At Your Service, Jack

Jack rolled his shoulders back. No good dwelling on such things. It was time to get the blood running. Today he was looking forward to his exercise session. Maybe he’d be able to sweat out the contradictory feelings he was having about Elliott. On one hand, he wanted her gone, out of his life. On the other, he was hooked on the vague notion that he’d been dreaming about her in gloriously vivid Technicolor. She was getting to him, invading his space, and he couldn’t imagine having her around 24/7. But he was enjoying what was swiftly becoming a battle of wits.

It might be an idea to give dear cousin Tabitha a call.

He got through immediately.

“Tabby, what the hell do you mean by sending me a woman?”

“Freddi?” Her voice sounded suspiciously airy. “She’s exactly what you need, Jack. Believe me, if anyone can save you, she can.”

“I’m sending her back.”

“No! Don’t. Either Simon or you have to take over from Uncle Avery when he retires. You don’t want to hand Si the job on a plate. So far, he’s looking like a certainty.”

“You mean, because he’s Uncle Avery’s godson?”

“Right. And I’m sorry to tell you, he’s been spreading rumors about you again.”

“Oh yeah? No doubt saying I’m uncouth and wayward.”

“Er, yes…. Look. Give Freddi a chance. I’m certain you’ll find she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Guaranteed to get me Uncle Avery’s approval, is she?”

“That’s what I hope. Part of it, anyhow. She’ll sort you out, put you right so that you can’t put a foot wrong.”

There were a few seconds of silence while he absorbed that.

“Um…Jack?” Tabby’s voice sounded tentative.

“Yeah.”

“There’s only one thing I have to insist on.”

“What’s that?”

“This is awkward, but I know you’re an honorable man.”

Nice to know someone had faith in his good qualities.

“I try to be.”

“So please, what I want to ask is, don’t even think of Elliott as being female.”

Jack laughed, but even he could hear it sounded phony. “The way she looks, all buttoned up in that hideously severe uniform, stopping myself from hitting on her won’t be any problem at all.”

“I want you to give me your word on that.”

He was silent while his memory nudged him back into the wisps of a dream, and reminded him of how he’d reacted when he’d carried her up to bed yesterday. “Why is this so important?”

“Partly because that’s the agency’s policy, and partly because…well, Freddi went through a bad time just recently.” Tabitha paused, and then repeated, “So please, promise me, Jack.”

“I don’t think I can quite do that. Proximity, you know. All I can say is, I’ll try. Anyways, I’m busy with a dating project.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What? You don’t want me to date?”

“Of course I do. We all know Uncle Avery’s emphasis on the right partner in life. But it’s the ‘anyways’ that bothers me.”

“Excuse me? You want me to date both ways?”

“Stop it, Jack!” Tabby sputtered between her giggles. “‘Anyway’ is singular, not plural. So don’t say ‘anyways.”’

He gave an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “Wish I could just stay plain Jack and not have to learn all this trivial stuff.”

“I know it seems trivial, but decisions often hang on impressions rather than facts. And remember, my dastardly brother is scheming to be top dog, number one, the fella with all the power.”

“Tabby, I just want to get on with the job. Why must I be sucked in?”

“Because you know it would be a disaster if Simon took over the reins…It’s the family, Jack. You can’t avoid it.”

She had him there. As much as he tried, he couldn’t shake off the family feeling, partly because he felt responsible for the legacy of his father. After asking Tabitha how she and her husband were doing, Jack hung up the phone, not exactly satisfied, but at least a bit reconciled to the situation.

He went running down the staircase and paused at the bottom. Something was missing. He distinctly remembered…Freddi’s luggage was gone. She’d taken the hint and removed herself, gone back to England. Great. The whole episode was a hideous illusion. Although he still wasn’t too sure about that dream.

He strode into the living room to retrieve his wallet, and paused when he reached the empty coffee table. His wallet was no longer where he’d left it. Either he’d been burgled in the night or his woman butler was still at large.

Now, where was she? Scanning the surroundings, he had the idea that the whole place looked neater, which meant she must be somewhere around. He listened. Not a sound…except a rustling, like a page being turned. He headed to the kitchen to investigate.

Freddi sat with her back to him, working at that stupid desk that was too tiny for him.

Time to needle her a little bit. “Busy already?”

She half turned in the chair. “Just preparing some notes.”

“Surely you’ve got a memory.”

She sent him an admonishing look. “I don’t like to take chances.”

“No? Wasn’t coming over here taking a chance?”

“I, er, I was more or less forced into that.”

“Forced? How?” This sounded intriguing.

Her mouth pressed into a prim pout. She had no intention of going into details, crying on his shoulder, although she had to admit, Jack’s shoulders were temptingly broad. “There were circumstances at home.” She shut the notebook and stood up. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Carlisle, it’s not done to ask personal questions.”

“Is that so?” Her denial increased his desire to know. He slid one hand into his back pocket, in the process pushing his pants down an inch lower. Her eyes flickered to his waist and away.

“Yes, sir.”

“How’m I going to find out about you if I don’t ask personal questions?” He took a couple of steps forward, crowding her. “I mean, here you are, sharing my house.”

And last night, for just a little while, she’d shared his bed as well.

Freddi stood her ground. If he crowded any closer she’d be able to breathe the scent of a freshly showered Jack Carlisle.

“I’m your butler.” She tilted her chin just a little more than was necessary to look him in the eye. “You don’t need to know anything about me, other than that I’ll work to your advantage. On the other hand,” she continued, “given the scope of my job description, I’ll have to find out a great deal about you.”

“Fine by me.” He lifted his hands in a guileless gesture. “My conscience is clear. I have absolutely nothing to hide.” But he wondered if she did.

“Good. Because I’ll need to use your computer. I have to get onto the Internet and I’ll need your password.”

“Why?”

“All sorts of reasons. But first off, I need to order in some groceries.”

Jack opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Wariness flickered in his eyes. “What else would you do?”

“For example, download your e-mail.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “All right. I suppose that might be useful.”

She looked him up and down. Didn’t the man ever dress in decent clothes?

“A gentleman never goes out dressed like a—a layabout.”

Legs apart, body braced, he stood in front of her. She could almost see the scarlet steam of annoyance wafting out of his ears.

“I go to the gym dressed like this,” he said, enunciating every word. “Then I change before setting off for the office.”

He’d already turned away when a thought struck him.

“Just remember, I don’t want any spam.”

“Sir, I would never dream of serving you anything but home cooked meals.”

“Huh?”

“Spam—tinned meat.”

“Oh no. I meant, junk e-mails.”

She bit her lip. “I see.”

Intent on getting out the door, he headed for the lobby.

Freddi stopped him. “Mr. Carlisle—”

“Jack—”

She held out the wallet. “I’m afraid I had to take out some notes to pay for the breakfast.”

He took the leather folder from her and opened it up.

“Here.” He held out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “Something to cover expenses. Keep two for yourself. It occurs to me you’ll need some cash. Consider this a moving allowance.”

She accepted the notes from him and closed her eyes on a quick prayer of gratitude. Bloody right she needed this. After the dastardly Simon’s incursions, she was seriously into negative equity. As a last resort she could ask her father to help, but she’d much rather not.

Jack resigned himself. British chicks, always on the make. Well, he wasn’t one to quibble about money. “Today I’ll organize a debit card for you, so you can use that for the household.”

Freddi shifted her weight. She dropped her gaze.

Jack noticed that her face was almost translucent. Shadows smudged the fine skin under her eyes. She looked pale, fragile.

“Feeling jet-lagged, are you?” In spite of his best efforts to stay stern, a sympathetic tone crept into his voice. “Tell you what, as you conjured up such an excellent breakfast, you can take some time off today. Catch up on that sleep you seem to need.”

Dark eyes stared up at him.

“What I need is exercise,” she said.

“I suppose you could come to the gym with me,” he offered.

“No, thank you, I don’t like sweat shops. And I need to get started here.”

Good. That let him off the hook. “Well, please yourself, go swimming, dancing, whatever. They’re all available nearby.” He turned away from her.

“Thank you, sir. I think I will.”

“It’s Jack, dammit.” Whirling around, he slapped the wall with a flat hand. “When you call me sir you make me feel as ancient and curmudgeonly as my Uncle Avery.”

“Yes, sir, er, Jack…Would you like me to answer the phone?”

“Please yourself.” He stepped back. “You can write down the messages, too.” Picking up his bag, he said, “In any case, I have an appointment tonight. I won’t be back for dinner.”

Jack was almost out the door when the marble bust caught his eye. On it, set at a rakish angle, was Freddi’s hat. He dropped his gym bag, rummaged in the closet and dug out his bike helmet. Eyes glittering with malevolent glee, he removed the hat and threw it up onto the shelf. Then he replaced it with the helmet.

AT TWO O’CLOCK, Freddi went to fetch her coat. Earlier she had received the first of a weekly delivery of flowers, including roses for her buttonhole. She had just finished arranging a vase.

Now she approached the closet and did a double take. Was she hallucinating? Instead of her hat sitting jauntily on the marble bust, she saw the shiny surface and aerodynamic lines of a bicycle helmet. Huh. Obviously that belonged to Jack and he’d swapped it, not approving of her funky headwear. All right, Mr. Carlisle, she thought. This calls for retribution. Quickly, her mind ran through all the schoolgirl tricks she’d encountered or perpetrated as a boarder; tricks like short-sheeting beds and exchanging the sugar in the sugar bowl for salt. No, nothing like that would do. She’d think up something more subtle to move her pawn forward and advance her game. Meanwhile, she had a class to attend.

She set off for the dance studio and the exercise she craved. Just as Jack had said, there was one nearby. Earlier she’d consulted the directory and given the studio a call. A friendly voice had given her the particulars of available classes and told her how to get there.

Well wrapped up against the cold north wind, Freddi was curious to get more of an impression of her environment. The row of narrow town houses, obviously newly built and in keeping with the Victorian feel of other nearby properties, made her feel at home. At regular intervals along the sidewalk, bare branches of trees promised pleasant shade for the summer.

She turned up Yonge Street and passed a small supermarket. It would be good to get a few supplies on her way back. Next was a boutique that specialized in leg wear. She regarded the display. One plastic leg showed off just exactly what she needed.

Freddi was early. She might as well seize the opportunity so that there was no need to swelter any longer in Mr. Carlisle’s overheated house. She’d buy three pairs of black, lace-topped, stay-up stockings. Within twelve minutes she was equipped, and riding the elevator to the dance studio.

She’d already decided to sign up for the Latin instruction, although she had given passing consideration to belly dancing. But she thought better to go with her original plan and learn to salsa.

Only, once there, she found it wasn’t so easy. The Latin beat pulsed through her, her blood began to pump, but she couldn’t get the hang of the dance. Even though she had studied ballet for a couple of years, her hips and knees wouldn’t cooperate. How frustrating. Maybe practice would do the trick. At least she felt alive again.

WEARY FROM his long day away at the office, Jack climbed the steps. His eyes felt blurry from staring at spreadsheets on the computer, his brain was ready to shut down after straining through problem after problem. Plus, he’d endured a long and difficult evening meeting with a potential customer. He pushed his key into the lock, turned it, then paused. Inside, the lights were shining and he had the fanciful thought that they glimmered with welcome. The smell of wood smoke from a fire had him breathing in an appreciative breath.

He stepped inside, set down his briefcase and shucked off his shoes. Home sweet home. Thank goodness he’d taken the advice of his financial adviser and invested in his own house. After years of renting part of a duplex, it was great to come into peace and quiet, to know that he had the place to himself. But this was no longer true. He was about to shrug out of his leather jacket, when Freddi appeared.

5

“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.

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