A Puppy for Christmas: On the Secretary's Christmas List / The Patter of Paws at Christmas / The Soldier, the Puppy and Me

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.