Daisy was magnificent: cheeks flaring with colour, big brown eyes flashing a fierce challenge at him. He remembered how her soft, feminine curves had felt when he was carrying her.

An answer came to him.

‘I’ll give you a job,’ Ethan said.

Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed with suspicion. ‘What as? Your cleaning lady?’

There was a huge appeal in that image—Daisy on her hands and knees, scrubbing his floors, her perky bottom swaying with the action. But he knew he was dead if he suggested it.

‘If I have to clean floors, I will, but they won’t be yours,’ she vowed rebelliously.

‘How about housekeeper?’

The fight in her eyes wavered into a sea of vulnerable uncertainty—the need for no break in her money-chain warring with a mountain of doubts about what she might be getting into by putting herself in his power.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked huskily.

‘Yes.’

Once they’d settled on a meeting at the house at eight o’clock on Monday morning of the next week, she took her leave of him, very firmly, and Ethan let her go, watching the seductive swish of her bottom, content with the thought he’d be seeing a lot more of Daisy Donohue in the very near future.

He was looking forward to it.

Initially a French/English teacher, Emma Darcy changed careers to computer programming before the happy demands of marriage and motherhood. Very much a people person, and always interested in relationships, she finds the world of romance fiction a thrilling one, and the challenge of creating her own cast of characters very addictive.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MASTER PLAYER

RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE, FORBIDDEN BABY

RUTHLESSLY BEDDED BY THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRE

BOUGHT FOR REVENGE, BEDDED FOR PLEASURE

The Billionaire’s Housekeeper Mistress

by

Emma Darcy

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

‘DARLING, can you save me?’

Daisy Donohue froze. Lynda Twiggley’s distinctive drawl was unmistakeable. It pierced the general buzz of conversation from the celebrity crowd and shot a bolt of alarm down Daisy’s spine. If there was any saving to be done, as Lynda’s PA, she had to do it, fast and effectively, or be lashed by her employer’s sharp tongue for dereliction of duty.

She snapped into action, swinging around to find the source of the problem. The VIP marquee seemed packed with tall people. A bevy of Australia’s top models had been flown in to add glamour to the event, which certainly wasn’t known as the Magic Millions for nothing. Everyone here was either loaded with or associated with big money and they expected everything to be perfect for them. Especially her employer.

Being only of average height, and wearing sensible low-heeled shoes for all the toing and froing her work demanded today, Daisy stretched up on tiptoe, trying to spot the spray of royal-blue feathers that sprouted from Lynda’s much-prized and hideously expensive Neil Grigg hat. A few tell-tale blue arrowheads placed her target near the open bar where there shouldn’t be a problem. She had already checked there were ample cases of French champagne and every other choice of drink available. Had there been some spillage on Lynda’s blue silk designer outfit?

Bad, bad, bad, Daisy thought in a burst of panic, quickly elbowing her way through the millionaire melee, wondering how she was going to fix some unfixable stain. Her hammering heart was intensely relieved when she arrived on the scene and found her employer working hard at currying the favour of a man. But not just any man. As recognition hit, her heart started hammering all over again for a multitude of reasons.

This was the man reputed to have saved the richest people in Australia from suffering any nasty fall-out from the current global financial crisis—Ethan Cartwright, the whiz-kid financier who had foreseen the crash and diverted all the big cash to enterprises that would always return a profit, even in a recession.

Daisy stopped dead behind Lynda’s shoulder and stared at him, a riot of emotions hitting her hard—anger, resentment, a wild hostility at the terrible injustice of the rich getting richer while the poor got poorer, especially her parents who were trapped in a debt they could no longer service. This man, above all others, represented that miserable situation.

She’d read about him, seen photographs of him, but what made her inner turmoil more savage was how stunningly handsome he really was in the flesh. The thick, wavy, black hair, twinkling green eyes, a strong male face that didn’t have one unpleasing feature capping a tall, perfectly proportioned physique which carried the perfectly tailored suit he wore with distinction…it was so wickedly unfair! The man had absolutely everything! She doubly resented the fact that he had a sexual impact on her. And no doubt on every woman who was subjected to his power-packed presence.

It was highly disconcerting when he suddenly shifted his attention from Lynda Twiggley to shoot a quizzical look over her shoulder straight at Daisy. Had he felt her hostile stare? The sexy black eyebrows with their late kick upwards—just like Brad Pitt’s—lifted with a kind of bemused puzzlement, and the startling green eyes bored into hers, searching for answers that pride forbade her to ever tell him.

Vexed by his distraction, Lynda swung around to deal with an unwelcome intrusion. With the recognition that no finesse was needed on a mere employee, her steely blue eyes savaged Daisy with displeasure. ‘What do you want, Dee-Dee?’ she snapped.

‘Nothing, Ms Twiggley,’ Daisy replied with as much aplomb as she could muster, given the squeamish spotlight of two sets of eyes demanding explanations. ‘I thought I heard you calling for assistance.’

Lynda clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘Not right now. And stop hovering. I’m sure you have more useful things to do.’

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry for interrupting. Please excuse me.’

Daisy had already begun her retreat when Ethan Cartwright intervened. ‘Wait!’ he commanded, stepping forward, one arm outstretched in appeal. He smiled, his perfectly sculpted mouth breaking open to show a row of perfect white teeth, making Daisy instantly determined that he wouldn’t get a bite out of her, regardless of how charming he set out to be. ‘We haven’t met,’ he said in a voice as rich as the rest of him. ‘I would have remembered a Dee-Dee. It’s such an unusual name. Be so kind as to introduce us, Lynda.’

‘They’re her initials, not her name,’ Lynda said with a tinkling laugh that had Daisy’s spine crawling with dislike for her employer and her endlessly patronising manner. If she didn’t need this job and the pay packet that went with it, she would have walked out on day one when Lynda had stated she couldn’t have a PA called Daisy because she associated that name with a lowly cow. Dee-Dee sounded far more upmarket.

‘This is my PA, Ethan,’ Lynda continued in a dismissive tone. ‘No one you need to know.’

The snobbish remark apparently did not sit well with him. ‘On the contrary, should I do business with you, your PA may be my first point of contact,’ he countered, a hard glint in the green eyes.

‘Oh, very well then,’ Lynda conceded, realising he was going to persist and if she wanted him to butter her bread she had to toe his line. ‘Ethan Cartwright, Daisy Donohue.’

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Cartwright,’ Daisy rattled out, wanting only to escape back into the crowd.

He viewed her curiously, offering his hand as though sensing her desire to bolt and purposely delaying her. ‘Probably more of a pleasure for me to meet you, Daisy Donahue,’ he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Oh, sure! What fun! Big man condescending to the little brown cow, Daisy thought viciously as she took his hand to complete the polite formality. The flesh contact tingled hotly and his grip felt aggressively strong, pressing a dominant will that she fiercely rebelled against when he held onto her hand longer than polite formality required.

‘Please excuse me, Mr Cartwright. I don’t have time to dally. I’m needed elsewhere,’ she said firmly, tearing her gaze from the devilishly attractive green eyes and giving a subservient nod to Lynda Twiggley whose bad temper was probably already simmering at having an important conversation interrupted.

Apparently Ethan Cartwright had enough sensitivity to realise he might be causing her trouble and backed off, releasing her hand, though still smiling at her as though she pleased him, though why she would seemed totally perverse of him when the marquee was full of gorgeous women who would undoubtedly love his attention. She had brown hair, brown eyes and was wearing brown, conscious of keeping herself as insignificant as possible, not blotting one bit of the limelight her boss liked.

‘If you have a spare minute, place a bet on Midas Magic,’ he said on a parting note.

Put good money on a horse! Not in a million years! Daisy’s tongue lost its discipline. ‘Is that your best financial advice?’ she shot at him in fiery scorn for all he stood for.

He laughed, giving a breathtaking oomph to his sexual magnetism. ‘No, but it’s a good bet,’ he finally answered. ‘I bought him at the yearling sales this week, on excellent advice, and he has the bloodline and form to win the big race.’

Daisy recovered enough breath to coolly state, ‘I don’t gamble.’ She lied through her teeth as she added, ‘I wish you luck, Mr Cartwright,’ then turned her back on him to effect some fast distance from the troublesome encounter.

‘All of life is a gamble, Daisy Donahue,’ he floated after her.

Not for her it wasn’t, and no way was she going to acknowledge the comment by looking back at him.

They all had money to burn, these people. Having worked the past three months with Lynda Twiggley whose PR agency organised events for A-list socialites, Daisy was constantly amazed and scandalised by how much they spent on having a good time. The pre-Christmas parties had been unreal. The New Year’s revels, of course, had to be on a luxurious private yacht for the fireworks around Sydney Harbour to be viewed. Now anyone who was anyone was up on Queensland’s Gold Coast for the annual Magic Millions carnival—the first big horse-racing event on the calendar.

It had begun earlier this week with the yearling sales, the largest sale of thoroughbreds in Australia. No doubt Ethan Cartwright had paid an enormously extravagant amount for Midas Magic, and had been celebrating his successful bid ever since. There’d been a ball, a swag of cocktail parties, and today was the day to cap it all off, the third richest race day of the year with almost five million dollars in prize money. Daisy sourly hoped his horse would run last.

All of life should not be a gamble.

Some things should be secure. Like her parents’ home. If helping to make it secure meant staying in this rotten job, she would grit her teeth and do it, despite the severe heartburn it gave her.

Ethan had not been having a good time. He’d slipped away from the gaggle of women whose frivolous chatter bored him and then been cornered by Lynda Twiggley who was bent on getting him to handle her investments, which was even more boring and distasteful since this carnival was supposed to be fun, not work. The PR specialist had certainly not been using her expertise on him—far too irritatingly pushy—and her manner towards her assistant had bordered on contemptible.

Daisy Donahue…

Now there was a woman who did interest him—the little brown sparrow amongst all the glitzy parrots, playing the meek servant when there wasn’t a meek bone in her body. A pocket dynamo, blasting so much hostile energy at him, it had instantly sparked the urge to engage her in battle. Not that he could, given the unfair circumstances of him being a guest and her being a worker under the eyes of her disapproving employer.

I don’t gamble…

Containing herself in such a tight mentality, not running any risks whatsoever, probably had her exploding inside. Ethan found himself thinking he would enjoy liberating her, finding out what she would be like if all that burning passion was released. One thing was certain. Daisy Donahue did not have a frivolous personality. And she wasn’t boring, either, he added as he suffered Lynda Twiggley claiming his attention again.

‘As I was saying before Dee-Dee interrupted…’

Dee-Dee…what a silly name to give to a person who had so much innate dignity! It also showed a lack of respect for her, which had been obvious in how this unbelievably arrogant woman had dealt with Daisy. Ethan held the firm belief that everyone deserved to be treated with respect, regardless of their position in life. He wondered why Daisy put up with it, then realised that in these tough economic times, she was not about to risk being out of work.

He gave Lynda Twiggley five more minutes so she wouldn’t blame her PA for cutting her business short, then excused himself, saying, ‘I already have a very full client list, Lynda, but I’ll check if I can fit you in when I get back to my office.’ He nodded towards his best friend who was chatting up one of the top-line models. ‘Mickey Bourke told me we should talk to the jockey before the big race and it’s time I went and collected him.’

‘Oh!’ Her face fell in disappointment before she summoned up a big parting smile. ‘I’ll go straight away and place a bet on Midas Magic.’

He didn’t care if she did or not. He just wanted to get away from her. Mickey had talked him into this horse business, insisting he needed some outside interest to lighten up his life and get him into the social whirl again after his grim disillusionment with his ex-fiancée. A bit of fun, Mickey had argued, especially if Ethan was off women.

According to his friend, there was nothing better than the rush of excitement one felt when watching your horse win a big race. Ethan had yet to feel it. Though Mickey should know. His father was one of the most successful thoroughbred trainers in Australia.

Mickey had been born and bred to the horse business. Even at school he would organise sweeps for the Melbourne Cup—strictly against the rules but he always got away with it. He’d been the livewire in their class—bright, witty, charming—a golden boy with his sun-bleached streaky blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. A natural athlete, too, which was one thing they did have in common, along with their tall, powerful physiques.

Everyone liked Mickey. He was always amusing company. Why he’d chosen to attach himself to Ethan—the quiet, intense student, and his fiercest competitor on the playing fields—had seemed weirdly perverse of him until Mickey had explained.

‘No bullshit, okay? I’ll give it to you straight. In the quality stakes you’re a top-notch contender and I’m naturally drawn to quality. I enjoy the way you think and the way you do things. You could easily cut the rest of us down but you don’t. That makes you a great guy in my book.’

The straight face had then broken into a gleeful grin. ‘Besides, there are several big advantages in being your friend. First up you’re great camouflage. All the schoolmasters think the sun shines out of you, being such a star in class. If I stick with you, the respect they have for you rubs off on me and no one will suspect me of getting up to mischief. Besides which, you’re a whiz at numbers and percentages, working out the odds. I like that. I really do respect that. I figure you’re going to be a lot of use to me further down the track.’

It was his first demonstration of how smart Mickey was—smart in a way Ethan had not been familiar with, being the only child of dyed-in-the wool academics who did everything by the book, straight down the line. Ethan had instantly decided he could learn a lot from Mickey Bourke who was clearly a very shrewd operator.

‘And to me, the writing is already on the wall,’ Mickey had continued, adopting a mock-resigned air. ‘It’s in the way your mind works, Ethan. It homes in on what’s absolutely pertinent. You see the play. Your anticipation is incredible. So, regardless of how well I perform on the playing field, I know it will be you the coach will pick to be captain of the cricket team and the rugby. My best choice is to win your friendship, stand at your side and share in your glory.’

Ethan had liked his honesty, his realistic reading of the situation, and his pragmatic judgement of how he could get the most out of his time at school. Other boys might have hated the guy who had the edge on them for the most enviable positions, seen him as the enemy. He and Mickey had ended up the closest of allies in everything, their friendship so solid it had lasted through the years despite their career paths being very different.

They were both still bachelors. ‘Too many lovely fish in the sea to settle on one,’ was Mickey’s attitude. Ethan had long ago reached the cynical conclusion—recently and painfully reinforced by a woman he’d thought was different—that all desirable females had princess personalities, wanting everything their own way and generally bartering sex to get it. Which he’d been reasonably content to go along with. What man didn’t want sex?

But every last one of them had been only interested in what he could give them in return for the use of their bodies and the ego trip of being publicly partnered by them. It was an ego trip for the women, too, being seen with him. After all, it was a feather in their cap to have ensnared the interest—however briefly—of one of Sydney’s most eligible billionaires.

He would never forget the rotten downer of overhearing Serena preening over her triumphant catch to one of her girlfriends. It would have been a huge mistake to marry her and Ethan hated making mistakes. He still burned over the memory of how deceived he had been in her character.

He wanted honesty in a relationship. He wanted reality. He wanted to be known and appreciated for the person he was. He wanted a woman to give him the kind of understanding companionship that Mickey did. Which was probably impossible because women weren’t men. However, if he could just meet one of them who didn’t give him the feeling of being buttered up for the kill…

Daisy Donahue slid straight into his mind. It was a pity she wasn’t a guest here today. She’d sparked a very lively interest. Not the slightest hint of buttering up from her blunt tongue. The little brown sparrow was full of fireworks which he’d found surprisingly sexy. Nice curvy body, too. He didn’t understand Mickey’s attraction to models whose stick-like figures had no appeal to him. They couldn’t swish their non-existent bottoms at him, as Daisy had when she’d made off into the crowd. A very perky bottom.

Booty, the fashionistas called it these days. The word made him smile. He bet Daisy Donohue had bootiful hair, as well, if she ever let it down from the tight knot she’d wound it into at the nape of her neck. Ethan briefly fantasised about letting it down himself, massaging her scalp, getting into her head, watching those blazing dark eyes melt into hot chocolate. He would enjoy that. He really would.

Having reached the edge of the social circle gathered around Mickey, he caught his friend’s eye and nodded towards the exit from the marquee. Not waiting for Mickey to extract himself, Ethan moved on towards it, putting a forbiddingly purposeful expression on his face to discourage anyone from making another unwelcome approach. Mickey caught up with him just as he stepped outside.

‘Saw the Twiggley trying to get her claws into you,’ he remarked with a sympathetic grin. ‘Guess she’s one of the wounded, wanting the doctor.’

Ethan grimaced. ‘I’m not a doctor.’

‘Same thing…fixing up financial fall-out.’

‘I prefer the clients who trusted my advice in the first place.’

‘Like me.’ Mickey clapped him on the shoulder, obviously in high good humour, as they strolled towards the saddling paddock. ‘Never doubted your number-crunching for a moment.’

Ethan’s mind was still circling around the encounter with Lynda Twiggley. ‘She’s a revolting woman. Treated her PA like dirt.’

‘Hmm…do I detect a note of partiality towards the PA?’

A teasing delight danced in Mickey’s blue eyes. He was playing today and he wanted Ethan to play, too. Not that there was any chance of that with Daisy Donahue. Apart from the fact she was unavailable, her hostile glare had hardly been a positive response to him. Though he’d like to tackle the reason for it. Head on. Nothing like a challenge to get the adrenaline running.

‘More interesting than your models,’ he slung at his friend.

‘Ah-ha! This is a good sign that the sly and seductive Serena is no longer casting a pall over your sex drive. So what are you going to do about this new woman of interest?’

‘Today she has no time to dally,’ he said with a rueful grimace. ‘Lynda Twiggley’s evil eye is upon her.’

‘Easy! Tell the Twiggley you’ll take on her financial problems if she releases her PA to you for the rest of the day.’

Giving Daisy no choice? Remembering her stiffbacked pride, Ethan didn’t think being traded like a slave would go over too well with her. Besides, he didn’t want to work with Lynda Twiggley any more than Daisy did.

‘That’s not a solution, Mickey. That’s a mess,’ he mockingly pointed out.

‘Well, you figure it out,’ he tossed back with a shrug. ‘My policy is if you fancy a woman, go after her. Attack the moment. Seize the day. God knows it passes soon enough!’

Ethan rolled his eyes at him. ‘Maybe sometimes you should take a longer look before plunging in. As you do with horses.’

Mickey laughed. ‘Horses are infinitely more rewarding than women. Forget the PA and concentrate on Midas Magic, Ethan. He’ll give you a better run for your money.’

Having moved on to his favourite subject, Mickey regaled Ethan with a potted history of the jockey he was to meet, his many successful rides and his natural empathy with horses—best man for the job today.

Although he listened and made all the expected responses as they strolled on to the saddling paddock, Ethan did not forget Daisy Donahue. She was like a burr in his mind. And his body. He felt a quixotic urge to rescue her from Lynda Twiggley, make whatever was wrong for her right.

Absurd, really.

He knew so little about her.

Yet his instincts kept insisting she might be worth knowing and he could very well regret not pursuing the interest she stirred.

Seize the day…

The big question was…how to do it?

CHAPTER TWO

THE big race gave Daisy the chance to rest for a few minutes. Quite a few guests had left the marquee to watch the horses being led to the starting gates. The rest of them had their attention glued to the television screens. No one was going to make a fuss about anything while their interest was totally captivated by what was happening on the racetrack.

She found a chair and sat down to give her feet a break. The TV commentator was giving a run-down on each yearling—its bloodline, owner, trainer, the colours the jockey was wearing. Gold and black for Midas Magic. Daisy grimaced as she heard that. Of course, the money man would have chosen gold. And he’d be more in the black if the wretched horse won. No depressing red debts for him.

She thought glumly of her parents’ situation—ordinary people who’d worked hard to bring up and educate five children and finally believing they could afford the luxury of renovating their home—a new kitchen, a second bathroom, a playroom for the grandchildren and two extra bedrooms so all the family could come and stay, especially for Easter and Christmas and school holidays. They had mortgaged the house to do it, and the bank which had happily lent the money would just as happily sell the property out from under them if the interest on the loan wasn’t paid every month.

And no way would they get the full value of the house in a forced sale, given the current slump in the property market. It wouldn’t get her parents out of trouble. Besides, it wasn’t fair for them to lose their home at this stage of their lives. They deserved a carefree retirement.

Their investment advisor had got it hopelessly wrong. Last year’s share market slide had sliced over thirty percent off their superannuation savings. The resulting loss of income was never going to be recovered. Neither was there any hope of the situation improving during this recession.

The rest of the family wasn’t in a position to help. Her three older brothers and one sister were all married with young families, struggling to make ends meet. Two of her brothers, Ken and Kevin, had been laid off by their employers in the workforce squeeze. Keith had gone into business for himself and was feeling the pinch. Violet, her sister, had an autistic son who needed so much care, her marriage was very rocky because of it. They simply couldn’t cope with more pressure on their shoulders.

Which meant she was the only one who could carry the load. By far the youngest—the late accidental pregnancy—she had moved back to her parents’ suburban home in Ryde to give them the rent money she’d been paying for her share-apartment in the inner city, as well as covering most of the food bills to ensure her parents didn’t stint on their diet in their anxiety over the debt. Her contribution meant the monthly interest bill could be paid, but it was an endless cycle. She didn’t make enough money to pay off the loan.

What really irked her was if her parents had sought out Ethan Cartwright to manage their nest-egg…But how were ordinary people supposed to know he was the man to go to? There’d been no publicity about him until after the economic crash. Besides, he probably only dealt with multi-millionaires. The big spenders in this marquee only mixed with each other.

The commentator’s voice rose several decibels as the race began, calling out a string of names. A hubbub of excitement broke out from the spectators gathered in front of the television screens. Daisy rigidly refused to look, resenting how much money these people were prepared to risk on stupid bets. It was a well-known fact that race-fixing went on all the time. If you weren’t in the know…although perhaps the Magic Millions was different with all the owners wanting their new purchases to perform well in such a prestige event.

‘Midas Magic hits the front at the turn and is starting to leave the field behind. He’s two lengths ahead…three…four…no one’s going to catch him!’

The screaming from the commentator assaulted her ears. And her heart. The man who had everything was about to get a lot more with his horse winning this race. It wasn’t fair. It vexed her even further that he’d put her in the know and she had ignored his advice, sticking to her principles of not taking any gambles. Besides, who could believe that any horse was a sure thing?

Lynda Twiggley for one!

Daisy scrambled guiltily to her feet as her employer came bursting out of a group of people, gleefully brandishing a betting ticket and catching her PA sitting down on the job. ‘I won! I won!’ she cried. ‘Isn’t it marvellous? Ten thousand lovely dollars!’

‘Ten thousand?’ Daisy repeated, totally stunned by the amount.

‘Yes. I wouldn’t have taken such a plunge on a horse if Ethan Cartwright hadn’t recommended it,’ Lynda archly confided. ‘Such a gorgeous, clever man! He’s made my day!’

‘I’m very pleased for you, Miss Twiggley,’ Daisy managed to force out. At least it had put her employer in a good mood, unlikely to snipe at any shortcomings she perceived in her PA.

The glittery blue eyes narrowed in determined calculation. ‘Now I must get him to look at my shares portfolio. If I can net him into another tête-á-tête, don’t interrupt us for anything, Dee-Dee. Should any problem arise, use your own initiative to solve it. That’s what I’ve trained you for.’

‘I won’t go near him,’ Daisy firmly promised.

She couldn’t stand seeing him shine with triumph anyway. It would be sickening. Privately she thought her employer had little chance of netting him again. Ethan Cartwright had tried to hang onto the diversion of Daisy’s gaffe in interrupting their last encounter, insisting on being properly introduced, continuing to speak to her despite Lynda’s obvious impatience for her to be gone.

He wouldn’t have bothered trying to connect with her under ordinary circumstances. She was way beneath his notice. He’d simply been using her for his own purpose—breaking up a meeting he didn’t like. She wished she could dismiss him from her mind. Everything he stood for stirred her up. Worst of all was the fact that she’d felt an undeniable physical attraction to the man. Which was understandable, given that he was a standout male, but she hated him all the more for it, making her want what she knew could never be available to her.

‘I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now. I wish they’d get on with serving it.’

The whining complaint from one of the models—very much a VIP, having been chosen to star on the runway for Victoria’s Secret—sent Daisy straight to the catering tent to investigate the delay. Lynda Twiggley would have a fit if she heard one of her prized guests being put out by any failure in the arrangements made for their pleasure and comfort. Bad PR. It was up to Daisy to prevent or fix anything bad.

Two of the chefs were having a raging argument and their assistants all looked rigid with tension, doing nothing but watching from the sidelines. This catering outfit was being very highly paid to do a top-class job and they weren’t delivering. Daisy steeled herself to walk right into the line of fire between the fighting chefs and remind them of their prime responsibility.

‘People are asking for coffee,’she stated briskly, giving both of them a stern look. ‘It should be out there being served. VIP guests don’t like to be left wanting anything.’

It startled them into turning their attention to her.

‘It’s also supposed to be accompanied by chocolates and petits-fours. Are they ready to go?’ she ran on, reminding them of what was expected, then adding a sensible warning. ‘You don’t want to lose your good reputation with these people. They always remember delays like this.’

One of the temperamental chefs threw up his hands and glared around at the motionless staff. ‘Move! Move! Get on with it!’

Satisfied she had made her point, Daisy returned to the VIP marquee, intending to assure the model that coffee was on its way. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Ethan Cartwright chatting to her. Venomous thoughts exploded in her head. Nothing but the best for a man like him! She’d known—of course, she’d known—he wasn’t really interested in a little brown cow. This was reality—birds of a feather flocked together.

No doubt the magnificent model had taken his advice to bet on Midas Magic, too. The two high-flyers were both beaming with the pleasure of victory, making Daisy’s stomach churn from the terrible injustice of it all.

Ethan felt it again, his whole body tingling from a blast of electric energy. He turned his head, his gaze instinctively homing in on the source—Daisy Donahue, her eyes blazing at him with feral animosity, stirring the urge to do battle with her, catch her, cage her until she was tamed to his satisfaction. The weird, exciting thoughts raced through his mind, swiftly followed by Mickey’s catch-cry—seize the day.

He’d looked for her without success when he’d reentered the marquee after the race. Now here she was a few metres away, within easy reach, the challenge she threw out drawing him like a magnet. He automatically started to move towards her, their eyes locked in a duel of sizzling passion.

‘Ethan?’

The full-of-herself model he’d been talking to was calling him back. He’d forgotten his manners. ‘Please excuse me, Talia,’ he swiftly tossed back at her. ‘Someone I have to see.’

In that brief moment of disengagement with Daisy she’d taken flight, dodging behind groups of people, apparently intent on hiding from him. It spurred Ethan on to catch up with her, force a face-to-face confrontation. He sliced through the throng, his interest aroused to an intensity that surprised him, his heart beating like a battle drum as he intercepted her attempted escape, making it impossible for her not to acknowledge him.

‘Hello, again,’ he said, revelling in the flush of angry frustration that flooded into her cheeks, giving her pale, flawless skin a peaches-and-cream vivacity, making the eyes that warred with his in flaming fury even brighter.

His abrupt appearance in front of her had shocked her into stillness, but it was the stillness of a tightly coiled spring, nerves twanging at the suppression of movement away from him. Her chin jerked up belligerently. The brown pill-box hat slid slightly from its perch on top of her head. He barely restrained himself from reaching up and straightening it for her. He wanted contact—intimate contact—with this woman.

‘Mr Cartwright…’ she bit out, obviously hating being trapped into this encounter.

He smiled, intent on pouring soothing balm over whatever was making her bristle in his presence. ‘Let’s make that Ethan.’

She sucked in a quick breath, her eyes flaring a denial of any familiarity between them. ‘Congratulations on your win,’ she said tersely. ‘I didn’t place a bet on your horse. As I told you before, I don’t gamble, so there’s nothing more to say, is there? We have nothing in common.’

Ethan was not about to let his feet be cut out from under him before he’d even started to make inroads on getting to know her. He turned his smile into an ironic grimace. ‘I need some assistance.’

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, offering him no encouragement to spell it out.

‘That is your job, isn’t it? Assisting any of the guests here who have a problem?’ he pushed.

‘What is your problem, Mr Cartwright?’ she demanded, her eyes glinting open scepticism.

‘You are, Daisy Donahue.’

She frowned, her certainty that he had no problem shifting into a flicker of fear. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I have the curious sensation that you’re shooting mental bullets at me all the time. I’d like you to tell me why.’

For a moment her face went totally blank, as though a switch had been thrown and defensive shutters had instantly clicked into place. He watched her labouring to construct an apologetic expression—a sheer act of will, against her natural grain. Her eyes took on a pleading look, begging his forgiveness. Her mouth softened into an appealing little smile. She spoke in a tone that mocked herself.

‘I’ve just had to deal with some trouble in the catering tent and it may cause more trouble. I’m sorry if I’ve channelled my own angst onto you, Mr Cartwright. I didn’t mean to attract your attention. In fact, you’ll be doing me a great favour if you’ll walk away from me right now. My boss won’t like it if she sees you talking to me.’

‘Surely as a guest I’m entitled to speak to whomever I like,’ he argued.

‘I’m not a guest and I’m taking up your time—time Miss Twiggley would prefer you to spend with her,’ she said pointedly.

‘I’ve said all I intend to say to Lynda Twiggley.’

‘That’s not my business. If I don’t stay clear of you, my job might very well be at risk. So please excuse me, Mr Cartwright.’

‘Be damned if I will!’ Frustration fumed through him. His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm as she turned away to escape him again. ‘This isn’t the Dark Ages!’ he shot out before she could voice a protest.

‘Oh, yes, it is!’ she retorted with blistering scorn, the defence system cracking wide open at being forcibly held. Wild hostility poured into wild accusation. ‘You’re acting like a feudal lord manhandling a servant girl who can’t fight back.’

The image was wrong. She could fight back. She was doing it with all her mental might. But for once in his life Ethan wanted to be a feudal lord, having his way with this woman. He knew he should release her yet his mind had lost all sense of civilised behaviour. Imposing this physical link with her was arousing a host of primitive feelings that demanded satisfaction.

‘You’re denying me the assistance I asked for,’ he argued.

‘With good reason,’ she hotly returned.

‘Nonsense! It’s totally unreasonable!’

‘What is the matter with you?’ she cried in exasperation. ‘Why bother with me when—?’

‘Because you bother me more than anyone here.’

‘What? Because I’m not seeking your attention? Are you so used to women hanging on your every word, your high and mighty ego is pricked by one who doesn’t?’

‘You did want my attention, Daisy Donahue,’ he slung back at her in burning certainty. ‘You were looking at me.’

She tried to explain it away, biting out the words with icy precision. ‘The model you were talking to had complained about coffee not having been served. I had intended to inform her it was on its way when I saw you with her.’ Her teeth were bared in a savagely mocking smile. ‘Mindful of my boss’s instructions and contrary to your arrogant assumption, I didn’t want to draw any more attention from you, Mr Cartwright.’

Ethan was not convinced. It wasn’t dismissal he’d felt coming from her. It had been a powerful bolt of passion aimed directly at him. It was still hitting him. His whole body was energised by it. His eyes derided her evasion of the truth as he attacked her reading of his character.

‘You can stick me with ego and arrogance as much as you like, but there’s more going on in your head than you’re telling me, and it has nothing to do with Lynda Twiggley’s instructions.’

‘What I think is my business,’ she whipped back.

‘Not when it involves me.’

Impasse.

She glared at him, the wheels of her mind going round and round in a fierce search for an exit line he might accept.

He wanted to drag her into his embrace and kiss her until all her resistance melted. Never had he been so aroused by a woman. For the first time in his life he was in total tune with the cavemen of old who simply hauled off the object of their desire and took their pleasure at will. Was it her hostility that excited him? Had he grown too bored with women who were only too eager in their compliance?

Intensity…the word leapt into his mind. That was what had been lacking in all his other connections with women. Daisy Donahue was transmitting it, hitting the same chord in him. Normally he channelled it into his work. It wasn’t a social asset. Intensity disturbed people. Too dark, Mickey said. But there was a dark side to Daisy Donahue, too, setting off a weird wave of exhilaration through his bloodstream. And a compulsion to explore it.

She dragged in a deep breath and tore her gaze from his, dropping it pointedly to the hand still grasping her arm. He softened his grip, rubbing his thumb along the underside of her wrist, finding the beat of her pulse, exulting in its rapid drumming.

She was excited, too.

Or was it fear?

‘I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr Cartwright,’ she said in a stilted little voice. Her beautifully feminine breasts lifted as she filled her lungs again. Her eyes met his in a plea that held a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before in her. ‘Please let me go.’

It made him feel like a cad for holding her against her will, yet he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. ‘You said we have nothing in common. I think we do, Daisy Donahue.’

She shook her head, agitation flickering into definite fear as she was distracted by something behind him.

‘Ah, Dee-Dee,’ came the smarmy voice of Lynda Twiggley who was obviously about to insinuate herself into the situation.

‘Miss Twiggley,’ she said in a shaky subservient tone as the woman stepped forward to part them.

It enfuriated Ethan that Daisy should feel it necessary to kowtow to her snaky employer. She was a natural-born fighter. It was wrong for her to be in this position.

‘Catering needs a prompt to get the coffee moving.’

It was a dismissive command.

Daisy tried to pull her arm free, anxious to avoid any more displeasure being heaped on her head.

Ethan tightened his grip, determined on keeping her with him.

‘Daisy has already done that,’ he coldly told the Twiggley who turned an ingratiating smile to him.

‘Then she can do it again,’ was the unbending reply.

Unreasonable, demanding bitch!

Ethan lost his cool. ‘Miss Twiggley…’ grated out from between gnashing teeth.

She fluttered her exquisitely painted fingernails and her false eyelashes at him. ‘Oh, do make it Lynda, please…’

It revolted him. Words shot out of his mouth in a stream of searing contempt without any thought to their consequences.

‘I think it’s time you stopped treating your PA like a slave who doesn’t warrant any consideration or courtesy.’

Her mouth gaped open in shock.

He felt a shudder run up Daisy’s arm.

The ensuing silence was impregnated with the hairprickling sense that a bomb had just gone off. Ethan revelled in its intensity. He was so off his coolly analytical brain—no number-crunching going on at all—he was actually looking forward to the fall-out.

CHAPTER THREE

DAISY’S mind was reeling. Her heart was galloping faster than any racehorse. Any second now her boss was going to throw a major tantrum and she’d bear the brunt of it. Ethan Cartwright was too important a person to cop the whiplash from his strike on her behalf.

Why had he done it?

Why, why, why…?

Even if he’d meant well, he should have known it would rebound on her. He just hadn’t cared. It wasn’t going to affect his life. He was an untouchable. Anger at not getting his own way with her had spilled over onto Lynda Twiggley. Never mind that Daisy was the one who would pay for it—the selfish, arrogant pig! She’d explained the situation to him, begged him to let her go, and what he’d done was put her job at risk—the job she had to keep or see her parents’ home go down the bankruptcy drain.

Panic ripped through her stomach as her boss started puffing herself up to let fly her ferocious temper. Mean blue eyes cut her to ribbons. The attack had the cyclonic force of a fireball.

‘How dare you complain about how I treat you, you ungrateful little cow!’

‘I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!’ Daisy babbled.

‘I speak from my own observation,’ Ethan Cartwright sliced in.

It didn’t improve the situation. It made it a thousand times worse. Being subjected to such personal criticism from him was so offensive, Lynda turned to him in a towering rage, probably thinking her bid to have him fix her financial affairs had been sabotaged and Daisy knew she was going to be blamed for it, regardless of anything Ethan Cartwright said.

‘I pay her very well to do what I tell her. There’s nothing slavish about that, I assure you,’ she hissed at him, steam pouring from her.

‘I take exception to you telling her to stay away from me,’ he shot back. ‘That’s not work. It’s—’

Lynda exploded into a tirade at Daisy, cutting Ethan Cartwright off in mid-speech. ‘You stupid, stupid girl! Have you no sense of discretion, no brain in your head? Might I remind you that you signed a confidentiality clause in your contract with me. Which you’ve just broken in the worst possible way with your stupid, wagging tongue.’

She had committed the indiscretion.

It was impossible to defend herself.

What could she say…that Ethan Cartwright’s persistence had goaded her into it? No way would that be an acceptable excuse. She had not put her boss’s interests first. The chaotic effect he had on her had overwhelmed her usual grasp of what was permissible.

Daisy stood in appalled silence, quaking inside as the storm broke over her, her heart sinking as she realised there was no hope of this being forgiven or forgotten.

The inevitable lightning struck.

‘You’re fired! As of now!’

She felt the blood draining from her face.

The thunder rolled on. ‘And don’t come back to the office. I’ll have your personal things parcelled up and sent home. Untrustworthy blabbermouth!’

Lynda Twiggley’s last look of furious disgust barely penetrated the dizziness flooding through Daisy’s head. Like some fade-out on a television screen, the back of her ex-employer disintegrated into dots.

Ethan caught her as she started to fall, scooping her into a tight embrace. It was where he’d wanted Daisy Donahue but not limp and unconscious. He had to get her firing on all cylinders again. With a quick stoop to hook an arm under her knees, he lifted her off her feet, cradling her across his chest.

A chair was needed—set her down, lower her head to get some blood back in it, a glass of water…that was what common sense said, yet as he started carrying her towards one, he was riven by the strong temptation to keep right on going, out of the marquee, into a limousine and off to his cave. He’d caught his woman. She felt good in his arms. He wanted her out of this jungle of people and completely to himself.

Problem was she’d probably come to before he got her to the limousine. How long did a faint last? And she’d undoubtedly throw a scene at the hotel before he could take her to his suite.

No, it was a mad idea.

A sheikh might get away with it.

Or a buccaneer of old who was captain of his own ship.

Not Ethan Cartwright in this modern world of political correctness. He would have to answer for his actions.

Nevertheless, he was almost at the exit to the marquee when Mickey caught up with him. ‘Hey, Ethan. You doing a runner with the girl?’

It stopped him. He turned to his friend whose face was alight with fascinated curiosity. ‘She fainted. I have to get her to a chair.’

‘You’ve passed a whole bunch of them.’

‘Distracted,’ Ethan muttered. He hadn’t been aware of anything except the woman in his arms—the feelings she generated in him.

‘Over here,’ Mickey directed, steering him towards one as Daisy stirred in his arms, her lovely full breasts swelling against the wall of his chest as she gulped in air.

Ethan told himself his brain needed a blast of oxygen, too. As much as he wanted to hang onto Daisy Donahue she was going to rip into him the moment she had regained her wits. He’d be enemy number one for causing her to lose her job, regardless of whether or not it had been a good position for a person like her to have. And freeing her from it so she could be with him was not an argument she was about to appreciate. Somehow he would have to make her see him as her saviour instead of the black dog of disaster.

Daisy struggled to regain her strength and her wits. Never in her whole life had she fainted and to have Ethan Cartwright take advantage of this momentary weakness, manhandling her even more than before, was the absolute pits. At least she wasn’t being carried by him any more. He’d put her on a chair and was sitting beside her. Despite the fact that he’d shoved her head down to her knees, it was still swimming, and he had his arm around her in support, which she probably needed, though she hated needing anything from him. He’d just destroyed the lifeline to keeping her parents in their home.

‘Fetch her a glass of water, will you, Mickey?’

His voice upset her even further, loaded with concern. After the event. No concern when it really mattered.

‘Sure. And here’s her hat. It dropped off on the way.’

Total indignity on top of everything else!

By the time the glass of water came, she was steady enough to lift her head and sip it. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered to the man who’d brought it—Mickey Bourke, another A-list bachelor with no worries about where his next dollar was coming from.

‘I’ll look after her now,’ Ethan Cartwright said, dismissing his friend.

‘Right!’ Mickey Bourke grinned at him. ‘Nothing like seizing the day! Go for it, man!’

Seizing the day? The phrase scraped over all the jagged edges in Daisy’s mind. Her day, her job, a secure future for her parents had all been wrecked by Ethan Cartwright going for what he wanted. She felt like throwing the glass of water in his face, sober up some of the blind ego that had completely overlooked what he’d been doing to her. But what good would that achieve?

Despair squeezed her heart.

‘Are you feeling better, Daisy?’ he asked caringly.

Nothing could make her feel better. ‘Well enough for you to remove your arm,’ she answered tersely, sitting up straight and stiffening her shoulders to show him his support was no longer needed. Or welcome.

‘Okay, but you should keep sitting for a while. Maybe you should eat something. Did you have any lunch?’

No, she hadn’t, which might have contributed to her fainting, although she was used to running on empty in this job. Except she didn’t have a job any more. Which was all his fault.

She turned to face him, anger spurting off her tongue. ‘It’s a bit late to start caring about me, Mr Cartwright. The damage is done.’

He grimaced, but there was no regret in the green eyes boring into hers. ‘Lynda Twiggley was doing you a damage, making you bow to her tyranny.’

‘I could manage that. If you hadn’t interfered, I’d still have my job.’

‘You didn’t like it,’ he said with certainty.

‘What’s like got to do with it?’ she cried in exasperation. ‘It was the best paid job I’ve ever had and I need the money. You have no idea how much I need it. You’ve probably never known a moment’s worry over money in your entire life.’

His mouth tilted into an ironic smile. ‘Actually I carry the burden of worrying about money all the time.’

‘Big money!’ she corrected savagely. ‘Not lifedestroying lack of income.’

He frowned. ‘Surely it’s not that bad!’

‘It most certainly is!’ She quickly sipped some more water. The vehement bursts of emotion were making her feel light-headed again. Or maybe it was him sitting so close to her, exerting his mega-male attraction. A woman could drown in those green eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d be better off in another job,’ he said with the first hint of apology.

‘You didn’t think at all,’ she muttered furiously. ‘Not on my level.’

‘What do you mean…your level?’

She lashed him with grim realities. ‘The level where people struggle to make ends meet. Where the job market is getting tighter every day. Where being out of work can bring everything crashing down.’

‘Are you in debt?’ he asked, his eyes seriously probing hers, making her heart jiggle with the wish he really did care. This was a man who could turn everything around for her parents if he wanted to. And he had a physical magnetism that was getting to her again.

‘No. Yes.’ She heaved a desolate sigh. ‘My parents are. And if I don’t pay the interest to the bank, they’ll lose their home. They can’t do it. It’s up to me.’

‘Well, there’s a twist,’ he dryly commented. ‘I thought the Y generation lived off their parents, not the other way around.’

He wasn’t interested. She’d been stupid to entertain the wild thought, even for a second, that such a highflyer would come to the rescue of ordinary people.

‘You live on a different planet, Ethan Cartwright,’ she retorted bitterly.

‘I believe in people being responsible for themselves. If your parents incurred a debt, it’s up to them to—’

‘You don’t know anything,’ she snapped. ‘Sometimes people can’t manage for themselves.’

‘Okay. Tell me the circumstances,’ he invited.

‘As if you care!’ Her eyes savaged him for his irresponsibility. ‘You didn’t care about the consequences to me when you ignored my plea to let me go. You didn’t care about offending my boss so deeply I didn’t have a chance of hanging onto my job. And just how do you think I’m going to get another highly paid position without a glowing reference from Lynda Twiggley? I’m dead in the water.’

She banged her glass down on the floor, stood up, and snatched her hat from his hands. ‘Goodbye, Mr Cartwright. I can’t say it was pleasure meeting you.’

‘Wait!’

He was on his feet so fast and blocking the direct route to the exit of the marquee, Daisy had no choice but to halt and face him again. She lifted a belligerent chin as she demanded, ‘What for?’

Ethan didn’t have a ready answer. He was acting purely on the need to keep Daisy Donahue in his life. She was magnificent—cheeks flaring with colour again, big brown eyes flashing a fierce challenge at him, her petite figure powering up to fight him. He remembered how her soft, feminine curves had felt when he had been carrying her. Add the vitality of the passion he felt coming from her now…the thought of having all that locked in his arms sent fiery tingles to his groin.

An answer came to him.

He’d created the situation which was driving her away from him.

He had to reverse it.

‘I’ll give you a job,’ he said.

Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed with suspicion. ‘What as? Your cleaning lady?’

There was a huge appeal in that image—Daisy on her hands and knees, scrubbing his floors, her perky bottom swaying with the action. But he knew he was dead if he suggested it. His mind whizzed to other possibilities. He didn’t need a PA. His business was fully staffed. No room for her there. So what could he offer that she wouldn’t turn down flat?

‘You need a lifeline, right?’ he said, hedging for time to come up with an acceptable rescue package. ‘A stopgap until you can find a job that suits you?’

‘If I have to clean floors, I will, but they won’t be yours,’ she vowed rebelliously, one hip jutting out as she stuck a hand on it, emphasising the fascinating smallness of her waist. ‘You are the last person I want to do anything for right now.’

Ethan smothered a sigh. Feudal lord and serving girl was not an appealing picture to her. Although if he wrapped it up in gold paper…

‘How about executive housekeeper? I’ve recently bought a property I’ve started on renovating. You could oversee the tradesmen’s work, ensure that everything’s kept in order. I’ll pay you the same salary you earned with Lynda Twiggley.’

The fight in her eyes wavered into a sea of vulnerable uncertainty—the need for no break in her money chain warring with a mountain of doubts about what she might be getting into by putting herself in his power. Her throat moved convulsively. She was swallowing hard. And blinking hard.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked huskily.

‘Yes. I’m sorry for causing you so much distress,’ he said quietly, realising she was desperately trying to stem a gush of tears. ‘The least I can do is tide you over until you find better ground for yourself.’

She bit her lips. Her eyelashes swept down. She lowered her head. Her hand dropped from her hip and fretted at the pill-box hat she was holding in her other hand. ‘It might be months before I can find another job,’ she mumbled anxiously.

‘I expect the renovations will go on for months. It’s a messy business. It will be good to have someone on site, checking up on everything. Even the most reputable builders need a critical eye on them to get it all right and clean up after themselves. In effect, you’d be my PA for a special project. Okay?’

The eyelashes slowly fluttered up again. He had the weird sense of his heart turning over as she looked earnestly at him. ‘You’re really serious about this? You’ll pay me as much as Lynda Twiggley did?’

Down to the bartering line again, he thought with his usual cynicism, but if that’s what it took to get this woman he’d do it. He reached for his wallet. ‘I’ll give you an advance on your salary to seal the deal.’

She stared at his bulging wallet as he opened it—the hook that never failed to work.

‘How much were you being paid? A couple of thousand a week?’ He riffled through the notes, prepared to give her any sum she nominated. It was irrelevant to him. He’d just won two million dollars in prize money on Midas Magic.

She shook her head.

‘More? Less?’ he prompted.

Her gaze lifted, meeting his with steely pride. ‘I don’t take money I haven’t earned, Mr Cartwright. My salary was fifteen hundred dollars a week before tax. If you’re satisfied with what I can do for you after the first week of being your on-site PA, I’d appreciate it if you’d pay me then.’

‘Fine!’ he agreed, barely hiding the jolt of surprise at her refusal to grab the money.

Honesty…fair play…Daisy Donahue was exhibiting a fine sense of both, making him feel slightly uncomfortable about having his own secret agenda.

‘Where is this property?’ she asked.

‘Hunters Hill.’

She pressed him for more details, weighing up the information he gave, assuring herself there was a genuine job to be done. Once they’d settled on a meeting at the house at eight o’clock on Monday morning of the next week, she took her leave of him, very firmly, and Ethan let her go, watching the seductive swish of her bottom, content with the thought he’d be seeing a lot more of Daisy Donahue in the very near future.

He was looking forward to it.

In fact, he couldn’t remember looking forward to a meeting with a woman quite so much!

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