having the money or the time it took to melt them.
If he wanted to know his cleaner better—and his body kept screaming at him that he did—Jack would have to be super-patient. And super-subtle.
‘OK,’ he said with a nonchalant shrug. ‘Tell me what else you’ve got left to do. It can’t be the kitchen. I’ve just been through there and it positively gleamed at me.’
His compliment surprised Lisa. As did his change in manner. Where had the grumpy guy gone who’d answered the phone last night? And who’d let her in this morning?
Finishing his book had certainly changed his personality.
But Lisa could understand that. When she finished a job, she often experienced a rush of warmth and well-being.
Cleaning the kitchen in this penthouse had brought considerable satisfaction. But then, what a magnificent kitchen it was! Lisa had never seen anything like it before. The bench tops were made of cream marble. The cupboards, a light warm wood. The appliances, stainless steel.
It had been such a pleasure to clean. As had the rest of the penthouse. But she hadn’t finished yet.
‘I have to iron these towels and put them away,’ she said. ‘And I haven’t washed any of the tiles yet.’
‘Aah yes, the dreaded tiles. What say you leave them and tackle my study instead?’
Lisa stared down at the tiles around her. They really needed doing. She would not feel right leaving them undone. Neither did she want to come back tomorrow morning. There was something about Jack Cassidy which still perturbed her. She wasn’t sure what.
‘If I hurry, I should be able to do everything,’ she said. ‘It’s only ten past one.’
Jack could not believe it when she set to work at a speed which made his head spin. This girl was a cleaner to beat all cleaners. Focused, and very fast. By ten to two, all the tiled floors were shining and she bustled off in the direction of his study, vacuum cleaner and feather duster in hand.
There hadn’t been a single opportunity to chat her up in any way. It was work, work and more work. His chances of asking her to come to the dinner with him tomorrow night were fast running out. On top of that, Jack wasn’t sure she’d say yes, anyway. Not once today had she looked at him with any interest, which was highly unusual. Most women found him attractive.
Maybe she had a boyfriend. Or maybe he just wasn’t her type.
This last thought rankled. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. If she didn’t fancy him, she didn’t fancy him.
Shaking his head, Jack brewed 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