The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress. Emma Darcy
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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