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

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?’