A Puppy for Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

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.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      A SHUTTER came down quickly over those expressive grey eyes as Bree moved sharply back towards her seat, putting the width of her desk between them.

      ‘And would your lunch today with Miss Greaves be business or pleasure?’ she enquired icily, looking up at Jackson in a direct challenge.

      His eyes narrowed to sky-blue slits. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’

      ‘No?’ Bree raised cynical brows.

      ‘No,’ Jackson bit out sharply. ‘It isn’t the same thing at all.’

      ‘It is in as much as your lunch today is no more my business than David’s role in my life is any of yours,’ she spat, her slender hands flat on the desktop.

      David’s role in Bree’s life?

      The two of them had worked together in harmony for almost a year now, though in the past two days Jackson knew that harmonious relationship had been blown completely and utterly to pieces. Some of it was his own fault; Jackson freely admitted that. He had been totally out of line last night in kissing Bree—let alone what followed.

      But where the hell had all these other men in her life come from so suddenly? Roger Tyler was obviously a relatively new acquaintance, but had this David been around all the time and Jackson just hadn’t known about it?

      And what if the other man had been in Bree’s life for some time? Why should that matter to Jackson?

      It didn’t! Or at least it only mattered in as much as it showed him that he didn’t know Bree as well as he’d thought …

      ‘I really don’t want to talk about this, Jackson,’ Bree said with finality.

      He continued to look at her searchingly for several long seconds before slowly lowering his arm to place the Christmas card down on the desk in front of Bree.

      ‘You’re right. It’s none of my business.’ He took a step backwards, exhaling deeply.

      ‘Thank you,’ she murmured huskily.

      Jackson