A Puppy for Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

herself the butt of Jackson’s warped sense of humour was just too much!

      She gave him a sweet, insincere smile. ‘Of course, Daddykins!’

      Danny gave a giggle. ‘Did you hear that, Daddy? Bree called you Daddykins!’

      As Bree had hoped, Jackson’s mocking blue eyes were now totally devoid of humour. ‘I heard what she called me,’ Jackson bit out tersely, glaring at Bree over Danny’s head. ‘Just make sure you let me know you’re back so that I can be sure everywhere is locked up after you.’

      When he put it like that it was a reasonable request; there were security gates at the end of the driveway that Bree would have to come through, and an alarm system fitted in her apartment as well as in the main house. Human safety apart, Jackson had some very expensive photographic equipment in his studio, as well as several original paintings in the house.

      ‘Will do,’ she breezed flippantly. ‘Have a pleasant evening, you two.’

      Jackson knew he should have wished her the same, and yet as he watched Bree leave something held him back.

      It was that recklessness he sensed in her, perhaps, and the image he’d had of her earlier, standing on the edge of that cliff …

      CHAPTER FOUR

      IT WAS almost midnight when Bree quietly let herself into the darkness of Beaumont House, moving softly through the silence to the kitchen and out into the entrance hall, before making her way to the sitting room, where she could hear the low murmur of the television. Jackson had evidently waited up for her to return from her dinner date as promised.

      Or not, Bree realised with wry amusement as she entered the sitting room and observed Jackson, sleeping peacefully in one of the armchairs. The fire in the hearth had burnt down to just a few hot coals; only the flickering television and the coloured lights on the Christmas tree illuminated the comfortable room.

      Bree crossed the room with the intention of switching off the television, only to hesitate beside Jackson’s chair. She had never seen him asleep before—there was no reason why she should have—and she couldn’t help noticing how much younger he looked without that mocking glint in his eyes and that cynical twist to those sensual lips. His golden honey-and-molasses hair had fallen untidily over his brow, which only added to that illusion of boyishness.

      Because it was an illusion, Bree told herself sternly; Jackson was both mocking and cynical. And sarcastic. And rude. And completely impossible. And—

      And quite possibly the most sensually handsome man Bree had ever set eyes on.

      She had been both hurt and hurting when she’d first come to work for Jackson almost a year ago. Totally disillusioned with all men. And the often outrageous, too-handsome Jerome Jackson Beaumont was a man who enjoyed the constant stream of women coming and going in and out of his life—and his bed. Or rather the woman’s bed; Danny’s presence at Beaumont House meant that Jackson never brought women back here to spend the night with him.

      All that had only served to confirm Bree’s belief that men simply weren’t capable of faithfulness and love for one single woman.

      Which didn’t mean that she couldn’t appreciate what all those other women saw in Jackson!

      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