The lighting people arrived soon after the architect had left. As she watched the chandelier being carefully lowered onto the canvas laid out on the floor, it was impossible not to feel a pang of regret at its removal even though it wouldn’t suit the lifestyle Ethan planned for himself. Perhaps the lady of the manor had wanted to keep the grandeur of the old house and they’d clashed on that point, realising they’d envisaged different futures together.
Whatever…it was none of her business.
She had a job to do and she would do it to the best of her ability.
Ethan was frustrated. Almost three weeks had passed and he was getting nowhere with Daisy Donahue. What he needed was a good block of time with her—enough time to get past the business of the day and onto more promising ground.
She was gone when he arrived home after work, always leaving him a note on what had been accomplished during the day, informing him of any snags to the flow of progress and how and when they would be corrected. Each morning she arrived all fresh and perky at eight o’clock, provoking an instant rush of sexual excitement, but no matter how long he delayed his departure, she would not be diverted from talk about the job. It was as though she was obsessed with it, not the least bit interested in him as a man, quickly brushing past every attempt he made at a more personal connection.
Nevertheless, the interest was there. He felt it in the tense way she deliberately kept a physical distance between them. He saw it in an occasional flash of her eyes before her gaze quickly slid away from his. He actually sensed her inward battle to suppress it whenever she was in his company.
It was obvious that she needed to feel secure in the position of his on-site project manager, continually affirming that her salary was being earned. Having a regular income was a big issue with her and she was probably determined not to risk losing it by indulging an attraction that could rock her boat.
I don’t gamble.
Somehow that steely will had to be broken.
Or at least bent.
His way.
Daisy always rang the doorbell when she arrived at the Hunters Hill mansion each morning. Although she had a set of house keys and could have let herself in, the solid common sense of keeping everything formal between her and Ethan Cartwright stopped her from taking any kind of familiar freedom on his territory when he was at home.
He’d greeted her at the door one morning wearing only a short black silk wrap-around robe. Even though he had been decently covered, the deep V of bared chest with the sprinkle of black, curly hair and the powerful muscularity of his long legs had messed with her head for the rest of the day. No way did she want to catch him by surprise in any state of undress. The man oozed masculine sexuality. The more she saw of him, the more he rattled all her female hormones.
Even when she’d believed herself in love with Carl, he hadn’t affected her like this—such a strong physical tug that inspired lustful thoughts. Sex with Carl had been more a natural progression of romance, not some primitive form of sheer wantonness that kept pleading for connection, eroding the common sense she had to hang onto.
She knew Ethan Cartwright was too much of a high flyer to ever consider her as a possible wife. She wasn’t beautiful. She had no outstanding talent to lift her above her very ordinary background. Her circumstances were such that she was no match for him on any level, and no match meant no serious relationship.
Playing with her…that was something altogether different. She strongly suspected he enjoyed doing that already and wanted to push it further, but since Daisy couldn’t see herself becoming the main event in his life, pride wouldn’t allow her to fall into the role of a bit on the side, not even for the satisfaction of knowing what it would be like to have an intimate connection with him.
Most likely this was a case of her being on the spot and him not having chosen another sexual partner since breaking up with his fiancée. He probably viewed her as a nice little tonic for his hurt pride—a good dose and he’d feel on top of his world again. Which would make Daisy just another feather stuffed in his winner’s cap. Her self-esteem insisted she was worth more than that. She’d been used once. She wasn’t going to be used again. Despite the fact that Ethan Cartwright left Carl for dead in the attraction stakes.
As she rang the doorbell on Thursday morning of the third week of working for him, Daisy was thinking she had to find a new job. Fast. With a boss who didn’t agitate her so physically and make her dream impossible dreams.
The door opened and she was confronted by another strong blast of sex appeal, though at least it was encased—enhanced?—by a superbly tailored business suit. ‘Ah, Daisy!’ Ethan Cartwright rolled out in his rich voice. ‘I have a special task for you today.’
The twinkling anticipation in his gorgeous green eyes made her heart flutter. She had difficulty catching enough breath to produce a querying ‘Oh?’
He flashed a teasing grin. ‘You’re so good at leaving me lists of things to note, I thought you’d appreciate getting a list from me. It’s in the kitchen. Come on in.’
He set off down the hallway and she followed him at a safe distance, fiercely telling herself not to get besotted by a silly grin. Despite this stern resolve, her stomach was mush and her pulse was pounding at her temples so distractingly her mind barely registered the words he tossed back at her.
‘You know the tennis court people and the guys who’ve done such a great job with the swimming pool…’ he cast a sparkling glance back at her ‘…with your eagle eye upon them will all be finishing up tomorrow.’
She nodded.
‘Well, I thought I’d give them a barbecue lunch in appreciation of the fine work they’ve done,’ he continued cheerfully. ‘Send them off with good feelings so they’ll be happy to return if any problem arises.’
‘You want me to do it?’ Daisy asked, not expecting him to be on hand during the day.
‘No. I want you to shop for it today and help me with the preparation tomorrow morning. I’ll do the cooking.’
Surprise tripped her into saying, ‘You’re going to feed a group of tradesmen yourself?’
He paused at the kitchen doorway, shooting her a quizzical look. ‘Why not?’
She almost bumped into him. Heat flooded into her cheeks as she reared back a step, wishing she could evade the riveting intensity of his eyes, but determined not to appear even more disturbed by him than she had already revealed. Since it was impossible to voice her assumption that he wouldn’t mix socially with ordinary people when he obviously planned to, she had to come up with something else.