A Puppy for Christmas: On the Secretary's Christmas List / The Patter of Paws at Christmas / The Soldier, the Puppy and Me

‘Of course I wasn’t imagining that!’ Bree protested, looked up with a frown.

‘No?’ Jackson took a moment to savour her protest before his expression hardened again.

Was Bree even wearing a bra? If she was, then it was worse than useless at concealing the smooth curve of those full and tempting breasts, let alone the firm outline of her aroused nipples.

Nipples that Jackson ached to expose to the ministrations of his lips, tongue and teeth!

‘Who do you think it was if it wasn’t Tyler?’

‘I have absolutely no idea. Nor am I particularly interested—least of all in playing your childish little guessing games,’ she spat impatiently. ‘I think it’s time you left.’

‘I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who David is.’

‘David?’ She was completely taken aback. ‘Are you saying that my visitor was David?’

‘Would it matter to you if it was?’

Would it? Bree asked herself dazedly.

Last week—yesterday, even—the answer to that question might have been yes. But did it matter to her today, here and now, after what had happened with Jackson last night …?

CHAPTER NINE

BREE’S cheeks paled as she avoided answering that question—even to herself.

‘I’ve never asked you about any of the women you’ve been involved with, have I?’

His jaw tightened, his mouth thinning into a hard line. ‘And is David someone you’re involved with?’

‘I believe I used the past tense, Jackson,’ she snapped, fuming with annoyance.

His expression was grim. ‘Past tense as in years ago or recently?’

Bree moved impatiently. ‘What difference does it make as long as it’s in the past?’

‘You tell me …’ He raised his eyebrows, looking deep into her eyes.

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea what you want from me, Jackson.’

‘I believe, for the moment, a simple answer to my question will do,’ he said softly.

Bree frowned at him and took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m sorry if David came here earlier and … and was a nuisance. He’s obviously annoyed you somehow.’

‘I don’t know enough about the man to be annoyed with him, Bree,’ he assured her briskly.

‘Does that mean you’re annoyed with me?’ she asked incredulously.

‘I don’t remember saying I was annoyed with anyone!’

‘Well, you’re definitely in a snit about something!’

Jackson hesitated. ‘A … snit?’

‘A snit, yes. That’s the only explanation I can think of for this ridiculous conversation,’ Bree snapped.

‘Is it ridiculous to show an interest in your friends?’ Jackson took a slow, predatory step towards her as he continued to hold her gaze with his own.

Wariness darkened those smoky-grey eyes. ‘It’s definitely something,’ she insisted firmly.

Jackson shrugged his shoulders dismissively as he moved to stand behind her.

‘Nevertheless …’

Standing this close to Bree, he could detect the enticing, delicate fragrance of her perfume, and somewhere deeper, beneath the artificial scent, he sensed her arousal: a hot spiciness that caused his shaft to thicken against the rough denim of his jeans as he gave in to temptation and threaded his fingers into the silky hair at Bree’s temples.

‘What are you doing?’ Bree breathed, her back stiff with shock, her neck tense.

‘What does it feel like I’m doing?’ Jackson whispered huskily.

Whatever it was, it felt marvellous. Bree was almost purring as Jackson’s fingers moved lightly through her hair. Her eyes closed and her back arched with pleasure when she felt the full weight of her hair falling about her shoulders as Jackson removed the clip, shaking the lustrous length of curls loose before continuing that soothing caress.

She knew she should stop him—knew that they were once again stepping over that line between employer and employee. Knew it and yet couldn’t prevent it. Didn’t want to prevent it, she amended, as Jackson’s hands moved to rest lightly on top of her shoulders. She felt the warmth of his breath against her earlobe, gasping as his lips began a slow and leisurely exploration down the length of her throat.

The muscles in Bree’s neck loosened and she leaned her head back, dark lashes brushing her cheeks as her eyes closed, breasts thrusting forward, hands clenched at her sides. She could no longer contain a groan of ecstasy as an electric current of pleasure travelled down her spine, culminating almost unbearably between her thighs.

Jackson’s hands slid down over the tops of her breasts, lightly skimming the sensitised tips before cupping the firm rounds beneath, gently squeezing and massaging their soft weight.

Bree’s breath caught in her throat as the soft pads of his thumbs moved back and forth across the hardened peaks of her breasts. Her hands moved up to clasp his forearms—not to push him away, but to press him closer still.

‘Oh, God …’ she groaned weakly as Jackson gently squeezed those throbbing nipples between finger and thumb.

Her breasts quickly rose and fell as Jackson increased the pressure on her nipples. Her eyelashes fluttered weakly as she tried to raise the lids and couldn’t. The pleasure of Jackson’s caresses was all she could feel or think about.

Bree moaned protestingly when those hands left her breasts, then gasped when cool air hit her feverish skin as Jackson lifted her sweater up over her breasts, baring them to the heat of his palms as he plucked at her throbbing nipples.

She writhed restlessly on the sofa, desperately aware of that uncomfortable throb between her legs as she felt excitement building. She needed—oh, God—she needed—

‘Tell me what you need, Bree,’ Jackson encouraged, moving from behind the sofa to nudge Bree’s legs apart. He knelt between them, lowering his mouth to her breast hungrily before raising his head to look down at those full rose-tipped orbs. ‘Tell me, Bree!’

One of his hands cupped her breast, caressing, squeezing her swollen nipple, as he slowly kissed his way down her abdomen to her navel. His other hand moved purposefully to the fastening of her jeans, sliding the zip slowly downwards until he could see the white lace of her panties.

‘Bree …?’ His voice was a muffled rasp: the sight and scent of her arousal had only deepened the aching throb of his shaft.

‘Touch me, Jackson!’ she gasped achingly. ‘For pity’s sake, touch me!’

‘I am touching you, Bree.’ He added pressure as he squeezed her breast.

‘Lower, Jackson …!’ Her thighs moved restlessly, invitingly. ‘I need …!’