sleep, but the grim expression definitely had to go! Hence his attempt at a hearty good morning—an attempt that had been totally ruined by Beau’s exuberant greeting.

‘He likes you!’ Bree put down the Christmas card she’d been reading, chuckling softly as the puppy licked Jackson’s chin enthusiastically. ‘Or not,’ she added when Beau sneezed loudly, his expression one of doggy surprise.

‘I think it’s my aftershave he doesn’t like,’ Jackson remarked distastefully, before putting the puppy back down onto the carpeted floor.

‘Probably,’ Bree agreed, suddenly feeling shy and more than a little embarrassed by memories of the previous evening’s intimacy. Now that Jackson had had the whole night to think about it, Bree was half worried that he might have decided to tell her they could no longer work together.

Which would be awful.

Worse than awful!

She liked working and living here. More than that, Bree had realised whilst lying sleepless in bed the previous night, Jackson and Danny had become like family to her. This was no doubt partly due to the still-strained relationship between Bree and her own family. But, whatever the reason, Bree couldn’t bear the idea of being asked to leave, of never seeing Jackson or Danny again …

The events of last night meant she might not be given any choice in the matter!

Bree still had no explanation for what had happened. One minute they had been talking and the next … The next was the part Bree had no explanation for. Jackson kissing her. And her own response to those kisses.

Bree had never thought of herself as a sensual being. She’d had no reason to think of herself that way—having feelings like the ones Jackson had incited the previous night had never happened to her before!

She and David had started going out together during their last year of university. Casual dates, mainly, to the cinema or out for a pizza. After graduating they had lost touch for a year or so, then met up again at a party given by a mutual friend. David, by then a stockbroker, had invited Bree out to dinner. After that they had dated regularly, and got engaged on Bree’s twenty-fifth birthday. They had arranged their wedding for the following Christmas.

Never in all the years that Bree had known David had she been as excited by his kisses, as aroused by his caresses, as she had been in Jackson’s arms the night before!

Which meant precisely what?

That she had somehow become a sensual being in the last year?

Or that she hadn’t loved David as much as she thought she had?

Certainly Bree had never felt the thrum of excitement in David’s company that she felt again now, just from looking at Jackson and remembering their intimacies of the night before!

Her mouth firmed resolutely and she looked down at the open appointment book on her desk.

‘You have a meeting with Lord Caxley at ten o’clock this morning, a lunch date with Jennifer Greaves, and as it’s Danny’s last day of school before the Christmas holidays there’s a present for his teacher on the—’

‘What happened to “Good morning, Jackson”?’ he cut in derisively, leaning against the side of her desk and looking down at her with teasing blue eyes.

Too close! Jackson was standing far too close to her. So close, in fact, that Bree could feel the heat his body exuded through the white T-shirt and faded blue denims; she could smell the aftershave that had so disagreed with Beau a few minutes ago, and the more earthy, male smell of clean skin and the lemon shampoo Jackson must have used on his hair.

The same golden honey-and-molasses hair that Bree had threaded her fingers through the night before as Jackson’s mouth latched onto her breast—

Oh, dear Lord! What was happening to her?

She wasn’t this person. Had never been this person. And Bree didn’t want to be the sort of person whose breasts swelled, nipples hardening, as a hot rush of moisture burned between her legs, prompted simply by the close proximity of a man! And not just any man, either. Jerome Jackson Beaumont, to be precise.

But Bree couldn’t deny that she was feeling all of those things now. Her fingers gripped the edge of her desk and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, an urgent throbbing between her thighs, her breasts tingling, the nipples hard and ultrasensitive against the soft material of her bra.

‘Bree …?’

She drew in a ragged breath, forcing her fingers to relax their grip on the desk, before looking up at Jackson from beneath long dark lashes, trying in vain to remember what they had been talking about.

‘I thought you would want to know what appointments you have lined up for today,’ she explained quietly.

Jackson looked down searchingly into Bree’s smoky-grey eyes, not in the least reassured by the way her gaze avoided his. As he had feared, something had changed, shifted, in their relationship. But was it to the point where they really couldn’t continue working together?

Jackson felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of that happening. Was that because he didn’t want to have to go to the trouble of training another personal assistant? Or was there something else?

He decided the first reason was the least complicated option to go with.

‘Bree, do you want to talk about what happened between us last night?’ he prompted softly.

‘No,’ she replied curtly, continuing to avoid his gaze as colour warmed her cheeks.

‘Do you want me to apologise?’

She glanced at him sharply. ‘Do you want to apologise?’

He grimaced. ‘Hell, no.’

She swallowed. ‘Then I suggest the best thing would be for us both to try and forget the whole incident.’

Jackson wasn’t sure he would be able to do that. How could he forget it? It had been Bree he had almost made love to last night. Bree! And she might be wearing tailored black trousers and a charcoal-grey sweater this morning, her hair scraped back from the pale delicacy of her face and secured on the crown of her head, but now Jackson knew exactly how long and beautiful her hair was, how velvety soft her skin was to the touch, how perfect the weight of her breasts felt in the palms of his hands, how sensitive her nipples were …

‘Do you want to read through the correspondence we’ve had with Lord Caxley before you meet with him at ten o’clock?’ Bree asked, standing up abruptly.

Maybe she would be able to breathe if she wasn’t quite so close to Jackson and the warm caress of those sky-blue eyes! She avoided even looking at Jackson as she picked up the pile of discarded envelopes from the morning’s post, dropping them in the bin on her way over to the filing cabinets on the other side of the room.

Jackson shrugged. ‘I’m just supposed to photograph him for posterity, aren’t I?’

‘For the reception room at his parliamentary offices in Westminster, I believe,’ Bree corrected drily.

He nodded. ‘Just in case any of his constituents decide to pay him a visit and have no idea what their MP actually looks like, I presume?’

Bree smiled. ‘Probably.’

‘No, I don’t need to see his file.’ Jackson dismissed the idea with a wave. ‘Oh,’ he added casually, ‘I forgot to ask. Has Roger Tyler called you yet this morning?’

Bree eyed him warily. ‘It’s only nine o’clock …’

‘And?’

She shrugged. ‘And I very much doubt that Roger has even seen nine o’clock in the morning for some years, let alone been compos mentis enough to make a telephone call!’

‘You have a point there,’ Jackson muttered, straightening up—and in doing so accidentally knocking over the pile of Christmas cards that had arrived in the post that morning.

‘Damn!’ He sank down on his haunches to gather them up from the floor.

‘It’s okay. I’ll do it!’ Bree rushed across the room, eager to help him pick up the cards. Well, one card in particular: the same card she had been looking at when he’d first come into the room.

‘No problem.’ Jackson continued to gather up the dozen or so cards. ‘I don’t suppose any of these are remotely interesting. I don’t know why—Hello, what’s this?’ He frowned as he read the inscription inside the card he had just picked up. ‘“To Bree, with love from David …”’ He turned to look at her enquiringly.

Bree’s face had paled when she’d seen Jackson picking up the one Christmas card she hadn’t wanted him to see—and her silent prayer that he wouldn’t look inside had obviously gone unanswered!

‘No one important.’ She made a grab for the card and missed as Jackson lifted it tantalisingly just out of her reach. ‘Give it to me, Jackson.’

‘Not until you tell me who David is.’ He stood up slowly, keeping the card out of Bree’s grasp. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to you, Bree.’ He shook his head mockingly. ‘Dinner with Roger Tyler last night. A Christmas card from another man called David today. I had no idea you had such a hectic social life!’

Bree winced inwardly, noting that Jackson had missed out the part in between dinner with Roger and the card from David—namely, the part where he had kissed her!

She hadn’t been able to believe it herself either, when she’d opened the envelope addressed to her and found a Christmas card from David inside!

The day that Bree had found him and Cathy in bed together David had come to her parents’ house and tried to speak to her. He’d done the same thing again and again for days, and each time Bree had refused to see him. There had been absolutely nothing she wished to say to him after seeing him with Cathy, both naked in her bed—the same bed she and David had planned to share after their wedding!

The Christmas card that Jackson now held out of reach so tormentingly was the first communication Bree had received from David since she had written to him a year ago, informing him that she had cancelled their wedding and never wished to see him again.

Bree knew from visiting her parents that the affair between David and Cathy—now divorced from her husband—was over. Her parents had told her about David’s frequent visits to their house to ask how Bree was. No doubt, she thought bitterly, her parents had seen nothing wrong in supplying him with her new address so that he could send her a Christmas card. And if Jackson hadn’t read the card Bree might have just accepted it as the olive branch it was obviously meant to be before dismissing it completely from her mind.

‘Bree?’ Jackson prompted sharply, deeply concerned at how pale her face had become. ‘Who is David?’

He wasn’t in the least reassured by the haunted expression in those smoky-grey eyes as Bree looked up at him.