Читать онлайн книгу «Pleasured In The Billionaire′s Bed» автора Miranda Lee
Pleasured In The Billionaire's Bed
Miranda Lee
When Jack Cassidy first set eyes on Lisa, he had to have her. He knew it would take time, careful planning and execution—Lisa was the ultimate ice princess, perfectly groomed, controlled and cautious. She never dated rich, renowned playboys like Jack!But one long, hot night unleashed the kind of passion Lisa had never dared dream of… and the realization that she might have conceived Jack's baby…
Miranda Lee
Pleasured in the Billionaire’s Bed
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
COMING NEXT MONTH
CHAPTER ONE
LISA grimaced when the couple on the television screen started ripping each other’s clothes off.
‘As if people really act like that,’ she muttered as she reached for the remote.
If there was one thing Lisa couldn’t stand it was over-the-top love scenes in movies. As much as she appreciated she might not be a typical viewer, Lisa felt pretty sure sex was never the way it was portrayed in Hollywood.
She literally cringed when the man lifted the by now half-naked woman onto the kitchen counter and thrust into her. Or pretended to. The camera was on their faces. When the grunting and groaning started, Lisa pressed her finger firmly on the off button. She’d had enough of watching such ridiculous goings-on, thank you very much. Time to go upstairs and make sure Cory was asleep. It was after nine o’clock and tomorrow was a school day.
Lisa was halfway up the stairs when the phone rang.
Darn, she thought as she hurried on up the stairs and turned left, popping her head into Cory’s bedroom on the way to her own bedroom.
Good, he was asleep.
Once in her bedroom, she closed the door behind her—so as not to risk waking her son—and picked up the cordless phone.
‘Hello,’ she said, fully expecting it to be her mother at this hour. All her girlfriends were married with children and were too busy each evening for gossipy chats.
‘It’s Gail, Lisa,’ a woman’s voice said down the line. ‘Gail Robinson.’
Lisa decided she’d best sit down. When one of her employees rang her on her personal line on a week night, it usually meant there was some problem or other.
‘Hi, Gail. What’s up?’
‘I’ve sprained my ankle,’ Gail said dispiritedly. ‘Slipped down that rotten steep driveway of ours. I’ve been sitting here with my foot in a bucket of iced water for ages but it’s still up like a balloon. There’s no way I can do Jack Cassidy’s place tomorrow.’
Lisa frowned. Jack Cassidy was one of her newer clients. Sandra—her assistant-cum-bookkeeper—had signed him up whilst Lisa was away with Cory on a week’s cruise of the South Pacific during the recent school holidays. A bachelor, Mr Cassidy owned a penthouse apartment in Terrigal which apparently had acres of tiled floors and took ages to clean. He also liked his sheets and towels changed and his weekly linen washed, dried and put away, not something her cleaners usually did. Their standard service lasted four hours and covered cleaning all floors, bathrooms and kitchens, not doing laundry or windows. Laundry could be very time-consuming and windows dangerous.
But he’d apparently talked Sandra into finding someone who would do the extra.
Gail took five hours to do everything, for which Clean-in-a-Day was paid one hundred and fifty dollars, with Gail’s cut being one hundred and twenty. Their rates were very competitive.
‘I’m really sorry to let you down at the last minute,’ Gail said unhappily.
‘That’s all right. I’ll get someone else.’
‘On a Friday?’
Lisa knew why Gail sounded sceptical. Friday was the busiest day for housecleaning. Everyone wanted their homes to be clean for the weekend. Clean in a Day was fully booked on Fridays. Lisa had a couple of names she could ring if she was really desperate, but they were women who had not been through her rigorous training course and might not clean as thoroughly as she liked.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said briskly. ‘I’ll do it myself. And Gail…’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t stress about the money. You’ll still get paid.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I’m well aware how tight things are for you at the moment.’
Gail’s husband had been made redundant a few weeks earlier. She really needed her cleaning money.
‘That’s very good of you,’ she choked out.
Lisa winced. Dear heaven, please don’t let her start crying.
‘Will you be up at the school tomorrow afternoon to pick up the kids?’ she asked quickly.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll give you your money then.’
‘Gosh, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say a word. Especially not to the other girls. Can’t have my sergeant-major reputation tarnished. They’ll think I’ve become a soft touch and start taking advantage.’
Gail laughed. ‘I can’t see that happening. You have a very formidable air about you, you know.’
‘So I’m told.’
‘You always look so perfect as well. That’s rather intimidating.’
‘It’s just the way I am,’ she said defensively.
Lisa had heard such criticisms before. From girlfriends. From her mother. Even her husband. When he’d been alive…
Greg had complained incessantly about her compulsive need to have everything look right all the time. The house. The garden. Herself. The baby. Him.
‘Why don’t you lighten up a bit?’ he’d thrown at her more than once. ‘You’re nothing like your mother. She’s so easygoing. I thought daughters were supposed to be like their mothers!’
Lisa shuddered at the thought of being like her mother.
Despite Greg’s nagging, she held on to the belief he hadn’t really wanted her to be like her mother. He’d certainly liked inviting people back to their house, knowing she and it would always be neat and tidy.
‘By the way, I don’t have keys to Mr Cassidy’s place,’ Gail said, reefing Lisa’s mind back to the problem at hand. ‘He’s always home on a Friday. I just press the button for the penthouse at the security entrance and he lets me in.’
Lisa’s top lip curled. Pity. She hated having a client around when she cleaned.
‘He’s a writer of some sort,’ Gail added. ‘Works from home.’
‘I see.’
‘Don’t worry. He won’t bother you. He stays in his study most of the time. Only comes out to make coffee. Which reminds me. Don’t attempt to clean his study. Or even to go in. He made that clear to me on my first day. His study is off limits.’
‘That’s fine by me. One less room to clean.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought.’
‘Will I have a parking problem?’ Lisa asked.
Terrigal was the place to live on the Central Coast. Only an hour and a half’s drive north from Sydney, it had everything to attract tourists. The prettiest beach. Great shops and cafés. And a five-star hotel, right across from the water.
The only minus was demand for parking spaces.
‘No worries,’ Gail said. ‘There are several guest bays at the back of the building. You have the address, don’t you? It’s on the main drag, halfway up the hill, just past the Crowne Plaza.’
‘I’ll find it. Well, I’d better get going, Gail. Have to have everything shipshape tonight if I’m to be out all day tomorrow.’
Which she would be. Terrigal Beach was a good fifteen-minute drive from where she lived at Tumbi Umbi. If she dropped Cory off at school at nine, she’d be cleaning by nine-thirty, finished by two-thirty, then back to pick up Cory at three.
‘See you at the school around three. Bye.’
Lisa hung up and hurried back downstairs, making a mental list of jobs-to-do as she went. Load dishwasher. Hang out washing. Wipe over tiles. Iron Cory’s uniform. Get both their lunches ready. Decide what to wear.
Loading the dishwasher wasn’t exactly rocket science and Lisa found her thoughts drifting to tomorrow.
Penthouses in Terrigal were not cheap. So its owner was probably rich.
A writer, Gail had said. A successful writer, obviously.
No, not necessarily. Jack Cassidy could be a wealthy playboy who’d inherited his money and dabbled in writing as a hobby.
When Lisa started wondering if he was good-looking, she pulled herself up quite sharply. What did she care if he was good-looking or not?
She had no intention of dating, or ever getting married again. She had no reason to. And she had every reason not to.
For once you let a man into your life, sooner or later he would want sex.
The unfortunate truth was Lisa didn’t like sex. Never had. Never would. No use pretending.
She found sex yucky. And no pleasure at all. Not quite repulsive, but close to.
She’d suspected this about herself from the moment her mother had told her the facts of life at the age of ten, a suspicion which had grown over her teenage years, then was confirmed, at the age of nineteen, when she’d finally given in and slept with Greg. Though only after they’d got engaged. And only because she’d known she’d lose him if she didn’t.
He’d thought she would warm to lovemaking in time. But she never had. Sex during her marriage had been given grudgingly, and increasingly less often with the passing of time, especially after Cory was born. It was not surprising that she hadn’t fallen pregnant again.
Lisa had been shattered by her husband’s tragic death when she was twenty-five and poor Greg only twenty-eight. She had loved him in her own way. But she never wanted to go there again. Never wanted to feel guilty about something she had no control over.
Lisa knew she could never force herself to like physical intimacy. So the only sensible solution was to remain single and celibate, even if it meant she sometimes felt lonely.
Lately, she’d been feeling very lonely. Which was odd. She was busier than ever with the business. And her son was always on the go. Her leisure hours were filled with taking him to his various school and sporting activities.
It was at night, after Cory had gone to bed, that she felt the loneliest. She missed having someone there to talk to. Or to sit with whilst she watched television.
Her one solace was reading. She loved books, especially thrillers. Loved the way they could take her away from her day-to-day, rather humdrum existence into a world of excitement and suspense. Her current favourites were a series of action novels written by an Australian author, Nick Freeman.
Lisa had never read anything like them. They were simply unputdownable. During the last few months, she’d devoured all five of them.
Unfortunately, she’d finished the last one a few nights back, and passed it on to her mother, as she had the others in the series.
By comparison, the new book by another author that she’d brought home from the library yesterday seemed tame. And boring. Which meant she wasn’t looking forward to going to bed tonight, as she had when she knew she was going to be swept away into Hal Hunter’s rather wicked but fascinating world.
Whenever Lisa didn’t have a good book to read at night, sleep would often elude her. She suspected that tonight would be one such night.
‘Cleaning that penthouse tomorrow will do you good, Lisa, my girl,’ she told herself as she closed the dishwasher door. ‘Make you really tired.’
The thought occurred to her that she should ring Jack Cassidy and let him know of the change in his cleaning arrangements. It could prove awkward, explaining things on his doorstep in the morning.
Lisa turned on the dishwasher and trudged back upstairs, turning right this time and making her way down to the fourth bedroom, which she’d converted into a study soon after starting up her business. It was not a large room, but large enough to house her computer.
It only took her a few seconds to bring up Jack Cassidy’s file and to print out his address and phone number.
Lisa picked up her fax-phone, punched in the number, than sank back into her office chair as she waited for her client to answer.
Several rings went by before a deep, gruff voice snapped, ‘Yep?’
‘Mr Cassidy?’ she said in her best business voice. ‘Mr Jack Cassidy?’
‘Yeah, that’s me. And who might you be?’
‘My name is Lisa, Mr Cassidy. Lisa Chapman. I’m from—’
‘Stop right there, sweetheart. Look, I know you’re probably only doing your job but I’ve had a gutful of telemarketers ringing me at all hours of the day and night. This is my private and personal number and I keep it for private and personal calls. If I want something, I go out and buy it. From a shop. I don’t even buy over the internet. I also never answer stupid bloody surveys. Do I make myself clear?’
Clear as crystal, Lisa thought with a mixture of empathy and frustration. She too hated people trying to sell things to her over the phone and had recently started being less than polite when telemarketers called her in the evenings.
But he could have had the decency to wait till he found out if she was one of those.
Lisa opened her mouth to clarify her identity when she heard the unmistakable click of the call being terminated.
Her head jerked back to stare down at her handset. He’d hung up on her! The hide of him!
After slamming her own phone back down, Lisa sat there for a full minute with her hands clenched over the arm-rests of the chair and her teeth gritted together. Never in all her life had anyone hung up on her. Never ever!
Don’t take it personally, her brain argued.
But it was difficult not to. Men were supposed to be polite to women, no matter what. And he’d been rude. Very rude.
What to do? No point in trying his number again. He’d probably hang up on her before she got two words out. And if he did that, she’d blow a gasket.
She glared at his printed-out file. It showed no email number. Clearly, he was a privacy freak. Or he just didn’t like computers. Or the internet. Maybe he wrote in longhand.
He did have a fax number, she noted. She could send him a fax, explaining the situation. But something inside Lisa rebelled against giving Jack Cassidy that courtesy.
No, she would just show up on his doorstep in the morning and have great pleasure watching him cringe with embarrassment, once she explained who she was.
CHAPTER TWO
LISA’S stomach tightened as she drove across Terrigal Bridge and turned left at the small roundabout.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea not to fax Jack Cassidy last night. Embarrassing the man no longer held such appeal this morning. She was the one who was going to end up being embarrassed.
Lisa scooped in a deep, lung-filling breath as she drove up the hill, then let it out slowly, relaxing her stomach muscles and reassuring herself that there was nothing for her to be embarrassed about. Or to feel nervous about. She was being silly. This was just another cleaning job. One she’d never have to repeat, thank goodness.
Feeling marginally better, Lisa glanced around as she drove down the hill which led to Terrigal Beach. She hadn’t been out this way for ages. When she took Cory to the beach these days, they usually went to Wamberal, or Shelly’s Beach. Terrigal’s cove-like shape meant it rarely had a big surf, which was great for tourists and families, but not relished by nine-year-old thrill-seekers.
But my, it was beautiful, especially when the sun was shining. Although it was still only springtime, the beach had a fair share of people in the water, and even more stretched out on the golden sand.
Lisa could see why wealthy Sydneysiders bought beach-houses here. And penthouse apartments. Especially ones whose balconies faced north, with an unimpeded view of the sparkling blue sea and the long stretch of coastline.
Jack Cassidy’s place would have all that, Lisa realised by the time she turned into the driveway of the pale blue, cement-rendered apartment block. Despite the building only being three storeys high, its position was second to none.
Lisa’s nervous tension had returned with a vengeance by the time she walked round to the front entrance and pressed the button marked ‘Penthouse’ on the security panel.
‘Come on up, Gail,’ Jack Cassidy’s deep male voice growled through the intercom.
Lisa opened her mouth to explain once again who she was when the intercom clicked off and the front door began to buzz.
Giving vent to a groan of sheer frustration, Lisa pushed her way in, the door automatically closing and locking behind her.
She just stood there for a long moment, trying to calm her thudding heart. What was it about this man which rattled her so? She was normally very cool when it came to dealing with difficult clients and situations. Cool and composed.
Time for some coolness and composure right now, Lisa, she lectured herself as she practised some more deep breathing, taking in her surroundings at the same time.
The foyer was cool and spacious, with a marble-tiled floor and lots of windows. Despite the amount of glass, you couldn’t hear the traffic or the sea from inside, which meant the windows had to be double-glazed. A no-expense-spared building, Lisa conceded as she bypassed the lift at the back of the foyer to take the stairs, walking briskly up the grey-carpeted steps to the top floor.
No large foyer up there. Possibly the architect hadn’t wanted to waste valuable floor space, although the landing was large enough to have a hall stand and wall mirror set beside the one and only door, perhaps put there for people to check their appearance before knocking.
Before she could do little more than give her face a cursory glance, the door was wrenched open by a very tall, very tanned, very fit-looking man in dark blue jeans and a chest-hugging white T-shirt.
Jack Cassidy, Lisa presumed, her neck craning a little as she looked up into his face.
He wasn’t handsome. Not the way Greg had been handsome. But he was attractive, despite the three-day growth on his chin and the hard, almost cold grey eyes which swept over her from head to toe.
‘You’re not Gail,’ were his first words, delivered with his now familiar lack of charm.
Lisa bristled inside, but maintained what she hoped was a professional expression.
‘You’re absolutely correct,’ came her crisp reply. ‘I’m Lisa Chapman from Clean-in-a-Day. Gail sprained her ankle yesterday and won’t be able to do your place today. I did try to explain this to you last night on the phone, but you hung up on me.’
He didn’t look embarrassed at all. He just shrugged. ‘Sorry. You should have said who you were up front.’
If apologies had been an Olympic event, his would not have even qualified for a semi-final.
‘You didn’t exactly give me much opportunity,’ she said with a tight little smile. ‘But not to worry. I’m here now and I’ll be doing your place today.’
‘You have to be kidding me.’
Lisa gritted her teeth. ‘Not at all.’
His eyes flicked over her again, this time with a coolly sceptical expression. ‘You’re going to clean in that get-up?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ came Lisa’s tart reply.
She had never subscribed to the theory that a cleaner had to look like a chimney sweep. Today she was wearing white stretch Capri pants, white trainers and a chocolate-brown singlet top which showed off her nicely toned arms and honey-coloured skin. Her platinum-blonde hair was up in a white scrunchie, the way she always wore it when cleaning. Her jewellery was a simple gold chain around her neck, a narrow gold watch on her wrist and small gold hoops in her ears. Her make-up was subtle and so was her perfume. In her roomy straw hold-all—currently slung over her shoulder—was a navy, chef-size apron and two pairs of cleaning gloves, along with her calorie-friendly packed lunch and a bottle of chilled mineral water.
‘I assure you I will leave here with your place spotless and without a mark on my clothes,’ she informed him, a tad haughtily.
‘You know what, sweetheart? I believe you.’
Lisa gritted her teeth. She was within a hair’s breadth of telling him she was not his sweetheart, but the owner of Clean-in-a-Day, when he stepped back and waved her inside.
The uninterrupted sight of the spectacular living area compelled Lisa to forget her irritation, her love of all things beautiful drawing her forward till she was standing in the middle of the spacious room, surrounded by the sort of place she dreamt about owning one day. She almost sighed over the huge tinted windows, the amazing view, the acres of cream marble tiles and the wonderfully clean lines of the furniture. Nothing fussy. Everything classy and expensive. Cool leathers, in cream and a muted gold colour. The coffee-and side-tables were made of a pale wood. The rugs blended in. Nothing bright or gaudy.
Ever since she’d been a child, Lisa had hated bright colours, both in décor and clothes. She could not bear the recent fashion of putting loud, clashing colours together, oranges with pinks, and electric blues with lime greens. She literally shuddered whenever she saw red anywhere near purple.
‘I do realise that there are a lot of tiles to clean,’ he said abruptly from just behind her. ‘But Gail never had a problem.’
Lisa swung round to face him, grateful that he hadn’t thought she’d been envying him his house.
‘They won’t be any problem to me, either,’ she said swiftly. ‘I’ve been cleaning houses for years.’
‘You continue to amaze me. You look like you’ve never had a chipped fingernail in your life.’
‘Looks can be deceiving, Mr Cassidy.’
‘For pity’s sake, call me Jack. Now, a few instructions before I get back to work. Do you know about the extras I like done?’
‘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 wellbeing.
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!
CHAPTER FIVE
‘MUM!’ Cory exclaimed from the passenger seat. ‘Where are you going?’
‘What?’
‘You drove straight past our street.’
Lisa sighed. It didn’t surprise her. Since she’d left Jack Cassidy’s place, it had been a struggle to keep her mind on what she was doing. She’d only just remembered to give Gail her money at the school.
Thank heavens Gail hadn’t had time to chat. No way did Lisa want to talk about her day. She still hadn’t come to terms with Jack Cassidy turning out to be Nick Freeman. Or with his asking her out to that awards dinner tomorrow night. Or her actually being tempted to say yes.
As Lisa negotiated the roundabout which would bring her back the way she’d come, she reiterated to herself that she’d done the right thing, saying no to his invitation.
She wasn’t a complete fool. She could read between the lines. Jack Cassidy—alias Nick Freeman—was a ladies’ man. Just like his character, Hal Hunter. Jack’s penthouse had ‘playboy pad’ written all over it, from the indoor pool and spa to the private gym, the home theatre and the simply huge master bedroom, which had every seductive mod con built in. A huge plasma screen dominated the wall opposite the bed. There were dimmer switches on the lights. And a corner spa in the en suite bathroom definitely built for two. Or even three.
Aside from that, she’d noted his off-the-cuff remark that he didn’t want to ever get married, even once. Yet he had to be in his mid-to-late thirties, past the age most men thought about settling down and having a family.
Clearly, his lifestyle of choice was that of swinging bachelor.
Mr Playboy would definitely not settle for a platonic peck at the door. He’d just been saying that to get her to go out with him. No doubt he thought she was an easy target, once he’d found out she was a widow.
Jack wasn’t the first man to ask her out. But he was the first she’d been tempted to say yes to.
Why was that? Lisa asked herself as she drove slowly down her street.
His being her favourite author had to be the main factor. But she suspected it was also because a glamorous night out in Sydney was an exciting prospect for a suburban single mother who hadn’t been anywhere glamorous in years. Up here on the coast, everything was very casual. You never got seriously dressed up for anything. Not even at Christmas.
Lisa loved getting dressed up. Or she had, when Greg had been alive.
Her wanting to say yes to Jack Cassidy’s invitation had nothing to do with her finding him physically attractive, she told herself firmly. She liked slim, elegant-looking men with nice manners and soft blue eyes, not big, macho devils with faces carved out of granite and the coldest grey eyes she’d ever seen.
Lisa supposed Jack’s surprise at her declaration that she didn’t date was understandable. But she thought she’d handled the situation quite well. Of course, she hadn’t been able to tell him the real reason she didn’t date. That would have been embarrassing in the extreme.
Still, the reason she’d given was also true. She hated the way some single mothers went from man to man, most of whom didn’t give a damn about their children. Yet they let these men into their children’s lives; let the poor little mites get attached.
How many single mothers and divorcees actually found a decent fellow to marry? Not many. Once the man got bored with the sex, he moved on. She’d seen it happen amongst her women friends too many times to count, leaving behind broken hearts and sad, mixed-up children.
‘Yes, I definitely did the right thing,’ she muttered under her breath.
Her house came into view, a two-storeyed blond brick building which Lisa was very proud of, but which she’d struggled to keep after Greg died. His insurance payout had not covered the mortgage. But she’d been determined not to lose her home. And she hadn’t, working very hard to make herself and her son financially secure. Even if she’d wanted to date, she hadn’t had the time back then.
Lisa turned into her driveway, Cory jumping out of the car before she’d switched off the engine, bolting along the front path and dropping his school bag on the porch.
‘Can I go and play up at Finn’s place?’ he called out as she climbed out of the car.
‘Not until you’ve changed out of your uniform,’ she told him sternly once she joined him on the porch. ‘And done your homework.’
‘But it’s the weekend,’ he protested. ‘I can do my homework tomorrow.’
‘No, you can’t. You’re going to your grandma’s tomorrow while I go shopping. We both know there won’t be any homework done there, don’t we?’ she added drily as she pulled the house keys from her bag.
‘I’m glad I’m going to Grandma’s,’ Cory said, a belligerent look on his face. ‘She lets me have fun. Not like you.’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone, young man,’ Lisa snapped, jamming the key into the deadlock and thinking how thankless a job being a mother was. ‘Now, get yourself inside and do as you’re told.’
Five hours later, she was still brooding over Cory’s cheekiness. And simmering with jealousy over his affection for his grandmother.
He didn’t seem to care that his grandmother was the messiest woman on the planet. Always had been. Not only was Jill Chapman allergic to cleaning, but she couldn’t cook to save her soul either. Lisa had grown up eating baked beans on toast for dinner most nights. Her mother’s only talent was as a potter, and even then she didn’t make much money at her craft.
‘Mum,’ Cory said in a wheedling tone, ‘can I stay up and watch a movie with you tonight?’
Lisa glanced up from where she was stacking the dishwasher. Cory was a few feet away in the family room, watching TV.
‘I don’t think so, Cory. You’ve had a long week at school and I don’t want you all tired and grumpy tomorrow. Off to bed now. It’s eight-thirty.’
‘Oh, Mum, please.’
‘Not this time,’ she said firmly.
‘You never let me do anything,’ he grumbled.
‘You can stay up extra late tomorrow night. We’ll go to the video shop after I finish my shopping and get you whatever movie you like. Provided it’s not too violent.’
His blue eyes lit up. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Cool!’
Lisa smiled at her son’s obvious delight. And his obeying her orders to go to bed without any further fuss. When she went upstairs five minutes later, his handsome little face was still beaming with happiness.
‘Goodnight and God bless,’ she murmured as she ruffled his soft blond hair, then bent to kiss him. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you, too, Mum,’ he said, making her heart squeeze tight.
Lisa supposed there were some rewards in being a mother. But it was hard, not having a partner to help with the parenting.
Not that Greg had been a firm father. He’d been way too soft with Cory. Way too soft with her as well. He’d let her run the show. And whilst Lisa liked being the boss of the household, there had been times when she’d wished Greg had taken the reins. In hindsight, he’d been a nice, but weak man. He should not have put up with her denying him sex…
When those old feelings of guilt threatened, Lisa pulled herself up sharply. The past was the past. No point in becoming maudlin over it.
As she always did when she started worrying about things, Lisa worked, mopping the kitchen floor and hanging out the washing which she’d put in the machine earlier. After that she went upstairs to the third bedroom, where she kept her iron and ironing board.
A lot of women hated ironing. But Lisa found it quite therapeutic. She ironed everything, enjoying seeing the neat piles of freshly pressed things set out on the spare bed. She was tackling Cory’s school shirts when the phone rang in her office, just across the hall. Knowing that the answering machine would pick up, she kept on ironing, keeping one ear open to see who it was. The office door was ajar and she could hear quite clearly. Her recorded voice came on first, asking the caller to leave a message after the beep.
When she heard Jack’s deep male voice come on to the line, she almost dropped the iron.
‘Jack Cassidy here, Lisa. Unfortunately, it seems I only have your business number. Hopefully, you’re home and check your messages on a regular basis. If so, please call me back some time tonight. You have my number. If I don’t hear from you by morning, I’ll have to ring Gail and find out your home or mobile number. I’m sure she’ll have it. If you don’t want me to do this—and I suspect you might not—then ring me. ASAP.’
After Jack had hung up, Lisa remained standing right where she was for several seconds, still gripping the iron mid-air. Her head had gone into a total whirl with his message, her heart racing like mad.
Eventually, she lowered the iron back onto its cradle, then sat down on the side of the bed whilst she assembled her scattered thoughts.
Somehow, she didn’t think Jack wanted her to call him to organise another cleaner to do his study. If he had, he would have simply said so.
He was going to ask her out again. She was sure of it!
Lisa could not understand why. A man like him could have his pick of women. Why pursue her?
‘Because you said no to him,’ she muttered out loud.
Lisa could think of no other reason.
Under any other circumstances, she would have ignored his call. Lisa didn’t like bully boys. But his threat to ring Gail in the morning was a worry. He was right. She wouldn’t like that. Gail would jump to all the wrong conclusions and start gossiping about her and Jack.
She had no alternative but to ring the infernal man. But she intended to put him in his place. And tell him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t appreciate being harassed, or threatened.
The thought of having a confrontation with him made her stomach churn. But it had to be done. And the sooner the better.
Steeling herself, Lisa stood up and marched across the hallway into her office. The piece of paper with Jack’s number on it was still in the top drawer of her desk, Lisa’s hand trembling slightly as she snatched up the phone.
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Miranda Lee
When Jack Cassidy first set eyes on Lisa, he had to have her. He knew it would take time, careful planning and execution—Lisa was the ultimate ice princess, perfectly groomed, controlled and cautious. She never dated rich, renowned playboys like Jack!But one long, hot night unleashed the kind of passion Lisa had never dared dream of… and the realization that she might have conceived Jack's baby…
Miranda Lee
Pleasured in the Billionaire’s Bed
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
COMING NEXT MONTH
CHAPTER ONE
LISA grimaced when the couple on the television screen started ripping each other’s clothes off.
‘As if people really act like that,’ she muttered as she reached for the remote.
If there was one thing Lisa couldn’t stand it was over-the-top love scenes in movies. As much as she appreciated she might not be a typical viewer, Lisa felt pretty sure sex was never the way it was portrayed in Hollywood.
She literally cringed when the man lifted the by now half-naked woman onto the kitchen counter and thrust into her. Or pretended to. The camera was on their faces. When the grunting and groaning started, Lisa pressed her finger firmly on the off button. She’d had enough of watching such ridiculous goings-on, thank you very much. Time to go upstairs and make sure Cory was asleep. It was after nine o’clock and tomorrow was a school day.
Lisa was halfway up the stairs when the phone rang.
Darn, she thought as she hurried on up the stairs and turned left, popping her head into Cory’s bedroom on the way to her own bedroom.
Good, he was asleep.
Once in her bedroom, she closed the door behind her—so as not to risk waking her son—and picked up the cordless phone.
‘Hello,’ she said, fully expecting it to be her mother at this hour. All her girlfriends were married with children and were too busy each evening for gossipy chats.
‘It’s Gail, Lisa,’ a woman’s voice said down the line. ‘Gail Robinson.’
Lisa decided she’d best sit down. When one of her employees rang her on her personal line on a week night, it usually meant there was some problem or other.
‘Hi, Gail. What’s up?’
‘I’ve sprained my ankle,’ Gail said dispiritedly. ‘Slipped down that rotten steep driveway of ours. I’ve been sitting here with my foot in a bucket of iced water for ages but it’s still up like a balloon. There’s no way I can do Jack Cassidy’s place tomorrow.’
Lisa frowned. Jack Cassidy was one of her newer clients. Sandra—her assistant-cum-bookkeeper—had signed him up whilst Lisa was away with Cory on a week’s cruise of the South Pacific during the recent school holidays. A bachelor, Mr Cassidy owned a penthouse apartment in Terrigal which apparently had acres of tiled floors and took ages to clean. He also liked his sheets and towels changed and his weekly linen washed, dried and put away, not something her cleaners usually did. Their standard service lasted four hours and covered cleaning all floors, bathrooms and kitchens, not doing laundry or windows. Laundry could be very time-consuming and windows dangerous.
But he’d apparently talked Sandra into finding someone who would do the extra.
Gail took five hours to do everything, for which Clean-in-a-Day was paid one hundred and fifty dollars, with Gail’s cut being one hundred and twenty. Their rates were very competitive.
‘I’m really sorry to let you down at the last minute,’ Gail said unhappily.
‘That’s all right. I’ll get someone else.’
‘On a Friday?’
Lisa knew why Gail sounded sceptical. Friday was the busiest day for housecleaning. Everyone wanted their homes to be clean for the weekend. Clean in a Day was fully booked on Fridays. Lisa had a couple of names she could ring if she was really desperate, but they were women who had not been through her rigorous training course and might not clean as thoroughly as she liked.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said briskly. ‘I’ll do it myself. And Gail…’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t stress about the money. You’ll still get paid.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I’m well aware how tight things are for you at the moment.’
Gail’s husband had been made redundant a few weeks earlier. She really needed her cleaning money.
‘That’s very good of you,’ she choked out.
Lisa winced. Dear heaven, please don’t let her start crying.
‘Will you be up at the school tomorrow afternoon to pick up the kids?’ she asked quickly.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll give you your money then.’
‘Gosh, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say a word. Especially not to the other girls. Can’t have my sergeant-major reputation tarnished. They’ll think I’ve become a soft touch and start taking advantage.’
Gail laughed. ‘I can’t see that happening. You have a very formidable air about you, you know.’
‘So I’m told.’
‘You always look so perfect as well. That’s rather intimidating.’
‘It’s just the way I am,’ she said defensively.
Lisa had heard such criticisms before. From girlfriends. From her mother. Even her husband. When he’d been alive…
Greg had complained incessantly about her compulsive need to have everything look right all the time. The house. The garden. Herself. The baby. Him.
‘Why don’t you lighten up a bit?’ he’d thrown at her more than once. ‘You’re nothing like your mother. She’s so easygoing. I thought daughters were supposed to be like their mothers!’
Lisa shuddered at the thought of being like her mother.
Despite Greg’s nagging, she held on to the belief he hadn’t really wanted her to be like her mother. He’d certainly liked inviting people back to their house, knowing she and it would always be neat and tidy.
‘By the way, I don’t have keys to Mr Cassidy’s place,’ Gail said, reefing Lisa’s mind back to the problem at hand. ‘He’s always home on a Friday. I just press the button for the penthouse at the security entrance and he lets me in.’
Lisa’s top lip curled. Pity. She hated having a client around when she cleaned.
‘He’s a writer of some sort,’ Gail added. ‘Works from home.’
‘I see.’
‘Don’t worry. He won’t bother you. He stays in his study most of the time. Only comes out to make coffee. Which reminds me. Don’t attempt to clean his study. Or even to go in. He made that clear to me on my first day. His study is off limits.’
‘That’s fine by me. One less room to clean.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought.’
‘Will I have a parking problem?’ Lisa asked.
Terrigal was the place to live on the Central Coast. Only an hour and a half’s drive north from Sydney, it had everything to attract tourists. The prettiest beach. Great shops and cafés. And a five-star hotel, right across from the water.
The only minus was demand for parking spaces.
‘No worries,’ Gail said. ‘There are several guest bays at the back of the building. You have the address, don’t you? It’s on the main drag, halfway up the hill, just past the Crowne Plaza.’
‘I’ll find it. Well, I’d better get going, Gail. Have to have everything shipshape tonight if I’m to be out all day tomorrow.’
Which she would be. Terrigal Beach was a good fifteen-minute drive from where she lived at Tumbi Umbi. If she dropped Cory off at school at nine, she’d be cleaning by nine-thirty, finished by two-thirty, then back to pick up Cory at three.
‘See you at the school around three. Bye.’
Lisa hung up and hurried back downstairs, making a mental list of jobs-to-do as she went. Load dishwasher. Hang out washing. Wipe over tiles. Iron Cory’s uniform. Get both their lunches ready. Decide what to wear.
Loading the dishwasher wasn’t exactly rocket science and Lisa found her thoughts drifting to tomorrow.
Penthouses in Terrigal were not cheap. So its owner was probably rich.
A writer, Gail had said. A successful writer, obviously.
No, not necessarily. Jack Cassidy could be a wealthy playboy who’d inherited his money and dabbled in writing as a hobby.
When Lisa started wondering if he was good-looking, she pulled herself up quite sharply. What did she care if he was good-looking or not?
She had no intention of dating, or ever getting married again. She had no reason to. And she had every reason not to.
For once you let a man into your life, sooner or later he would want sex.
The unfortunate truth was Lisa didn’t like sex. Never had. Never would. No use pretending.
She found sex yucky. And no pleasure at all. Not quite repulsive, but close to.
She’d suspected this about herself from the moment her mother had told her the facts of life at the age of ten, a suspicion which had grown over her teenage years, then was confirmed, at the age of nineteen, when she’d finally given in and slept with Greg. Though only after they’d got engaged. And only because she’d known she’d lose him if she didn’t.
He’d thought she would warm to lovemaking in time. But she never had. Sex during her marriage had been given grudgingly, and increasingly less often with the passing of time, especially after Cory was born. It was not surprising that she hadn’t fallen pregnant again.
Lisa had been shattered by her husband’s tragic death when she was twenty-five and poor Greg only twenty-eight. She had loved him in her own way. But she never wanted to go there again. Never wanted to feel guilty about something she had no control over.
Lisa knew she could never force herself to like physical intimacy. So the only sensible solution was to remain single and celibate, even if it meant she sometimes felt lonely.
Lately, she’d been feeling very lonely. Which was odd. She was busier than ever with the business. And her son was always on the go. Her leisure hours were filled with taking him to his various school and sporting activities.
It was at night, after Cory had gone to bed, that she felt the loneliest. She missed having someone there to talk to. Or to sit with whilst she watched television.
Her one solace was reading. She loved books, especially thrillers. Loved the way they could take her away from her day-to-day, rather humdrum existence into a world of excitement and suspense. Her current favourites were a series of action novels written by an Australian author, Nick Freeman.
Lisa had never read anything like them. They were simply unputdownable. During the last few months, she’d devoured all five of them.
Unfortunately, she’d finished the last one a few nights back, and passed it on to her mother, as she had the others in the series.
By comparison, the new book by another author that she’d brought home from the library yesterday seemed tame. And boring. Which meant she wasn’t looking forward to going to bed tonight, as she had when she knew she was going to be swept away into Hal Hunter’s rather wicked but fascinating world.
Whenever Lisa didn’t have a good book to read at night, sleep would often elude her. She suspected that tonight would be one such night.
‘Cleaning that penthouse tomorrow will do you good, Lisa, my girl,’ she told herself as she closed the dishwasher door. ‘Make you really tired.’
The thought occurred to her that she should ring Jack Cassidy and let him know of the change in his cleaning arrangements. It could prove awkward, explaining things on his doorstep in the morning.
Lisa turned on the dishwasher and trudged back upstairs, turning right this time and making her way down to the fourth bedroom, which she’d converted into a study soon after starting up her business. It was not a large room, but large enough to house her computer.
It only took her a few seconds to bring up Jack Cassidy’s file and to print out his address and phone number.
Lisa picked up her fax-phone, punched in the number, than sank back into her office chair as she waited for her client to answer.
Several rings went by before a deep, gruff voice snapped, ‘Yep?’
‘Mr Cassidy?’ she said in her best business voice. ‘Mr Jack Cassidy?’
‘Yeah, that’s me. And who might you be?’
‘My name is Lisa, Mr Cassidy. Lisa Chapman. I’m from—’
‘Stop right there, sweetheart. Look, I know you’re probably only doing your job but I’ve had a gutful of telemarketers ringing me at all hours of the day and night. This is my private and personal number and I keep it for private and personal calls. If I want something, I go out and buy it. From a shop. I don’t even buy over the internet. I also never answer stupid bloody surveys. Do I make myself clear?’
Clear as crystal, Lisa thought with a mixture of empathy and frustration. She too hated people trying to sell things to her over the phone and had recently started being less than polite when telemarketers called her in the evenings.
But he could have had the decency to wait till he found out if she was one of those.
Lisa opened her mouth to clarify her identity when she heard the unmistakable click of the call being terminated.
Her head jerked back to stare down at her handset. He’d hung up on her! The hide of him!
After slamming her own phone back down, Lisa sat there for a full minute with her hands clenched over the arm-rests of the chair and her teeth gritted together. Never in all her life had anyone hung up on her. Never ever!
Don’t take it personally, her brain argued.
But it was difficult not to. Men were supposed to be polite to women, no matter what. And he’d been rude. Very rude.
What to do? No point in trying his number again. He’d probably hang up on her before she got two words out. And if he did that, she’d blow a gasket.
She glared at his printed-out file. It showed no email number. Clearly, he was a privacy freak. Or he just didn’t like computers. Or the internet. Maybe he wrote in longhand.
He did have a fax number, she noted. She could send him a fax, explaining the situation. But something inside Lisa rebelled against giving Jack Cassidy that courtesy.
No, she would just show up on his doorstep in the morning and have great pleasure watching him cringe with embarrassment, once she explained who she was.
CHAPTER TWO
LISA’S stomach tightened as she drove across Terrigal Bridge and turned left at the small roundabout.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea not to fax Jack Cassidy last night. Embarrassing the man no longer held such appeal this morning. She was the one who was going to end up being embarrassed.
Lisa scooped in a deep, lung-filling breath as she drove up the hill, then let it out slowly, relaxing her stomach muscles and reassuring herself that there was nothing for her to be embarrassed about. Or to feel nervous about. She was being silly. This was just another cleaning job. One she’d never have to repeat, thank goodness.
Feeling marginally better, Lisa glanced around as she drove down the hill which led to Terrigal Beach. She hadn’t been out this way for ages. When she took Cory to the beach these days, they usually went to Wamberal, or Shelly’s Beach. Terrigal’s cove-like shape meant it rarely had a big surf, which was great for tourists and families, but not relished by nine-year-old thrill-seekers.
But my, it was beautiful, especially when the sun was shining. Although it was still only springtime, the beach had a fair share of people in the water, and even more stretched out on the golden sand.
Lisa could see why wealthy Sydneysiders bought beach-houses here. And penthouse apartments. Especially ones whose balconies faced north, with an unimpeded view of the sparkling blue sea and the long stretch of coastline.
Jack Cassidy’s place would have all that, Lisa realised by the time she turned into the driveway of the pale blue, cement-rendered apartment block. Despite the building only being three storeys high, its position was second to none.
Lisa’s nervous tension had returned with a vengeance by the time she walked round to the front entrance and pressed the button marked ‘Penthouse’ on the security panel.
‘Come on up, Gail,’ Jack Cassidy’s deep male voice growled through the intercom.
Lisa opened her mouth to explain once again who she was when the intercom clicked off and the front door began to buzz.
Giving vent to a groan of sheer frustration, Lisa pushed her way in, the door automatically closing and locking behind her.
She just stood there for a long moment, trying to calm her thudding heart. What was it about this man which rattled her so? She was normally very cool when it came to dealing with difficult clients and situations. Cool and composed.
Time for some coolness and composure right now, Lisa, she lectured herself as she practised some more deep breathing, taking in her surroundings at the same time.
The foyer was cool and spacious, with a marble-tiled floor and lots of windows. Despite the amount of glass, you couldn’t hear the traffic or the sea from inside, which meant the windows had to be double-glazed. A no-expense-spared building, Lisa conceded as she bypassed the lift at the back of the foyer to take the stairs, walking briskly up the grey-carpeted steps to the top floor.
No large foyer up there. Possibly the architect hadn’t wanted to waste valuable floor space, although the landing was large enough to have a hall stand and wall mirror set beside the one and only door, perhaps put there for people to check their appearance before knocking.
Before she could do little more than give her face a cursory glance, the door was wrenched open by a very tall, very tanned, very fit-looking man in dark blue jeans and a chest-hugging white T-shirt.
Jack Cassidy, Lisa presumed, her neck craning a little as she looked up into his face.
He wasn’t handsome. Not the way Greg had been handsome. But he was attractive, despite the three-day growth on his chin and the hard, almost cold grey eyes which swept over her from head to toe.
‘You’re not Gail,’ were his first words, delivered with his now familiar lack of charm.
Lisa bristled inside, but maintained what she hoped was a professional expression.
‘You’re absolutely correct,’ came her crisp reply. ‘I’m Lisa Chapman from Clean-in-a-Day. Gail sprained her ankle yesterday and won’t be able to do your place today. I did try to explain this to you last night on the phone, but you hung up on me.’
He didn’t look embarrassed at all. He just shrugged. ‘Sorry. You should have said who you were up front.’
If apologies had been an Olympic event, his would not have even qualified for a semi-final.
‘You didn’t exactly give me much opportunity,’ she said with a tight little smile. ‘But not to worry. I’m here now and I’ll be doing your place today.’
‘You have to be kidding me.’
Lisa gritted her teeth. ‘Not at all.’
His eyes flicked over her again, this time with a coolly sceptical expression. ‘You’re going to clean in that get-up?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ came Lisa’s tart reply.
She had never subscribed to the theory that a cleaner had to look like a chimney sweep. Today she was wearing white stretch Capri pants, white trainers and a chocolate-brown singlet top which showed off her nicely toned arms and honey-coloured skin. Her platinum-blonde hair was up in a white scrunchie, the way she always wore it when cleaning. Her jewellery was a simple gold chain around her neck, a narrow gold watch on her wrist and small gold hoops in her ears. Her make-up was subtle and so was her perfume. In her roomy straw hold-all—currently slung over her shoulder—was a navy, chef-size apron and two pairs of cleaning gloves, along with her calorie-friendly packed lunch and a bottle of chilled mineral water.
‘I assure you I will leave here with your place spotless and without a mark on my clothes,’ she informed him, a tad haughtily.
‘You know what, sweetheart? I believe you.’
Lisa gritted her teeth. She was within a hair’s breadth of telling him she was not his sweetheart, but the owner of Clean-in-a-Day, when he stepped back and waved her inside.
The uninterrupted sight of the spectacular living area compelled Lisa to forget her irritation, her love of all things beautiful drawing her forward till she was standing in the middle of the spacious room, surrounded by the sort of place she dreamt about owning one day. She almost sighed over the huge tinted windows, the amazing view, the acres of cream marble tiles and the wonderfully clean lines of the furniture. Nothing fussy. Everything classy and expensive. Cool leathers, in cream and a muted gold colour. The coffee-and side-tables were made of a pale wood. The rugs blended in. Nothing bright or gaudy.
Ever since she’d been a child, Lisa had hated bright colours, both in décor and clothes. She could not bear the recent fashion of putting loud, clashing colours together, oranges with pinks, and electric blues with lime greens. She literally shuddered whenever she saw red anywhere near purple.
‘I do realise that there are a lot of tiles to clean,’ he said abruptly from just behind her. ‘But Gail never had a problem.’
Lisa swung round to face him, grateful that he hadn’t thought she’d been envying him his house.
‘They won’t be any problem to me, either,’ she said swiftly. ‘I’ve been cleaning houses for years.’
‘You continue to amaze me. You look like you’ve never had a chipped fingernail in your life.’
‘Looks can be deceiving, Mr Cassidy.’
‘For pity’s sake, call me Jack. Now, a few instructions before I get back to work. Do you know about the extras I like done?’
‘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 wellbeing.
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!
CHAPTER FIVE
‘MUM!’ Cory exclaimed from the passenger seat. ‘Where are you going?’
‘What?’
‘You drove straight past our street.’
Lisa sighed. It didn’t surprise her. Since she’d left Jack Cassidy’s place, it had been a struggle to keep her mind on what she was doing. She’d only just remembered to give Gail her money at the school.
Thank heavens Gail hadn’t had time to chat. No way did Lisa want to talk about her day. She still hadn’t come to terms with Jack Cassidy turning out to be Nick Freeman. Or with his asking her out to that awards dinner tomorrow night. Or her actually being tempted to say yes.
As Lisa negotiated the roundabout which would bring her back the way she’d come, she reiterated to herself that she’d done the right thing, saying no to his invitation.
She wasn’t a complete fool. She could read between the lines. Jack Cassidy—alias Nick Freeman—was a ladies’ man. Just like his character, Hal Hunter. Jack’s penthouse had ‘playboy pad’ written all over it, from the indoor pool and spa to the private gym, the home theatre and the simply huge master bedroom, which had every seductive mod con built in. A huge plasma screen dominated the wall opposite the bed. There were dimmer switches on the lights. And a corner spa in the en suite bathroom definitely built for two. Or even three.
Aside from that, she’d noted his off-the-cuff remark that he didn’t want to ever get married, even once. Yet he had to be in his mid-to-late thirties, past the age most men thought about settling down and having a family.
Clearly, his lifestyle of choice was that of swinging bachelor.
Mr Playboy would definitely not settle for a platonic peck at the door. He’d just been saying that to get her to go out with him. No doubt he thought she was an easy target, once he’d found out she was a widow.
Jack wasn’t the first man to ask her out. But he was the first she’d been tempted to say yes to.
Why was that? Lisa asked herself as she drove slowly down her street.
His being her favourite author had to be the main factor. But she suspected it was also because a glamorous night out in Sydney was an exciting prospect for a suburban single mother who hadn’t been anywhere glamorous in years. Up here on the coast, everything was very casual. You never got seriously dressed up for anything. Not even at Christmas.
Lisa loved getting dressed up. Or she had, when Greg had been alive.
Her wanting to say yes to Jack Cassidy’s invitation had nothing to do with her finding him physically attractive, she told herself firmly. She liked slim, elegant-looking men with nice manners and soft blue eyes, not big, macho devils with faces carved out of granite and the coldest grey eyes she’d ever seen.
Lisa supposed Jack’s surprise at her declaration that she didn’t date was understandable. But she thought she’d handled the situation quite well. Of course, she hadn’t been able to tell him the real reason she didn’t date. That would have been embarrassing in the extreme.
Still, the reason she’d given was also true. She hated the way some single mothers went from man to man, most of whom didn’t give a damn about their children. Yet they let these men into their children’s lives; let the poor little mites get attached.
How many single mothers and divorcees actually found a decent fellow to marry? Not many. Once the man got bored with the sex, he moved on. She’d seen it happen amongst her women friends too many times to count, leaving behind broken hearts and sad, mixed-up children.
‘Yes, I definitely did the right thing,’ she muttered under her breath.
Her house came into view, a two-storeyed blond brick building which Lisa was very proud of, but which she’d struggled to keep after Greg died. His insurance payout had not covered the mortgage. But she’d been determined not to lose her home. And she hadn’t, working very hard to make herself and her son financially secure. Even if she’d wanted to date, she hadn’t had the time back then.
Lisa turned into her driveway, Cory jumping out of the car before she’d switched off the engine, bolting along the front path and dropping his school bag on the porch.
‘Can I go and play up at Finn’s place?’ he called out as she climbed out of the car.
‘Not until you’ve changed out of your uniform,’ she told him sternly once she joined him on the porch. ‘And done your homework.’
‘But it’s the weekend,’ he protested. ‘I can do my homework tomorrow.’
‘No, you can’t. You’re going to your grandma’s tomorrow while I go shopping. We both know there won’t be any homework done there, don’t we?’ she added drily as she pulled the house keys from her bag.
‘I’m glad I’m going to Grandma’s,’ Cory said, a belligerent look on his face. ‘She lets me have fun. Not like you.’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone, young man,’ Lisa snapped, jamming the key into the deadlock and thinking how thankless a job being a mother was. ‘Now, get yourself inside and do as you’re told.’
Five hours later, she was still brooding over Cory’s cheekiness. And simmering with jealousy over his affection for his grandmother.
He didn’t seem to care that his grandmother was the messiest woman on the planet. Always had been. Not only was Jill Chapman allergic to cleaning, but she couldn’t cook to save her soul either. Lisa had grown up eating baked beans on toast for dinner most nights. Her mother’s only talent was as a potter, and even then she didn’t make much money at her craft.
‘Mum,’ Cory said in a wheedling tone, ‘can I stay up and watch a movie with you tonight?’
Lisa glanced up from where she was stacking the dishwasher. Cory was a few feet away in the family room, watching TV.
‘I don’t think so, Cory. You’ve had a long week at school and I don’t want you all tired and grumpy tomorrow. Off to bed now. It’s eight-thirty.’
‘Oh, Mum, please.’
‘Not this time,’ she said firmly.
‘You never let me do anything,’ he grumbled.
‘You can stay up extra late tomorrow night. We’ll go to the video shop after I finish my shopping and get you whatever movie you like. Provided it’s not too violent.’
His blue eyes lit up. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Cool!’
Lisa smiled at her son’s obvious delight. And his obeying her orders to go to bed without any further fuss. When she went upstairs five minutes later, his handsome little face was still beaming with happiness.
‘Goodnight and God bless,’ she murmured as she ruffled his soft blond hair, then bent to kiss him. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you, too, Mum,’ he said, making her heart squeeze tight.
Lisa supposed there were some rewards in being a mother. But it was hard, not having a partner to help with the parenting.
Not that Greg had been a firm father. He’d been way too soft with Cory. Way too soft with her as well. He’d let her run the show. And whilst Lisa liked being the boss of the household, there had been times when she’d wished Greg had taken the reins. In hindsight, he’d been a nice, but weak man. He should not have put up with her denying him sex…
When those old feelings of guilt threatened, Lisa pulled herself up sharply. The past was the past. No point in becoming maudlin over it.
As she always did when she started worrying about things, Lisa worked, mopping the kitchen floor and hanging out the washing which she’d put in the machine earlier. After that she went upstairs to the third bedroom, where she kept her iron and ironing board.
A lot of women hated ironing. But Lisa found it quite therapeutic. She ironed everything, enjoying seeing the neat piles of freshly pressed things set out on the spare bed. She was tackling Cory’s school shirts when the phone rang in her office, just across the hall. Knowing that the answering machine would pick up, she kept on ironing, keeping one ear open to see who it was. The office door was ajar and she could hear quite clearly. Her recorded voice came on first, asking the caller to leave a message after the beep.
When she heard Jack’s deep male voice come on to the line, she almost dropped the iron.
‘Jack Cassidy here, Lisa. Unfortunately, it seems I only have your business number. Hopefully, you’re home and check your messages on a regular basis. If so, please call me back some time tonight. You have my number. If I don’t hear from you by morning, I’ll have to ring Gail and find out your home or mobile number. I’m sure she’ll have it. If you don’t want me to do this—and I suspect you might not—then ring me. ASAP.’
After Jack had hung up, Lisa remained standing right where she was for several seconds, still gripping the iron mid-air. Her head had gone into a total whirl with his message, her heart racing like mad.
Eventually, she lowered the iron back onto its cradle, then sat down on the side of the bed whilst she assembled her scattered thoughts.
Somehow, she didn’t think Jack wanted her to call him to organise another cleaner to do his study. If he had, he would have simply said so.
He was going to ask her out again. She was sure of it!
Lisa could not understand why. A man like him could have his pick of women. Why pursue her?
‘Because you said no to him,’ she muttered out loud.
Lisa could think of no other reason.
Under any other circumstances, she would have ignored his call. Lisa didn’t like bully boys. But his threat to ring Gail in the morning was a worry. He was right. She wouldn’t like that. Gail would jump to all the wrong conclusions and start gossiping about her and Jack.
She had no alternative but to ring the infernal man. But she intended to put him in his place. And tell him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t appreciate being harassed, or threatened.
The thought of having a confrontation with him made her stomach churn. But it had to be done. And the sooner the better.
Steeling herself, Lisa stood up and marched across the hallway into her office. The piece of paper with Jack’s number on it was still in the top drawer of her desk, Lisa’s hand trembling slightly as she snatched up the phone.
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