Under the Boss's Mistletoe. Jessica Hart

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       About the Author

       PROLOGUE

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       EPILOGUE

       Copyright

      Under the

      Boss’s Mistletoe

      Jessica Hart

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Jessica Hart was born in West Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since—travelling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs, all of which have provided inspiration on which to draw when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history, although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons. If you’d like to know more about Jessica, visit her website www.jessicahart.co.uk

      PROLOGUE

      ‘I WANT a word with you!’

      Cassie almost fell down the steps in her hurry to catch Jake before he zoomed off like the coward he was. The stumble did nothing to improve her temper as she stormed over to where he had just got onto his motorbike.

      He had been about to put on his helmet, but he paused at the sound of her voice. In his battered leathers, he looked as dark and mean as the machine he sat astride. There was a dangerous edge to Jake Trevelyan that Cassie normally found deeply unnerving, but today she was too angry to be intimidated.

      ‘You broke Rupert’s nose!’ she said furiously.

      Jake observed her approach through narrowed eyes. The estate manager’s ungainly daughter had a wild mane of curls, a round, quirky face and a mouth that showed promise of an interesting woman to come. Right now, though, she was still only seventeen, and reminded him of an exuberant puppy about to fall over its paws.

      Not such a friendly puppy today, he observed. The normally dreamy brown eyes were flashing with temper. It wasn’t too hard to guess what had her all riled up; she must have just been to see her precious Rupert.

      ‘Not quite such a pretty boy today, is he?’ he grinned.

      Cassie’s fists clenched. ‘I’d like to break your nose,’ she said and Jake laughed mockingly.

      ‘Have a go,’ he offered.

      ‘And give you the excuse to beat me up as well? I don’t think so.’

      ‘I didn’t beat Rupert up,’ said Jake dismissively. ‘Is that what he told you?’

      ‘I’ve just seen him. He looks awful.’

      Cassie heard the crack in her voice and pressed her lips together in a fierce, straight line before she could humiliate herself utterly by bursting into tears.

      She had been so happy, she had had to keep pinching herself. For as long as she could remember she had dreamed of Rupert, and now he was hers—or he had been. It was only three days since the ball, and he was in a vicious temper, which he’d taken out on her. It was all spoilt now.

      And it was all Jake Trevelyan’s fault.

      ‘He’s going to bring assault charges against you,’ she told Jake, hoping to shock him, but he only looked contemptuous.

      ‘So Sir Ian has just been telling me.’

      Cassie had never understood why Sir Ian had so much time for a thug like Jake, especially now that he had beaten up his own nephew!

      The Trevelyans were notorious in Portrevick for their shady dealings, and the only member of the family who had ever appeared to hold down a job at all was Jake’s mother, who had cleaned for Sir Ian until her untimely death a couple of years ago. Jake himself had long had a reputation as a troublemaker. He was four years older than Cassie, and she couldn’t remember a time when his dark, surly presence hadn’t made him the kind of boy you crossed the road to avoid.

      It was a pity she hadn’t remembered that at the Allantide Ball.

      Now Cassie glared at him, astonished by her own bravery. ‘But then, I suppose the thought of prison wouldn’t bother you,’ she said. ‘It’s something of a family tradition, isn’t it?’

      Something unpleasant flared in Jake’s eyes, and she took an involuntary step backwards, wondering a little too late whether she might have gone too far. There was a suppressed anger about him that should have warned her not to provoke him. She wouldn’t put it past him to take out all that simmering resentment on her the way he so clearly had on Rupert, but in the end he only looked at her with dislike.

      ‘What do you want, Miss Not-So-Goody Two Shoes?’

      Cassie took a deep breath. ‘I want to know why you hit Rupert.’

      ‘Why does it matter?’

      ‘Rupert said it was over me.’ She bit her lip. ‘He wouldn’t tell me exactly what.’

      Jake laughed shortly. ‘No, I bet he wouldn’t!’

      ‘Was it…was it because of what happened at the Allantide Ball?’

      ‘When you offered yourself to me on a plate?’ he said, and her face flamed.

      ‘I was just talking,’ she protested, although she knew she had been doing more than that.

      ‘You don’t wear a dress like that just to talk,’ said Jake.

      Cassie’s cheeks were as scarlet as the dress she had bought as part of a desperate strategy to convince Rupert that she had grown up.

      Her parents had been aghast when they had seen it, and Cassie herself had been half-horrified, halfthrilled by how it had made her look. The colour was lovely—a deep, rich red—but it was made