Brenda Hammond - At Your Service, Jack

DOWNSTAIRS, he was making his way to the front door when he tripped over Freddi’s hat. He cursed, picked it up and hurried to the door, hoping the lady wasn’t too vexed. But when he opened it he saw nothing but swirling snow. He swore in frustration.

He gave a quick glance up and down Acorn Street, then shut the door again. He twirled the hat on his fingers and plonked it on top of her luggage. Seeing as his date had disappeared, he’d better cancel his dinner reservation. He decided to order a good-size pizza.

A little while later he sat munching and thinking. He had to find a way to get rid of Elliott. Already she was causing trouble. Leaning back in his chair, he let his mind float. He thought about his sister Louise, and Kimmie, his niece. The last time he’d baby-sat he’d read her a bedtime story, a neat fairy tale where the hero was given three tasks to accomplish.

Bingo. He sat up straight. That was his answer. He’d set Elliott three impossible tasks and she’d surely get the message and quit.

Now all he had to do was scheme them up.

Soon inspiration struck. Jack had an idea for the first impossible task. Definitely he himself would find this extremely taxing, and he imagined that, given the state of his kitchen, Elliott would too. With a grin, he bounded up the stairs to his third-floor office. After booting up his computer and opening a new document, he stared at the blank screen. A quick nod, a chuckle, and he began composing his note.

In Jeeves’s room he found Freddi lying just as he’d left her.

He pried his gaze away from her sleeping form. Now, where to put the note so that she saw it when she woke? On top of the mahogany chest of drawers was the obvious place. Surely the bright-yellow paper would catch her eye. Propping it against a photograph of the Tower of London—the designer had insisted it would make Jeeves feel at home—Jack decided it would be interesting to see how Elliott would react to his somewhat insolent demand.

IN HER OLD-FASHIONED, Hampstead flat the bathroom was just across the hall from the bedroom. So, when groggy Freddi got up from the bed in Toronto, she opened the door and stumbled across the passage. There she found the bathroom. Confused to discover she was still in her clothes, she undressed and cast them onto the floor. After flushing, she groped her way back. Her fingers encountered the smooth stainless knob. Silly that she’d shut the door behind her. She tottered forward into the darkness and slid back into bed.

Minutes later, a pleasant sensation caused her to rise gradually out of Morpheus’s realm. Vaguely she became aware of a warm, male body shifting in behind her. She snuggled closer. One heavy hand crept over her waist, seeking fingers curled around her breast. A certain vital piece of male anatomy stirred. And grew.

Languorously, she stretched her legs down and turned toward the lure of love, her body already heating, becoming fluid. Lifting her arms, she wound them around the firm muscles of the man in the bed and pressed closer. He responded by nibbling gently at her, the soft movements setting off tingling jolts of electricity. When the thrills began to turn her body to fire, she reacted by surging upward. She freed her hands to hold the firm jaw, and devoured his mouth with a deep and hungry kiss. God, did he taste good. This was like putting your tongue to the finest chocolate truffle. The outside was soft, silky. The inside more textured, more tasty, more explosive. And he felt like Adonis. She wanted more, and he was willing to cooperate.

When at last the kiss ended, Freddi breathed out a long breath. This was bliss. This was searing and exciting. The only trouble was, this wasn’t a dream, it was real!

Her eyes popped open. Her breathing stopped. The man half under her didn’t smell familiar. Just to make sure, she turned her nose toward the ceiling and sniffed—a touch of wood smoke, a whiff of whiskey and something else—oh God—eau de Carlisle. Full realization hit. She was cuddling in bed with a stranger. Her boss.

She lay transfixed, her eyes wide and staring into the darkness. Even though she could feel the hardness pressing against her thigh, she thought just maybe Mr. Carlisle was still more asleep than awake. Quietening her own breathing, she listened. Was he conscious, or not? From the regular rhythm, she thought not. Which meant she might just have a chance to slip away.

Gingerly she slid one leg outward. No echoing shift came from Jack. The other leg joined it. She was about to gather her forces and scamper off, when a strong arm grabbed her middle, rolled her over and crushed her back into a warm and ardent embrace. For three seconds she luxuriated in the potent sensation, her body unable to resist. But then her brain insisted she beat an immediate retreat. Making herself as slim as she could, she ducked down, slithered to the edge of the bed and rolled out. Ignoring Jack’s mutters of displeasure, she crawled, full speed ahead, to the exit. When she was safely out in the passage again, she stood up, closed the door so quietly there was hardly a whisper as it settled into its frame, and got herself into the adjacent room.

Shaken, disoriented, she closed herself in and stood leaning back, staring into the darkness. Where had that libidinous woman come from? How she’d got to bed was a mystery. How she’d got herself to the bathroom, she didn’t know. But now, to reassert her grasp on reality, she needed to see where she was. Running her hand over the wall, she found the light switch.

Slowly, she considered the room. Apart from her coat, it was empty of her belongings. Then she spotted the bright-yellow note.

Freddi tiptoed across to the chest, snatched up the piece of paper and read:

Elliott—I expect breakfast in bed at exactly 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.

And he hadn’t even signed it.

PEREMPTORY AND RUDE, that was Mr. Jack Carlisle. Freddi would deal with him in the morning. For the moment, she needed to lie down and sleep. As she snuggled under the duvet, a little voice reminded her of a few other, more earthy and seductive aspects of the man who was her new employer. Those naughty whispers she would ignore. She would forget the extraordinary way her body had started to sizzle and tingle at his nearness, and how she had virtually attacked him.

How to explain her reaction to him? Simon, her ex-fiancé, had never had such an effect on her. Neither had Navy Roger, who had been The First. She should have known that, being a sailor, he’d soon move on to wilder waters.

It would be best to banish the incident from her mind and concentrate on the task at hand. Judging by the way Jack had behaved last night, she was going to have plenty to work on if she was going to transform this somewhat rough-edged fellow into a suave and polite gentleman.

BACK IN THE WIDE, king-size bed, Jack had been having a wonderful dream. But now, suddenly, his fantasy had evaporated. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recapture the fabulous feeling of feminine flesh snuggling into him. He was on the verge of success when the telephone rang, waking him up. He groaned, wiped his hands over his face and stretched to reach the demanding instrument. Just as he was within grasping distance it stopped ringing.

The sound of a woman’s voice wafted through the thin wall. Jack’s eyebrows shot up. What the hell? Last thing he remembered…Oh yeah. That voice, those cultured vowels, those crisp consonants, belonged to Freddi Elliott, the female butler from jolly old England. Jack narrowed his eyes. Surely that luscious, fantastic, sexy dream he’d been having couldn’t possibly have featured her? Nah. Impossible. The dating desert he’d been in for too long because of all the extra hours he’d put in at the office and the laboratory was causing hallucinations.