The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress(7)

Ethan felt it again, his whole body tingling from a blast of electric energy. He turned his head, his gaze instinctively homing in on the source—Daisy Donahue, her eyes blazing at him with feral animosity, stirring the urge to do battle with her, catch her, cage her until she was tamed to his satisfaction. The weird, exciting thoughts raced through his mind, swiftly followed by Mickey’s catch-cry—seize the day.

He’d looked for her without success when he’d reentered the marquee after the race. Now here she was a few metres away, within easy reach, the challenge she threw out drawing him like a magnet. He automatically started to move towards her, their eyes locked in a duel of sizzling passion.

‘Ethan?’

The full-of-herself model he’d been talking to was calling him back. He’d forgotten his manners. ‘Please excuse me, Talia,’ he swiftly tossed back at her. ‘Someone I have to see.’

In that brief moment of disengagement with Daisy she’d taken flight, dodging behind groups of people, apparently intent on hiding from him. It spurred Ethan on to catch up with her, force a face-to-face confrontation. He sliced through the throng, his interest aroused to an intensity that surprised him, his heart beating like a battle drum as he intercepted her attempted escape, making it impossible for her not to acknowledge him.

‘Hello, again,’ he said, revelling in the flush of angry frustration that flooded into her cheeks, giving her pale, flawless skin a peaches-and-cream vivacity, making the eyes that warred with his in flaming fury even brighter.

His abrupt appearance in front of her had shocked her into stillness, but it was the stillness of a tightly coiled spring, nerves twanging at the suppression of movement away from him. Her chin jerked up belligerently. The brown pill-box hat slid slightly from its perch on top of her head. He barely restrained himself from reaching up and straightening it for her. He wanted contact—intimate contact—with this woman.

‘Mr Cartwright…’ she bit out, obviously hating being trapped into this encounter.

He smiled, intent on pouring soothing balm over whatever was making her bristle in his presence. ‘Let’s make that Ethan.’

She sucked in a quick breath, her eyes flaring a denial of any familiarity between them. ‘Congratulations on your win,’ she said tersely. ‘I didn’t place a bet on your horse. As I told you before, I don’t gamble, so there’s nothing more to say, is there? We have nothing in common.’

Ethan was not about to let his feet be cut out from under him before he’d even started to make inroads on getting to know her. He turned his smile into an ironic grimace. ‘I need some assistance.’

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, offering him no encouragement to spell it out.

‘That is your job, isn’t it? Assisting any of the guests here who have a problem?’ he pushed.

‘What is your problem, Mr Cartwright?’ she demanded, her eyes glinting open scepticism.

‘You are, Daisy Donahue.’

She frowned, her certainty that he had no problem shifting into a flicker of fear. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I have the curious sensation that you’re shooting mental bullets at me all the time. I’d like you to tell me why.’

For a moment her face went totally blank, as though a switch had been thrown and defensive shutters had instantly clicked into place. He watched her labouring to construct an apologetic expression—a sheer act of will, against her natural grain. Her eyes took on a pleading look, begging his forgiveness. Her mouth softened into an appealing little smile. She spoke in a tone that mocked herself.

‘I’ve just had to deal with some trouble in the catering tent and it may cause more trouble. I’m sorry if I’ve channelled my own angst onto you, Mr Cartwright. I didn’t mean to attract your attention. In fact, you’ll be doing me a great favour if you’ll walk away from me right now. My boss won’t like it if she sees you talking to me.’

‘Surely as a guest I’m entitled to speak to whomever I like,’ he argued.

‘I’m not a guest and I’m taking up your time—time Miss Twiggley would prefer you to spend with her,’ she said pointedly.

‘I’ve said all I intend to say to Lynda Twiggley.’

‘That’s not my business. If I don’t stay clear of you, my job might very well be at risk. So please excuse me, Mr Cartwright.’

‘Be damned if I will!’ Frustration fumed through him. His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm as she turned away to escape him again. ‘This isn’t the Dark Ages!’ he shot out before she could voice a protest.