Bedroom Bargains of Revenge: Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure / Bedded and Wedded for Revenge / The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge
He’d like to have her in his bed.
Maybe he’d get her there … one way or another.
The idea had huge appeal, for many reasons.
Sally didn’t hear much of the funeral service. Her mind kept circling around Jack Maguire’s presence. What did it mean? Had he simply come to see his father buried, taking some dark satisfaction in publicly claiming the relationship that had never been acknowledged to his satisfaction in life, putting any hope of it to bed, once and for all? A funeral was about finality, letting go.
Her mother’s hands were not folded neatly on her lap. They were tightly clenched. No way would she make a public scene about Jack Maguire’s effrontery in doing what he’d done here in the cathedral, but she was fuming over it. No doubt she’d throw one of her vicious tantrums when they got home. It invariably happened when things didn’t go to plan. Everything always had to be picture perfect for her mother, and Jack Maguire was a huge black blot on this landscape.
Blackjack … darkening other people’s dreams.
He’d darkened hers, many a time. She’d never been able to forget him. The knowledge that he was out there somewhere, not getting what she got from her father, always ate at her comfort zone about accepting all she did from her parents.
He was not out there today.
He was right here.
Assaulting everyone’s comfort zone.
Hymns were sung, prayers recited, eulogies given, the service proceeding as planned, until it was time for them to stand and follow the coffin as it was wheeled out of the cathedral. Her mother stepped out of the pew first. Sally and Jane were supposed to flank her for the walk down the aisle. Before they could take their places, Jack Maguire moved out from his pew, positioning himself beside his father’s widow, leaving them no option but to pair up behind them.
For several tense moments—Sally thought her mother might explode at this spoiling intrusion—Lady Ellen stood rigidly still. Jane felt the danger, too, instinctively grabbing Sally’s hand for sisterly support. She had always been timid, too scared of horses to ever try riding, and too easily browbeaten by their mother who could be truly scary when she flew out of control. Which didn’t happen often. It had never happened in front of their father. But if things didn’t go as she planned, as she expected.
Lady Ellen started walking, head held high, determinedly ignoring the man accompanying her. Both Sally and Jane breathed a sigh of relief and followed, keeping pace with the lead couple. Not that they were a couple, Sally thought, not by any stretch of imagination. Her mother and Jack Maguire were two separate units, and the sense they were heading towards a nasty collision had her own nerves twitching and her heart at a gallop.
She studied the back of Jack Maguire’s head, fiercely wishing she could see into the workings of his brain. He had pulled back from making trouble ten years ago and kept away from the family, but whatever embargo he must have accepted during that time had obviously been lifted by his father’s death. Sally could almost smell trouble in the air, positively sulphurous now for having been held back for so long.
They moved beyond the last pew, beyond ears that might hear.
“Didn’t you get my letter, telling you not to come to the funeral?” her mother sliced at Jack Maguire in a low, venomous tone.
“Did you really expect me to respect your wishes, Lady Ellen?” he drawled sotto voce, the words dripping with derision.
“Your father wouldn’t have wanted it.”
“My father is beyond speaking for himself.”
“He didn’t want you with him all these years.”
“On the contrary, we lunched regularly together. You were kept out of our relationship.”
Sally tensed, her mind bombarded by one shock after another, and nervously aware that her mother’s supposedly unassailable stance had just been seriously undermined. How would she react to this claim?
“I don’t believe you.” Flat denial.
“Ask his secretary. She made the appointments,” came the mocking reply. “Or any one of his executive staff, all of whom are well aware of the connection.”
It certainly answered why the seat in the front pew had been vacant for him! Besides, he spoke with such confidence, Sally could not disbelieve him. And, in her heart of hearts, she was glad he had managed to strike up a relationship with his father, even if it did make her mother furious. All these years of having been shut out from the family had not been right.
They emerged from the cathedral. The funeral attendants lifted the coffin from the trolley to carry it down the steps to the waiting hearse. During the pause while this procedure got underway, they stood in silence, the heat of the midsummer afternoon beating down on them.
Sally wondered what was steaming through her mother’s mind. The loss of authority would certainly make her burn, yet she should concede Jack Maguire’s right to be here. It was the gracious thing to do. Besides, she couldn’t make him go away. This man was not about to bend to her will. He was not of the same breed as the highly civilised, born-to-wealth bachelors her mother kept pushing at her and Jane; more a dark, dangerous animal, primed to pounce.
A little shiver ran down her spine.
Fear or excitement?
She wasn’t sure.
Would he speak to her when they moved down to stand behind the hearse? She wanted him to. She wanted a connection with him. Though that was an unlikely outcome, given the circumstances.
Obviously he had conceded to his father’s wish to keep the family separated during his lifetime, and although that time was now gone, Jack Maguire had no reason to care about the feelings of people who’d never shown any caring for his. Writing him a letter to say he wasn’t welcome at his own father’s funeral must have been like a red rag to a bull.
“Please have the decency to leave,” her mother hissed at him.
“I think the more decent thing is for me to be here, Lady Ellen,” he coolly replied.
“You don’t belong with us.” Spoken more vehemently as the funeral attendants moved beyond close earshot.
“True. But today belongs to my father,” he retorted pointedly. “Not you and your daughters.”
“We had more of him than you did,” she shot back in a flare of temper.
Sally caught a glimpse of icy contempt on his face as he replied, “Well, I hope you stored up a treasure-house of memories, because that’s all the treasure you’re going to get.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He disdained an answer, moving forward to begin descending the steps to the sidewalk.
Her mother hastily followed, grabbing his arm to command his attention. “What do you mean by that?” she repeated, the urgency in her voice revealing deep concern over his last comment.
Sally didn’t understand it. Didn’t he simply mean that his father was beyond supplying any more memories?
He looked down at the hand clutching him, then directly at his antagonist, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you need my support, Lady Ellen?”
“I do not!” she snapped, instantly removing her hold, tossing her head back and marching on down the steps to the sidewalk.
Jack Maguire strolled after her, not caring about her taking the lead. As she and Jane followed, Sally couldn’t help thinking the TV cameras would use this bit of footage for a provocative piece on the widow and the son. And her mother would be furious about that, too, though it was her own fault for losing the control she’d demanded of her daughters.
The four of them stood on the sidewalk together as the coffin was loaded into the hearse and the many floral tributes were arranged around it.
“I will not have you riding in the mourning car with us,” her mother warned the man who wouldn’t go away at her command.
“I have no intention of mourning with you, Lady Ellen. I really don’t care for your company,” he stated dryly, then turned his gaze to Sally, the riveting blue eyes intent on capturing and holding her attention.
Her pulse-rate instantly zoomed. It was impossible to look away. Besides which, she didn’t want to. He was such a fascinating man, challenging, dangerous, and so good-looking her stomach was all aflutter, registering a strong sexual interest in him, which wasn’t sensible at all but well and truly activated nevertheless.
“I must say mourning becomes you, Sally,” he said with an ironic twist. “I’ve never seen any woman look quite so beautiful at a funeral.”
Heat surged through her again. No one had ever called her beautiful, and for him to do it … though more likely it was a sly hit at her mother whose beauty invariably did draw comment. For one of her daughters to be viewed as outshining her … yes, he wanted to put her mother down, every way he could.
She could have said she’d never seen any man look quite so handsome—it was the truth—but her mother would have killed her. So she remained silent, her eyes fastened helplessly on his, scarlet cheeks flagging her physical response to the compliment, despite the obvious motive behind it.
“This isn’t the time or the place for us to get re-acquainted,” he went on, addressing her, focussing on her, ignoring her mother. “Perhaps after the meeting at the solicitor’s office tomorrow.”
“You’ll … be … there?”
Sally barely got the words out as her mind tumbled over the startling news that he would be at the reading of the will, and the fact that the solicitor had insisted they come to his office suddenly took on a very ominous meaning. As did Jack’s comment to her mother about memories being the only treasure she’d be left with. Had her father handed everything over to his son?
“I will most certainly be there.” The confirmation was delivered with a cruel little smile, which stayed on his mouth as his glittering blue gaze swept around all three of them. “Until then, ladies.”
He walked away.
No, he strode away.
Like a conqueror who’d succeeded in laying waste the enemy, leaving carnage behind him.
The funeral director moved in to usher them to the car for the mourning family. The back door of the hearse had been closed. It was time to go to the cemetery.
Would he be there when they arrived?
Sally didn’t think so.
Jack Maguire had done what he’d come to do … making his presence felt as a force to be reckoned with and leaving them squirming over what might happen in the solicitor’s office tomorrow.
One weight had just been added to the lighter side of the scales.
CHAPTER TWO
ALL the way to the solicitor’s office, Sally’s mind had been hopelessly torn, her family’s needs warring against the natural justice in Jack Maguire’s right to be his father’s heir.
Her mother, of course, had been railing against the black-sheep son’s right to get anything, almost convincing herself that yesterday’s scene at the funeral had just been a brazen front, a vengeful slap in the face for denying him a place with the family. There was too much evidence of something very different, Sally thought, but she’d held her tongue, careful not to feed the rage being vented, reducing her sister to a trembling mouse.
“What will we do if he gets it all?” Jane had asked her fearfully when they’d finally escaped their mother’s tirade.
“I don’t think that will happen,” Sally had answered soothingly.
“But what if it does?”
She’d sighed. “Well, let’s face it, Jane. We’ve been very lucky to have had it good all these years. If our luck runs out, we’ll just have to take charge of our own lives instead of being looked after.”
Her sister had shaken her head hopelessly. “I’m not strong like you, Sally.”
True. Jane had spent her whole life trying to please, seeking approval, happy when she got it, crushed when she didn’t. She simply wasn’t geared to standing on her own two feet. The training, discipline and determination required to compete successfully on the showjumping circuit had put a lot of steel in Sally’s backbone. She knew she wouldn’t crumble under adversity. Unfortunately, wishing she could give Jane some of her own steel was futile. Her sister’s nature was too different … sweet, gentle and, more often than not, exasperatingly weak.
“Don’t worry, Jane. We’ve been sisters all these years. I won’t abandon you, no matter what,” she’d said, and then had to mop up a flood of grateful tears.
Abandonment had run through all of Jane’s nightmares. Sally had often wondered if it was a common fear of adopted children. She had the same insecurity, which had probably driven her to make the most of all the wonderful opportunities being in the Maguire family had brought her, never quite sure when or if they would be taken away.
There’d always seemed to be a price to be paid for being adopted … dutifully meeting her mother’s demands, doing her utmost to hold on to her father’s approval. The only unconditional love she’d ever felt was with Jane, even though they weren’t blood sisters. Should the privileges they’d been granted come to an end now … well, they’d still have each other.
They were asked to wait in the reception area until Mr. Newell’s secretary came to collect them. Her mother interpreted this as VIP service, which put her in a less fractious mood, especially when the secretary, a rather plump woman in her fifties, treated her with great deference as she escorted them into an elevator and poured out sympathy over Sir Leonard’s unexpected passing while they rode up to the right floor.
Lady Ellen was responding very graciously to the secretary who ushered them to what looked like a men’s club private meeting room. Five dark-green leather chairs were placed around an oval table of highly polished mahogany. Bookshelves full of serious leather tomes lined the walls. An elegant traymobile was set up with various refreshments.
Five chairs. Would the secretary take one of them or was the fifth chair for Jack Maguire? Had he been bluffing about being at this meeting yesterday, giving them a night of worry as a payback for the rotten feelings her mother had undoubtedly inflicted on him with her letter?
The secretary directed them to the three chairs around one end of the table and proceeded to the traymobile, asking for their preferred drinks. Sally and Jane decided on simple glasses of water but their mother went for the whole ceremonial fuss of requesting Earl Grey tea with a slice of lemon. They were all served with little plates of finger sandwiches and dainty pastries. Neither Sally nor Jane felt like eating anything but their mother suddenly found a cheerful appetite. Apparently she had decided there was no longer any cause for concern.
Satisfied with her ministering, the secretary excused herself to go and tell Mr. Newell they were waiting for him.
“Will she come back?” Jane whispered anxiously, nodding to the fifth chair.
“I don’t know,” Sally murmured, nowhere near as sure as her mother that Jack Maguire was out of the picture.
“What are you girls muttering about?” their mother demanded.
Jane instantly shrank back in her chair.
“We’re just a bit nervous about what’s going to happen next,” Sally answered.
“Obviously we are the beneficiaries of your father’s will.” Declared with confidence.
“Yes,” Sally quickly agreed. Raising doubts would instantly snap that good humour, so she kept them to herself. Better to keep quiet and simply wait, but she couldn’t help feeling tense. Until the fifth chair was occupied by someone else, the spectre of Blackjack Maguire was hanging over it, certainly darkening Jane’s dreams.
As for her own … what did she want?
The bottom-line truth was she wanted to see Jack Maguire in that chair even though it meant he was a threat to the life she’d had up until now. She wanted him to get something from his father. It would be wrong if he didn’t. But more than anything else she wanted to see him again, wanted to feel the physical thrill of his presence, wanted him to pursue an acquaintance with her as he had suggested yesterday.
It was undoubtedly sheer madness to be craving some involvement with him, given the family history. Her mother would have a fit if she knew. Jane would be frightened for her. Yet the strong tug of the man kept pulling at her mind, her heart. Her whole body buzzed with excitement at the thought of connecting with him. No one else had ever affected her like this.
Maybe it was a dark dream, better set aside.
She’d probably be wiser after this meeting.
If he came.
Her heart leapt as the door to the meeting room opened, but the man who entered was not Jack Maguire. He was tall and lean, meticulously dressed in a dark-grey suit, white shirt, dark-red and grey striped tie, the tip of a matching dark-red handkerchief peaking out of his coat pocket. Sally judged him to be in his fifties, grey hair getting sparse, making his high forehead even higher, rimless spectacles resting on a hawkish nose, narrow jaw, thin lips.
This had to be the solicitor, Victor Newell. She’d never met him but he certainly had the distinguished air of authority that went with heading one of the most reputable legal firms in Sydney—the kind of man who was accustomed to people coming to him, not the other way around.
He gestured to someone still outside in the corridor, and Sally held her breath, wanting it to be Jack Maguire, no matter what that meant.
Yes!
It was him!
A weird exultation bubbled through her.
She told herself she was glad that his father had not disowned him.
But the truth was far more personal than that.
He was here, in the same room as herself, and there was a chance that something might happen between them.
The moment of truth, Jack thought sardonically, stepping inside and sweeping his gaze around the three women, waiting for the reading of the will.
Lady Ellen had lightened her funeral garb this morning. Her black hat had a white edging around the rim, matching the white edging around the lapels of her suit coat—the stylish grande dame. Her eyes flared hatred and her mouth compressed to an unattractive thin line when she saw him.
Jack smiled.
Sally wasn’t wearing a hat, her glorious red-gold curls tumbling free, and Jack instantly envisaged them spread in disarray across a pillow. She wore a sage-green linen shirtmaker dress, very prim and proper for this occasion, though the button-through style was quite provocative since he instantly started imagining undoing all her buttons. The colour matched her eyes, which were pinned on him with guarded interest. No thinning of those lush lips. He wondered how she’d respond if he crushed them with his own.
The younger sister looked about to faint with fright, staring at him as though he was the devil himself, complete with horns and pitchfork. Her lips were parted, gasping in air. She wore a beige outfit—no hat—and with her brown hair and brown eyes, seemed totally colourless next to Sally. Jack had the impression Jane wished she could disappear. He actually felt a stab of sympathy for her. Which was absurd. She’d had a good twenty-one years with the Maguire wealth.
“Good morning, all,” he said cheerfully, strolling around the table to the chair facing the two sisters.
Sally was the only one who returned the greeting, and promptly flushed when she realised she was on her own in acknowledging his presence. But she didn’t shoot an apologetic look at her mother. Her gaze remained fixed on him, a rebellious glint in her eyes.
Excitement fizzed through Jack. She had fire. And backbone. A mind of her own. The idea of pursuing a connection with her grew stronger legs. It had been circling around in his mind since yesterday’s funeral service. As perverse as it was of him to find Sally Maguire so desirable, there was no denying the sexual chemistry she’d stirred. He’d wondered if it was because of who she was—forbidden territory. It certainly added a piquancy to the attraction. But right now it was pure gut stuff. Everything about her appealed.
He knew this morning’s meeting could very well turn him into a hated antagonist in her mind. Any normal man-woman approach to her would be wiped out. But that only made the situation between them even more interesting, challenging, exciting. He needed to get into her mind, find out what was important to her, play on it.
Victor Newell made a little ceremony of greeting each one of them before taking the chair at the head of the table, directly facing Lady Ellen, who obviously took this to mean she was the major player in the will, throwing Jack a snooty, condescending look as though she imagined he was here for a few insignificant crumbs.
The solicitor leaned forward with an earnest air, his hands linked over the manila folder which contained Sir Leonard Maguire’s last will and testament. He addressed Lady Ellen.
“Please accept my sympathy over Sir Leonard’s passing. I know he expected to live for many more years. It is most unfortunate that his time was cut short.”
She nodded with sombre dignity.
Victor sighed and opened the folder. “This will was made and signed a year ago. It’s very simple. There are only two beneficiaries. It reads … to my son, Jack Ryan Maguire, I give one dollar …”
“One dollar!” A wild peal of laughter erupted from Lady Ellen’s throat. Her eyes danced malicious triumph at Jack. “How brilliant of Leonard! You can’t contest his will since he’s put you in it.”
“I have no intention of contesting it, Lady Ellen,” he returned carelessly, his gaze shifting to Sally to catch her reaction.
She looked embarrassed, pained by her mother’s gloating. Her eyes flashed dismay at him before her lashes lowered, hiding her feelings. But they’d already been clear enough to Jack. She cared that he was apparently getting next to nothing from his father. A soft heart, not a greedy one. It made her even more appealing. And gave him another weapon to use in winning her over to what he wanted.
The muscles around his groin tightened.
He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman so much.
One way or another he was going to have Sally Maguire.
Every part of her.
Victor Newell cleared his throat with a come-to-attention cough and continued reading the will. “Contingent upon my wife, Ellen Mary Maguire surviving me by thirty days, I give her the remainder of my estate absolutely, and if she does not survive me by thirty days, I give the remainder of my estate in equal shares as tenants in common to my daughters, Sally Ann Maguire and Jane Therese Maguire.”
He closed the folder and linked his hands across it, having completed the task of reading the legal document. A grimace of distaste preceded his next words. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lady Ellen, but I now have the onus of explaining to you that Sir Leonard’s estate does not encompass a great deal.”
The smug satisfaction on her face wavered. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply.
Jack focussed his attention on her. This was the pay line. This was why he’d stipulated that his father leave him a dollar, giving him the right to be here, to watch this woman get her comeuppance. She wouldn’t be walking away with nothing, as his mother had, but her greedy heart was about to bleed. Not fatally. Just enough to balance the scales she had loaded against Jack all these years.
Victor Newell got straight to the point. “When Sir Leonard made this will a year ago, he was faced with bankruptcy and being charged with fraud.”
“What?” The word exploded from Lady Ellen, shock followed by a gabble of disbelief. “He would have told me if he was in so much trouble.”
“I’m sorry that he withheld this information from you,” Victor said sympathetically. “Nevertheless, it is true. In building his transport empire, Sir Leonard was in the habit of skating close to the wind in regard to the law. He took risks, and eventually those risks caught up with him. He overextended with the airline, and everything was about to crash around him.”