Brenda Hammond - At Your Service, Jack

Jack’s tone turned husky and sent a shiver down Freddi’s spine. She was ultra aware of how sexily she was dressed. With his eyes on her, she felt exposed, vulnerable.

“I approve of the getup.” His gaze was hot on hers. “Why can’t you wear those kind of clothes all the time?”

“They’d be a bit restricting in bed.” Oh, hell, had she really said that?

His eyes smoldered. “Are you a woman who likes a challenge?”

“Of course I am,” she said, trying to regain some ground. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t still be working for you.”

“Good.” He winked at her. How she wished he wouldn’t do that. It caused instant meltdown. “Want to arm wrestle?”

Was he joking? She bit her lip, eyeing the bulging width of his biceps. She could think of better things to do.

“What are the stakes?” she asked suspiciously.

His smile was sensual, suggestive and enough to have every lustful cell in her body come to quivering life.

“Don’t worry. If you’re lucky I might let you keep some of those sexy clothes on.”

Dear Reader,

I was flipping through the pages of a British magazine when I came across an article that recounted one woman’s experience at a school for butlers. What really caught my eye, though, was the photograph of her bringing breakfast in bed to her gorgeous hunk of an employer. Well! That was all it took to set the creative juices flowing.

Soon I was writing about the adventures of Freddi and Jack. Every now and then my husband appeared in my study to find out what was making me chuckle. Even our Himalayan cat, Figaro (the vainest cat in North America and a substitute for our four grown kids), nosed around my keyboard to sniff out what was keeping me so entertained.

I hope Freddi and Jack’s romance will give you a smile or two, and reaffirm the importance of love. Spinning stories such as this allows me to share the passion, laughter and joy that I’m able to find in my life. Romance novels have helped me through the light and the dark moments of my many journeys and I hope this story can do the same for you.

Wishing you as much fun in reading this as I had in writing it!

Brenda Hammond

Want to know more about Brenda Hammond? Visit eHarlequin at www.eHarlequin.com/authors.

At Your Service, Jack

Brenda Hammond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Nancy Frost and Eve Silver.

Working with you is right up there

with the best things that have ever happened to me.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

FREDERICA IMOGEN ELLIOTT negotiated the icy steps leading up to the oak-paneled front door, a flight bag dangling from one hand. Her fancy, lizard-skin boots were definitely not up to keeping a grip on Toronto’s pavements in March. The leather soles slithered and slipped all over the place. And she didn’t appreciate the fast-flying snow that seemed determined to blanket her. Thank goodness her stiff-brimmed hat kept the flakes out of her eyes.

At the top, her gaze met the eye-level, brassy glare of the door knocker—a lion with an overbite problem. Seizing the ring, she gave it three sharp raps. Her satisfaction evaporated when she noticed a bell on the left. Why couldn’t she get anything right?

Seconds before she was transformed into a snow-woman, a man with a tattoo and a day’s growth of beard yanked open the door. Oh God, Freddi thought, what had she got herself into? He was so tall. And his clothes! There was no hemming at the neck of his T-shirt, which meant she could see his chest. His sweatpants hung loose and low at the waist, revealing a slice of taut, lightly furred stomach. What a scruff. And he was wearing a bandanna! Her first, and with any luck, only, assignment was going to be much more difficult than she’d ever imagined.

She cleared her suddenly husky throat. “Good evening, Mr. Carlisle. I’m Freddi Elliott and—”

“Sorry, I’m not entertaining till later.” His voice was gruff, his consonants slurred. And he shut the door in her face.

How rude! This man was definitely in need of civilizing. If she wasn’t so desperate to fix her life she’d turn around right now and go back to the U.K. Trying not to feel intimidated, Freddi jabbed the bell. Again the door opened.

Dark eyebrows crunched together. “I told you to go away!”

Quickly, before he could close the door, she shoved her foot into the narrowing gap.

“Just a minute!” Her voice rose horribly close to a squeal. “You’re expecting me.”

“I am?” The door opened a fraction wider. “You must be mistaken.” He folded his arms across the not-to-be-ignored width of his chest. “I know that the woman I’m expecting tonight is tall and blond, just as I specified. Obviously, you don’t fit the bill.”

Quickly he looked her up and down, one eyebrow quirking when he saw her footwear. “Quite apart from the fact that—” unfolding his arms, he shot his wrist forward and checked his watch “—if you are the babe from the agency, you’re an hour early.”

Jet lag must have affected her ears, because it simply wasn’t possible that she’d heard him correctly.

“I thought I was precisely on time,” Freddi protested. “And what difference would my height or the color of my hair make?”

He smiled, a slow, sizzling smile, “Blond hair and long legs are guaranteed to turn me on. So now—” he gripped the doorjamb “—you can remove your foot and its reptilian casing.”

Blinking at him, she did as he asked. He promptly stepped back and shut the door.

She stared at the unyielding barrier. Life seemed determined to hand her yet another obstacle, not satisfied with the fact that she was broke, carless and homeless. In spite of the hollow feeling that was spreading through her, she couldn’t give up. Mustering her courage, she leaned on the bell again.

After four seconds her new employer reappeared. “What is your problem, lady?” His frown was fearsome to behold.

“My problem?” In agitation she began to swing her carry-on bag backward and forward. “There must be a misunderstanding here.”

“You misunderstood when I told you to get lost?” His glance flicked down to the purse/pendulum and he took a step back, as if worried that she would hit him in the crown jewels.

“No.” She swallowed. “But are you really sure that’s what you want?” Stilling the bag, she stuck her aristocratic nose in the air. “My idea—” she said in her snottiest tone “—is that your butler is not supposed to turn you on.”

The man goggled at her.

She gave a sniff, determined not to succumb to tears. “Maybe I’ll just climb back into the taxi and return to the airport.”

“Did you say butler?”