The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress (11 page)

It was done, she thought hazily, and there’d been no humiliation in it.

None at all.

Which made her feel a lot better about being his mistress.

Ethan hauled Daisy with him as he moved onto his side, keeping the intimate connection intact for as long as it would last. He revelled in the feeling of deep physical union with this woman, smiled ironically over the fact that she’d blown his mind again. His plan to have sex with her on his terms had been totally sabotaged. Not that he would change one bit of what they had just shared. Were still sharing, although the intensity level had eased—the lull of peace after the storm.

One thing was definitely settled. It had been well worth while helping her parents with their financial affairs. Having this with Daisy Donahue was a new benchmark in his sex life, one he couldn’t imagine ever being surpassed. Of course, it could go down from here. In his experience, the highs were always at the beginning of a relationship. The best part was he’d have them
all, since he had the guarantee of lots of time with her, as much time as he wanted.

He stroked her hair, content to lie quietly for a while, soak up the satisfying fact that their desire for each other
was
mutual. Not that he’d ever doubted it. Neither did he care any more why she had turned away from it before. They were together now.

A nasty little thought wormed its way into the bliss of the moment. Once the money came through for her parents and they actually had their hands on it, would Daisy still comply with the deal? What if she kissed him off and walked away, wagging her sexy bottom at him in scornful contempt for his belief in her word?

He hated being played.

And he’d hate her if she did it.

So that would be the end of any desire for her.

In the meantime, he was assured of this weekend of compliant togetherness and he’d enjoy it more if he put the trust issue out of his mind. It might not ever raise its ugly head. Daisy had a strong streak of integrity. And many other qualities he liked. He wanted to enjoy her. He
would
enjoy her.

Besides, if she did renege on the deal once his side of it had been finalised, he still came out the winner. She would have spent more time on his terms than he’d spent on her parents’ financial problem.

He grinned to himself.

Before this night was out, he would definitely do everything he wanted to do with Daisy Donahue.

T
HE
morning after…

Daisy lay absolutely still, acutely conscious of the naked body her own naked body was intimately spooned against and the strong, masculine arm holding her there with its weight. Even asleep, Ethan was making his dominant presence felt, ensuring she remained with him in his bed.

What next?
she wondered. How did he intend to fill in two whole days with her? Non-stop sex wasn’t really possible, was it? Not that she had anything to complain about in that department. He had pleasured her so much and in so many different ways last night, he could go on doing it as long as he liked. Being his mistress in that sense was certainly no hardship. In fact, he was such a fantastic lover she could very well get addicted to having sex with him. Just go with the flow, and try not to get too carried away by it, she told herself. She was his toy until he got tired of her. That was the inevitable bottom line.

Probably the best attitude to adopt was to think of him as her toy, as well, not let herself take anything too seriously, enjoy everything she could while somehow
building and maintaining a shield around her heart. She should try to gain some control of their relationship, at least not leave all the decisions to him.

Lying here, waiting for him to wake up and direct the play was too submissive. Surely her time was her own when he was out of action. There was no reason not to take some initiative herself, like getting out of bed and making herself coffee as she did every morning.

Very slowly and carefully she lifted Ethan’s arm enough to slide out from under it. Having eased herself off the bed, she quickly headed for the guest suite where she had unpacked her bag. One look at her reflection in the mirrored doors of the built-in cupboards made an immediate visit to the bathroom mandatory. She hadn’t cleaned her face of make-up last night, resulting in clownish eyes from smudged mascara, and her hair was a mess.

Daisy brushed her hair, fastened it in a top-knot, took a long, hot shower, tried not to think of Ethan’s hands caressing her body as she soaped herself clean—half wondering if he would start that all over again when he did wake up—then gave herself a brisk towelling to erase the wickedly wanton tingling in her skin.

She was in the act of donning her silk kimono when the call of her name made her heart jump. Ethan’s tone was not the rich, seductive purr of last night’s satisfied lover. It was sharp, harsh, demanding. An apprehensive shiver ran down her spine. Was he angry at finding her gone from his bed?

Daisy’s spirit of independence fiercely reasserted itself. He had not bought a slave and she wasn’t going to be turned into one. She took a deep breath and stood her ground, calling back, ‘I’m over here in the guest suite.’

She was tying the belt of her kimono when he barged into the bedroom, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw her. He was still stark naked and every taut muscle of his magnificent physique seemed pumped up with intimidating aggression. It was an act of will for Daisy not to freeze with fear on the spot.

The grim, fighting expression on his face slowly relaxed and the blaze of battle in his eyes dimmed as he took in the long, vivid gown she was wearing. ‘The colours of Africa,’ he said with a musing little smile. ‘It suits you.’

Enormously relieved that the blast of tension had eased, Daisy held out her arms to show him the long drops of the sleeves. ‘It’s a kimono. I thought I’d be your geisha girl and make you tea.’

He threw back his head and laughed, a great peel of joyous laughter that rippled right through her heart, which should have been shielded but quite hopelessly wasn’t. He strolled towards her, a huge grin on his face. ‘Dinner, morning tea…you’re full of surprises, Daisy. What next?’

He picked her up and twirled her around in sheer exuberance. Daisy felt like an aeroplane with her long sleeves flapping, her own spirits lifting sky-high. He was still grinning when he set her on her feet again. ‘Make it coffee, not tea,’ he happily instructed. ‘Give me ten minutes to shower, shave and clean my teeth and I’ll be down to cook you breakfast. Let me surprise you.’

He left a smile on her face—a ridiculously happy smile. She told herself it wasn’t because she was stupidly in love with him. It was simply great to know he didn’t expect her to be his slave. He was going to
cook for her. Which probably wasn’t so wonderful since he liked cooking. Nevertheless, Daisy felt much better about the situation.

Ethan was still in an ebullient mood when he breezed into the kitchen, carrying the Saturday
Morning Herald
which must have been delivered to the door. He couldn’t have gone far to get it. He was only wearing the short black silk robe, which she’d found so disturbing before becoming intimately involved with the body beneath it. Daisy had no problem with looking
him
over now. It gave her a pleasurable sense of possession.

She had to remind herself he was not her man.

Ethan Cartwright was his own man.

But she didn’t mind at all being his mistress when he dumped the newspaper on the kitchen bench, drew her into his embrace, cheerfully declared it was a beautiful morning and kissed her in a lovely, lingering sensual way that made her feel beautiful, even though she knew she wasn’t.

‘Now for breakfast!’ he said, setting her aside to take command of the kitchen. ‘You can sit on one of the stools on this side of the bench, drink your coffee and watch me work.’

‘Okay. What are you going to surprise me with?’

The green eyes danced teasingly. ‘The challenge is to serve you something that meets your
yummy
mark.’

He
was yummy. As Daisy made herself comfortable on a stool, she decided to consider herself lucky to have this experience with him. The trick was in not hankering for the whole moon and stars package.

He raided the refrigerator for eggs, butter, tomatoes, bread, Spanish onions. Daisy admired his deft movements as he lined up more ingredients from the pantry…
Ethan Cartwright, very much in control of what he was doing.

Though there had been that frightening loss of cool when he’d woken up and found her gone from his bed. Had he thought she’d skipped out on the deal? He should have known she’d keep her word. Perhaps he had been scarred by other women who had taken him for a ride, using him for what he could give and not giving what he wanted back. Had something like that happened with his
ex
-fiancée—a recent serious relationship gone sour because of a lack of integrity?

He started cutting up the tomatoes and onions, shooting an oddly weighing glance at her. ‘I’ve lined up a job interview for you if you want it, Daisy.’

A job? A real job? She hadn’t managed to snag one interview for any of the positions she had applied for in the past two months. Either there were too many applications to wade through and hers was missed or her work résumé—minus her stint with Lynda Twiggley, which should have been the jewel in her crown but couldn’t be mentioned due to the circumstances of her sacking—had not impressed enough.

‘I’m desperate for one,’ she cried. ‘Please tell me about it.’

‘I was chatting to one of my clients yesterday—he runs a publishing house—and he mentioned needing a good PR person for marketing, but he was dreading dealing with the response to advertising the position. Said it was a nightmare wading through the mountain of applications these days, trying to find the gold amongst the dross.’

Daisy grimaced at hearing the other side of the coin. Everything to do with the job market these days was difficult.

‘So I told him about you,’ Ethan ran on. ‘Said you’d been behind the organisation of the Magic Millions Carnival earlier in the year. Told him I’d snaffled you to run a special project for me, coordinating and dealing with a diverse workforce, which you’d done without a hitch, and was about to move on. He more or less decided on the spot to interview you before advertising the job. You’re to call him on Monday morning if you’re interested.’

Just like that…on Ethan’s personal recommendation, she’d zoomed straight to the top of the list. Daisy was too stunned to speak. Ethan looked enquiringly at her and she shook her head at the injustice of it all. ‘It’s not what you are. It’s who you know,’ slipped out of her mouth.

‘Connections do cut through a lot of time-wasting,’ he remarked. ‘But this isn’t a case of jobs for the boys. I’m not passing my client a lemon. I wouldn’t do that. I’m confident you’re capable of pulling off anything you set your mind to.’

She flushed with pleasure in his high opinion of her. ‘Thank you, Ethan. And thank you for recommending me. I won’t let you down.’

His mouth tilted in an ironic little smile. ‘No. You’re not into letting people down, are you, Daisy? Forgive me for doubting you, even for a moment.’

The moment when he’d thought she’d gone. ‘You can count on me to keep my word, Ethan,’ she quietly assured him.

‘Yes. I believe I can,’ he said, and this time his eyes twinkled with his smile. ‘I’ll give you all the job details after breakfast. I’ve written them down.’

She smiled back. ‘Great! Thank you again.’

His smile stretched into a grin. ‘And may I suggest
you don’t wear brown to the interview. This is a guy, not a Lynda Twiggley. You’ll be fronting for his publishing house. He’ll want you to power-dress. Red is good. You look great in red.’ His gaze dropped to her kimono. ‘And orange and yellow and green.’

She laughed, a lovely bubble of joy dancing inside her. ‘Okay. Not brown.’ The future was definitely looking up for her, regardless of how and when this time with Ethan ended.

Breakfast was, indeed, yummy. Ethan cooked a tomato salsa with a spicy touch of Tabasco sauce, placed a poached egg in the middle of each serving and accompanied it with fingers of French toast. They shared the newspaper while they ate, which put Daisy in a very relaxed mood, no longer worrying about what they’d do for the rest of the weekend.

They played tennis. They swam and lazed around the pool. He beat her at Scrabble, right at the death, scoring eighty points with a seven-letter word which Daisy declared was grossly unfair since she’d led all the way. She asked him to teach her some of the board games he played with his friends, which he willingly did. It was fun. There was not one boring or unpleasant moment, probably because underlying everything was a highly acute sexual awareness of each other, a constantly buzzing excitement that was ready and eager to burst into arousal with a touch or a kiss.

After their swim.

After Scrabble.

During the movie they semi-watched after dinner.

When they retired for the night.

Daisy did not leave Ethan’s bed on Sunday morning until they left it together, satisfied that the harmony
they’d reached on Saturday was still a beautiful thing between them. It continued without a hitch until after lunch, when Ethan announced he would show her the apartment she was to move into for his convenience.

He didn’t use those exact words, but the illusion of mutual lovers enjoying each other was jolted straight out of Daisy’s mind by the reminder of the mistress deal. The apartment
was
for his convenience—no parents to consider, no one else sharing it with her except him when he wanted to.

‘Where is it?’ she asked, trying to sound interested instead of totally flattened by the reality of their relationship.

‘At Pyrmont. It will be handy to your work if you get the job, with the publishing house situated in Market Street—just a walk across Pyrmont Bridge to the city centre.’

Handy for him, too, dropping in after his work in the city.

She forced a smile. ‘Sounds good. Let’s go and see it.’

He took her to an apartment complex which had direct harbour frontage at Pyrmont. It had a community gym and indoor swimming pool for the use of all residents. They rode an elevator up to the penthouse floor and he ushered her into an apartment, which had to be worth millions of dollars with its commanding view of the harbour and the great arched bridge that crossed it.

The living area—kitchen, dining and lounge—was incredibly spacious, all making the most of the view, as did the master suite. There were two other bedrooms, a second bathroom and a study. Every room was furnished and the decor was mostly black and cream which felt very masculine. Daisy didn’t see any feminine
touches anywhere. Even the kitchen seemed male with its black granite benches and stainless-steel fittings.

A billionaire bachelor pad, she thought, and asked, ‘Is this where you lived before moving to Hunters Hill?’

‘Yes. I haven’t yet decided on whether to keep it or put it on the market’ was his carefree reply.

Obviously he felt no urgent need to capitalise on what had to be a huge investment.

This was how the very wealthy lived, Daisy thought as she wandered over to the wall of glass in the living room and gazed down at the white wakes of the water traffic on the bright blue harbour. She would be sharing these heights with Ethan for a while, but she had to keep remembering she was an ordinary person who would have to return to an ordinary life when his interest shifted to someone else.

This apartment probably should be delighting her. She had never had such glamorous living quarters and she would have them all to herself except when Ethan visited. Yet she could not stop a black wave of depression from rolling through her soul. Her arms instinctively folded themselves across her chest, hugging in the dark sense of misery.

Her mind insisted she should be feeling good.

Ethan had given her parents what she had wanted for them.

He was giving her a new start with the top running for a good job and a lovely place to live until she became independent again.

He was a generous man, a fantastic lover.

It was stupid, stupid, stupid, for her heart to yearn for a different situation with him. This was what she had agreed to. This was where she was, and next year she
would be down there with the ordinary people. Nothing was going to change that.

Ethan had strolled on to the kitchen. He’d placed a bottle of champagne and a dish of strawberries in the refrigerator on Thursday night, planning ahead to this move with Daisy, intending to take her to bed with him after she’d looked through the apartment. As he placed two flute glasses on the bench which separated the kitchen from the dining area, he checked that she was still engaged with the view.