My Beautiful Public Wife

“It’s Friday night,” she reminded him. “Wouldn’t all t

who wouldn’t find a table for me,”

head, promoting the urge to be reckless. “All rig

rangements, pretending it was irrelevant to her whether or not he secured a table for the promised

ouldn’t

PTE

chair to grin at Ivy. ‘He’s just ordered the sticky date and ginger fudge with the three dozen red roses to go to hi

y had met him once, very briefly at her mother’s last gallery exhibition of her paintings. That had been two years

ialites who attended such events. For some perverse reason Jordan Powell had asked to be introduced to her, which

hionable crowd. The encounter was very minimal. The gorgeous model hugging his arm quickly

stand

elf would have been

dark-and-handsome mould, charming voice and manner with a strikingly sensual mouth that had worn a teasing quirk of amus

eather enjoyed keeping tabs on his affairs. Jordan Powell wa

h the roses so that meant he wanted her to lighten up and just have fun. She probably didn’t get the message, hence

now that, Heather,’

ouble chocolate fudge when he first sends roses to

uttered, thinking most women would willingly fal

or a little while,’ she explained. ‘Which is when he sends the roses with the macadamia fudge, mean

easy conquest,

eed. ‘And that was…almost three months

uck with any wo

been the top limit so far, and that was o

onversation which touched on sore points from her mother’s most recent telephone call. Another gallery exhibition. Another shot of advice to sell t

lives, with Ivy being brought up by her father on the farm, while her mother indulged her need for cultural activities in the city. Horticulture was of no intere

ching her everything about it. It was a good life, giving a sense of satisfaction and achievement. The only thing missing from it was a man she

n at your mother’s exhibition! And he’ll be free this

p on his own,’ Ivy shot back at her, instantly

n his head if you hung out your hair and dolled yourself up. How often do your see that glorious s

one moment Jordan Powell would be interested in a country farm girl? Or for t

nger side of it behind her ear as she invariably did before getting down to business. She was brilliant at her job, a warm friendly person by nature, and although she was two years old

n someone to help manage the office work was most needed. It had been a very stressful time after her father had been diagnosed with inoperable cancer. Even knowing his illness was terminal she ha

w experience and it could be good for you, too, Ivy,

n if I did catch his eye, I don’t think I’d like the downer tha

a man for over two. Here you are, wasting your prime in work, and if you vegetate too long, you’ll forget how to kick up your heels. I bet Jordan Powell could give you

e gallery.’ She shrugged. ‘As for the rest, I have been thinking of taking a trip somewhere now that everything

ntly, leaping to her feet. ‘Have yo

e pape

hing for you. Wai

he Sunday Sun-Herald down on Ivy’s desk. It was already opene

aking a vacation, not cl

in her waist, a pink sequinned mini-skirt, and high-heeled black platform shoes with pink and yellow and green bits attached

irt with my carrot hair

lliant on you, Ivy. You’re tall enough and slim enough to carry it off.’ She pointed again. ‘And look at these long jet earrings. They’d be fabulous swinging in front o

re else in the future. Such clothes simply weren’t worn around here. The farm was a hundred kilometres south of Sydney, situated in a valle

e’s Day sales. Even if it’s only a one-off occasion for this gear, why not? Didn’t y

reminder. ‘So I’d fi

ock it to her. And sock it to Jo

oth counts it was

ike a trendy siren. It might even silence the barrage of critical advi

be there, but…it would be fun to see if she could attract the sexies

n buy all this stuff,’ she tossed at Heather, feeling a bubbly sense of throw

abbed the magazine and danced back to her chair,

fast as possible so she had enough time to practise walking in those crazy shoes. The exhibition opening was