Pleasured In The Billionaire's Bed. Miranda Lee

himself some coffee and was about to take it out onto the terrace when she materialised in the kitchen doorway, a strange look on her face.

      ‘Yes?’ he said.

      ‘Are you Nick Freeman?’

      ‘That’s the name I write under. Yes.’

      ‘Oh, my!’

      Jack wasn’t sure if that was a sign she was a fan. Or not.

      Either way, he’d finally snared her interest.

      ‘You’ve read some of my books?’ he asked.

      ‘All of them.’

      ‘And what did you think?’

      ‘I loved them.’

      Even better. Clearly, Nick Freeman was her type. Or maybe it was wicked old Hal which brought that excited sparkle into her lovely blue eyes.

      ‘Now, that’s music to a writer’s ears. Come and have coffee with me and tell me more.’

      ‘But I haven’t finished your study yet. In fact, I’ve hardly started. When I saw your books on the shelves, I…I—’

      ‘Forget the study,’ he interrupted, pleased as punch with this development. ‘I’d much rather have my ego stroked. How do you like your coffee?’

      ‘What? Oh—er—black, with no sugar.’

      ‘A true coffee-lover. Like me,’ he added with a smile. ‘Now, don’t give me any more objections, Lisa. I’m the boss here.’

      She didn’t like taking orders, he could see. Or not finishing her job. But he insisted and she grudgingly complied, sitting opposite him at the table on the terrace, primly sipping her cup of coffee whilst he attempted to draw her out some more.

      Jack was careful not to stray from the subject of books. He’d noted that the moment he’d smiled at her, a frosty wariness had crept into her face.

      She was widely read, he soon realised. And very intelligent. Clearly, she was wasted as a cleaner.

      When she started glancing at her wrist-watch, however, Jack decided he could not wait much longer before making his move. If he let her leave, she might never come back. Next Friday, it would be homely Gail showing up to clean his penthouse and that would be that.

      ‘I have to go to the annual literary-awards dinner tomorrow night in Sydney,’ he said. ‘One of my books is a finalist in the Golden Gun award for best thriller of the year.’

      She put down her cup. ‘Which one?’

      ‘The Kiss Of Death.’

      ‘Oh, you’ll win. That was a great book.’

      ‘Thank you. You’re very kind. Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.’

      Jack had had various reactions from women to his asking them out. But not once had a female stared at him the way Lisa Chapman was currently staring at him. As if he’d asked her to climb Mount Everest. In her bare feet.

      ‘You mean…as your date?’ she choked out.

      ‘Yes, of course.’

      She blinked, then shook her head.

      ‘I’m sorry. I don’t date.’

      Jack could not have been more stunned. Didn’t date? What kind of crazy lifestyle was that for a beautiful young woman whose husband had been dead for five years?

      ‘What do you mean, you don’t date?’ Jack shot back at her.

      Her eyes flashed resentment at him for questioning her. ‘I mean, I don’t date,’ she repeated firmly.

      ‘Why on earth not?’

      She stood up abruptly, her shoulders straightening, her expression turning haughty. ‘I think that’s my private business, don’t you?’

      Jack stood up also, his face just as uncompromising. ‘You can’t blame me for being curious. And for being disappointed. I was enjoying your company just now. I thought you were enjoying mine.’

      She looked a little flummoxed by this last statement. ‘Well, yes, I was,’ she said, almost as though the concept surprised her.

      ‘Then come to the dinner with me.’

      She hesitated, but then shook her head again, quite vigorously. ‘I’m sorry. I…I can’t.’

      Can’t, she’d said. Not won’t.

      Can’t suggested there was some other reason why she was saying no. Other than her ridiculous claim that she didn’t date.

      The penny suddenly dropped. Maybe she had no one to mind her son. And not enough money to pay for a sitter. Cleaners who only worked during school hours couldn’t earn all that much. Maybe she didn’t have any suitable clothes, either. Despite her very smart appearance today, Jack knew evening wear cost a lot.

      ‘I’ll pay for a sitter,’ he offered. ‘And buy you a suitable dress, if you don’t have one.’

      Her mouth dropped open again, her eyes glittering this time with more anger than shock. ‘I have more than enough money to do both,’ she snapped. ‘For your information, Mr Cassidy, I am not an employee of Clean-in-a-Day. I own the company!’

      For the second time that day, Jack was totally gobsmacked. Then pretty angry himself. ‘Well, why didn’t you say so? Why pretend you were a lowly cleaner?’

      ‘Lowly? What’s lowly about being a cleaner? It’s honest work, with honest pay.’

      ‘Yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.’

      ‘No, you shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t have tried to buy me just now. Maybe that’s what men do in your world, but they don’t in mine.’

      ‘I wasn’t trying to buy you.’

      ‘Yes, you were,’ she said, crossing her arms and giving him a killer look. ‘Don’t try to weasel your way out of it.’

      Jack could feel his level of frustration rising as it hadn’t risen in years. ‘Why don’t you get off your high horse for a moment and stop overreacting! I wasn’t trying to buy you. I was trying to overcome any obstacles which I thought might be in your path. Because I can’t believe that a beautiful young woman like yourself would choose not to date. I presumed it had to be because of some other reason.’

      ‘Then you’d be wrong. I did choose not to date after my husband died.’

      ‘But that doesn’t make sense, Lisa. Most young widows marry again. How do you expect to meet anyone if you lock yourself in your house and never go out?’

      ‘I don’t lock myself in my house. And I have no intention of ever getting married again.’

      Jack noted the emphasis on the ever, plus the emotional timbre of her voice. Clearly, this was a subject which touched a nerve.

      An old friend of Jack’s—an army widow—had once told him that there were two reasons women decided not to marry again. They either had been so happy and so in love with their husbands they believed no other man would ever compare. Or they had been so miserable, they didn’t want to risk putting their lives into the hands of a rotter a second time.

      Jack didn’t know enough about Lisa yet to decide which was her reason.

      ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to get married, either, even once. But don’t you get bored? And lonely?’

      A frustrated-sounding sigh escaped her lips as she uncrossed her arms. ‘Boredom and loneliness are not the worst things in this world.’

      ‘They come pretty high on my list.’ Jack had a very low boredom threshold. He liked to keep active when he wasn’t writing. During the winter he skied and went snow-boarding.