the cabinets, looking up at the ceiling while she thought. This was a challenge. Just what she liked. Already she could feel her problem-solving energy prickling in her brain. After discarding the idea of spending valuable time looking for a store that was open this early, she gave a brisk nod. She knew just what to do. First, she picked up Jack’s wallet and checked it for cash. Plenty of good-size bills in there. Fine. Back up the stairs she headed, and returned with a couple of her reference books. Then she picked up the handy kitchen phone and dialed. A smile of satisfaction spread as she replaced the receiver. That was sorted. One full breakfast was on order, as well as a continental for the staff. If this was some kind of test, Mr. Jack Carlisle was soon going to discover it was well within the bounds of Elliott’s capabilities.
AT PRECISELY two and a half minutes to seven, Freddi curled her fingers around the wooden handles of the large tray. It was beautifully set and loaded with half a grapefruit, a bowl of cereal, milk and sugar, a plate of bacon and eggs, several slices of toast on the side, plus butter and marmalade and a generous carafe of coffee, all courtesy of a ritzy downtown hotel.
Outside Jack’s door, she stopped. This was one of those moments when she regretted allowing Tabby to persuade her to take a crash course in buttling. But there was no need to be nervous. He needn’t know she’d never done this before and didn’t intend to do it again. She’d go in, put the tray down, open the curtains and remove herself. A deep breath in and out and then she knocked sharply, three times.
“Yeah, come in.” His voice sounded scratchy. No reason for it to have such a strange effect on her, but it did. She’d never felt anything quite like these hitherto unknown physiological reactions she’d been experiencing since yesterday.
Stop right there, Elliott. Remember what Tabby said. This is really no big deal.
She pushed open the door. Straight away she knew she was in trouble.
4
RIGHT ACROSS THE ROOM, staring at her as if ready and waiting, Jack reclined in bed. Without the covering of the bandanna, his hair gleamed thick, wavy and black. Around him spread a sea of rumpled sheets. She wondered briefly if he’d had a rough night. But mostly, her attention was riveted on the sight of him, the impact of his presence, the dangerous way he looked this morning. Perhaps it was because of the dark shadow on his unshaven cheeks and chin, but it was mostly because of his expression. What did he do to make his eyes glitter like that? And how could he look so much like—like dynamite? His wide chest was bare, as was the rest of him, if her memory served her correctly. She dropped her gaze. Forget that, Elliott. Wipe it off the slate. Just concentrate on getting yourself and His Studliness’s tray across the expanse of carpet.
“Good morning, sir.” Her formal manner was well in place.
“Jack.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sat still, arms folded, but watching her every move. She stopped beside the bed.
Now what? She’d just known this was going to be awkward; and somehow she was sure Jack was deliberately making it difficult. Inside she may be trembling, but she wasn’t going to reveal that. Ever since being sent off to boarding school at the age of eight, she’d been thoroughly educated in stiff-upper-lipness.
Her hold on the handles tightened. If she put the tray on his lap it might slide off, especially if he kept his arms folded and his ankles crossed. But there was not enough room between him and the edge of the bed to place it there. She swung away.
“I’ll leave the tray on the table for you, sir.”
“No, you won’t.”
She paused and stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I wanted breakfast in bed, and that’s what I meant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jack.”
She ignored that, but carried the tray with exaggerated deliberation around to the other side of the bed. Someday she was going to discover exactly what that tattoo on his upper arm looked like.
She stepped away and went over to open the blinds. Turning back, she asked, “Will that be all for the moment?”
“Yes.”
“I can draw your bath, if you wish.”
“I’ll take a shower, thank you.”
Did he sound a little miffed? She certainly hoped so. If this was going to be a war, so be it. A battle was just what she needed to get rid of her rage against Simon. She still hadn’t decided if she was more angry at him for totaling her car and then lying about it, or for being unfaithful. And why the hell had he decided to go for Polly’s friend Sharon? If he had to go and shag someone else, at least he should have had the decency to choose someone Freddi didn’t know.
Out in the passage, the door securely shut behind her, she put a thumb to the end of her nose and waggled her fingers. Feeling like a schoolgirl again, she grinned.
Then she sighed. How hard it was to be in a menial position. Only the promise of a fat salary and the possibility of a quick way out of her difficulties could have persuaded her to take on such a role. Thankfully, she’d been born and bred to know exactly the right way of doing things.
And then of course there was Tabby, Simon’s sister, who knew all about his nasty ways and insisted that giving Freddi this job was the least she could do to make up for the trouble Simon had caused.
Freddi made a detour into her room to fetch her notebook and more reference material. In one corner of the kitchen she’d noticed a small built-in desk. For the moment she could make use of that. Tabby had suggested Jack could benefit from her office and administration skills. He’d soon find out what a mistress of organization she was. If she succeeded in being efficient, after a week he wouldn’t know what hit him. Smiling to herself, she remembered the look on his face when she’d walked in with the breakfast tray. Score one for Elliott.
HAVING RECOVERED from his astonishment at his butler’s achievement, Jack sat savoring the last half cup of coffee. Appreciation for the meal overcame his chagrin at being bested. Now that he was finished, he set the tray aside and got up. Once shorts and a spare T-shirt were shoved into his gym bag, he went through to his en suite bathroom to comb his hair. Reflected in the mirror stood the business whiz of the western world. Sooner rather than later, people were going to recognize his genius. If it hadn’t been for the downshift in the economy, he’d be there already. As it was, instead of easily getting funding to develop the applications for his product, he’d been forced to go to Uncle Avery who had reservations about Jack because of some important negotiations he’d botched five years ago at the age of twenty-four. In spite of subsequent success, that black mark hadn’t yet been erased.
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
