A Puppy for Christmas: On the Secretary's Christmas List / The Patter of Paws at Christmas / The Soldier, the Puppy and Me. Nikki LoganЧитать онлайн книгу.
frown, ‘I’m taking the afternoon off to go Christmas shopping, remember?’
Jackson had forgotten that earlier in the week Bree had asked whether she could take this afternoon off. As he had no appointments on this particular Friday afternoon, Jackson had been only too happy to agree to the half-day holiday. Following Bree’s reaction to his having seen her Christmas card from David, Jackson couldn’t help wondering if Bree intended to spend all of the afternoon Christmas shopping …
‘I seem to remember your saying yesterday that you would look after Beau during the day,’ he reminded her tersely.
‘This afternoon off was arranged before I made that agreement,’ she came back impatiently. ‘I’m sure Mrs Holmes won’t mind having Beau in the kitchen with her while I’m out.’
‘It would seem to be irrelevant whether she does or not,’ Jackson muttered bad-temperedly.
Bree gave a sigh. ‘I’ll try to get back as quickly as I can, okay?’
‘I suppose it will have to be.’
She grimaced at his unreasonableness. ‘You’ll be late for your appointment with Lord Caxley if you don’t leave now,’ she said softly when Jackson made no move to go. ‘And don’t forget to take the Christmas present for Danny’s teacher with you.’
Jackson frowned down at her in frustration for several long seconds, aware that he had to leave now or, as Bree said, he’d be late for his appointment with Caxley. He knew he was only delaying because he still felt unsettled by the strained atmosphere that now existed between himself and Bree. He felt as if there ought to be something he could do or say to take away that tension. But he had no idea what that something might be!
Oh, to hell with it! He would talk to Bree again later this evening and try to sort the whole mess out then.
The telephone on Bree’s desk began to ring.
‘Bye, then, Jackson,’ she said tightly, reaching for the mobile.
Jackson had absolutely no intention of going anywhere until he found out who the call was from, knowing it could be Roger Tyler or the mysterious David. Or it could be neither of them, Jackson acknowledged, reproaching himself.
‘Oh, hello, Roger,’ Bree greeted brightly, even as she shot Jackson an irritated glance. ‘Just a minute, Roger.’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Jackson enquiringly. ‘Is there something else I can help you with before you go …?’
Jackson’s nostrils flared. ‘I guess Tyler does know what nine o’clock in the morning looks like after all!’ he growled.
The other man had certainly been quick enough off the mark in calling Bree today! Not that Jackson was in the least surprised. Bree had looked beautiful last night. She was also warm, with a dry sense of humour that made her fun to be with, and—damn it! Damn, damn, damn it!
‘I’ll see you later,’ he rasped harshly when Bree gave no reply to his taunt, striding out into the hallway and picking up the gaily wrapped Christmas present for Danny’s teacher from the hall table before leaving.
Well, he hadn’t so much left the house as slammed out of it, Jackson recognised with a self-disgusted wince as he slid behind the wheel of his sleek black sports car.
What the hell was the matter with him today?
Bree was the matter, came the instant reply. Bree and the two men who had suddenly appeared in her life and now vied for her attention.
Attention Jackson realised he wasn’t at all happy to share …
Bree was tired and bad-tempered by the time she struggled back from the hot, crowded shops later that evening, loaded down with bags.
She’d only had a few Christmas presents to buy—things for her parents, Danny and Jackson, and a little something for Mrs Holmes—and after only an hour in the shops she had managed to find suitable presents for everyone except Jackson.
Jackson.
Bree had absolutely no idea what to buy for the man who had everything—and what he didn’t have he could easily go out and buy!
No—it wasn’t just that, Bree acknowledged wearily as she removed her shoes before putting the kettle on for a much-needed cup of tea. It was the change in her relationship with Jackson that was causing the problem—not Bree having no idea what to buy him. The previous month she had chosen a nice sweater to give him for his birthday without any trouble whatsoever. The previous month. Now it wasn’t so easy to choose something suitable.
She couldn’t buy Jackson another jumper, and he didn’t wear formal shirts unless he absolutely had to—and even then he had pure silk ones specially made. A book seemed too impersonal. As did aftershave.
After three more hours of wandering fruitlessly around the shops Bree had had to admit defeat: she simply had no idea what to get Jackson for Christmas!
Now, in the emptiness of her apartment, she briefly wished that she had accepted Roger Tyler’s second invitation to dinner. But only briefly. She had enjoyed his company the evening before, but not enough to encourage him by going out with him again tonight. Her life already seemed complicated enough without—
‘What on earth …?’
Bree hurried out into the hallway. After the briefest of knocks, the internal door to her apartment had been slammed open with such force that it crashed into the wall before springing back again.
Jackson easily caught the edge of the door as it rebounded, his expression grim as he glared down the hallway at her.
‘It’s about time you got back!’ he snarled accusingly.
Bree recoiled slightly from the vehemence of his tone.
‘I was only gone a couple of hours—’
‘And while you’ve been out enjoying yourself the whole household has been in uproar!’ Jackson roared, stepping into the apartment and closing the door firmly behind him before striding purposefully down the hallway, muscles flexing beneath his fitted black T-shirt and faded denims.
Bree would hardly call shopping for Christmas presents in shops that were hot, stuffy and crowded ‘enjoying herself’. But Jackson didn’t look as if he was in the mood to argue the point.
She hurried after him. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but—Wait—what sort of uproar?’
Jackson continued to scowl as he turned. ‘Beau escaped out of the kitchen, and Mrs Holmes didn’t notice he was gone for several minutes. By which time he had chewed his way through the wrapping paper on half a dozen Christmas presents under the tree, before proceeding to knock the whole damned tree over on top of himself.’
‘Is he all right?’ Bree gasped anxiously, imagining that tiny puppy buried under the eight-foot Christmas tree.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed in warning. ‘I should have known you would be more concerned about the puppy than the chaos he’s caused!’
‘Yes … Well …’ She had the grace to look briefly apologetic. ‘Christmas presents can easily be rewrapped, and the tree righted, but if Beau has been hurt—’
‘The puppy’s fine,’ Jackson snapped. ‘And the tree is now standing—even if some of the lights are broken and the decorations slightly askew. And even as we speak Danny, with the dubious help of Beau, is rewrapping the Christmas presents.’
Bree visibly brightened. ‘Then it would appear that the crisis is over.’
The renewed anger glittering in Jackson’s eyes as he glared down at her didn’t give the impression that he agreed!
CHAPTER EIGHT
BREE shifted uncomfortably as she followed Jackson into her small sitting room.
‘Shouldn’t you be going back