Читать книгу At Your Service, Jack - Brenda Hammond, Brenda Hammond - Страница 11

“I’LL GET that for you, sir.” She lifted the garment away from his shoulders and neck, allowing him to slide his arms out.

Jack stood still. With Elliott standing so close behind him, he’d caught a whiff of something, a subtle scent that shot him right back into the sexual fantasies that had been haunting him at odd moments all day. He barely stopped himself from grabbing her and hugging her close. Holding the newspaper in front of him, he left her to hang his coat in the closet.

Already she was changing his life, Jack thought as he wandered through to the living room. Scarlet and yellow tulips in a geometric vase graced the coffee table. A couple of current magazines were neatly layered on one side. His house felt subtly different. And he wasn’t at all sure he liked that. Why couldn’t things stay the way they’d been?

Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that all too well. If he wanted to be in a position to advance his cause with Uncle Avery, he had to shape up. The challenge of succeeding with his own business as well as the family company was an exciting one, and he knew he could excel. If only there weren’t these stupid strings attached. If only he didn’t have to bother with learning etiquette and what cutlery to use. If only his butler had been a man. He wondered what else Elliott had done today. Had she been successful in accessing his computer? For a moment he wished he could track any files she might have opened. Had she found the dummies he’d set up in case of a network security breach? Sure, he had the latest virus protection and fire wall, but he couldn’t be too careful. What if she were a spy sent by Simon? he wondered, not for the first time. Fortunately, most of his confidential information was on his office hard drive and not at home.

“Would you like a nightcap, sir? A whiskey and soda?”

She was back to “sir,” was she? And how was it that the masculine way she was dressed made her appear so softly feminine? It must be the contrast of that petite body in the strict uniform. His gaze flicked to the rose in her buttonhole, just above her breast.

He scowled at her. “No, thanks.”

“Well, what about a mug of cocoa?”

Cocoa? Now, there was a cozy idea. Immediately he was back in his mother’s kitchen, sitting at the pine table, his hands around the warmth of a cup while his mother listened to him as he chattered away, telling her about the day at school. He swallowed.

“Perhaps I will.”

“If you’d like to sit and relax, I’ll bring it to you.”

Jack sank onto his favorite chair, put his head back and wiggled his toes. The fire glowed and flickered. All was quiet except for the sound of Freddi tinkering in the kitchen. He really hadn’t expected her to be up, waiting for him. Before she messed with his head any further, he had to get rid of her. Already he’d worked out another impossible task. He didn’t want a superior waif bossing him around, haunting his mind and interfering with his life. Within the week she had to be on a plane, heading east. Then Tabby could organize a replacement. A male replacement.

She came through and placed a small tray in front of him. On it sat the mug of cocoa and a plate with an assortment of cookies.

His mouth began to water. Then he noticed something missing. “Where are the marshmallows?”

“Marshmallows?”

She sounded bewildered, as if she’d never heard of them.

“Yeah. You know, pink and white mushy things—candies.”

“I didn’t realize you liked to eat sweets.”

“Not for eating—they’re for melting in the cocoa.”

“Oh. I am sorry. We don’t do that in England.” She gave a sniff. “I’ll be sure to get some in tomorrow.”

“That’ll be another Internet order, will it?”

“Yes.”

“So you got into my computer.” It was a statement that she didn’t contradict.

There was an awkward moment while she stood still. Then she asked in a frosty tone, “Will that be all, sir?”

He was too tired to insist she call him Jack. “Yes, thank you, Elliott.”

“In that case, could I ask—do you have any particular plans or instructions for tomorrow?”

Arms reaching for the ceiling, he gave a huge stretch. “Sure. I’ve got a date in the evening.”

“And will you be entertaining at home?”

“No, I’m taking her out…Which reminds me, I need you to do something about my car. I haven’t given it a run for a while. It needs to be serviced, filled up with gas, that kind of thing.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Hands clasped in front of her, Freddi stood looking calm and demure. The ironic thing was, all that buttoned-up stuffiness made him want to ruffle her slicked-down hair, unbutton her jacket, her vest, her blouse…What would she look like, he wondered, in the throes of passion? With a sigh of exasperation, he registered that the wayward thoughts which had insisted on tantalizing him, on pulling him off course at odd moments of the day, were not easily harnessed. His plan to pressure her into leaving had better come off. He rose, deciding to finish his cocoa in his room. Alone.

“And would you like breakfast at seven, the same as this morning?” she asked.

Tempting, but… “No. I’ll grab something at the office. I have to get an early start.”

Even though Jack came downstairs before seven the next day, Elliott was prepared. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen, and the toaster waited with two slices of bread between its wiry teeth, ready to be browned. Butter and marmalade had been set out, and the morning paper signaled its readiness to be read, or at least glanced through. He couldn’t resist.

Jack finished his last bite of toast, and drained the coffee mug. He got up from the table and went into the kitchen. Elliott sat working at the desk. He walked over and stood behind her, where, once again, he caught the faintest whiff of her scent. The smell went straight to his gut, re-creating his body’s memory of a dream—a very sexy dream. He gave his head a short, sharp shake. Get real, Carlisle, that was nothing but an illusion. Banish the thought that underneath that strict uniform Elliott might just be soft, female and as uninhibited and passionate as his fantasy.

“Here’s the key for my car.” He held out the metal ring. “You know how to get into the garage, do you?”

“I discovered the door this morning, but I didn’t go in.”

“Fine. Then you’ll have absolutely no problems.”

He could barely suppress a grin of pure masculine glee. Already he could taste victory and it was sweet.

CURIOUS TO SEE what make of vehicle Jack drove, hoping, for the sake of his uncle’s approval rating that it wasn’t something American, Freddi made her way to the garage. She opened the door, turned on the overhead light and stepped down three steps into the cold air. There, crouching dark green and sleek, she found a sporty Jaguar. Uncle Avery, whom she knew well because of the many times she’d visited him and Aunt Tina with Tabitha on exeunts from school, would be pleased. Except, when she looked more closely, she saw the car was covered with a film of dirt. Uncle Avery would not be pleased.

Never mind, Elliott the Efficient would soon fix all that.

Key in hand, she went to unlock the driver’s door. But the key would not slide in. She squinted at the small piece of metal. There was the wildcat logo, so it was a Jag key. Her fingers already feeling stiff from the cold, she tried again. No, definitely, this key didn’t fit. Could it be that Jack had given her the wrong one?

Puzzled, she went to try the trunk. That worked, so she lifted the lid and looked inside. This didn’t bode well at all. There was a threadbare old blanket, a couple of rusty tins, some half-squeezed tubes of goodness-knew-what, an assortment of plastic bags and yellowed newspapers. But that she could deal with later. If she couldn’t get into the car itself, she wouldn’t be able to start it or find the papers to tell her where it should go for servicing. She wouldn’t be able to get the interior vacuumed and shined and the exterior waxed and polished, and she’d be in big trouble. Damn.

No use hanging around this icy garage. The cold was having a stultifying effect on her ingenuity. She wandered back into the house, mulling over the situation. All the signs indicated that Jack had given her the wrong key intentionally. Right this minute Mr. Smug Carlisle was probably smiling evilly and congratulating himself at having stymied Freddi Elliott.

In the kitchen she dropped onto the chair at her little desk. For a while she stared absently through the square frame of the window, at the patterned tracery of bare branches outside. Time to summon the backup troops, but who could they be? Aha.

Having discovered the CAA’s number, she picked up the handset and dialed. Once she’d found out that Jack was indeed a member, she was relieved to hear a promise to help.

When the man from the CAA arrived, Freddi explained the situation. He looked surprised but unfazed. This time, she made her foray into the garage properly dressed. She wore a coat, hat and woolly gloves. For a second she wondered if she’d need a miner’s headlamp attached to her forehead for a full inspection.