The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress

Seizing the day? The phrase scraped over all the jagged edges in Daisy’s mind. Her day, her job, a secure future for her parents had all been wrecked by Ethan Cartwright going for what he wanted. She felt like throwing the glass of water in his face, sober up some of the blind ego that had completely overlooked what he’d been doing to her. But what good would that achieve?

Despair squeezed her heart.

‘Are you feeling better, Daisy?’ he asked caringly.

Nothing could make her feel better. ‘Well enough for you to remove your arm,’ she answered tersely, sitting up straight and stiffening her shoulders to show him his support was no longer needed. Or welcome.

‘Okay, but you should keep sitting for a while. Maybe you should eat something. Did you have any lunch?’

No, she hadn’t, which might have contributed to her fainting, although she was used to running on empty in this job. Except she didn’t have a job any more. Which was all his fault.

She turned to face him, anger spurting off her tongue. ‘It’s a bit late to start caring about me, Mr Cartwright. The damage is done.’

He grimaced, but there was no regret in the green eyes boring into hers. ‘Lynda Twiggley was doing you a damage, making you bow to her tyranny.’

‘I could manage that. If you hadn’t interfered, I’d still have my job.’

‘You didn’t like it,’ he said with certainty.

‘What’s like got to do with it?’ she cried in exasperation. ‘It was the best paid job I’ve ever had and I need the money. You have no idea how much I need it. You’ve probably never known a moment’s worry over money in your entire life.’

His mouth tilted into an ironic smile. ‘Actually I carry the burden of worrying about money all the time.’

‘Big money!’ she corrected savagely. ‘Not lifedestroying lack of income.’

He frowned. ‘Surely it’s not that bad!’

‘It most certainly is!’ She quickly sipped some more water. The vehement bursts of emotion were making her feel light-headed again. Or maybe it was him sitting so close to her, exerting his mega-male attraction. A woman could drown in those green eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d be better off in another job,’ he said with the first hint of apology.

‘You didn’t think at all,’ she muttered furiously. ‘Not on my level.’

‘What do you mean…your level?’

She lashed him with grim realities. ‘The level where people struggle to make ends meet. Where the job market is getting tighter every day. Where being out of work can bring everything crashing down.’

‘Are you in debt?’ he asked, his eyes seriously probing hers, making her heart jiggle with the wish he really did care. This was a man who could turn everything around for her parents if he wanted to. And he had a physical magnetism that was getting to her again.

‘No. Yes.’ She heaved a desolate sigh. ‘My parents are. And if I don’t pay the interest to the bank, they’ll lose their home. They can’t do it. It’s up to me.’

‘Well, there’s a twist,’ he dryly commented. ‘I thought the Y generation lived off their parents, not the other way around.’

He wasn’t interested. She’d been stupid to entertain the wild thought, even for a second, that such a highflyer would come to the rescue of ordinary people.

‘You live on a different planet, Ethan Cartwright,’ she retorted bitterly.

‘I believe in people being responsible for themselves. If your parents incurred a debt, it’s up to them to—’

‘You don’t know anything,’ she snapped. ‘Sometimes people can’t manage for themselves.’

‘Okay. Tell me the circumstances,’ he invited.

‘As if you care!’ Her eyes savaged him for his irresponsibility. ‘You didn’t care about the consequences to me when you ignored my plea to let me go. You didn’t care about offending my boss so deeply I didn’t have a chance of hanging onto my job. And just how do you think I’m going to get another highly paid position without a glowing reference from Lynda Twiggley? I’m dead in the water.’

She banged her glass down on the floor, stood up, and snatched her hat from his hands. ‘Goodbye, Mr Cartwright. I can’t say it was pleasure meeting you.’

‘Wait!’

He was on his feet so fast and blocking the direct route to the exit of the marquee, Daisy had no choice but to halt and face him again. She lifted a belligerent chin as she demanded, ‘What for?’

Ethan didn’t have a ready answer. He was acting purely on the need to keep Daisy Donahue in his life. She was magnificent—cheeks flaring with colour again, big brown eyes flashing a fierce challenge at him, her petite figure powering up to fight him. He remembered how her soft, feminine curves had felt when he had been carrying her. Add the vitality of the passion he felt coming from her now…the thought of having all that locked in his arms sent fiery tingles to his groin.

An answer came to him.

He’d created the situation which was driving her away from him.

He had to reverse it.

‘I’ll give you a job,’ he said.

Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed with suspicion. ‘What as? Your cleaning lady?’

There was a huge appeal in that image—Daisy on her hands and knees, scrubbing his floors, her perky bottom swaying with the action. But he knew he was dead if he suggested it. His mind whizzed to other possibilities. He didn’t need a PA. His business was fully staffed. No room for her there. So what could he offer that she wouldn’t turn down flat?

‘You need a lifeline, right?’ he said, hedging for time to come up with an acceptable rescue package. ‘A stopgap until you can find a job that suits you?’

‘If I have to clean floors, I will, but they won’t be yours,’ she vowed rebelliously, one hip jutting out as she stuck a hand on it, emphasising the fascinating smallness of her waist. ‘You are the last person I want to do anything for right now.’

Ethan smothered a sigh. Feudal lord and serving girl was not an appealing picture to her. Although if he wrapped it up in gold paper…

‘How about executive housekeeper? I’ve recently bought a property I’ve started on renovating. You could oversee the tradesmen’s work, ensure that everything’s kept in order. I’ll pay you the same salary you earned with Lynda Twiggley.’

The fight in her eyes wavered into a sea of vulnerable uncertainty—the need for no break in her money chain warring with a mountain of doubts about what she might be getting into by putting herself in his power. Her throat moved convulsively. She was swallowing hard. And blinking hard.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked huskily.

‘Yes. I’m sorry for causing you so much distress,’ he said quietly, realising she was desperately trying to stem a gush of tears. ‘The least I can do is tide you over until you find better ground for yourself.’

She bit her lips. Her eyelashes swept down. She lowered her head. Her hand dropped from her hip and fretted at the pill-box hat she was holding in her other hand. ‘It might be months before I can find another job,’ she mumbled anxiously.

‘I expect the renovations will go on for months. It’s a messy business. It will be good to have someone on site, checking up on everything. Even the most reputable builders need a critical eye on them to get it all right and clean up after themselves. In effect, you’d be my PA for a special project. Okay?’

The eyelashes slowly fluttered up again. He had the weird sense of his heart turning over as she looked earnestly at him. ‘You’re really serious about this? You’ll pay me as much as Lynda Twiggley did?’

Down to the bartering line again, he thought with his usual cynicism, but if that’s what it took to get this woman he’d do it. He reached for his wallet. ‘I’ll give you an advance on your salary to seal the deal.’

She stared at his bulging wallet as he opened it—the hook that never failed to work.

‘How much were you being paid? A couple of thousand a week?’ He riffled through the notes, prepared to give her any sum she nominated. It was irrelevant to him. He’d just won two million dollars in prize money on Midas Magic.

She shook her head.

‘More? Less?’ he prompted.

Her gaze lifted, meeting his with steely pride. ‘I don’t take money I haven’t earned, Mr Cartwright. My salary was fifteen hundred dollars a week before tax. If you’re satisfied with what I can do for you after the first week of being your on-site PA, I’d appreciate it if you’d pay me then.’

‘Fine!’ he agreed, barely hiding the jolt of surprise at her refusal to grab the money.

Honesty…fair play…Daisy Donahue was exhibiting a fine sense of both, making him feel slightly uncomfortable about having his own secret agenda.

‘Where is this property?’ she asked.

‘Hunters Hill.’

She pressed him for more details, weighing up the information he gave, assuring herself there was a genuine job to be done. Once they’d settled on a meeting at the house at eight o’clock on Monday morning of the next week, she took her leave of him, very firmly, and Ethan let her go, watching the seductive swish of her bottom, content with the thought he’d be seeing a lot more of Daisy Donahue in the very near future.

He was looking forward to it.

In fact, he couldn’t remember looking forward to a meeting with a woman quite so much!

CHAPTER FOUR

HUNTERS HILL…the wealthiest suburb in Sydney, according to one of the Sunday newspapers. Daisy also recalled reading that a famous Australian actress had a home there, along with other celebrities. It was no surprise that Ethan Cartwright had chosen to buy a property in such a prestigious area. Birds of a feather definitely flocked together.

Why he had chosen to pursue some kind of acquaintance with her at the Magic Millions race-day was odd in the extreme. She could only think his ego had been piqued by her dismissive behaviour. They had nothing in common. Absolutely nothing. Except they were both now paying for the outcome of that encounter—he offering her a job out of guilt, she taking it because there was no other choice immediately available.

It was far from an ideal situation, and as she drove her little car towards the address he had given, she felt increasingly anxious about whether there would be anything of real value she could do for what he would be paying her. Builders were messy and often careless. She knew that from when her parents had renovated their home. Nevertheless, she suspected that for much of the time she’d simply be watching and twiddling her thumbs.

Fortunately Hunters Hill was not a long or difficult trip from her parents’ home in Ryde, much less hassle than going across the Harbour Bridge to Lynda Twiggley’s office at Woolloomooloo. At least she would save on petrol while she worked for Ethan Cartwright. Her Hyundai Getz was a very economical car, but the price of fuel still hurt.

Anxious not to be late, Daisy had given herself plenty of time to arrive at her destination before eight o’clock. The nearer she got to it, the more impressive the properties became—big old homes set in much larger grounds than any normal suburban block. Some were massive and built of sandstone which would be horrendously expensive these days, but this was an old established area in Sydney, close to the harbour and at the mouth of the Lane Cove River.

She couldn’t imagine Ethan Cartwright living in any of them. Why would a bachelor want to rattle around alone in a mansion when a luxurious apartment right in the CBD would provide an easier lifestyle? No doubt he had simply made a shrewd investment. Even the top end of the property market had slumped—dropping millions of dollars in recent months—so it was an opportune time to buy. It was the best time to renovate, too, with so many builders out of work. He’d probably bought an old home in bad repair but on prime real estate, and was anticipating making a huge profit when fortunes changed again.

There were several tradesmen’s trucks parked along the designated street when Daisy turned into it, more or less marking the place she had to find. Confirmation of the address brought a flood of amazement. It was a mansion and it looked absolutely beautiful the way it was, at least on the outside.

The huge, white, two-storeyed house had been built with perfect symmetry, the windows and doors—all of which had French doors that opened out—matching up on both floors, which also had perfectly matching verandahs with glorious white wrought-iron railings. The roof was dark grey slate and a wide set of bluestone steps led up from a semi-circular driveway to the front door. Within this semi-circle was a large stone fountain.

There were no gardens, just green lawn and trees along the side fence-line, giving the setting a wonderful simplicity that highlighted the splendid grace of the house. The front fence and two side double gates were also of white wrought-iron in the same pattern as the verandah railings. One set of gates was open, obviously for the workmen’s use, as there was another driveway down that side of the house to the back.

A black BMW roadster was parked at the foot of the front steps—definitely a billionaire’s car, which meant her new employer was already here waiting for her. Daisy decided to drive into the grounds and park behind it. After all, she was supposed to be in charge of this project, right on site.

If Ethan Cartwright hadn’t changed his mind in the meantime.

It was a worry.

Her parents had both been very dubious about what they saw as an impulsive and irregular offer of work Daisy wasn’t trained for. She’d had to explain the circumstances of losing her job to them and they were only too painfully aware of why she had accepted this one. Her father kept muttering, ‘It isn’t right,’ and they should sell up and move somewhere cheaper—a place in one of the housing estates for senior citizens.

Daisy couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. Not only did it deeply wound her sense of justice, but it would also completely change the dynamics of the family. She’d insisted this was only a stopgap solution until she found another proper job and they weren’t to worry. She was perfectly capable of managing anything she set her mind to.

Nevertheless, her confidence wasn’t so easy to hang onto as she alighted from her car and started up the steps. Her stomach felt downright jittery. She told herself it was caused more by the prospect of having to meet Ethan Cartwright again—being subjected to his powerfully male charisma and those riveting green eyes—than trying to keep a check on the work of a team of tradesmen. Once he was gone and out of her hair, she’d be fine.

Not that he’d been in her hair. Neither was she about to let him anywhere near it. The tug of his sheer sexual impact on her female hormones was warning enough that she was dangerously attracted to the man, despite the huge differences between them. She had to maintain a hands-off policy whenever he plagued her with his presence. The way his touch affected her was far too disturbing. It could draw her into very foolish behaviour.

Today she had deliberately chosen a very downmarket appearance—a loose cotton tunic printed with daisies on a blue background, blue jeans, flat sneakers on her feet making her look even smaller in stature, a blue scrunchy holding her long, brown hair back in a ponytail, and no make-up apart from pink-brown lipstick, which was next to nothing.

It had to be patently clear to him that she was not aiming to be an object of desire in his eyes. Though she couldn’t really imagine she ever had been anyway. His pursuit of her on the Magic Millions race-day had definitely been an ego thing, not an attraction thing, and this whole business now was a fix-up thing, which was purely temporary. The X-factor problem was all on her side and it had to be kept hidden.

Having reached the front door, she took a deep, calming breath and pressed the call button. Ethan Cartwright did not give her time to twiddle her thumbs. The door was opened within seconds and the oxygen Daisy had drawn in was instantly trapped in her lungs.

The man was utterly, utterly gorgeous.

He was dressed in a superbly tailored dark grey suit, white shirt and a silk tie striped in red, grey and green. Some nose-prickling exotic cologne had been splashed on his strong, freshly shaven jaw. His thick, black hair flopped onto his forehead in an endearing wave. The green eyes sparkled as though he was delighted to see her and his smile kicked her heart into thumping like a drum.

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