Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction: Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction

Bedded by Blackmail by Robyn Grady

Tristan reached the pool’s edge at the same time the woman in the pink bikini pulled herself out of it.

With her hair pouring like wheat-coloured silk down her back, her glistening body might have belonged to a swimsuit model—buxom with shapely tanned legs that just kept getting longer.

Tristan braced his own legs shoulder-width apart and crossed his arms in a confrontational pose.

Unsuspecting, the woman straightened fully, sliding her hands back over her hair, like some Bond Girl from a beach scene. When she finally noticed him—when she looked up with those big blue, suddenly startled eyes…

Tristan’s mouth fell open and his arms dropped like dead weights to his sides. Then he dragged a hand down over his mouth and blinked several incomprehensible times.

No, this didn’t make sense. The hair was the wrong colour. That body sure as hell didn’t fit. Still, he ground out the question.

“Ella…is that you?”

Millionaire’s Secret Seduction by Jennifer Lewis

“It’s not about the money. It’s about my dad’s legacy. I’ll prove Tarrant forced my father into selling against his will and then the courts will restore his work to my family.”

Alarm mixed with amusement made him snort. “You’re going to sue Hardcastle Enterprises?”

Bella held Dominic’s gaze, her grey eyes unblinking. “Yes. I know a judge will do the right thing.”

“Sounds to me like you have way too much faith in the legal system and not nearly enough in Tarrant’s utter ruthlessness. Did you find what you need?”

“Not yet. Are you going to have me fired?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, the son and heir. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with you…”

Except kiss you again, maybe…

Robyn Grady left a fifteen-year career in television production knowing that the time was right to pursue her dream of writing romance. She adores cats, clever movies and spending time with her wonderful husband and their three precious daughters. Living on Australia’s glorious Sunshine Coast, her perfect day includes a beach, a book and no laundry when she gets home. Robyn loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at www.robyngrady.com.

Dear Reader,

My all-time favourite fairy tale is Cinderella. When my sister gave me the picture book many years ago, I pored over the words, copied the illustrations, dreamed about being part of such a perfect ever-after.

The theme of rags to riches—from poor in life to rich in love—is still a favourite. Surely the ultimate fantasy is overcoming great odds to end up with a “prince” and lasting love.

My heroine in this story has faced many challenges. Illness and death in the family, accusations of murder, as well as chilling blackmail threats. Enough pressure for Ella Jacob to go underground and assume an identity as a dowdy but efficient housekeeper.

Her boss, successful businessman Tristan Barkley, is cynical about many things, but not where his housekeeper is concerned. Knowing Ella will make an ideal wife—certain that love will grow—he proposes marriage. But there’s a price to pay for his readiness to trust so quickly and a few more secrets to uncover about his new bride’s past before they can come close to a fairy-tale ending.

Deceit, betrayal, deepest loyalty and even a touch of magic, I hope you enjoy Bedded by Blackmail.

Best,

Robyn

For Carol, my beautiful big sister. Happy birthday!

With thanks to my editor, Diana Ventimiglia, for your help in making this book so special.

Chapter One

Tristan Barkley knew danger when he sensed it. As he whipped open the sliding glass door and scanned his expansive backyard, he sensed it in spades.

His heart beat like a war drum against his ribs while the hair on his nape prickled and every muscle in his body bunched tight.

Where was Ella? What trouble was she in?

He’d phoned to speak with his housekeeper twice this morning. Ella wasn’t aware of his last-minute plans to attend a gala event in Sydney tonight. Home a day early from a weeklong trip to Melbourne, he’d wanted to be sure his tuxedo was back from the cleaners.

But when she hadn’t answered his calls, he hadn’t been concerned. Perhaps she was out shopping. Ella Jacob was fanatical about having her boss’s every need and want satisfied. It was one of the reasons he valued her—or rather, her dedication to her job—so highly.

However, when he’d arrived home a few minutes ago, he’d noticed her car keys hanging on their hook. A second later, his gut wrenched at the sight of her practical leather handbag and its contents strewn over the kitchen counter. Her uniform had been turned inside out and discarded on the cold marble tiles. One black lace-up shoe lay near the timber meals table, the other had been left upside down near this door.

Now as he shaded his eyes against a single ray piercing the brewing black sky, his heart squeezed like a fist in his chest.

If anyone had entered his house uninvited…if someone had dared to hurt Ella…

He strode onto the lawn and movement beyond the northern courtyard caught his eye. Tristan narrowed his focus and zeroed in on a trespasser’s fluid backstroke as the intruder sliced through the cool blue of his Olympic-size pool. Twenty-twenty vision said the long, tanned limbs were female. A flash of a pink swimsuit, and the curves it partially concealed, confirmed she was of his generation or younger.

Tristan let out a territorial growl. There’d been a recent spate of robberies in his neighborhood. The police suspected the work of a couple. One poor grandmother had been assaulted and tied up in her own home. Was that woman in his pool the girlfriend of some brazen burglar? he wondered.

He charged forward even as another scenario came to mind. Might be that Ella had simply invited a friend over. Although, come to think of it, he’d never heard her speak of friends. Or family. And that didn’t explain the handbag, her uniform. It didn’t explain where she was.

His long strides picked up pace.

Once he yanked that woman from the water, hell ’n’ Hades, he’d have some answers then.

He reached the pool’s edge at the same time the woman in pink climbed out, her hair falling like wheat-colored silk down her back. Her glistening body might have belonged to a swimsuit model—buxom with shapely, tanned legs that seemed to go on forever.

Tristan braced his own legs shoulder-width apart and crossed his arms. Unsuspecting, the woman straightened fully, sliding her hands back over her hair, like some Bond girl from a beach scene. When she finally noticed him, when she looked up with those big blue, suddenly startled eyes…

Tristan’s mouth fell open and his arms dropped to his sides like dead weights. Then he dragged a hand down over his mouth and blinked several times.

No, this didn’t make sense. The hair was the wrong color. That body sure as hell didn’t fit. Still, he ground out the question.

“Ella…is that you?”

“Mr. Barkley?” The bombshell’s cheeks turned as red as the miniature roses spilling from the poolside terracotta pots. “You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“I rang this morning.” Twice.

Driven by testosterone-fueled force, his gaze dipped lower and his blood began to stir. Mother of mercy, he’d had no idea.

She folded her arms over the top of the swimsuit, which only made her amazing cleavage appear twice as deep and ten times more alluring. This couldn’t be the same woman…

“I rolled my ankle on a run this week,” she explained. “I like to keep fit. Swimming’s a good alternative.” Her wet hair sprayed a cold arc on his business shirt as she threw a look at the pool then back. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

His brain stumbled up to speed. Ella, his unassum-ing housekeeper, ran to keep fit? In a dowdy uniform, who’d have guessed she worried about anything other than making sure the bathroom sparkled and her deli-cious dinners were set on the table on time. Out of uniform, however, in that amazing swimsuit, she looked nothing short of…sensational.

As telltale heat flared through his system, he shook himself and squared his shoulders. That kind of reaction was totally inappropriate. Miss Jacob was the hired help—his housekeeper—and she still had more than a little explaining to do.

He cleared the thickness from his throat and stabbed a reproving finger toward the house. “Your uniform and shoes were tossed around the kitchen. Your handbag was tipped upside down on the counter.”

What was he supposed to have thought? He’d been worried. Damn near frantic, in fact.

Her sheepish gaze dropped away. “Oh, that.”

His brow furrowed more. “Yes. Dammit. That.”

Dripping over the tiles, she began to move away. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Like it’s hard to explain how your hair’s gone from mousy brown to blond?”

Had he landed in Wonderland? What was going on!

“I’ve only dyed it back to my natural color.” She shrugged and explained, “I’m a woman. I wanted a change. This week I wanted to change it back.”

He growled loud enough to be heard. She was avoiding his question. He wasn’t a hard boss; he deserved her respect. The respect he’d always received from Ella in the past. Unless…

His thoughts froze as a withering feeling dropped through his center.

His voice deepened with concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Ella? Trouble you don’t want to tell me about?”

When she blinked at him over her shoulder, her full lips slightly parted, she looked so vulnerable.

She curled strands of blond behind her ear. “I’m not in trouble. In fact, it’s rather the opposite.”

She continued on toward a sun lounger, her step favoring one leg. A very nice leg. Very nice body.

Tristan growled again.

He needed to get to the bottom of this mystery and he needed to do it now!

She picked up a towel from the sun lounger’s back and wrapped it around herself, sari style. When she turned toward the house, he barred her way.

His voice was rough, his gaze unremitting. “I need an answer, Ella.”

She peered up at him as rivulets of water trickled down her flawless face. Her eyes were the color of Ceylon sapphires. How had he missed that before? Did she usually wear glasses? He didn’t think so.

Ella’s mouth opened then shut. Finally she blew out a defeated breath. “I was going to tell you tomorrow.”

He set his hands on his hips. His patience was wearing out. “I suggest you tell me now.”

Her chin lifted slightly. “I’d like to hand in my resignation. I’m giving you two weeks’ notice.”

Tristan’s usually balanced world tilted then slid off its axis. He ran a hand through his hair. Of all the crazy things, this had been the farthermost from his mind.

“You want to leave. Is it the pay?” Her wage was more than generous, but if that was the problem, it could easily be solved. “Name your price.”

She was the best housekeeper he’d ever had—thorough, autonomous, inconspicuous, or at least she had been until this incident. He wasn’t prepared to let her go, particularly not now.

The newly elected mayor of a neighboring smaller city had invited himself to dinner in three weeks’ time. A positive impression could only help with an impor-tant deal Tristan had been working on, a project upon which he’d spent a vast amount of time and money. Obviously Ella’s fine cooking skills wouldn’t make or break the deal with Mayor Rufus. However, given the querulous past he and the mayor shared, frankly, Tristan could use all the help he could get.

A quiet strength shone from Ella’s jeweled eyes. “Money’s not the issue.”

A recent memory popped into his head, and then he knew. Of course he knew.

Tristan scratched his temple and replaced the gravel in his voice with a more understanding tone. “Look, if this is about that episode before I left…”

The red in her cheeks spread down the column of her throat. Her chest rose and fell as she shook her head and, dodging him, moved away. “That morning has nothing to do with my leaving.”

As his sense of control returned, Tristan eased out a relieved breath. Now that he knew what was behind her resignation, he could fix the situation.

He caught up, fell into step beside her and searched for words to handle this delicate matter.

“Admittedly it was an awkward moment,” he said. “But there’s no need to be embarrassed or do anything rash.” His mind went back to that day. “You thought I’d already left for my week away in Melbourne,” he recalled. “You didn’t expect to see me in the bedroom, particularly without any clothes…”

His words trailed off as, head down, she limped faster.

That morning when he’d heard her gasp, he’d swung around and Ella’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers. In that moment, he had reflexively stepped closer—to assure her not to be alarmed, nothing more. But he’d barely said her name before she’d scurried down the stairs like a frightened deer. After he’d dressed, he’d gone to smooth things over but had discovered that she’d left the house. With him away this week, they hadn’t spoken of it…until now.

They lived together. Tricky situations were bound to occur, like her walking in on him buck-naked that morning, like his discovery of her swimming today—

He frowned.

Which brought him back to the original question.

“A resignation doesn’t explain what happened to your handbag.” The way it had been upended as if some no-good scum had been in a hurry to get what he’d come for.

Her pace eased as she wrapped the towel more securely under her arms. “My inheritance from my mother finally came through.” She flicked him a glance. “Nothing compared to your wealth, but enough that I shouldn’t need to worry about money again if I’m careful. The executor organized to have the funds trans-ferred through to my account last night, but when it bounced back this morning, he rang to check the BSB number. After a few minutes, when I couldn’t find the book I normally keep in my bag…” Her lips pressed together. “Well, I overreacted and dumped it upside down.”

Tristan pictured the scene—Ella taking the call, the executor perhaps growing impatient when she’d kept him waiting. Her heart could have raced, her hands might have shaken. She was normally so composed and ordered, as was he. But having overreacted himself just now, he could better understand how she might have lost control in that moment.

“And the uniform? The shoes?”

Her face pinched, then she shrugged. “When I ended the phone call and knew the money would be in my account on Monday, I had this overwhelming urge to be free of them. I ripped the uniform off where I stood. Then I kicked off my shoes.” She focused on her bare feet as she continued walking, moving slowly now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t give any thought to where or how they landed.”

Tristan slid his hands into his trouser pockets. So Ella had come into an inheritance. Odd, but he’d never thought of her with parents. She’d seemed such a blank sheet. He hadn’t known her business and she didn’t ask about his. Not that there was much happening in his personal life these days.

He stood aside as she entered the kitchen through the still open door. “I’m sorry about your mother’s pass-ing,” he offered.

Her step hesitated as she gave him a look he couldn’t read. “She died eight months ago, just before I came to work for you.”

As she moved into the kitchen, it struck him again that he knew nothing of his housekeeper’s background. She’d shown up on his doorstep, explaining that she’d heard of the job opening. She hadn’t presented refer-ences, which he usually would insist upon. But he’d taken her on, mainly because of a gut feeling that she would fit. Her reserved demeanor, her unassuming ap-pearance, the way she’d quietly but succinctly re-sponded to his questions—she’d simply felt…right.

As a rule he thought through every detail of a decision. He hated making a mistake. Growing up, his two brothers had called him Mastermind and had ribbed him constantly about his meticulous ways. Those days seemed so long ago. Although his younger brother hadn’t visited this house in a long time, he and Josh kept in touch. However, he hadn’t spoken to his older brother, Cade, in years. Never planned to again.

Ella made her way to the cushioned window seat and, wincing, sat.

He followed and indicated her ankle. “Mind if I have a look?” He’d been a lifeguard in his teens and early twenties and knew first aid. It could do more harm than good limping around when a joint needed rest.

She gave a reluctant nod and he dropped onto his haunches.

“The bruise is fading,” she told him as he carefully turned the one-hundred-percent feminine ankle this way then that. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Have you had it seen to?”

“No need. It’s happened before, since as far back as junior high when I ran cross-country. I wear an ankle support and try not to overdo it, but I can’t give up running. It’s always been my release.”

Well, this was the most information of a personal nature she’d ever offered. Was it because she was leaving? Because she was finally free and out of that drab past-the-knees dress that usually hid those hon-eyed shins. Shins that must feel as smooth as they looked.

When his fingertips tingled to inch higher, he bit down the urge, lowered her foot and pushed from his knees to stand.

Focus, Mastermind.

This was no time to slip up, even if Ella’s transfor-mation was one hellova jolt, as was her resignation. He’d gotten used to her living here. Where would she be bunking down two weeks from now?

“Have you arranged somewhere to live?” he asked.

Her blue eyes sparkled up at him. “I want to buy in an affordable neighborhood and rent something in the meantime.”

Although he nodded sagely, it was almost painful to think of not coming home to her. Despite checking her references, the housekeeper before Ella had been less than satisfactory—scorched shirts, mediocre meals. Ultimately, he’d had to let her go. Perhaps that’s why he’d gone with gut rather than referees in Ella’s case.

And with Ella taking care of his domestic front, all had been as it should be. She knew exactly the right amount of ice to mix with his predinner Scotch. His sheets had never smelled better, of lavender and fresh sunshine. He trusted her, too, never needing to worry that some valuable item might go missing.

Damn.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Two weeks, huh?”

Her smile was wry. “This is a luxurious setting with wonderful conditions. I doubt you’ll have any trouble filling my spot.”

“None who can cook like you.”

Her head slanted at an amused angle as her eyes sparkled more. “Thank you. But my cooking’s really nothing special.”

Said who? He could practically smell her mouth-watering beef Wellington now. He particularly liked the way she distributed gravy—from a delicate, gold-rimmed pourer at the table, and only over the meat, never the vegetables. She always asked if there was anything else he’d like.

He’d always said no.

Tristan’s stomach knotted and he cleared his throat.

Hunger pains. He should’ve eaten on the plane.

He moved to his briefcase, which he’d left on the counter beside her upended handbag. “Whatever you do, however you do it, I’ve only ever received compliments from our dinner guests…and requests for invitations.”

Most recently from Mayor Rufus.

As he clicked open his briefcase, out of the corner of his eye he saw Ella push to her feet. He could almost hear her thoughts.

“You’ve invited someone special to dinner, haven’t you?”

He put on the eyeglasses he needed to read small print and shuffled through some property plans he ought to go over this afternoon. “I’ll get around it.”

Did he have any choice? Ella was obviously eager to start her new life, permanently shuck out of her “rags” and into something pretty. If no one else could make pork ribs with honey-whiskey sauce the way she did, he’d have to survive. He only wished the mayor, who had a notorious sweet tooth, hadn’t heard Councilor Stevens’s compliments regarding Ella’s caramel apple pie.

Either way, the mayor had invited himself over, un-doubtedly to kill two birds with one stone—sample Ella’s superb culinary skills as well as address rezoning problems regarding acreage Tristan had purchased with a vast high-rise project in mind. But Tristan wasn’t looking forward to another topic of conversation that would unfold during the course of the evening—conversation concerning a duplicitous and beautiful young woman who also happened to be the mayor’s daughter…

Ella’s voice came from behind him. “When did you invite them?”

“Really, Ella—”

“Tell me,” she insisted.

He pushed out a sigh. “Three weeks. But it’s fine.”

“I could stay on a little longer, if that would help.”

He slipped off his glasses, turned to her and smiled. Loyal to the end. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Another week won’t kill me.” She flinched at her gaffe. “What I mean to say is, if one last dinner party will make a difference to an important business deal, I’ll stay.”

“I appreciate that, but as wonderful as your meals are, they’re not a deal breaker.”

She arched a knowing brow. “But it wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Shutting his briefcase, he surrendered. “No. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Then it’s settled.”

When she pulled back her shoulders, his jaw shifted. In the past, she’d never been the least assertive, but given she was only acting in his best interests he couldn’t find a reason to object.

The real pity was he couldn’t talk her into staying indefinitely. But why would—as it turned out—an attractive young lady remain as someone’s housemaid when she had money enough to be independent? He had to be grateful she was willing to help out for an added week.

He swung his briefcase off the counter. “All right, I accept your offer. But I owe you.”

Looking defensive, she moved to tidy her handbag mess. “You’ve already done enough.”

“What? Allowed you to cook, clean and do my laundry?”

“You gave me a place to stay when I needed it most.”

When she hesitated before dropping her purse into her handbag, Tristan studied her suddenly tight-lipped expression. Her background wasn’t any of his business, particularly now that she’d resigned. Still, he was in-trigued as he’d never been before. What harm would it do to get a little closer now that she was leaving? In fact, perhaps he could satisfy his curiosity over his un-assuming duckling turned swan and at the same time thank Ella in some small but apt way.