At Your Service, Jack
Brenda Hammond
JEEVES NEVER LOOKED THIS GOOD…Freddi Elliott needs a job, fast. And she's willing to take anything–even a job as some old coot's butler. Only, little does Freddi know that this assignment will test not only her domestic skills, but also her libido. Because her new boss is stubborn, obnoxious…and utterly irresistible.Jack Carlisle has only a few weeks to learn some manners. Otherwise, he can kiss the cash from his uncle for a new business venture goodbye. Jack doesn't have a clue how to begin, but hopes his new butler can offer a few suggestions. What he doesn't expect is to be the one doing all the suggesting. And his first recommendation is to get Freddi out of those stuffy clothes and into his bed…
“You certainly don’t look like my butler tonight.”
Jack’s tone turned husky and sent a shiver down Freddi’s spine. She was ultra aware of how sexily she was dressed. With his eyes on her, she felt exposed, vulnerable.
“I approve of the getup.” His gaze was hot on hers. “Why can’t you wear those kind of clothes all the time?”
“They’d be a bit restricting in bed.” Oh, hell, had she really said that?
His eyes smoldered. “Are you a woman who likes a challenge?”
“Of course I am,” she said, trying to regain some ground. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t still be working for you.”
“Good.” He winked at her. How she wished he wouldn’t do that. It caused instant meltdown. “Want to arm wrestle?”
Was he joking? She bit her lip, eyeing the bulging width of his biceps. She could think of better things to do.
“What are the stakes?” she asked suspiciously.
His smile was sensual, suggestive and enough to have every lustful cell in her body come to quivering life.
“Don’t worry. If you’re lucky I might let you keep some of those sexy clothes on.”
Dear Reader,
I was flipping through the pages of a British magazine when I came across an article that recounted one woman’s experience at a school for butlers. What really caught my eye, though, was the photograph of her bringing breakfast in bed to her gorgeous hunk of an employer. Well! That was all it took to set the creative juices flowing.
Soon I was writing about the adventures of Freddi and Jack. Every now and then my husband appeared in my study to find out what was making me chuckle. Even our Himalayan cat, Figaro (the vainest cat in North America and a substitute for our four grown kids), nosed around my keyboard to sniff out what was keeping me so entertained.
I hope Freddi and Jack’s romance will give you a smile or two, and reaffirm the importance of love. Spinning stories such as this allows me to share the passion, laughter and joy that I’m able to find in my life. Romance novels have helped me through the light and the dark moments of my many journeys and I hope this story can do the same for you.
Wishing you as much fun in reading this as I had in writing it!
Brenda Hammond
Want to know more about Brenda Hammond? Visit eHarlequin at www.eHarlequin.com/authors.
At Your Service, Jack
Brenda Hammond
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Nancy Frost and Eve Silver.
Working with you is right up there
with the best things that have ever happened to me.
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u08d88aeb-62e8-55ff-a8b9-b350a775ca23)
Chapter 2 (#uddff3985-2a01-5fa8-9f37-5059fcc4f88d)
Chapter 3 (#uf990181b-cd89-5cbc-a0e7-1628520882d8)
Chapter 4 (#ub9af8e69-d9ab-5645-bcae-0c9d16d3d9b7)
Chapter 5 (#ubd3ab516-4b8d-56a8-aff0-f393f193ce3c)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
1
FREDERICA IMOGEN ELLIOTT negotiated the icy steps leading up to the oak-paneled front door, a flight bag dangling from one hand. Her fancy, lizard-skin boots were definitely not up to keeping a grip on Toronto’s pavements in March. The leather soles slithered and slipped all over the place. And she didn’t appreciate the fast-flying snow that seemed determined to blanket her. Thank goodness her stiff-brimmed hat kept the flakes out of her eyes.
At the top, her gaze met the eye-level, brassy glare of the door knocker—a lion with an overbite problem. Seizing the ring, she gave it three sharp raps. Her satisfaction evaporated when she noticed a bell on the left. Why couldn’t she get anything right?
Seconds before she was transformed into a snow-woman, a man with a tattoo and a day’s growth of beard yanked open the door. Oh God, Freddi thought, what had she got herself into? He was so tall. And his clothes! There was no hemming at the neck of his T-shirt, which meant she could see his chest. His sweatpants hung loose and low at the waist, revealing a slice of taut, lightly furred stomach. What a scruff. And he was wearing a bandanna! Her first, and with any luck, only, assignment was going to be much more difficult than she’d ever imagined.
She cleared her suddenly husky throat. “Good evening, Mr. Carlisle. I’m Freddi Elliott and—”
“Sorry, I’m not entertaining till later.” His voice was gruff, his consonants slurred. And he shut the door in her face.
How rude! This man was definitely in need of civilizing. If she wasn’t so desperate to fix her life she’d turn around right now and go back to the U.K. Trying not to feel intimidated, Freddi jabbed the bell. Again the door opened.
Dark eyebrows crunched together. “I told you to go away!”
Quickly, before he could close the door, she shoved her foot into the narrowing gap.
“Just a minute!” Her voice rose horribly close to a squeal. “You’re expecting me.”
“I am?” The door opened a fraction wider. “You must be mistaken.” He folded his arms across the not-to-be-ignored width of his chest. “I know that the woman I’m expecting tonight is tall and blond, just as I specified. Obviously, you don’t fit the bill.”
Quickly he looked her up and down, one eyebrow quirking when he saw her footwear. “Quite apart from the fact that—” unfolding his arms, he shot his wrist forward and checked his watch “—if you are the babe from the agency, you’re an hour early.”
Jet lag must have affected her ears, because it simply wasn’t possible that she’d heard him correctly.
“I thought I was precisely on time,” Freddi protested. “And what difference would my height or the color of my hair make?”
He smiled, a slow, sizzling smile, “Blond hair and long legs are guaranteed to turn me on. So now—” he gripped the doorjamb “—you can remove your foot and its reptilian casing.”
Blinking at him, she did as he asked. He promptly stepped back and shut the door.
She stared at the unyielding barrier. Life seemed determined to hand her yet another obstacle, not satisfied with the fact that she was broke, carless and homeless. In spite of the hollow feeling that was spreading through her, she couldn’t give up. Mustering her courage, she leaned on the bell again.
After four seconds her new employer reappeared. “What is your problem, lady?” His frown was fearsome to behold.
“My problem?” In agitation she began to swing her carry-on bag backward and forward. “There must be a misunderstanding here.”
“You misunderstood when I told you to get lost?” His glance flicked down to the purse/pendulum and he took a step back, as if worried that she would hit him in the crown jewels.
“No.” She swallowed. “But are you really sure that’s what you want?” Stilling the bag, she stuck her aristocratic nose in the air. “My idea—” she said in her snottiest tone “—is that your butler is not supposed to turn you on.”
The man goggled at her.
She gave a sniff, determined not to succumb to tears. “Maybe I’ll just climb back into the taxi and return to the airport.”
“Did you say butler?”
“Yes.” She stared back at him, beginning to get annoyed. Even if she usually managed to remain cool and dignified, this combination of circumstances was rather daunting. Her years of secretarial work had gone smoothly, predictably. But her salary had hardly been enough to keep a racehorse fed, let alone pay for the sky-high Visa bill her ex-fiancé, Simon, had saddled her with. His sister Tabitha, her friend who owned the buttling agency, had convinced Freddi to take this job, saying it would solve all her financial problems and set her on track again. Because of her upbringing, Freddi knew exactly what a butler should do. She could easily wing it, and Mr. Jack Carlisle would be none the wiser.
Freddi took a small step closer to him. “As you didn’t hear the first time, I’ll repeat. I’m Elliott, your butler, you…If you intend to send me away, then the least you can do is give me some money to pay the driver. I don’t think he’ll accept my Visa.” Not that it would do any good if he did, she thought.
Maybe the man didn’t understand English too well, because instead of responding, he just stood there, arms folded, biceps bulging, staring at her out of hazel eyes. She clutched at the strap of her bag. This was going from bad to worse. She’d just about called Mr. Jack Carlisle an idiot. Not the best way to impress her new employer. The dreaded jet lag must have exaggerated that impetuous streak she’d been working so hard to eliminate, making her forget that she really needed this job.
So much for the warm welcome she’d been expecting. While snow accumulated on her shoulders, her courage dwindled. Yet another undisclosed, pernicious side effect of air travel. Clearly Mr. Carlisle was far too obtuse, far too crass for her to live with for the next three months. Bad enough to have to perform the role of butler at all. She’d only given in to Tabby’s urgings because she was desperate for a way out of her difficulties. But to perform such a role for Jack Carlisle would be impossible.
Freddi turned on her heel, thinking she’d better cut her losses and leave. She took two and a half tottering steps before Mr. Obnoxious called out.
“Wait!”
At that moment her serpent boots decided she should take a shortcut. Her heels slid out from under her and she found herself dumped on her rear end, gliding downward. Visions of lying in a pathetic heap at the bottom of the stairs were suddenly preempted. Jack leaned out and grabbed her arm, saving her from a slippery fate. The man had quick reflexes, she’d grant him that, even if he was slow on the uptake. Through the thick wool of her Jaeger coat she could feel the strength of his grip.
He hauled her upright with one large, firm hand, and continued to hold her, his gaze steady. “Just a minute. I’m starting to get the picture here. You said you’re Freddi who?”
“Freddi Elliott, your new butler—presuming you are Mr. Jack Carlisle—”
Jack didn’t say anything.
“But I’ve decided to quit before I begin,” she muttered, doing her best to sound aloof, an effect which she could achieve rather well.
“Let me get this straight,” he began.
A mild bout of dizziness hit her and she swayed, closing her eyes. His grip tightened.
“You’re Elliott, my butler, right? The agency sent you.”
Eyes open again, she looked up at him. “Both statements are one hundred percent correct.”
“But you’re not supposed to be a woman!”
She raised her eyebrows and closed her lids in a gesture that used to drive her younger brother crazy. Then, putting on her best expression of disdain, she looked down at the fingers curled around her upper arm. They sent strange sensations dancing across her skin.
“You’d better not be discriminating against my gender,” she warned, latching on to one last hope. “That’s illegal.” Her words were beginning to slur and she felt light-headed. The combination of extreme fatigue and jet lag was taking its toll.
He pulled her toward the door. “You’d better come inside. We can’t sort this out here.”
In spite of the freezing weather, Jack Carlisle wore a sleeveless T-shirt and his feet were bare. When he at last allowed her into the narrow, three-story house, Freddi understood why. Compared with the icy confines of her family’s baronial mansion, which cost far more to heat than her father could afford, Jack’s home was kept tropically warm.
Freddi followed him from the small, slate-floored entrance hall up three steps and into a large open space, one section of which held a long, dark oak table. He skirted the open stairwell with its spiral staircase, passed the dining section and flopped down onto a large, low easy chair. In front of this sat a matching ottoman. Jack put his bare feet up and crossed them at the ankles, regarding her with an enigmatic expression.
Her new employer had not suggested she remove her hat or coat, and now he neglected to invite her to sit down. Mr. Carlisle was definitely in urgent need of tuition in the normal politesse of everyday life. He didn’t even seem to care that it was rude to stare. At any other time, as part of her expanded job description, she would have tactfully pointed out these lapses.
Feeling self-conscious in the focus of Jack’s gaze, she dropped onto one corner of the six-foot-long black leather couch and sank gratefully into its soft and comfortable embrace. She would ignore him. But when she lowered her eyes, she found herself staring at his feet. Silence fell, broken only by the occasional hiss and crackle of the logs burning cozily in the open fireplace. To her relief, Jack got up and walked over to the curved corner bar.
Soon the warmth, the gradual relaxation of her tense mood and equally tense muscles began to make her sleepy. Maybe, if she hadn’t been so exhausted it would never have happened. Whatever, she could feel her eyelids growing heavier and heavier until she no longer had the will to prevent them from closing.
Meanwhile, Jack stood leaning on the corner bar. He drummed his fingers on the glass top. From the row of glasses arrayed on the shelf above, he selected a heavy-based tumbler. He unscrewed the top off a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a decent shot, then grabbed a couple of ice blocks from the small bar fridge. Lifting the glass in a toast to himself, he took a sip. The distinctive, woodsy taste filled his mouth, and slid in a fiery stream down his throat. What a situation. This was not at all what he’d been expecting.
His cousin, Tabitha James, had started the ball rolling. On the phone, he’d told her about needing more capital.
“What for?” she asked.
“There’s this new method of bonding metals that I’ve discovered. I have to develop further applications for it.”
“What happened to your other investors?”
“Everyone’s skittish because of the downturn in the economy.”
“Have you approached Uncle Avery?”
“Sure.” Jack sighed. “But the old fart says he’s got reservations. He’s holding off on final approval.”
Apparently Simon, Tabitha’s brother, had voiced his own biased opinion of Jack’s lack of proper manners, uncultivated ways and inability to settle down. He’d reminded Uncle Avery of that fiasco when Jack was twenty-three, freshly graduated from college. The time he accidentally hit the prime minister on the back of the head with an escargot.
Simon had their uncle’s ear. Not only was he on the spot, but recently he’d been appointed international marketing manager for the family corporation, which manufactured hard-rock mining machinery and equipment. Uncle Avery would visit soon to check up for himself, and in the meantime had advised Jack to find a suitable woman of good breeding. The right spouse was a tremendous advantage in life. So it was vital to Jack’s future that he play along with old Avery, get someone to help smarten him up, coach him in etiquette and bring an element of class and organization into his life. Otherwise, he could kiss any chance of money goodbye.
That was when Tabby had suggested he hire a butler, a person who would know all about manners, and could take some of the pressure off his ultrabusy life. Generally, keep him in line. If he paid a higher fee, both roles could be combined, and she had just the right candidate.
After mulling over the idea, he’d decided to go for it. His mind went back to the closing dialogue of that fateful phone call.
“There’s only one person available, Jack. The only snag—”
“Great. Just e-mail me the details—employment conditions, name and time and date of arrival.”
“I just want to mention one thing—”
“No, no. If you have someone who fits the bill, I’m happy.”
“Are you positive, Jack?” Tabitha had asked.
“Sure I am.”
“Right. Then I’ll fax the contract over for you to sign.”
Now he understood the unmentioned detail, the snag, the meaning of that one thing. The man who would help ensure his future was a woman. And Tabitha, when she had faxed the contract, had spelled the name “Freddy,” leading him to believe his butler was male.
He supposed it might be polite to offer her a drink, seeing as she hadn’t yet officially assumed her duties. He scratched up a handful of peanuts from another small dish he’d set out on the frosted-glass bar counter in anticipation of company coming, and chewed on them.
The other part of Uncle Avery’s stipulations had also caused problems finding a proper woman. Because of working more than full-time for Quaxel, the branch of the family corporation that his father had founded in Canada, as well as putting in hours on his own innovative product at night, Jack was out of circulation. During university days he’d played the field, but shortly after, settled into a relationship that had lasted for three years, until Clare was offered a job on the West Coast. By then they had both realized that, while they were comfortable with each other, there was no passion in their relationship.
His sister had fixed him up with a few of her friends, and the results had been awkward and embarrassing.
Eventually, he’d decided to consult the experts. That’s what his dad had always done. So Jack contacted the most exclusive dating agency in town, and was hoping they’d come up with a woman who could please both him and Uncle Avery. Number one, the pick of the crop, was due to arrive at any minute.
Strange that Ms. Elliott hadn’t said anything since she’d sat down. She’d been mouthy enough before that.
Jack turned to her and asked, “How soon could you leave, do—”
He broke off. It was obvious he wasn’t going to get an answer. Freddi had keeled over sideways on his couch. Her Mad Hatter’s tea party hat had fallen off and was now settled neatly in the center of the Persian carpet. Its owner lay dead to the world. Either she’d drunk too much on the plane or she was flat-out exhausted.
Gingerly, Jack crept toward the couch and stood looking down at her. Why hadn’t he seized the opportunity when she’d offered it and sent her right back where she came from? But she’d looked so pathetic standing there in that ridiculous hat, all pale face and large chocolate-brown eyes. Now what was he supposed to do? Lying curled up on his couch she seemed vulnerable, yet somehow trusting. Little did poor Ms. Freddi Elliott know that she’d stepped right into the lion’s den.
2
THE BELL CHIMED. Jack went to open the front door and found a man in uniform, standing on the top step.
“Sorry, mister. I can’t wait any longer,” implored the limo driver.
“She asked you to wait?”
“Yeah, but there’s cars backed up behind me, and one of the drivers is threatening to call the police.” The man brushed at his cap, looking at him as if he was nuts not to have noticed. “Didn’t you hear the honking?”
“No.” Leaning forward, Jack stretched his neck out and saw the limo double-parked, blocking the narrow side street. Stuck behind a black BMW, a cheeky blue Beetle flashed its headlights at him.
“Okay. Let me pay you and then you can go. How much?”
He named his price. Jack shoved a hand into the back pocket of his sweatpants and drew out his wallet. He added a good tip.
“Thank you very much.” The driver folded the bills. “I put the bags on the sidewalk.”
“Cool. I’ll come down and get them.”
Jack slid his feet into his running shoes. He heard the limo’s trunk slam closed and revving noises as the line of cars moved off.
Outside, the sidewalk had taken on the appearance of garbage day. Near the base of a slim, bare maple tree waited a suitcase nearly as big as his refrigerator. Next to that were huddled two other shapeless bundles. It looked as if Freddi Elliott intended to stay for a very long time.
He gripped the handle of the suitcase and lifted. What on earth? Was the woman smuggling gold bricks? No way was he going to haul this lot up to the room on the second floor. He’d already done a punishing session with weights at the gym earlier. Better to leave the whole pile in the entrance, handy for the morning. It was enough that he had to decide what to do with her.
Casting a glance toward Freddi, Jack retrieved his drink and sat down again. She looked pretty comfortable lying there, one small hand tucked under her pale cheek, a stray lock of almost-black hair caressing her forehead. He’d never seen a hairstyle quite like that. It looked as if someone had chopped off random chunks with the shearing scissors. The effect might be appealing, but she was as far away from his notion of Jeeves as it was possible to get.
What to do? He had definitely hired a butler, one F. I. Elliott. If only he could unhire her immediately and get a replacement. But he’d signed the contract. His only option was to make things impossible for her so that she’d quit.
The doorbell rang. Jack leaped to his feet. The first of his dates had arrived! With any luck he was about to remedy the sexual famine of the last while. And then he remembered the snag on the couch.
Impossible to make any moves with Elliott sleeping by the fire. She’d put a definite crimp in his plans for the evening. He’d have to get her upstairs. Pronto.
Stooping down, he edged his hands under her shoulders and hips, and heaved her up. She was a lot heavier than she looked. Maybe she had the muscle to carry a loaded tray after all. Unbidden, an image of the waif dressed up as a French maid, flitting around his living room, popped into his mind. Stop it, Jack. Already he felt she was intruding on him.
He managed to get her halfway up the curving staircase when the doorbell rang again. He froze. Damn. But he couldn’t just drop his burden and head back down again. The blonde would have to wait.
Jack carried Freddi past the door leading to his own room and into the next one. He’d had the guest room specially decorated for a butler, all in masculine beiges and browns. The designer had said a Brit would surely appreciate living in various shades of tea.
Freddi showed no signs of waking, not even when he tugged those ridiculous boots off her feet. She was as floppy as a black nylon stocking. Thoroughly distracted, he came to the conclusion there was only one other person he knew who slept as soundly as she did, and that was the magnificent, muscular and intelligent Mr. Jack Carlisle.
The doorbell rang yet again.
He was about to answer it when he paused. Surely he needed to cover her. Her coat would have to do for now—he had no time to fumble with the duvet. He grabbed an arm and began to tug at the sleeve. If he maneuvered her a little to one side, lifted up her spine, then he’d be able to pull the coat out from under her. He remembered seeing his sister do that to her kid once. The only difference, as Jack found soon enough, was that little Kim didn’t have boobs and Freddi most definitely did. As he lifted her, she arched her back. He froze. Not five inches below his chin the outline of her breasts showed clearly beneath her thin, clingy sweater. How easy it would be to lower his head…Dammit, he was as horny as a rabbit! Never mind the duvet, he had to get out of there, fast.
DOWNSTAIRS, he was making his way to the front door when he tripped over Freddi’s hat. He cursed, picked it up and hurried to the door, hoping the lady wasn’t too vexed. But when he opened it he saw nothing but swirling snow. He swore in frustration.
He gave a quick glance up and down Acorn Street, then shut the door again. He twirled the hat on his fingers and plonked it on top of her luggage. Seeing as his date had disappeared, he’d better cancel his dinner reservation. He decided to order a good-size pizza.
A little while later he sat munching and thinking. He had to find a way to get rid of Elliott. Already she was causing trouble. Leaning back in his chair, he let his mind float. He thought about his sister Louise, and Kimmie, his niece. The last time he’d baby-sat he’d read her a bedtime story, a neat fairy tale where the hero was given three tasks to accomplish.
Bingo. He sat up straight. That was his answer. He’d set Elliott three impossible tasks and she’d surely get the message and quit.
Now all he had to do was scheme them up.
Soon inspiration struck. Jack had an idea for the first impossible task. Definitely he himself would find this extremely taxing, and he imagined that, given the state of his kitchen, Elliott would too. With a grin, he bounded up the stairs to his third-floor office. After booting up his computer and opening a new document, he stared at the blank screen. A quick nod, a chuckle, and he began composing his note.
In Jeeves’s room he found Freddi lying just as he’d left her.
He pried his gaze away from her sleeping form. Now, where to put the note so that she saw it when she woke? On top of the mahogany chest of drawers was the obvious place. Surely the bright-yellow paper would catch her eye. Propping it against a photograph of the Tower of London—the designer had insisted it would make Jeeves feel at home—Jack decided it would be interesting to see how Elliott would react to his somewhat insolent demand.
IN HER OLD-FASHIONED, Hampstead flat the bathroom was just across the hall from the bedroom. So, when groggy Freddi got up from the bed in Toronto, she opened the door and stumbled across the passage. There she found the bathroom. Confused to discover she was still in her clothes, she undressed and cast them onto the floor. After flushing, she groped her way back. Her fingers encountered the smooth stainless knob. Silly that she’d shut the door behind her. She tottered forward into the darkness and slid back into bed.
Minutes later, a pleasant sensation caused her to rise gradually out of Morpheus’s realm. Vaguely she became aware of a warm, male body shifting in behind her. She snuggled closer. One heavy hand crept over her waist, seeking fingers curled around her breast. A certain vital piece of male anatomy stirred. And grew.
Languorously, she stretched her legs down and turned toward the lure of love, her body already heating, becoming fluid. Lifting her arms, she wound them around the firm muscles of the man in the bed and pressed closer. He responded by nibbling gently at her, the soft movements setting off tingling jolts of electricity. When the thrills began to turn her body to fire, she reacted by surging upward. She freed her hands to hold the firm jaw, and devoured his mouth with a deep and hungry kiss. God, did he taste good. This was like putting your tongue to the finest chocolate truffle. The outside was soft, silky. The inside more textured, more tasty, more explosive. And he felt like Adonis. She wanted more, and he was willing to cooperate.
When at last the kiss ended, Freddi breathed out a long breath. This was bliss. This was searing and exciting. The only trouble was, this wasn’t a dream, it was real!
Her eyes popped open. Her breathing stopped. The man half under her didn’t smell familiar. Just to make sure, she turned her nose toward the ceiling and sniffed—a touch of wood smoke, a whiff of whiskey and something else—oh God—eau de Carlisle. Full realization hit. She was cuddling in bed with a stranger. Her boss.
She lay transfixed, her eyes wide and staring into the darkness. Even though she could feel the hardness pressing against her thigh, she thought just maybe Mr. Carlisle was still more asleep than awake. Quietening her own breathing, she listened. Was he conscious, or not? From the regular rhythm, she thought not. Which meant she might just have a chance to slip away.
Gingerly she slid one leg outward. No echoing shift came from Jack. The other leg joined it. She was about to gather her forces and scamper off, when a strong arm grabbed her middle, rolled her over and crushed her back into a warm and ardent embrace. For three seconds she luxuriated in the potent sensation, her body unable to resist. But then her brain insisted she beat an immediate retreat. Making herself as slim as she could, she ducked down, slithered to the edge of the bed and rolled out. Ignoring Jack’s mutters of displeasure, she crawled, full speed ahead, to the exit. When she was safely out in the passage again, she stood up, closed the door so quietly there was hardly a whisper as it settled into its frame, and got herself into the adjacent room.
Shaken, disoriented, she closed herself in and stood leaning back, staring into the darkness. Where had that libidinous woman come from? How she’d got to bed was a mystery. How she’d got herself to the bathroom, she didn’t know. But now, to reassert her grasp on reality, she needed to see where she was. Running her hand over the wall, she found the light switch.
Slowly, she considered the room. Apart from her coat, it was empty of her belongings. Then she spotted the bright-yellow note.
Freddi tiptoed across to the chest, snatched up the piece of paper and read:
Elliott—I expect breakfast in bed at exactly 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.
And he hadn’t even signed it.
3
PEREMPTORY AND RUDE, that was Mr. Jack Carlisle. Freddi would deal with him in the morning. For the moment, she needed to lie down and sleep. As she snuggled under the duvet, a little voice reminded her of a few other, more earthy and seductive aspects of the man who was her new employer. Those naughty whispers she would ignore. She would forget the extraordinary way her body had started to sizzle and tingle at his nearness, and how she had virtually attacked him.
How to explain her reaction to him? Simon, her ex-fiancé, had never had such an effect on her. Neither had Navy Roger, who had been The First. She should have known that, being a sailor, he’d soon move on to wilder waters.
It would be best to banish the incident from her mind and concentrate on the task at hand. Judging by the way Jack had behaved last night, she was going to have plenty to work on if she was going to transform this somewhat rough-edged fellow into a suave and polite gentleman.
BACK IN THE WIDE, king-size bed, Jack had been having a wonderful dream. But now, suddenly, his fantasy had evaporated. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recapture the fabulous feeling of feminine flesh snuggling into him. He was on the verge of success when the telephone rang, waking him up. He groaned, wiped his hands over his face and stretched to reach the demanding instrument. Just as he was within grasping distance it stopped ringing.
The sound of a woman’s voice wafted through the thin wall. Jack’s eyebrows shot up. What the hell? Last thing he remembered…Oh yeah. That voice, those cultured vowels, those crisp consonants, belonged to Freddi Elliott, the female butler from jolly old England. Jack narrowed his eyes. Surely that luscious, fantastic, sexy dream he’d been having couldn’t possibly have featured her? Nah. Impossible. The dating desert he’d been in for too long because of all the extra hours he’d put in at the office and the laboratory was causing hallucinations.
“Hang on a sec,” he heard her say. A pause. “Polly, do you realize it’s the middle of the night here?” Another pause, then, “Is Tabitha there?”
Jack pursed his lips, thinking. Well, of course she would know Tabitha, but he would have expected Elliott to call her Mrs. James. Now the question was, did Freddi Elliott by any unlucky chance happen to know his archrival Simon as well? His dastardly cousin was quite capable of planting a spy in the opposite camp. He’d had it in for Jack ever since his family’s first visit to England.
The memory of that stay, soon after his mother died, when he was ten and Louise was eight, rose up in Jack’s mind. That had been the start of the bad feeling and rivalry between the cousins. Simon, two years older than Jack and at the time a foot taller, had mocked him from the start.
“London,Ontario?” Simon grabbed hold of Jack’s arm and twisted it behind his back. “What kind of a stupid town is that?” he taunted. “Couldn’t they even think of an original name?” That was how it began. And then, Jack beat Simon at chess, a game Simon always won effortlessly. Subsequent visits only seemed to reinforce Simon’s jealousy. Every time Jack had a success, Simon had to go one better. When Jack made the hockey team, Simon got his rowing blue. When Jack completed his engineering degree in metallurgy, Simon went for an MBA.
The thing was, he didn’t want Simon horning in on his project. The new method of bonding metals held tremendous promise, but Uncle Avery had said it was outside of the scope of Quaxel Corporation and had advised Jack to set up a separate company.
And the thought that Uncle Avery was being fed reports on how Jack was shaping up made him furious. Lord, the demon stress was making him paranoid. He lay on his back and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe he’d drift right back into the dream and take up where it had left off.
SUMMONED OUT OF SLEEP by the telephone, Freddi opened her eyes to complete darkness. Disoriented, she stretched out a hand for her bedside light. Instead of a silk-covered lampshade and alabaster base, she touched cool metal. The phone kept ringing.
She found the switch and snatched up the receiver.
“Hello, Freddi,” Polly’s bright tones rang in her ears. “How was the trip?”
“Mmmph.” Freddi dragged herself upright and looked at her watch. “Polly, do you realize it’s the middle of the night here?”
“Nah. I just got into the office. Must be at least ten-thirty.”
“Is Tabby there?”
“Yeah. Hang on, she wants a word too.”
“Tabby! He’s expecting me to bring him breakfast in bed.”
“So?”
How to explain without revealing the faux pas she’d already committed? “So, judging from—er—the sweatpants he was wearing last night I would say he’s probably—er—rather virile.”
“And?”
“What if I fumble when I put the tray down or something?”
“Just keep it professional and you’ll do fine.”
“Yeah, but I wish—”
On the other side of the drywall partition, Jack pricked up his ears. Nice to know she thought him virile…but he never discovered what she wished. Instead, her next question puzzled him.
“Any sign of that snake?”
A pause.
“Good. Remember, you promised not to tell him where I am. He’s not getting it through his head that we’re over. I don’t need him bothering me here, too.” Another pause. Freddi was relieved to hear Tabitha say, “No problem, Freddi.”
“Give me a call in a week if you need me to put in a progress report. Now, I’d better be getting up and dressed if I’m going to provide His Studliness with breakfast at seven.” After she put the phone down, she realized Tabitha never did say why she had called in the first place.
Jack leaned back against the mahogany headboard, folded his arms over his chest and gave a satisfied smirk. He wouldn’t allow his suspicions to spoil his anticipation. If Freddi was here to spy on him that would be short-lived. It had been a while since he’d looked forward to breakfast with such relish. Usually he didn’t bother with more than a cup of coffee. But today…today all he could think was, Roll on seven o’clock.
WIDE AWAKE, FREDDI sat on the edge of the bed. Five-forty. Time to start getting organized. First, she’d retrieve her luggage. Providing, of course, it wasn’t still circling around Toronto, sight-seeing from the back of the taxi.
Clad in her overcoat, she found the light switch at the top of the stairwell. Slowly she made her way down the spiraling steps to the ground floor, wondering what lay in store for her and where her bags were. In the gloom, her toe made sudden unexpected contact with her suitcase. She almost took a tumble, but saved herself by flopping over at the waist like a puppet. How very thoughtful of Jack to leave the three packages just past the foot of the stairs. Had he intended them to act as a booby trap?
She noticed her hat, picked it up and looked for a place to put it. Ah, the marble blind-eyed bust in the entrance hall would do. In fact, she rather liked the whimsical look she’d produced.
Grabbing the handle of her suitcase, she lifted it an inch off the floor. No way could she get this up to the room. She’d only managed with it this far thanks to all the kind taxi drivers. She’d really packed too much! Thinking creatively, she decided to unpack downstairs and carry her things up to her room.
Stealthily, she made several ascents and descents. At last she carried up a final armful and set about preparing her uniform. A crumpled effect would not do. With the help of the small traveling steamer she’d bought, she got rid of the creases.
Freshly showered and dressed, Freddi checked her appearance in front of the mirrored closet. If she was going to be a butler she might as well look right. And if this job could help her rebuild her life, it would make the hassle worthwhile. It was bad enough that Simon had totaled her car and been unfaithful to her. But the fact that he’d run up a debt on her Visa was the big problem. She needed to earn well to wipe the slate clean and start over.
Her black tie was not quite properly aligned with the collar of her white shirt, so she leaned in close to adjust it. She tugged the points of her gray weskit over the calf-length, pin-striped skirt, then did up the buttons of the black dinner jacket, making sure the stiff cuffs showed just the right amount of white below the sleeves. Black tights were pulled up well enough so that they didn’t wrinkle, and sensible, flat-heeled lace-up shoes shone with polish. Her hair was slicked down, close to her skull. She then confronted her image full on. She would do. It was a pity that she had no white rose to place in her buttonhole, but she would soon remedy that lack.
Downstairs, she explored the living spaces. The morning was still early, but light reflected off the snow, which meant that the house was not at all dark. In the fireplace, the ashes lay cold and gray. She looked in the direction of the black leather couch. If she ignored a certain late-night excursion, the last coherent memory she had from yesterday was of sitting there and falling asleep. On the coffee table, between the empty pizza box, a glass and a coffee mug, was a man’s wallet, presumably Mr. Carlisle’s. Hardly making a sound, she straightened the place up.
Into the not-too-small galley kitchen she stepped. Everything was state-of-the-art, sleek and modern. Freddi’s gaze swept appreciatively over smart wooden cupboards and shiny granite tops. Underneath was the antidrudgery angel’s gift to humankind, the dishwasher, and she put the soiled crockery and glassware inside. Against one wall stood the largest fridge she’d ever seen. Opposite waited an equally impressive stove that could have coped with the catering demands of a small restaurant. Mr. Carlisle must be totally into his cooking, probably a real foodie.
What a contrast this was from the hodgepodge of cupboards and appliances and single overhead light she’d left behind in Hampstead. She sighed.
The moment she’d discovered Simon shagging Polly’s friend she’d taken off, gone to Paris for the weekend. He’d acted incredulous and hurt when she told him this was the end. He’d sworn he wouldn’t stray again. Before making her final escape she’d retrieved nearly all her belongings, and then given her last few pounds to the airways to cover the overweight charge. That had surely been worth it. As long as Jack never found out she’d been associated with his cousin she’d be fine. She couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing how she’d allowed herself to be taken in by Simon.
All things considered, this wasn’t such a bad exchange. Jack’s taste in clothing could do with some refining, but she couldn’t fault his living style. Tabby had told her he had a trust fund from his father. Pity there was no such fortune in the impoverished Elliott family. Every penny earned went to hang on to the manor house and home farm—all that was left of a once sizable estate. Although their parents had scrimped to send both Freddi and Matthew to exclusive boarding schools, they just had to manage on their own now.
She sighed and got busy with the task at hand—preparing a good hearty breakfast.
From the stack of crockery in a glass-fronted cabinet she chose a suitable plate. Thinking to warm it, she pulled open the oven door and paused, considering the pristine interior. The shelves were still encased in plastic. Corrugated cardboard covered the elements. Revise the first conclusion. So far in its existence, Jack Carlisle’s oven was all flashy surface. That could possibly apply to the man as well. Time would tell soon enough.
She turned toward the fridge and opened it to take out the necessary ingredients. The interior of the appliance gleamed empty and was almost as unused as the oven. Freddi bit her lip. Slowly she shut the door again. One after the other, she began opening cupboards. Maybe she’d find a tin of fruit and a box of cereal in the pantry. No such luck. Even the bread bin contained only a sprinkling of bread crumbs and a plastic packet. How could she produce breakfast when there was no food available?
Arms folded, Freddi leaned back against the cabinets, looking up at the ceiling while she thought. This was a challenge. Just what she liked. Already she could feel her problem-solving energy prickling in her brain. After discarding the idea of spending valuable time looking for a store that was open this early, she gave a brisk nod. She knew just what to do. First, she picked up Jack’s wallet and checked it for cash. Plenty of good-size bills in there. Fine. Back up the stairs she headed, and returned with a couple of her reference books. Then she picked up the handy kitchen phone and dialed. A smile of satisfaction spread as she replaced the receiver. That was sorted. One full breakfast was on order, as well as a continental for the staff. If this was some kind of test, Mr. Jack Carlisle was soon going to discover it was well within the bounds of Elliott’s capabilities.
AT PRECISELY two and a half minutes to seven, Freddi curled her fingers around the wooden handles of the large tray. It was beautifully set and loaded with half a grapefruit, a bowl of cereal, milk and sugar, a plate of bacon and eggs, several slices of toast on the side, plus butter and marmalade and a generous carafe of coffee, all courtesy of a ritzy downtown hotel.
Outside Jack’s door, she stopped. This was one of those moments when she regretted allowing Tabby to persuade her to take a crash course in buttling. But there was no need to be nervous. He needn’t know she’d never done this before and didn’t intend to do it again. She’d go in, put the tray down, open the curtains and remove herself. A deep breath in and out and then she knocked sharply, three times.
“Yeah, come in.” His voice sounded scratchy. No reason for it to have such a strange effect on her, but it did. She’d never felt anything quite like these hitherto unknown physiological reactions she’d been experiencing since yesterday.
Stop right there, Elliott. Remember what Tabby said. This is really no big deal.
She pushed open the door. Straight away she knew she was in trouble.
4
RIGHT ACROSS THE ROOM, staring at her as if ready and waiting, Jack reclined in bed. Without the covering of the bandanna, his hair gleamed thick, wavy and black. Around him spread a sea of rumpled sheets. She wondered briefly if he’d had a rough night. But mostly, her attention was riveted on the sight of him, the impact of his presence, the dangerous way he looked this morning. Perhaps it was because of the dark shadow on his unshaven cheeks and chin, but it was mostly because of his expression. What did he do to make his eyes glitter like that? And how could he look so much like—like dynamite? His wide chest was bare, as was the rest of him, if her memory served her correctly. She dropped her gaze. Forget that, Elliott. Wipe it off the slate. Just concentrate on getting yourself and His Studliness’s tray across the expanse of carpet.
“Good morning, sir.” Her formal manner was well in place.
“Jack.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sat still, arms folded, but watching her every move. She stopped beside the bed.
Now what? She’d just known this was going to be awkward; and somehow she was sure Jack was deliberately making it difficult. Inside she may be trembling, but she wasn’t going to reveal that. Ever since being sent off to boarding school at the age of eight, she’d been thoroughly educated in stiff-upper-lipness.
Her hold on the handles tightened. If she put the tray on his lap it might slide off, especially if he kept his arms folded and his ankles crossed. But there was not enough room between him and the edge of the bed to place it there. She swung away.
“I’ll leave the tray on the table for you, sir.”
“No, you won’t.”
She paused and stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I wanted breakfast in bed, and that’s what I meant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jack.”
She ignored that, but carried the tray with exaggerated deliberation around to the other side of the bed. Someday she was going to discover exactly what that tattoo on his upper arm looked like.
She stepped away and went over to open the blinds. Turning back, she asked, “Will that be all for the moment?”
“Yes.”
“I can draw your bath, if you wish.”
“I’ll take a shower, thank you.”
Did he sound a little miffed? She certainly hoped so. If this was going to be a war, so be it. A battle was just what she needed to get rid of her rage against Simon. She still hadn’t decided if she was more angry at him for totaling her car and then lying about it, or for being unfaithful. And why the hell had he decided to go for Polly’s friend Sharon? If he had to go and shag someone else, at least he should have had the decency to choose someone Freddi didn’t know.
Out in the passage, the door securely shut behind her, she put a thumb to the end of her nose and waggled her fingers. Feeling like a schoolgirl again, she grinned.
Then she sighed. How hard it was to be in a menial position. Only the promise of a fat salary and the possibility of a quick way out of her difficulties could have persuaded her to take on such a role. Thankfully, she’d been born and bred to know exactly the right way of doing things.
And then of course there was Tabby, Simon’s sister, who knew all about his nasty ways and insisted that giving Freddi this job was the least she could do to make up for the trouble Simon had caused.
Freddi made a detour into her room to fetch her notebook and more reference material. In one corner of the kitchen she’d noticed a small built-in desk. For the moment she could make use of that. Tabby had suggested Jack could benefit from her office and administration skills. He’d soon find out what a mistress of organization she was. If she succeeded in being efficient, after a week he wouldn’t know what hit him. Smiling to herself, she remembered the look on his face when she’d walked in with the breakfast tray. Score one for Elliott.
HAVING RECOVERED from his astonishment at his butler’s achievement, Jack sat savoring the last half cup of coffee. Appreciation for the meal overcame his chagrin at being bested. Now that he was finished, he set the tray aside and got up. Once shorts and a spare T-shirt were shoved into his gym bag, he went through to his en suite bathroom to comb his hair. Reflected in the mirror stood the business whiz of the western world. Sooner rather than later, people were going to recognize his genius. If it hadn’t been for the downshift in the economy, he’d be there already. As it was, instead of easily getting funding to develop the applications for his product, he’d been forced to go to Uncle Avery who had reservations about Jack because of some important negotiations he’d botched five years ago at the age of twenty-four. In spite of subsequent success, that black mark hadn’t yet been erased.
Jack rolled his shoulders back. No good dwelling on such things. It was time to get the blood running. Today he was looking forward to his exercise session. Maybe he’d be able to sweat out the contradictory feelings he was having about Elliott. On one hand, he wanted her gone, out of his life. On the other, he was hooked on the vague notion that he’d been dreaming about her in gloriously vivid Technicolor. She was getting to him, invading his space, and he couldn’t imagine having her around 24/7. But he was enjoying what was swiftly becoming a battle of wits.
It might be an idea to give dear cousin Tabitha a call.
He got through immediately.
“Tabby, what the hell do you mean by sending me a woman?”
“Freddi?” Her voice sounded suspiciously airy. “She’s exactly what you need, Jack. Believe me, if anyone can save you, she can.”
“I’m sending her back.”
“No! Don’t. Either Simon or you have to take over from Uncle Avery when he retires. You don’t want to hand Si the job on a plate. So far, he’s looking like a certainty.”
“You mean, because he’s Uncle Avery’s godson?”
“Right. And I’m sorry to tell you, he’s been spreading rumors about you again.”
“Oh yeah? No doubt saying I’m uncouth and wayward.”
“Er, yes…. Look. Give Freddi a chance. I’m certain you’ll find she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“Guaranteed to get me Uncle Avery’s approval, is she?”
“That’s what I hope. Part of it, anyhow. She’ll sort you out, put you right so that you can’t put a foot wrong.”
There were a few seconds of silence while he absorbed that.
“Um…Jack?” Tabby’s voice sounded tentative.
“Yeah.”
“There’s only one thing I have to insist on.”
“What’s that?”
“This is awkward, but I know you’re an honorable man.”
Nice to know someone had faith in his good qualities.
“I try to be.”
“So please, what I want to ask is, don’t even think of Elliott as being female.”
Jack laughed, but even he could hear it sounded phony. “The way she looks, all buttoned up in that hideously severe uniform, stopping myself from hitting on her won’t be any problem at all.”
“I want you to give me your word on that.”
He was silent while his memory nudged him back into the wisps of a dream, and reminded him of how he’d reacted when he’d carried her up to bed yesterday. “Why is this so important?”
“Partly because that’s the agency’s policy, and partly because…well, Freddi went through a bad time just recently.” Tabitha paused, and then repeated, “So please, promise me, Jack.”
“I don’t think I can quite do that. Proximity, you know. All I can say is, I’ll try. Anyways, I’m busy with a dating project.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What? You don’t want me to date?”
“Of course I do. We all know Uncle Avery’s emphasis on the right partner in life. But it’s the ‘anyways’ that bothers me.”
“Excuse me? You want me to date both ways?”
“Stop it, Jack!” Tabby sputtered between her giggles. “‘Anyway’ is singular, not plural. So don’t say ‘anyways.”’
He gave an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “Wish I could just stay plain Jack and not have to learn all this trivial stuff.”
“I know it seems trivial, but decisions often hang on impressions rather than facts. And remember, my dastardly brother is scheming to be top dog, number one, the fella with all the power.”
“Tabby, I just want to get on with the job. Why must I be sucked in?”
“Because you know it would be a disaster if Simon took over the reins…It’s the family, Jack. You can’t avoid it.”
She had him there. As much as he tried, he couldn’t shake off the family feeling, partly because he felt responsible for the legacy of his father. After asking Tabitha how she and her husband were doing, Jack hung up the phone, not exactly satisfied, but at least a bit reconciled to the situation.
He went running down the staircase and paused at the bottom. Something was missing. He distinctly remembered…Freddi’s luggage was gone. She’d taken the hint and removed herself, gone back to England. Great. The whole episode was a hideous illusion. Although he still wasn’t too sure about that dream.
He strode into the living room to retrieve his wallet, and paused when he reached the empty coffee table. His wallet was no longer where he’d left it. Either he’d been burgled in the night or his woman butler was still at large.
Now, where was she? Scanning the surroundings, he had the idea that the whole place looked neater, which meant she must be somewhere around. He listened. Not a sound…except a rustling, like a page being turned. He headed to the kitchen to investigate.
Freddi sat with her back to him, working at that stupid desk that was too tiny for him.
Time to needle her a little bit. “Busy already?”
She half turned in the chair. “Just preparing some notes.”
“Surely you’ve got a memory.”
She sent him an admonishing look. “I don’t like to take chances.”
“No? Wasn’t coming over here taking a chance?”
“I, er, I was more or less forced into that.”
“Forced? How?” This sounded intriguing.
Her mouth pressed into a prim pout. She had no intention of going into details, crying on his shoulder, although she had to admit, Jack’s shoulders were temptingly broad. “There were circumstances at home.” She shut the notebook and stood up. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Carlisle, it’s not done to ask personal questions.”
“Is that so?” Her denial increased his desire to know. He slid one hand into his back pocket, in the process pushing his pants down an inch lower. Her eyes flickered to his waist and away.
“Yes, sir.”
“How’m I going to find out about you if I don’t ask personal questions?” He took a couple of steps forward, crowding her. “I mean, here you are, sharing my house.”
And last night, for just a little while, she’d shared his bed as well.
Freddi stood her ground. If he crowded any closer she’d be able to breathe the scent of a freshly showered Jack Carlisle.
“I’m your butler.” She tilted her chin just a little more than was necessary to look him in the eye. “You don’t need to know anything about me, other than that I’ll work to your advantage. On the other hand,” she continued, “given the scope of my job description, I’ll have to find out a great deal about you.”
“Fine by me.” He lifted his hands in a guileless gesture. “My conscience is clear. I have absolutely nothing to hide.” But he wondered if she did.
“Good. Because I’ll need to use your computer. I have to get onto the Internet and I’ll need your password.”
“Why?”
“All sorts of reasons. But first off, I need to order in some groceries.”
Jack opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Wariness flickered in his eyes. “What else would you do?”
“For example, download your e-mail.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “All right. I suppose that might be useful.”
She looked him up and down. Didn’t the man ever dress in decent clothes?
“A gentleman never goes out dressed like a—a layabout.”
Legs apart, body braced, he stood in front of her. She could almost see the scarlet steam of annoyance wafting out of his ears.
“I go to the gym dressed like this,” he said, enunciating every word. “Then I change before setting off for the office.”
He’d already turned away when a thought struck him.
“Just remember, I don’t want any spam.”
“Sir, I would never dream of serving you anything but home cooked meals.”
“Huh?”
“Spam—tinned meat.”
“Oh no. I meant, junk e-mails.”
She bit her lip. “I see.”
Intent on getting out the door, he headed for the lobby.
Freddi stopped him. “Mr. Carlisle—”
“Jack—”
She held out the wallet. “I’m afraid I had to take out some notes to pay for the breakfast.”
He took the leather folder from her and opened it up.
“Here.” He held out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “Something to cover expenses. Keep two for yourself. It occurs to me you’ll need some cash. Consider this a moving allowance.”
She accepted the notes from him and closed her eyes on a quick prayer of gratitude. Bloody right she needed this. After the dastardly Simon’s incursions, she was seriously into negative equity. As a last resort she could ask her father to help, but she’d much rather not.
Jack resigned himself. British chicks, always on the make. Well, he wasn’t one to quibble about money. “Today I’ll organize a debit card for you, so you can use that for the household.”
Freddi shifted her weight. She dropped her gaze.
Jack noticed that her face was almost translucent. Shadows smudged the fine skin under her eyes. She looked pale, fragile.
“Feeling jet-lagged, are you?” In spite of his best efforts to stay stern, a sympathetic tone crept into his voice. “Tell you what, as you conjured up such an excellent breakfast, you can take some time off today. Catch up on that sleep you seem to need.”
Dark eyes stared up at him.
“What I need is exercise,” she said.
“I suppose you could come to the gym with me,” he offered.
“No, thank you, I don’t like sweat shops. And I need to get started here.”
Good. That let him off the hook. “Well, please yourself, go swimming, dancing, whatever. They’re all available nearby.” He turned away from her.
“Thank you, sir. I think I will.”
“It’s Jack, dammit.” Whirling around, he slapped the wall with a flat hand. “When you call me sir you make me feel as ancient and curmudgeonly as my Uncle Avery.”
“Yes, sir, er, Jack…Would you like me to answer the phone?”
“Please yourself.” He stepped back. “You can write down the messages, too.” Picking up his bag, he said, “In any case, I have an appointment tonight. I won’t be back for dinner.”
Jack was almost out the door when the marble bust caught his eye. On it, set at a rakish angle, was Freddi’s hat. He dropped his gym bag, rummaged in the closet and dug out his bike helmet. Eyes glittering with malevolent glee, he removed the hat and threw it up onto the shelf. Then he replaced it with the helmet.
AT TWO O’CLOCK, Freddi went to fetch her coat. Earlier she had received the first of a weekly delivery of flowers, including roses for her buttonhole. She had just finished arranging a vase.
Now she approached the closet and did a double take. Was she hallucinating? Instead of her hat sitting jauntily on the marble bust, she saw the shiny surface and aerodynamic lines of a bicycle helmet. Huh. Obviously that belonged to Jack and he’d swapped it, not approving of her funky headwear. All right, Mr. Carlisle, she thought. This calls for retribution. Quickly, her mind ran through all the schoolgirl tricks she’d encountered or perpetrated as a boarder; tricks like short-sheeting beds and exchanging the sugar in the sugar bowl for salt. No, nothing like that would do. She’d think up something more subtle to move her pawn forward and advance her game. Meanwhile, she had a class to attend.
She set off for the dance studio and the exercise she craved. Just as Jack had said, there was one nearby. Earlier she’d consulted the directory and given the studio a call. A friendly voice had given her the particulars of available classes and told her how to get there.
Well wrapped up against the cold north wind, Freddi was curious to get more of an impression of her environment. The row of narrow town houses, obviously newly built and in keeping with the Victorian feel of other nearby properties, made her feel at home. At regular intervals along the sidewalk, bare branches of trees promised pleasant shade for the summer.
She turned up Yonge Street and passed a small supermarket. It would be good to get a few supplies on her way back. Next was a boutique that specialized in leg wear. She regarded the display. One plastic leg showed off just exactly what she needed.
Freddi was early. She might as well seize the opportunity so that there was no need to swelter any longer in Mr. Carlisle’s overheated house. She’d buy three pairs of black, lace-topped, stay-up stockings. Within twelve minutes she was equipped, and riding the elevator to the dance studio.
She’d already decided to sign up for the Latin instruction, although she had given passing consideration to belly dancing. But she thought better to go with her original plan and learn to salsa.
Only, once there, she found it wasn’t so easy. The Latin beat pulsed through her, her blood began to pump, but she couldn’t get the hang of the dance. Even though she had studied ballet for a couple of years, her hips and knees wouldn’t cooperate. How frustrating. Maybe practice would do the trick. At least she felt alive again.
WEARY FROM his long day away at the office, Jack climbed the steps. His eyes felt blurry from staring at spreadsheets on the computer, his brain was ready to shut down after straining through problem after problem. Plus, he’d endured a long and difficult evening meeting with a potential customer. He pushed his key into the lock, turned it, then paused. Inside, the lights were shining and he had the fanciful thought that they glimmered with welcome. The smell of wood smoke from a fire had him breathing in an appreciative breath.
He stepped inside, set down his briefcase and shucked off his shoes. Home sweet home. Thank goodness he’d taken the advice of his financial adviser and invested in his own house. After years of renting part of a duplex, it was great to come into peace and quiet, to know that he had the place to himself. But this was no longer true. He was about to shrug out of his leather jacket, when Freddi appeared.
5
“I’LL GET that for you, sir.” She lifted the garment away from his shoulders and neck, allowing him to slide his arms out.
Jack stood still. With Elliott standing so close behind him, he’d caught a whiff of something, a subtle scent that shot him right back into the sexual fantasies that had been haunting him at odd moments all day. He barely stopped himself from grabbing her and hugging her close. Holding the newspaper in front of him, he left her to hang his coat in the closet.
Already she was changing his life, Jack thought as he wandered through to the living room. Scarlet and yellow tulips in a geometric vase graced the coffee table. A couple of current magazines were neatly layered on one side. His house felt subtly different. And he wasn’t at all sure he liked that. Why couldn’t things stay the way they’d been?
Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that all too well. If he wanted to be in a position to advance his cause with Uncle Avery, he had to shape up. The challenge of succeeding with his own business as well as the family company was an exciting one, and he knew he could excel. If only there weren’t these stupid strings attached. If only he didn’t have to bother with learning etiquette and what cutlery to use. If only his butler had been a man. He wondered what else Elliott had done today. Had she been successful in accessing his computer? For a moment he wished he could track any files she might have opened. Had she found the dummies he’d set up in case of a network security breach? Sure, he had the latest virus protection and fire wall, but he couldn’t be too careful. What if she were a spy sent by Simon? he wondered, not for the first time. Fortunately, most of his confidential information was on his office hard drive and not at home.
“Would you like a nightcap, sir? A whiskey and soda?”
She was back to “sir,” was she? And how was it that the masculine way she was dressed made her appear so softly feminine? It must be the contrast of that petite body in the strict uniform. His gaze flicked to the rose in her buttonhole, just above her breast.
He scowled at her. “No, thanks.”
“Well, what about a mug of cocoa?”
Cocoa? Now, there was a cozy idea. Immediately he was back in his mother’s kitchen, sitting at the pine table, his hands around the warmth of a cup while his mother listened to him as he chattered away, telling her about the day at school. He swallowed.
“Perhaps I will.”
“If you’d like to sit and relax, I’ll bring it to you.”
Jack sank onto his favorite chair, put his head back and wiggled his toes. The fire glowed and flickered. All was quiet except for the sound of Freddi tinkering in the kitchen. He really hadn’t expected her to be up, waiting for him. Before she messed with his head any further, he had to get rid of her. Already he’d worked out another impossible task. He didn’t want a superior waif bossing him around, haunting his mind and interfering with his life. Within the week she had to be on a plane, heading east. Then Tabby could organize a replacement. A male replacement.
She came through and placed a small tray in front of him. On it sat the mug of cocoa and a plate with an assortment of cookies.
His mouth began to water. Then he noticed something missing. “Where are the marshmallows?”
“Marshmallows?”
She sounded bewildered, as if she’d never heard of them.
“Yeah. You know, pink and white mushy things—candies.”
“I didn’t realize you liked to eat sweets.”
“Not for eating—they’re for melting in the cocoa.”
“Oh. I am sorry. We don’t do that in England.” She gave a sniff. “I’ll be sure to get some in tomorrow.”
“That’ll be another Internet order, will it?”
“Yes.”
“So you got into my computer.” It was a statement that she didn’t contradict.
There was an awkward moment while she stood still. Then she asked in a frosty tone, “Will that be all, sir?”
He was too tired to insist she call him Jack. “Yes, thank you, Elliott.”
“In that case, could I ask—do you have any particular plans or instructions for tomorrow?”
Arms reaching for the ceiling, he gave a huge stretch. “Sure. I’ve got a date in the evening.”
“And will you be entertaining at home?”
“No, I’m taking her out…Which reminds me, I need you to do something about my car. I haven’t given it a run for a while. It needs to be serviced, filled up with gas, that kind of thing.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Hands clasped in front of her, Freddi stood looking calm and demure. The ironic thing was, all that buttoned-up stuffiness made him want to ruffle her slicked-down hair, unbutton her jacket, her vest, her blouse…What would she look like, he wondered, in the throes of passion? With a sigh of exasperation, he registered that the wayward thoughts which had insisted on tantalizing him, on pulling him off course at odd moments of the day, were not easily harnessed. His plan to pressure her into leaving had better come off. He rose, deciding to finish his cocoa in his room. Alone.
“And would you like breakfast at seven, the same as this morning?” she asked.
Tempting, but… “No. I’ll grab something at the office. I have to get an early start.”
Even though Jack came downstairs before seven the next day, Elliott was prepared. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen, and the toaster waited with two slices of bread between its wiry teeth, ready to be browned. Butter and marmalade had been set out, and the morning paper signaled its readiness to be read, or at least glanced through. He couldn’t resist.
Jack finished his last bite of toast, and drained the coffee mug. He got up from the table and went into the kitchen. Elliott sat working at the desk. He walked over and stood behind her, where, once again, he caught the faintest whiff of her scent. The smell went straight to his gut, re-creating his body’s memory of a dream—a very sexy dream. He gave his head a short, sharp shake. Get real, Carlisle, that was nothing but an illusion. Banish the thought that underneath that strict uniform Elliott might just be soft, female and as uninhibited and passionate as his fantasy.
“Here’s the key for my car.” He held out the metal ring. “You know how to get into the garage, do you?”
“I discovered the door this morning, but I didn’t go in.”
“Fine. Then you’ll have absolutely no problems.”
He could barely suppress a grin of pure masculine glee. Already he could taste victory and it was sweet.
CURIOUS TO SEE what make of vehicle Jack drove, hoping, for the sake of his uncle’s approval rating that it wasn’t something American, Freddi made her way to the garage. She opened the door, turned on the overhead light and stepped down three steps into the cold air. There, crouching dark green and sleek, she found a sporty Jaguar. Uncle Avery, whom she knew well because of the many times she’d visited him and Aunt Tina with Tabitha on exeunts from school, would be pleased. Except, when she looked more closely, she saw the car was covered with a film of dirt. Uncle Avery would not be pleased.
Never mind, Elliott the Efficient would soon fix all that.
Key in hand, she went to unlock the driver’s door. But the key would not slide in. She squinted at the small piece of metal. There was the wildcat logo, so it was a Jag key. Her fingers already feeling stiff from the cold, she tried again. No, definitely, this key didn’t fit. Could it be that Jack had given her the wrong one?
Puzzled, she went to try the trunk. That worked, so she lifted the lid and looked inside. This didn’t bode well at all. There was a threadbare old blanket, a couple of rusty tins, some half-squeezed tubes of goodness-knew-what, an assortment of plastic bags and yellowed newspapers. But that she could deal with later. If she couldn’t get into the car itself, she wouldn’t be able to start it or find the papers to tell her where it should go for servicing. She wouldn’t be able to get the interior vacuumed and shined and the exterior waxed and polished, and she’d be in big trouble. Damn.
No use hanging around this icy garage. The cold was having a stultifying effect on her ingenuity. She wandered back into the house, mulling over the situation. All the signs indicated that Jack had given her the wrong key intentionally. Right this minute Mr. Smug Carlisle was probably smiling evilly and congratulating himself at having stymied Freddi Elliott.
In the kitchen she dropped onto the chair at her little desk. For a while she stared absently through the square frame of the window, at the patterned tracery of bare branches outside. Time to summon the backup troops, but who could they be? Aha.
Having discovered the CAA’s number, she picked up the handset and dialed. Once she’d found out that Jack was indeed a member, she was relieved to hear a promise to help.
When the man from the CAA arrived, Freddi explained the situation. He looked surprised but unfazed. This time, she made her foray into the garage properly dressed. She wore a coat, hat and woolly gloves. For a second she wondered if she’d need a miner’s headlamp attached to her forehead for a full inspection.
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