A Puppy for Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

      Which she did.

      Just the thought of leaving—of never seeing Jackson again, of being separated from Danny—was enough to make Bree’s chest ache. And not in a pleasant way either!

      ‘What are you thinking about?’

      Bree looked up at Jackson warily, her breath catching in her throat as he focused all the intensity of his glittering blue eyes on her. She moistened her lips nervously, averting her own gaze and looking into the flames of the gas fire.

      ‘I’m still waiting for you to answer my question,’ she said softly.

      ‘But that wasn’t what you were thinking about, was it?’ There was a quiet, knowing triumph in his voice as he spoke.

      Colour warmed Bree’s cheeks even as she raised heavy dark lashes to look up at him. ‘You can’t possibly know that.’

      ‘Can’t I?’

      ‘No!’

      He raised his eyebrows, taunting her. ‘I know that whatever you were thinking about it hardened your nipples!’

      The colour deepened in Bree’s cheeks as she looked down self-consciously and saw the clear outline of her aroused nipples against the soft wool of her sweater. She closed her eyes, groaning inwardly with mortification.

      ‘Maybe you were imagining your visitor was Roger Tyler?’

      ‘Of course I wasn’t imagining that!’ Bree protested, looked up with a frown.

      ‘No?’ Jackson took a moment to savour her protest before his expression hardened again.

      Was Bree even wearing a bra? If she was, then it was worse than useless at concealing the smooth curve of those full and tempting breasts, let alone the firm outline of her aroused nipples.

      Nipples that Jackson ached to expose to the ministrations of his lips, tongue and teeth!

      ‘Who do you think it was if it wasn’t Tyler?’

      ‘I have absolutely no idea. Nor am I particularly interested—least of all in playing your childish little guessing games,’ she spat impatiently. ‘I think it’s time you left.’

      ‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who David is.’

      ‘David?’ She was completely taken aback. ‘Are you saying that my visitor was David?’

      ‘Would it matter to you if it was?’

      Would it? Bree asked herself dazedly.

      Last week—yesterday, even—the answer to that question might have been yes. But did it matter to her today, here and now, after what had happened with Jackson last night …?