Australia: In Bed with the Playboy: Hidden Mistress, Public Wife / The Secret Mistress / Claiming His Mistress

CHAPTER EIGHT

IVY kept telling herself she’d been absolutely right to get out of Jordan Powell’s life, but her body was still fired up by the memory of him, and it was quite impossible to get him out of her head. Being home on the farm didn’t really help. She couldn’t stop imagining how it might have been if she’d spent the weekend with him in his beautiful Balmoral home.

It was a hot morning and shaping up to be an even hotter day. A quick dip in his gorgeous swimming pool would have been lovely, not to mention…

The ringing of the telephone was a welcome distraction. She dived on the receiver, hoping the caller would ground her in real life again. No such luck! It was her mother, who instantly recalled everything about last night.

‘Ivy, I’ve just had Jordan Powell on the line.’

Her heart kicked into overdrive. ‘What did he want?’ she asked, her voice uncharacteristically shrill. With fear or excitement?

‘Well, I thought it was rather odd. You did go out with him last night and you looked as though you were enjoying his company, but since you obviously didn’t give him your address…was that an oversight, dear, or don’t you want to see him again?’

A bomb of anxiety exploded in her mind. ‘Did you tell him where I lived?’

‘No. He was very charming. Always is. But I thought I’d better check with you first.’

Relief poured through Ivy. She didn’t have to face Jordan again, didn’t have to battle against her attraction to him. Her decision to leave had definitely been right and it was much easier to hold on to it from a distance. This call proved how shaky her resolution could be, given his immediate presence.

‘I’m glad you did,’ she said in a calmer tone. ‘He’s not for me. Good for a night out, but I’d rather leave it there.’

‘Are you sure, dear?’

‘I’m sure. Thank you for protecting my privacy. I really appreciate it. And congratulations on the show. Lots of sales last night.’

‘Yes. Very gratifying. And it was lovely to see you looking so stunning, Ivy. Living right up to your full potential. I felt so proud of you.’

It was a nice feeling to have pleased her mother. Ivy relaxed enough to smile as she remarked, ‘Well, I didn’t want to let you down again and it felt really good when Henry’s jaw dropped at seeing me. He’s such a snob!’

‘But he’s very adept at wooing the right crowd at his gallery, dear, bringing in people with the money to buy. It’s a pity I have to disappoint a good client like Jordan Powell…’ She sighed. ‘Are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t like to see him again, Ivy?’

‘Yes, I am. I don’t fit into his kind of life and he wouldn’t fit into mine. End of story,’ she said emphatically, ignoring the flutters in her stomach and forcefully remembering the way Jordan’s housekeeper had checked her over—the latest candidate for her employer’s bed.

‘Well, in that case, my lips are sealed. Such a shame!’ Sacha muttered and disconnected.

By Monday morning Ivy was more settled into the idea that her night with Jordan was a one-off experience which she could look back on with pleasure and no regrets. Heather, of course, wanted to know everything, the moment she swept into the office.

‘Did he zero in on you?’

‘Yes, he did,’ Ivy answered, and even managed to smile at her friend’s whoop of triumphant excitement.

‘Tell me all!’ Heather demanded.

Ivy confessed that she had succumbed to the temptation of enjoying Jordan’s company at the gallery and described the follow-up dinner date in great detail, much to Heather’s salacious enjoyment.

‘And then? Did you go and look at his paintings?’

‘Some of them,’ Ivy teased. No way was she going to confide what actually led to the trip to Balmoral! Some things were too intensely private.

‘If you came straight home after that, I’ll kill you!’ Heather ranted. ‘I want to know if he’s a fantastic lover.’

Ivy laughed, needing to keep the whole episode light and unimportant. ‘He is. I’d have to say he’s very, very good at sex. I’m glad I stayed the night.’

‘Only the one night?’

‘That was enough, Heather. You know he’s a playboy. I left while he was still asleep and ran into his housekeeper on my way out. If you’d seen the way she looked at me…’

‘Another notch on his bedpost?’ Heather interpreted with a sympathetic grimace.

‘It didn’t feel good. I was glad I skipped out when I did.’

‘Fair enough!’ Heather grinned. ‘Marvellous that he was great in bed, though. I think you needed to be taken down from the shelf and dusted off. Hopefully it will get you more interested in looking for some real action in your life.’

‘I shall hope for it,’ Ivy replied, grateful that Heather had already relegated the experience with Jordan Powell to the realm of fantasy. Where it belonged. ‘Now let’s get down to work.’

Occasionally, throughout the day, Heather questioned her further, but it was mainly curiosity about the Balmoral house, what Ivy had seen of it, nothing really personal. Orders for roses came in. The courier was loaded up and sent to the designated addresses. By late afternoon, Ivy was satisfied that her brief encounter with Jordan Powell had been dealt with and would quickly slip into the past. A memory. Nothing more.

Until he struck again!

‘Uh-oh!’ Heather muttered and swung her computer chair around to face Ivy, rolling her eyes for dramatic effect. ‘You’re not going to like this!’

‘What?’

‘Jordan Powell is ordering roses and double chocolate fudge to go to your mother.’

‘My mother!’

‘With a message attached. For you, Ivy.’

For one gut-twisting moment, she thought he knew the rose farm was hers.

‘It says…“Please tell Ivy…”’

No, he was still trying to get to her through her mother!

The relief was so intense she didn’t hear what the message was.

‘Say that again, Heather?’

‘“Please tell Ivy I need to talk to her. I’ll be at the Bacio Coffee Shop under the clock in the Queen Victoria building between noon and two o’clock on Saturday and Sunday. I’ll wait until she comes.”’

He wanted a face-to-face meeting, counting on his charm to win her over to what he wanted. She wasn’t going to risk it. No way! She might fall victim to it again.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Heather asked.

‘Put the order through. It’s business as usual. I’ll speak to my mother about it.’

‘Okay.’

But it wasn’t okay. The same order came through on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday, constantly reminding Ivy of the man.

‘Maybe you should go and talk to him,’ Heather said as she was leaving on Friday.

‘No!’ Ivy answered firmly.

But her weekend was totally wrecked, thinking about him waiting for her, wondering if he had something to say she would actually want to hear. Which was ridiculous, given his track record with women.

He didn’t give up.

The order was repeated on Monday and every day of the next week. Her mother complained she was drowning in roses and putting on weight with all the double chocolate fudge.

‘You don’t have to eat it,’ Ivy cried in sheer frustration with Jordan’s determined campaign. ‘Give it away. Give the roses away.’

‘I don’t see why you can’t go and talk to him,’ her mother argued. ‘It’s not as if he’s asking you to come into his parlour, Ivy. It’s a public place. You can walk away any time you like.’

‘I don’t want to see him. Full stop.’

However, her refusal to meet Jordan did not stop him.

Her mother was inundated with roses and fudge for the third week running. Even Heather, with all her Rose Valentino knowledge, started doubting Ivy’s decision.

‘You must have made a big impact on him, Ivy. To be this persistent…and waiting two hours at a coffee shop for you to turn up…’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t think a dilettante would do that.’ Her eyes gathered a look of fantastic possibilities as she added, ‘What if it’s a serious attraction? Maybe you should give it a chance. You did say he was a great lover.’

‘How could it work between us? I’m here. He’s there,’ Ivy pointed out with considerable vehemence, needing to hang on to common sense.

‘Distance wouldn’t be a problem for a billionaire. He probably owns a helicopter.’

‘I bet it’s no more than an ego thing and I’m not giving in to it,’ Ivy declared with fierce determination.

Heather said no more, keeping her thoughts to herself, but Ivy could see the glint of pro-Jordan speculation in her eyes as the orders continued through the fourth week. Which was downright persecution!

Heather no longer supported her stance.

Her mother was ranting and raving.

On the fourth Saturday morning after Ivy had walked out of Jordan Powell’s life, she decided she had to meet him and give him a piece of her mind—an angry, outraged, totally damning piece which would rock him back on his billionaire-playboy socks and make him leave her alone!

She braided her hair back into one thick plait, minimising its impact. Blue jeans, a royal-blue T-shirt and navy sandals helped give her a fairly nondescript appearance. Without any make-up she was satisfied that Jordan would not find her particularly attractive today. It had to be impressed upon him that he was wasting his time with her.

She drove to Sydney and used the parking station under the Queen Victoria Building, which was expensive but handy for a quick getaway. The big clock inside the shopping mall was showing ten minutes past midday as she kept herself inconspicuous amongst the crowd of shoppers passing by the tables belonging to the Bacio Coffee Shop. They were set out in open view, most of them occupied by people wanting a lunch break.

Her heart kicked into a gallop when she spotted Jordan at one of them, a pen in hand, apparently working on a crossword in the newspaper spread out on his table. He wasn’t looking out for her, but he was there all right, all set up to wait patiently for her arrival. The relentless pressure for this meeting sent a bolt of panic through Ivy, quickening her pace as she walked straight past where he was sitting, too agitated by the sight of him to be in control of this encounter. Her righteous anger had just been swallowed up by a scary sense of vulnerability.

She stopped at a safe distance and turned to watch him surreptitiously. The back view of him was not so nerve-joltingly handsome, but it was impossible to set aside the fact she had gone to bed with this man, knew his body intimately, had run her fingers through his thick black hair, nestled her face contentedly into the curve of his neck and shoulder—sharp memories raising a terribly acute sexual awareness, both of him and herself. The moment she looked into his bedroom-blue eyes she would see them there, too, and how was she going to ignore or dismiss that once she sat down with him?

Ivy dithered, the need to stop Jordan from inserting himself into her life losing all its furious momentum in the power of his presence. She saw other women glancing at him from nearby tables, probably wishing they could catch his attention. Even though he seemed oblivious of their interest, he still had the charismatic magnetism to draw theirs. It kept tugging at her, too. Coming here had been a mistake—a big mistake.

He would stop sending the roses eventually.

She didn’t have to say or do anything.

Except tear her gaze away from him and go back home.

So go, she told herself, but before she could bring herself to act, Jordan’s head jerked up as though reacting to something. He rose swiftly to his feet, turned, shooting a questioning gaze around his vicinity. Ivy froze, couldn’t move a muscle, the certainty of no escape now seizing her mind, making another encounter with him inevitable.

He saw her. The smile that instantly spread across his face turned her insides to mush. It wasn’t a smile of triumph, more one of sparkling pleasure, inviting her to share it—share all the things that had pleasured them both. He lifted a hand in an open gesture of welcome, encouraging her to join him at his table.

Her heart started pumping again. Hard. She wondered if he would chase her if she turned and ran. But there was no dignity in that. Besides, she wasn’t sure her wobbly legs were capable of racing anywhere. Somehow she had to firm up her mind—as well as the rest of her body—and directly address the situation with Jordan Powell.

She concentrated on forcing her feet forward and putting a glowering expression of reproach on her face, smiting his treacherous smile as she made her way to his table. He held out a chair for her. She sat down. He quickly folded the newspaper and slipped it under his chair as he resumed his seat, the blue eyes more serious now, appealing for her patience.

‘It’s good to see you, Ivy,’ he rolled out in his deep, sexy voice.

‘I only came to stop you from pestering my mother,’ she declared, keeping her face tight with disapproval.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, speaking with quiet urgency. ‘I had to talk to you. The night we spent together…I didn’t use any protection and I didn’t ask if you were on the pill. I’ve been worried that you might have fallen pregnant.’

‘Oh!’ Her chest loosened up as her lungs expelled a gush of air in a sigh of relief. This was reasonable. It wasn’t a mad pursuit of her. In fact, it was really nice of him to care about serious consequences from their mutual recklessness. ‘It’s okay,’ she assured him. ‘That was a safe time for me. You don’t have to worry any more.’

‘A safe time?’ he queried, frowning as though he didn’t quite understand.

‘In my monthly cycle,’ she explained.

‘You don’t normally use any contraceptive device?’

He sounded incredulous, as though any woman in her right mind shouldn’t be protecting herself against accidents. Undoubtedly the women he mixed with did.

She leaned forward to make her position very plain, flushing with the violence of her feelings on his fly-by-night attitude. ‘I told you I wasn’t your type. I told you I wouldn’t fit into your scene. I don’t do sex on a casual basis and I haven’t been in a relationship for over two years so I have no reason to be always ready.’

‘Ah!’ A smile of satisfaction tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Then I’m glad you found me as irresistible as I found you. Which is the second thing I want to talk to you about.’

Ivy rolled her eyes and sagged back in her chair, feeling under attack again. ‘Haven’t I made my point, Jordan?’ she cried in exasperation.

‘No. Because it’s based on assumptions about me which I don’t think are fair,’ he argued.

They weren’t assumptions. His orders to the rose farm provided hard evidence of how he conducted his sexual affairs. However, she couldn’t lay that out to him without revealing how she had such inside knowledge and she didn’t want to give him any more information about herself. ‘You’re a notorious playboy,’ she said accusingly, folding her arms in defensive belligerence.

He grimaced. ‘Because of what I am, who I am, a lot of women throw themselves at me, Ivy. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t find some of them attractive. Unlike you, they’re intent on making themselves attractive to me, but the effort wears thin after a while. Their real selves emerge.’ He shook his head as he ruefully added, ‘And it’s never what I want.’

‘What do you want?’ she asked, privately conceding what he said could be true. A handsome billionaire would be a target for most women.

The blue eyes burned into hers. ‘Honesty,’ he said, which he’d previously told her was the rarest commodity in his world.

Maybe it was. The more Ivy thought about it, the more she could see this could be a real downside in being obscenely wealthy…people cosying up to him for what they could get out of being close to big money. She didn’t need what he had. Being happy in her own world, she didn’t covet his kind of life at all. The only thing missing for her was…a loving husband, family, a shared future.

She couldn’t see Jordan Powell in that picture.

Though she certainly wouldn’t mind sharing her bed with him.

No denying that.

Her entire body was humming with tempting memories and sympathy for his situation with other women was sneaking into her heart, undermining her resistance to the strong attraction of the man.

‘Well, I want honesty, too, Jordan,’ she said, struggling to maintain a defensive line. ‘Why don’t you admit I was nothing more than an amusing challenge to you on the night of my mother’s exhibition? Someone different to play with. And you simply didn’t like it when I finished the game before you did.’