Australia: In Bed with the Playboy: Hidden Mistress, Public Wife / The Secret Mistress / Claiming His Mistress

He was grateful for her quick understanding. No selfishness, no sulky pouts at being put aside for a while, just a fair assessment of the situation and a reasonable reaction to it. He liked her all the more for it. He hoped she spoke the truth about not being a Cinderella.

They found Margaret in the kitchen. As usual, she had anticipated what would be needed and already had the coffee brewing. Margaret was no fool. She was always aware of everything in this household. Regardless of her former reservations about his pursuit of Ivy, she welcomed her with a smile and instantly offered to take care of her needs, too. The Saturday newspaper was spread out on the island bench, the travel section uppermost, and Ivy slid straight onto a stool, obviously prepared to wait for him and acquaint herself with his housekeeper.

Feeling sure that this issue was settled, Jordan switched his mind to dealing with Olivia and her problem. She was pacing around the lounge in nervous agitation—thankfully without a glass in her hand—when he took in the coffee, advising her to sit down, sip it and compose herself.

He waited until she did so, quelling his own impatience to get on with it, knowing that calm, cool deliberation had to be brought to damage control. He seated himself on the armchair adjacent to the sofa where Olivia had flung herself and thought about how to counter a blackmail threat until his sister could not contain herself any longer.

Having taken one sip of coffee, she threw a look of angst at him and blurted out, ‘He’s got a video of me having sex with him and he’s going to post it on the Internet if I don’t pay up.’

‘Did you agree to the video or did he film it without your permission?’

Her gaze dropped. She plucked at her trousers. ‘I…uh…thought it was fun at the time. Something…intimate…to watch together.’

Jordan shook his head. How many girls and women fell into that trap, letting their boyfriends take naked shots of them, only to find the photographs were not kept private—were posted on the Internet or flashed around on mobile phones? It was rotten behaviour by the guys, but with today’s technology at everyone’s fingertips, the women should wise up to the risk of being put out there.

‘It’s happening all the time, Olivia,’ he said, exasperated by her foolishness. ‘Why not tell him to publish and be damned? There’s nothing shameful about having sex with your husband.’

‘But anyone can look at it,’ she cried, appalled at his solution. ‘It’s humiliating, Jordan. I can’t bear the idea of lots of people having a peepshow of me.’

‘You’ve got a great body. You don’t mind showing it off. You won’t be the first heiress who’s had to weather baring all on the Internet,’ he said dismissively. And just maybe she’d be wiser next time around.

She grimaced and muttered, ‘It’s not just that.’

‘Then stop pussyfooting around and give me the real dirt, Olivia.’

She erupted from the sofa, throwing up her hands, flouncing around to avoid looking at him. ‘I was out of my mind. Ashton had a friend there, another gorgeous hunk. We were snorting cocaine, high as kites. Anyhow, it got to be a threesome. That’s what he’s got on the video.’

‘All of it? The cocaine, as well?’

‘Yes,’ she hissed at him, eyes blazing hatred at having to confess her own sins.

‘Are you in the habit of doing coke, Olivia?’

She stamped her foot at his inquisition. ‘Everybody does at parties. You know they do,’ she shouted at him.

He stared back at her in silent, burning reproof. Many did, but he didn’t and she knew it. Apart from alcohol in moderation he never touched recreational drugs and he didn’t want to see his sister take the downward spiral that so commonly ended in depression and disaster.

‘I didn’t do it much until Ashton started getting regular supplies,’ she said, trying to mitigate her usage.

Possibly it was true. It would obviously serve Ashton’s purpose to get Olivia hooked. ‘Okay,’ he said calmly. ‘I have the picture now. Sit down while I think about how to get you out of this mess.’

Relieved that she had finally loaded it off onto his shoulders, she dropped onto the sofa and resumed sipping coffee while darting anxious little glances at him.

Jordan mentally plotted the moves that had to be made. Call his lawyer to enquire about all the legal angles. Call his security guy. Olivia would have to be wired and rehearsed into how to get Ashton’s blackmail threat on tape. Once he could be threatened with criminal prosecution, Jordan was fairly sure a reasonable settlement could be reached. Pretty-boy Ashton wouldn’t enjoy a spell in jail. Olivia had to get stone-cold sober and stay sober until the situation was resolved, and then agree to a month in a rehabilitation centre.

He took out his mobile phone and called his mother. Fortunately she was home and, having been apprised of the problem, agreed to look after Olivia and ensure she was sober for a management meeting tomorrow morning. That gave him the rest of today and tonight with Ivy before he had to act for his sister who certainly deserved to stew overnight for being so damned stupid and careless.

He then called Ray to get the Bentley out to drive Olivia to his mother’s Palm Beach residence. He would drive the Porsche there himself in the morning. Having dumped her problem in her brother’s hands and now sure he would fix it for her, Olivia meekly followed his orders.

Jordan silently determined she would follow a few more in the very near future, like getting her head together enough to make sensible decisions and not take mind-blurring drugs.

It was all so bloody nasty, he thought, as he saw Olivia off in the Bentley. At least taking care of it could wait until tomorrow. Ashton was not about to go anywhere, not until he had milked the golden goose for all he could get.

And Ivy was waiting for him.

Ivy, who’d told him repeatedly she wouldn’t fit into his social world: the parties, the gossip, the competitive status thing with its bitchiness and back-biting, the high-flying celebrities who did dabble in cocaine or ecstacy or marijuana for their sensory hits. Part of his mind stood back from it all, like a spectator rather than a participant. But if he took Ivy into it…

No, she didn’t fit.

He didn’t want her to fit.

It was the difference in her that he found so beguiling.

Somehow he had to keep her out of it, yet keep her in his life.

And his bed.

Determined on making that happen, Jordan headed back into the house, the adrenaline surge of desire kicking in as he went to collect the woman he wanted.

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_883461cb-4f80-5592-a249-303ee935a352)

IVY found Margaret surprisingly easy to be with. Aware that the housekeeper had to be curious about the decisions she’d come to in regard to a relationship with Jordan, she’d told her straight out that she owned the rose farm he used for gifts to his girlfriends and hadn’t thought the attraction was worth pursuing, given her inside knowledge of his track record with roses.

‘Good Heavens! And he kept sending them to your mother!’ had been her stunned reaction.

‘Yes, it was great for business, but I had to stop it.’

Margaret had burst into laughter, vastly amused by the piquancy of the situation, her eyes twinkling merrily as she’d commented, ‘So you’re giving him a chance.’

‘I do like him.’ Not to mention wanting him so intensely it was almost frightening, which the housekeeper probably realised anyway. Ivy couldn’t imagine any woman not wanting to experience Jordan Powell in bed. It was his world, not his bed that was the problem.

‘Yes, he’s very likeable,’ Margaret had replied with a fondly indulgent smile. ‘I wouldn’t work for him if he wasn’t.’

This recommendation of Jordan’s character from an employee’s point of view, added to the masterly way he had handled the scene with his sister, had assured Ivy she wasn’t making too big a mistake in getting more involved with him, even if it proved to be a brief affair in the end. Besides, maybe his previous affairs had been littered with fortune-hunters and she wasn’t one. That might make some difference.

Margaret had produced a platter of nibbles, suggesting it might tide Ivy over until Jordan had finished with his sister and they could then have lunch together. The brie cheese and dates, little balls of fresh melon wrapped in prosciutto ham, marinated sun-dried tomatoes and olives were all very tempting and without any electric sexual tension knotting her stomach, Ivy suddenly found an appetite.

While picking at the platter, she’d asked Margaret what kind of tours she was interested in since the newspaper was open at the travel section. It turned out that the housekeeper had ‘done’ most of Europe, saving up all year for an annual trip overseas. The Americas were next on her list, specifically California and Mexico.

‘I’ve never travelled anywhere,’ Ivy had confessed. ‘Friends of mine were raving about a cruise down the Rhine, and I thought I might try that next year.’

‘Why not this year?’

Her heart instantly leapt at Jordan’s voice and started banging around her chest as he strode into the kitchen, his face animated with interest. Whatever had transpired with his sister was obviously not lingering in his mind. The blue eyes twinkled with happy speculation as he pursued his point.

‘I think they start running those cruises in May. It’s only March now. In two months’ time, we could be sailing down the Rhine together, Ivy. I’d love to share that part of Europe with you.’ He stopped at the island bench, picked a melon ball off the platter, popped it into his mouth, raised his eyebrows at her stunned reaction to his enthusiastic suggestion as he ate the fruit, then asked, ‘Can you get away from the farm to do it with me?’

He helped himself to some cheese, slicing up a date to accompany it while Ivy tried to catch her breath. Her mind spun around his extraordinary offer. She could imagine a billionaire on a super-luxury cruise ship like the Queen Elizabeth II, or a magnificent chartered yacht, but…‘Is it your kind of thing? I mean…travelling with ordinary tourists?’