looking down at her. Why hadn’t he seized the opportunity when she’d offered it and sent her right back where she came from? But she’d looked so pathetic standing there in that ridiculous hat, all pale face and large chocolate-brown eyes. Now what was he supposed to do? Lying curled up on his couch she seemed vulnerable, yet somehow trusting. Little did poor Ms. Freddi Elliott know that she’d stepped right into the lion’s den.
2
THE BELL CHIMED. Jack went to open the front door and found a man in uniform, standing on the top step.
“Sorry, mister. I can’t wait any longer,” implored the limo driver.
“She asked you to wait?”
“Yeah, but there’s cars backed up behind me, and one of the drivers is threatening to call the police.” The man brushed at his cap, looking at him as if he was nuts not to have noticed. “Didn’t you hear the honking?”
“No.” Leaning forward, Jack stretched his neck out and saw the limo double-parked, blocking the narrow side street. Stuck behind a black BMW, a cheeky blue Beetle flashed its headlights at him.
“Okay. Let me pay you and then you can go. How much?”
He named his price. Jack shoved a hand into the back pocket of his sweatpants and drew out his wallet. He added a good tip.
“Thank you very much.” The driver folded the bills. “I put the bags on the sidewalk.”
“Cool. I’ll come down and get them.”
Jack slid his feet into his running shoes. He heard the limo’s trunk slam closed and revving noises as the line of cars moved off.
Outside, the sidewalk had taken on the appearance of garbage day. Near the base of a slim, bare maple tree waited a suitcase nearly as big as his refrigerator. Next to that were huddled two other shapeless bundles. It looked as if Freddi Elliott intended to stay for a very long time.
He gripped the handle of the suitcase and lifted. What on earth? Was the woman smuggling gold bricks? No way was he going to haul this lot up to the room on the second floor. He’d already done a punishing session with weights at the gym earlier. Better to leave the whole pile in the entrance, handy for the morning. It was enough that he had to decide what to do with her.
Casting a glance toward Freddi, Jack retrieved his drink and sat down again. She looked pretty comfortable lying there, one small hand tucked under her pale cheek, a stray lock of almost-black hair caressing her forehead. He’d never seen a hairstyle quite like that. It looked as if someone had chopped off random chunks with the shearing scissors. The effect might be appealing, but she was as far away from his notion of Jeeves as it was possible to get.
What to do? He had definitely hired a butler, one F. I. Elliott. If only he could unhire her immediately and get a replacement. But he’d signed the contract. His only option was to make things impossible for her so that she’d quit.
The doorbell rang. Jack leaped to his feet. The first of his dates had arrived! With any luck he was about to remedy the sexual famine of the last while. And then he remembered the snag on the couch.
Impossible to make any moves with Elliott sleeping by the fire. She’d put a definite crimp in his plans for the evening. He’d have to get her upstairs. Pronto.
Stooping down, he edged his hands under her shoulders and hips, and heaved her up. She was a lot heavier than she looked. Maybe she had the muscle to carry a loaded tray after all. Unbidden, an image of the waif dressed up as a French maid, flitting around his living room, popped into his mind. Stop it, Jack. Already he felt she was intruding on him.
He managed to get her halfway up the curving staircase when the doorbell rang again. He froze. Damn. But he couldn’t just drop his burden and head back down again. The blonde would have to wait.
Jack carried Freddi past the door leading to his own room and into the next one. He’d had the guest room specially decorated for a butler, all in masculine beiges and browns. The designer had said a Brit would surely appreciate living in various shades of tea.
Freddi showed no signs of waking, not even when he tugged those ridiculous boots off her feet. She was as floppy as a black nylon stocking. Thoroughly distracted, he came to the conclusion there was only one other person he knew who slept as soundly as she did, and that was the magnificent, muscular and intelligent Mr. Jack Carlisle.
The doorbell rang yet again.
He was about to answer it when he paused. Surely he needed to cover her. Her coat would have to do for now—he had no time to fumble with the duvet. He grabbed an arm and began to tug at the sleeve. If he maneuvered her a little to one side, lifted up her spine, then he’d be able to pull the coat out from under her. He remembered seeing his sister do that to her kid once. The only difference, as Jack found soon enough, was that little Kim didn’t have boobs and Freddi most definitely did. As he lifted her, she arched her back. He froze. Not five inches below his chin the outline of her breasts showed clearly beneath her thin, clingy sweater. How easy it would be to lower his head…Dammit, he was as horny as a rabbit! Never mind the duvet, he had to get out of there, fast.
DOWNSTAIRS, he was making his way to the front door when he tripped over Freddi’s hat. He cursed, picked it up and hurried to the door, hoping the lady wasn’t too vexed. But when he opened it he saw nothing but swirling snow. He swore in frustration.
He gave a quick glance up and down Acorn Street, then shut the door again. He twirled the hat on his fingers and plonked it on top of her luggage. Seeing as his date had disappeared, he’d better cancel his dinner reservation. He decided to order a good-size pizza.
A little while later he sat munching and thinking. He had to find a way to get rid of Elliott. Already she was causing trouble. Leaning back in his chair, he let his mind float. He thought about his sister Louise, and Kimmie, his niece. The last time he’d baby-sat he’d read her a bedtime story, a neat fairy tale where the hero was given three tasks to accomplish.
Bingo. He sat up straight. That was his answer. He’d set Elliott three impossible tasks and she’d surely get the message and quit.
Now all he had to do was scheme them up.
Soon inspiration struck. Jack had an idea for the first impossible task. Definitely he himself would find this extremely taxing, and he imagined that, given the state of his kitchen, Elliott would too. With a grin, he bounded up the stairs to his third-floor office. After booting up his computer and opening a new document, he stared at the blank screen. A quick nod, a chuckle, and he began composing his note.
In Jeeves’s room he found Freddi lying just as he’d left her.
He pried his gaze away from her sleeping form. Now, where to put the note so that she saw it when she woke? On top of the mahogany chest of drawers was the obvious place. Surely the bright-yellow paper would catch her eye. Propping it against a photograph of the Tower of London—the designer had insisted it would make Jeeves feel at home—Jack decided it would be interesting to see how Elliott would react to his somewhat insolent demand.
IN HER OLD-FASHIONED, Hampstead flat the bathroom was just across the hall from the bedroom. So, when groggy Freddi got up from the bed in Toronto, she opened the door and stumbled across the passage. There she found the bathroom. Confused to discover she was still in her clothes, she undressed and cast them onto the floor.
