Ruthless Seduction: Pleasured in the Billionaire's Bed / The Ruthless Marriage Proposal

‘You wish your sheets and towels to be changed, washed, dried and put away.’

His eyebrows lifted, then fell, his expression betraying a slight disappointment that he hadn’t caught her out in some way.

‘You’ll find everything you need in the laundry,’ he told her. ‘My bedroom is the last door on the left down that hallway,’ he said, pointing to his right. ‘My study is the first door. Did Gail warn you I don’t like to be disturbed when I work?’

‘She did mention it. She said you were a writer of some sort.’

Lisa almost asked him what kind of books he wrote, but pulled herself up in time. She’d always instructed her cleaners during their training never to become too familiar with male clients, especially ones who were in the house whilst they cleaned.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry fashion. ‘Yeah. A writer of some sort just about describes me at the moment.’

The sound of a telephone ringing somewhere in the penthouse brought a scowl to his face. ‘Damn! I should have switched on the answering machine. Still, I doubt it’s telemarketers at this hour in the morning. I’d better answer the darned thing,’ he grumbled before turning and marching off down the hallway to his right. ‘You might not see me later,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘I’m on a deadly deadline. Your money’s on the kitchen counter. If I don’t surface, just leave when you’re finished.’

When he disappeared into his study and shut the door after him Lisa was flooded by a weird wave of disappointment.

The realisation that she’d actually been enjoying their conversation shocked her. What was there to like about it? Or about him?

Absolutely nothing, she decided emphatically as she whirled and went in search of the laundry.

Chapter Three

JACK plonked himself down in front of his computer before snatching up the nearby phone.

‘Jack Cassidy,’ he answered, leaning back into his large and very comfy office chair.

‘Jack, it’s Helene.’

‘I had a feeling it might be you,’ he said drily. Helene hadn’t become a top literary agent by letting her clients fall down on the job. This was her fourth call this week.

‘Have you finished the book yet?’

‘I’m on the last chapter.’

‘Your publisher in London has been on to me again. He said if you don’t deliver that manuscript by the end of this week, he might not be able to get it on the shelves for the British and North American summers. And you know what that means. Lower sales.’

‘It’ll be there, Helene. Tonight.’

‘Is that a promise?’

‘Have I ever let you down before?’

‘No. But that’s because I hound you to death. Which brings me to the other reason for this call. The annual literary-awards dinner is tomorrow night. You’re the hot favourite for the Golden Gun award again, so you will show up, won’t you?’

‘Wild horses won’t keep me away, Helene.’

Although he wasn’t overly fond of award nights, Jack was actually looking forward to going out tomorrow night. It had been weeks since he’d socialised in any way, shape or form. Weeks, too, since he’d slept with a woman, a fact brought home to him this morning when he’d answered the door and found a drop-dead gorgeous blonde standing there, instead of plump, homely Gail.

Despite her hoity-toity, touch-me-not manner, Lisa Chapman had certainly reminded him that there was more to life than work.

Too bad she was married. Jack’s observant eyes had noted the rings on her left hand within seconds of her introducing herself.

‘Jack! Are you there?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m here, Helene. Just wool-gathering.’

‘Thinking about that last chapter, I hope.’

‘All the time.’

Jack hated last chapters. He had a tendency to want to end his stories with a happily-ever-after scene. But that would be so wrong for a Hal Hunter book, especially at this stage in the series. Jack needed to come up with something seriously anti-heroish for his hero to do this time to finish up on. Couldn’t have his readers start thinking Hal was some kind of saint, just because he went around making sure the baddies got their comeuppances.

Jack knew that it was Hal’s political incorrectness which appealed to his fans. They enjoyed Hal doing what they would never dare do themselves. They thrilled to his ruthlessness, plus his uncompromising sense of justice and vengeance.

‘I’d better get back to work, Helene.’

‘Fine. But one last thing about tomorrow night. Do try to bring a girl who’s read a book this time, will you?’

Jack laughed. The blonde he’d taken to the awards dinner last year had been none too bright, something he hadn’t realised when he’d first met her on Bondi Beach and asked her to come with him. He’d been distracted at the time by how well she’d filled out her bikini.

By the end of the evening, any desire he’d originally felt for her had well and truly disappeared. He’d taken her straight home, much to her obvious disappointment.

‘Look, I’ll probably come alone.’

‘I find that hard to believe. Jack Cassidy, without a gorgeous blonde on his arm?’

‘I don’t just take out blondes,’ he protested.

‘Yes, you do. The same way Hal does.’

Jack’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t realised.

Still, there was no gorgeous blonde in his life at the moment, except for the very beautiful girl who was currently cleaning his penthouse.

If only she wasn’t married…

Some people tagged Jack as a womaniser. But he wasn’t. Married women were off limits in his view, no matter how attractive they were.

On the other hand, Hal was a womaniser. The so-called hero in Jack’s books wouldn’t have cared less if Lisa Chapman was married. Not one iota.

This last thought flashed a light on in Jack’s head.

‘Get off the phone, Helene. I’ve just had a brilliant idea for my last chapter.’

‘Can I take any credit?’

‘None whatsoever. I’ll see you tomorrow night.’

Jack hung up and set to work with renewed gusto, plunging into the final chapter, smiling wickedly to himself as Hal blotted his hero status with the beautiful blonde housemaid who’d come to change the linen in his hotel room. She was married, of course. But she forgot about that once Hal went into seduction mode. The girl knew that he was just using her. But the fiery passion in his kisses proved irresistible. She felt powerless to say no, powerless to stop him.

Hal made love to her several times, making her do things she’d never done before. But she thrilled to her own unexpected wantonness.

The last page saw her dressing afterwards, then bending over the bed to kiss the tattoo on Hal’s bare shoulder.

He didn’t stir. He seemed to be asleep. He didn’t want her any more and she knew it. She sighed as she left the room. Only then did Hal roll over and reach for a cigarette. He lit up and dragged in deeply. His eyes were blank and cold.

‘Done!’ Jack muttered as he punched in ‘THE END’, then copied everything onto two flash discs, putting one in his top-drawer and the other into the lead-lined safe he’d had built into the bottom drawer. Jack believed in solid security. He would read the last chapter through again later this afternoon before emailing the manuscript to London, but he felt sure he’d got it right.

Of course, there would be a hue and cry from his editor. She’d complain that his hero was getting too dark. But he’d weather the storm and have his way. And his readers would love it.

Jack chuckled when he thought of Hollywood’s reaction. But they’d just have to like it or lump it as well. Helene had done a fabulous job, not only selling options for all the Hal Hunter books—including those not written yet—to a top movie studio for an absolute fortune, but also in forcing them to sign a rock-solid contract. They had to bring his books to the screen as he’d written them. No changes in titles, plot-lines, settings or characters. Definitely no changes to endings.

Jack wondered who they’d cast for the blonde in this last scene. Not anyone obvious or voluptuous, he hoped. Someone slender and classy-looking. Someone like Mrs Hoity-Toity out there.

Damn, but she’d stirred his hormones. A lot.

For a split-second, Jack toyed with the temptation of making her an indecent proposition. But he quickly got over it.

He was not Hal. He did not seduce married women.

Neither did he right the dreadful wrongs in this world.

That only happened in fiction. In the real world, the baddies didn’t get their comeuppances. They lived on with their millions and their mistresses. They destroyed countries and slaughtered innocent people, but rarely faced punishment.

Jack grimaced. Not that bandwagon again, he lectured himself. There was nothing you could do back then. Nothing you could ever do. None of it was your fault.

Jack’s brain knew that. But his heart didn’t always feel the same, that unexpectedly sensitive heart which had been stripped bare by his experiences in the army.

Despite not having worn a soldier’s uniform for six years, the memories of all Jack had witnessed still haunted him. He would never forget. Or forgive.

But at least now, with the success of his books, he’d rediscovered some pleasure in living.

Which brought him right back to one pleasure he’d been doing without lately.

‘What you need is to get laid,’ he muttered to himself as he rose from his chair and left his study.

Lisa was bending over, about to take the towels out of the front-loading washing machine, when she sensed someone standing behind her.

Even before she straightened and spun around, she knew it was Jack Cassidy.

He was standing in the laundry doorway, watching her with those steely grey eyes of his.

‘Can I help you?’ she snapped, annoyed with the way her heart had started pounding.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he returned. ‘You can put my study on your cleaning list as well now. I’ve finished my book.’

‘You want me to clean your study on top of everything else?’ she asked, her voice still sharp.

‘I’ll pay you extra.’

‘It’s not a matter of money, Mr Cassidy, but time. I have to be gone from here by two-thirty to pick up my son from school.’

‘I see. You can’t get anyone else to pick him up?’

‘No. I can’t.’

‘Could you come back tomorrow perhaps? My study hasn’t been cleaned for a few weeks, and frankly, it’s a mess.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t do it tomorrow, either.’ Lisa was beginning to regret not telling him she was the owner of Clean-in-a-Day, not just a contract cleaner. But it was too late now. He’d think she was weird for not mentioning it sooner.

‘Why not?’ he persisted. ‘Will your husband object, is that it?’

‘What? No. No, I don’t have a husband,’ she confessed.

‘But you’re wearing a wedding ring,’ he said, confusion in his face and voice.

‘I’m a widow.’

Chapter Four

JACK hoped he didn’t look as gobsmacked by this news as he felt. Or as excited.

A widow no less. Now, that was a different ball game entirely.

‘But you’re so young,’ he remarked whilst his brain started making plans which his body definitely approved of.

‘I’m thirty,’ she retorted.

‘You don’t look it.’

‘I’ve always looked young for my age.’

‘What happened to your husband?’

‘He died in an accident, five years ago.’

‘A car accident?’

‘No. He fell off the roof of our house.’

‘Good lord. That must have been dreadful for you.’

‘It was,’ she replied stiffly.

‘Do you have any other children?’

‘No. Just the one,’ she told him. ‘Cory. He’s nine.’

Nine! She must have married very young. Either that, or she’d fallen pregnant before the wedding.

No. Jack didn’t think that would have happened. Mrs Lisa Chapman wasn’t the sort of girl who had unplanned pregnancies.

‘Is your son the problem, then?’ he asked. ‘Can’t you get someone to look after him tomorrow morning?’

‘No, I can’t.’

Mmm. No live-in boyfriend, then.

He was tempted to suggest she bring the boy with her, but decided that was going a bit fast. Jack was smart enough to realise that was not the way to go with this particular lady. She was what he and his mates in the army had used to call an ice princess. Back then, they’d all steered well clear of ice princesses, none of them having the money or the time it took to melt them.

If he wanted to know his cleaner better—and his body kept screaming at him that he did—Jack would have to be super-patient. And super-subtle.

‘OK,’ he said with a nonchalant shrug. ‘Tell me what else you’ve got left to do. It can’t be the kitchen. I’ve just been through there and it positively gleamed at me.’

His compliment surprised Lisa. As did his change in manner. Where had the grumpy guy gone who’d answered the phone last night? And who’d let her in this morning?

Finishing his book had certainly changed his personality.

But Lisa could understand that. When she finished a job, she often experienced a rush of warmth and well-being.

Cleaning the kitchen in this penthouse had brought considerable satisfaction. But then, what a magnificent kitchen it was! Lisa had never seen anything like it before. The bench tops were made of cream marble. The cupboards, a light warm wood. The appliances, stainless steel.

It had been such a pleasure to clean. As had the rest of the penthouse. But she hadn’t finished yet.

‘I have to iron these towels and put them away,’ she said. ‘And I haven’t washed any of the tiles yet.’

‘Aah yes, the dreaded tiles. What say you leave them and tackle my study instead?’

Lisa stared down at the tiles around her. They really needed doing. She would not feel right leaving them undone. Neither did she want to come back tomorrow morning. There was something about Jack Cassidy which still perturbed her. She wasn’t sure what.

‘If I hurry, I should be able to do everything,’ she said. ‘It’s only ten past one.’

Jack could not believe it when she set to work at a speed which made his head spin. This girl was a cleaner to beat all cleaners. Focused, and very fast. By ten to two, all the tiled floors were shining and she bustled off in the direction of his study, vacuum cleaner and feather duster in hand.

There hadn’t been a single opportunity to chat her up in any way. It was work, work and more work. His chances of asking her to come to the dinner with him tomorrow night were fast running out. On top of that, Jack wasn’t sure she’d say yes, anyway. Not once today had she looked at him with any interest, which was highly unusual. Most women found him attractive.

Maybe she had a boyfriend. Or maybe he just wasn’t her type.

This last thought rankled. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. If she didn’t fancy him, she didn’t fancy him.

Shaking his head, Jack brewed himself some coffee and was about to take it out onto the terrace when she materialised in the kitchen doorway, a strange look on her face.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Are you Nick Freeman?’

‘That’s the name I write under. Yes.’

‘Oh, my!’

Jack wasn’t sure if that was a sign she was a fan. Or not.

Either way, he’d finally snared her interest.

‘You’ve read some of my books?’ he asked.

‘All of them.’

‘And what did you think?’

‘I loved them.’

Even better. Clearly, Nick Freeman was her type. Or maybe it was wicked old Hal which brought that excited sparkle into her lovely blue eyes.

‘Now, that’s music to a writer’s ears. Come and have coffee with me and tell me more.’

‘But I haven’t finished your study yet. In fact, I’ve hardly started. When I saw your books on the shelves, I…I—’

‘Forget the study,’ he interrupted, pleased as punch with this development. ‘I’d much rather have my ego stroked. How do you like your coffee?’

‘What? Oh—er—black, with no sugar.’

‘A true coffee-lover. Like me,’ he added with a smile. ‘Now, don’t give me any more objections, Lisa. I’m the boss here.’

She didn’t like taking orders, he could see. Or not finishing her job. But he insisted and she grudgingly complied, sitting opposite him at the table on the terrace, primly sipping her cup of coffee whilst he attempted to draw her out some more.

Jack was careful not to stray from the subject of books. He’d noted that the moment he’d smiled at her, a frosty wariness had crept into her face.

She was widely read, he soon realised. And very intelligent. Clearly, she was wasted as a cleaner.

When she started glancing at her wrist-watch, however, Jack decided he could not wait much longer before making his move. If he let her leave, she might never come back. Next Friday, it would be homely Gail showing up to clean his penthouse and that would be that.

‘I have to go to the annual literary-awards dinner tomorrow night in Sydney,’ he said. ‘One of my books is a finalist in the Golden Gun award for best thriller of the year.’

She put down her cup. ‘Which one?’

‘The Kiss Of Death.’

‘Oh, you’ll win. That was a great book.’

‘Thank you. You’re very kind. Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.’

Jack had had various reactions from women to his asking them out. But not once had a female stared at him the way Lisa Chapman was currently staring at him. As if he’d asked her to climb Mount Everest. In her bare feet.

‘You mean…as your date?’ she choked out.

‘Yes, of course.’

She blinked, then shook her head.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t date.’

Jack could not have been more stunned. Didn’t date? What kind of crazy lifestyle was that for a beautiful young woman whose husband had been dead for five years?

‘What do you mean, you don’t date?’ Jack shot back at her.

Her eyes flashed resentment at him for questioning her. ‘I mean, I don’t date,’ she repeated firmly.

‘Why on earth not?’

She stood up abruptly, her shoulders straightening, her expression turning haughty. ‘I think that’s my private business, don’t you?’

Jack stood up also, his face just as uncompromising. ‘You can’t blame me for being curious. And for being disappointed. I was enjoying your company just now. I thought you were enjoying mine.’

She looked a little flummoxed by this last statement. ‘Well, yes, I was,’ she said, almost as though the concept surprised her.

‘Then come to the dinner with me.’

She hesitated, but then shook her head again, quite vigorously. ‘I’m sorry. I…I can’t.’

Can’t, she’d said. Not won’t.

Can’t suggested there was some other reason why she was saying no. Other than her ridiculous claim that she didn’t date.

The penny suddenly dropped. Maybe she had no one to mind her son. And not enough money to pay for a sitter. Cleaners who only worked during school hours couldn’t earn all that much. Maybe she didn’t have any suitable clothes, either. Despite her very smart appearance today, Jack knew evening wear cost a lot.

‘I’ll pay for a sitter,’ he offered. ‘And buy you a suitable dress, if you don’t have one.’

Her mouth dropped open again, her eyes glittering this time with more anger than shock. ‘I have more than enough money to do both,’ she snapped. ‘For your information, Mr Cassidy, I am not an employee of Clean-in-a-Day. I own the company!’

For the second time that day, Jack was totally gobsmacked. Then pretty angry himself. ‘Well, why didn’t you say so? Why pretend you were a lowly cleaner?’

‘Lowly? What’s lowly about being a cleaner? It’s honest work, with honest pay.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘No, you shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t have tried to buy me just now. Maybe that’s what men do in your world, but they don’t in mine.’

‘I wasn’t trying to buy you.’

‘Yes, you were,’ she said, crossing her arms and giving him a killer look. ‘Don’t try to weasel your way out of it.’

Jack could feel his level of frustration rising as it hadn’t risen in years. ‘Why don’t you get off your high horse for a moment and stop overreacting! I wasn’t trying to buy you. I was trying to overcome any obstacles which I thought might be in your path. Because I can’t believe that a beautiful young woman like yourself would choose not to date. I presumed it had to be because of some other reason.’

‘Then you’d be wrong. I did choose not to date after my husband died.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense, Lisa. Most young widows marry again. How do you expect to meet anyone if you lock yourself in your house and never go out?’

‘I don’t lock myself in my house. And I have no intention of ever getting married again.’

Jack noted the emphasis on the ever, plus the emotional timbre of her voice. Clearly, this was a subject which touched a nerve.

An old friend of Jack’s—an army widow—had once told him that there were two reasons women decided not to marry again. They either had been so happy and so in love with their husbands they believed no other man would ever compare. Or they had been so miserable, they didn’t want to risk putting their lives into the hands of a rotter a second time.

Jack didn’t know enough about Lisa yet to decide which was her reason.

‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to get married, either, even once. But don’t you get bored? And lonely?’

A frustrated-sounding sigh escaped her lips as she uncrossed her arms. ‘Boredom and loneliness are not the worst things in this world.’

‘They come pretty high on my list.’ Jack had a very low boredom threshold. He liked to keep active when he wasn’t writing. During the winter he skied and went snow-boarding. In the summer he surfed and water-skied. When he was forced indoors by the weather, he worked out. Obsessively.

‘Give me one good reason why you don’t date and we’ll leave it at that.’

She pursed her lips at him, her chin lifting. ‘One good reason,’ she repeated tartly. ‘No trouble. When a single mother goes out with a man these days, he expects more than a goodnight kiss at the door. He wants to come inside and stay the night. No way would I have my son wake up in the morning to some strange man at the breakfast table. If I’m a little lonely sometimes, then that’s the price I have to pay for giving my boy the example of good moral standards.’

Jack was impressed, but not entirely convinced. He feared she protested too much. There was something else here, something she wasn’t admitting to. But he could see she wasn’t about to confide in him at this early stage. If he could somehow persuade her to come out with him tomorrow night, he might eventually uncover some of the mystery behind this intriguing ice princess.

‘I promise I won’t expect more than a goodnight kiss at the door,’ he said.

Now she looked seriously rattled. And tempted. Oh, yes, she was tempted. He could see it in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again after a more lengthy hesitation. ‘My answer’s still no. Now I really must go. I’m running late.’

Jack didn’t try to stop her from leaving. He even reminded her about the money on the counter, which she almost forgot. But he took comfort from her obvious fluster. She’d definitely wanted to say yes to him. Or, if he was strictly honest with himself, she’d wanted to say yes to Nick Freeman.

It didn’t really matter. They were one and the same, as she would find out, when she went to the dinner with him tomorrow night.

Jack had her phone number somewhere. At least, he had the phone number for Clean-in-a-Day. He would ring later this evening, after her boy had gone to bed. By then, Jack would have all his arguments ready to get her to change her mind.

And he would not take no for an answer!