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.
He cocked his head. “I insist I repay the favor. What would you say to me supplying dinner for a change?”
Her eyes narrowed almost playfully as she stuffed the last article, a hairbrush, into her bag. “I didn’t think you could cook.”
“I can’t. But I know a few chefs who can.”
Her expression froze as a pulse beat high in her throat. She took a moment to speak. “You want to take me to dinner? But I’m your housekeeper.”
“Only for another three weeks.” But he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. “It’s just a small show of appreciation for your efforts in the past, as well as for staying on longer than you’d intended.”
It wasn’t a date. Truth was he hadn’t had a real date in a while. He didn’t count the run of women he’d asked out once or twice to see if the chemistry worked.
He was thirty-two—time to find a wife and have that family. But with each passing birthday more and more he realized he preferred the old-fashioned type, and the women in his circle were either sickeningly simpering, over-opinionated or flat-out treacherous, as Bindy Rufus had been.
Ella crossed to the pot to make coffee—strong and fresh, just the way he liked it. Head bowed, she curled wet hair behind her ear and answered his question. “I don’t think going out to dinner would be…appropri-ate.”
“Then you need to think again.” When he made up his mind, no one and nothing dissuaded him. Neverthe-less, he put a smile into his voice. “Today’s a day to kick off your shoes and let go, remember?’
She chewed her lower lip then, looking up at him, slowly grinned. “I guess it is.”
Ignoring the embers that innocent smile stirred in the pit of his stomach, he headed for his study. “We’ll make it tomorrow night.”
He smacked his forehead and turned back. Where was his mind today?
“Ella, is my tux back from the cleaners? I have an event tonight.”
“It’s hanging in your wardrobe.”
She paled and he read her thoughts as clearly as this morning’s newspaper. The wardrobe where I saw you without a stitch on last week.
But that was all behind them.
He stole a last look at those legs.
At least he thought it was.
Chapter Two
Finished applying her new lip gloss, Ella examined her reflection in the bedroom mirror and let out a sigh.
Life truly could turn on a pin. Only eight months ago she’d buried the poor wasted body of her mother, Roslyn Jacob, who’d finally succumbed to cancer. Later that same day, a man she would revile until the end of time had paid her a visit. A man Ella hoped she would never see again.
She’d first met Drago Scarpini some weeks before the death of her mother. He’d claimed to be her half brother, conceived out of wedlock by Ella’s father before he’d married her mother.
Scarpini’s own mother, an Italian who’d immigrated to Western Australia many years before, had recently passed away. On her deathbed she’d revealed the name of her son’s father, Vance
