Robyn Grady - Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction - Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction

Tristan slid his hands into his trouser pockets. So Ella had come into an inheritance. Odd, but he’d never thought of her with parents. She’d seemed such a blank sheet. He hadn’t known her business and she didn’t ask about his. Not that there was much happening in his personal life these days.

He stood aside as she entered the kitchen through the still open door. “I’m sorry about your mother’s pass-ing,” he offered.

Her step hesitated as she gave him a look he couldn’t read. “She died eight months ago, just before I came to work for you.”

As she moved into the kitchen, it struck him again that he knew nothing of his housekeeper’s background. She’d shown up on his doorstep, explaining that she’d heard of the job opening. She hadn’t presented refer-ences, which he usually would insist upon. But he’d taken her on, mainly because of a gut feeling that she would fit. Her reserved demeanor, her unassuming ap-pearance, the way she’d quietly but succinctly re-sponded to his questions—she’d simply felt… right.

As a rule he thought through every detail of a decision. He hated making a mistake. Growing up, his two brothers had called him Mastermind and had ribbed him constantly about his meticulous ways. Those days seemed so long ago. Although his younger brother hadn’t visited this house in a long time, he and Josh kept in touch. However, he hadn’t spoken to his older brother, Cade, in years. Never planned to again.

Ella made her way to the cushioned window seat and, wincing, sat.

He followed and indicated her ankle. “Mind if I have a look?” He’d been a lifeguard in his teens and early twenties and knew first aid. It could do more harm than good limping around when a joint needed rest.

She gave a reluctant nod and he dropped onto his haunches.

“The bruise is fading,” she told him as he carefully turned the one-hundred-percent feminine ankle this way then that. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Have you had it seen to?”

“No need. It’s happened before, since as far back as junior high when I ran cross-country. I wear an ankle support and try not to overdo it, but I can’t give up running. It’s always been my release.”

Well, this was the most information of a personal nature she’d ever offered. Was it because she was leaving? Because she was finally free and out of that drab past-the-knees dress that usually hid those hon-eyed shins. Shins that must feel as smooth as they looked.

When his fingertips tingled to inch higher, he bit down the urge, lowered her foot and pushed from his knees to stand.

Focus, Mastermind.

This was no time to slip up, even if Ella’s transfor-mation was one hellova jolt, as was her resignation. He’d gotten used to her living here. Where would she be bunking down two weeks from now?

“Have you arranged somewhere to live?” he asked.

Her blue eyes sparkled up at him. “I want to buy in an affordable neighborhood and rent something in the meantime.”

Although he nodded sagely, it was almost painful to think of not coming home to her. Despite checking her references, the housekeeper before Ella had been less than satisfactory—scorched shirts, mediocre meals. Ultimately, he’d had to let her go. Perhaps that’s why he’d gone with gut rather than referees in Ella’s case.

And with Ella taking care of his domestic front, all had been as it should be. She knew exactly the right amount of ice to mix with his predinner Scotch. His sheets had never smelled better, of lavender and fresh sunshine. He trusted her, too, never needing to worry that some valuable item might go missing.

Damn.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Two weeks, huh?”

Her smile was wry. “This is a luxurious setting with wonderful conditions. I doubt you’ll have any trouble filling my spot.”

“None who can cook like you.”

Her head slanted at an amused angle as her eyes sparkled more. “Thank you. But my cooking’s really nothing special.”

Said who? He could practically smell her mouth-watering beef Wellington now. He particularly liked the way she distributed gravy—from a delicate, gold-rimmed pourer at the table, and only over the meat, never the vegetables. She always asked if there was anything else he’d like.

He’d always said no.

Tristan’s stomach knotted and he cleared his throat.

Hunger pains. He should’ve eaten on the plane.

He moved to his briefcase, which he’d left on the counter beside her upended handbag. “Whatever you do, however you do it, I’ve only ever received 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.