Bedroom Bargains of Revenge: Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure / Bedded and Wedded for Revenge / The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge
Jeanette had met her at the front door and directed her into the main lounge room where several valuable vases had been smashed on the parquet floor. Her mother had been pacing back and forth in front of the great sandstone fireplace, downing a scotch on the rocks while haranguing Jane, who was cowered in the corner of one of the three matching leather chesterfields. The tirade had been instantly re-aimed at Sally, a disloyal bitch for kowtowing to her father’s killer. Then had come the derisive demand to know what she’d got out of it.
Sally had moved in to stand beside where her sister sat, laying a comforting hand on Jane’s stiffly hunched shoulder, then, in as calm a voice as she could muster, laid out the terms of the contract she had signed, expecting another burst of outrage at her perfidy in taking on what should remain in her mother’s hands. Yet her announcement had not provoked more fury. Her mother had gone completely still, her eyes narrowing to thoughtful slits, her mouth slowly thinning into a smug little smile.
“You’ve got him!” she’d said maliciously, then broke into a peal of laughter that was somehow more chilling than any vicious words she might have spoken.
“Men!” she’d crowed. “No matter how clever they are, the brain below their belts is their weak point. Jack Maguire gave himself away at the funeral service yesterday, saying you were beautiful. He’s using this contract to set you up as his mistress, his grateful little mistress who’ll do anything he wants to keep her horses. The trick is to do precisely that—give him whatever sex he likes, make it so good he’ll keep coming back, ensuring you have enough time with him to get yourself pregnant. Have his child and you can take him for a damned good slice of his billions! Tit for tat!”
Sally could only stare at her mother, totally rocked by this view of what she should do. Having sex for money was heart-shrivelling enough. Everything within her recoiled at the idea of deliberately setting out to have a baby for money. A baby should be wanted by both parents, loved by both parents. She was here in this moment because she hadn’t been wanted or loved enough, handed over to an adoption agency, abandoned by her natural parents. Never would she have a child for financial profit! Never!
It was Jane who voiced shocked protest. “You can’t mean for Sally to have a child without … without the security of marriage!”
“Having Jack Maguire’s child will give her all the security she’s ever going to need,” was whipped back at her. “Use your head, Jane. You’ll never be poor if your sister’s rich.”
“But having a baby just to …”
“Oh, for pity’s sake! Why do you think I worked at getting you two adopted?” came the scathing demand.
“Because …because you couldn’t have children of your own?” Jane answered weakly, sounding unsure and confused.
“That was what I told Leonard.” The words were laced with utter contempt for his belief in her act of deceit. “The truth was I didn’t want to spoil my figure with a pregnancy. Having a great body and giving him great sex was how I’d got Leonard to shed his first wife and marry me. I wasn’t about to let some other cow take him from me the same way, but you never know with men. So I needed to tie him up with children, ensure that if he ever thought of dumping me it would cost him bigtime. And to find now, it’s all been for nothing …” She gnashed her teeth in disgust.
“Hardly nothing. You do get four million dollars,” Sally reminded her, feeling a huge tide of disgust herself. All these years … she and Jane had been nothing but an insurance policy to the woman who had adopted them. Not daughters. Just assets to be cashed in if her marriage didn’t last the distance. No doubt they were now liabilities to be shed.
“Peanuts!” Her eyes glowered a warning at both of them. “And I’ll need every cent of it to set me up and look attractive to another man of means.”
No grown-up daughters in that scene! And no financial support would be forthcoming for either of them. “I imagine a fashionable apartment in Sydney would be a first step,” Sally put forward, testing for a fuller picture.
“Yes,” her mother snapped, chin lifting in scornful pride. “I wouldn’t have stayed on this country property anyway, now that Leonard’s gone. But I can pretend it’s still mine with you here, Sally. Jack Maguire has played right into our hands. And when you have him by the balls, you can remunerate me for all I’ve given you over the years.”
My father gave it, not you, Sally thought. You only ever put on a show of mothering us in front of him. And that’s gone. An overwhelming sense of emptiness made her voice completely flat as she said, “I’m not like you. I’ll never be like you. I have no intention of getting Jack Maguire by the balls. I’m just going to fulfil my contract with him.”
“Don’t be such a naïve fool! You’ve got an open door opportunity to secure everything you’ve had up until now. More!”
Sally shook her head. “I won’t do it that way. I won’t deceive him and I won’t play your game of deception, either. This place is his, fair and square, and I’m glad to have a job because I know I can’t expect any support from you, Mother. Jane and I have served your purpose. We’ve been your mannequins in a show to keep our father tied to you, but that’s over. We are now expendable, aren’t we?”
“Sally, what are you saying?” Jane cried, frightened of where this was leading.
Sally squeezed her shoulder in quick reassurance. “Don’t worry. You’ll always have me.”
“You ungrateful little sod!” her mother screeched. “You were nothing before I gave you a home. You’ve had every privilege any girl could want. Both of you! And what do I get in return?”
Sally refused to be shamed into backing down. “We played your game. That’s what you got in return,” she shot back at her mother, hating the sense of having been acquired as a weapon in the war for wealth. She could have been adopted by someone else, someone who would have really loved her—loved Jane.
“If you had any sense you’d be still playing it,” her mother jeered.
Sally answered with steely pride. “I won’t be your pawn anymore.”
“You stupid, stupid girl! Don’t you realise my advice could turn you into a queen?”
“It’s not what I want.”
That was the truth of it. She wanted to love the man she had a baby with, wanted him to love her back, both of them loving parents to their child. All the money in the world couldn’t buy that.
“You want to spend your life mucking out stables?” her mother demanded in towering scorn.
“At least it’s honest muck. It doesn’t hurt anybody,” Sally flashed back at her.
She snorted. “Don’t tell me Leonard got hurt by what I did. Nor you and Jane, living in the lap of luxury.”
It has hurt Jane, Sally thought grimly, knowing her sister had never felt emotionally secure in this home. Not me so much because I had the horses to escape to. But most of all. “It hurt Jack,” she said, knowing that was irrefutable—a little boy robbed of his father, replaced by two girls born to other people.
“Dear Jack.” Venom dripped off her mother’s tongue. “He hurt so bad he became a billionaire. You expect me to feel sorry for him?” Her eyes glittered with malice. “You mark my words. You’ve walked into his trap, signing this contract, and he’ll take you down. The only way to beat that is to take him down first.”
“I guess that’s what you did all those years ago, Mother. Do you think taking him down served your best interests in the long run?” Sally challenged. “Seems to me he beat you in the end.”
Her face twisted with rage. “We’ll come out on top if you do what I say.”
“I won’t do it,” Sally threw back at her determinedly.
Her mother charged across the room in a fury, arm swinging out to hit. Sally barely had time to twist aside and raise her own arm to block the blow before it struck.
“Run to the kitchen and get Graham, Jane,” she yelled at her sister. Then to her mother who was completely out of control, attacking with frightening persistence. “You’d better stop this right now because we’re not going to take any more abuse from you.” Her sister was still scrunched up like a mesmerised bunny. “Jane, go!”
She finally snapped into action, scrambling off the chesterfield and pelting out of the room.
“You want to be charged with assault, Mother? I’ll do it. I promise you I’ll do it,” Sally asserted fiercely, frantically fending off more blows. “Graham will come and do what I say because Jack Maguire employs him now. Under my management. I’m the boss, not you. How will it look to your wealthy friends if you get charged with assaulting your daughter?”
That got through to her.
She lowered her arms to her sides, hands clenched into tight fists, her chest heaving with frustration, her eyes wild with killing fervour. “Some daughter you are!” she spat.
The dutiful daughter had died in this room. It was one more grief adding pain to the load in Sally’s heart. “You never really made me feel you were my mother,” she said sadly.
It evoked a vicious reply. “I hope one of your damned horses throws you and tramples you to death.”
The last thread of any sense of loyalty broke. There was no room left for smoothing over this ruction. Sally steeled herself to draw a final line under it. “I suggest you pack up and go to wherever you feel good about yourself, because staying here is not going to work for you.”
Graham charged into the room, Jane hovering nervously behind him. “You need some help, Sally?” he asked, looking belligerently at his former employer.
Sally grimly made the call. “I think we’re finished here, aren’t we, Mother?”
Not without one last sting. “Your father would turn in his grave if he knew how you were treating me.”
Sally stared her down, denying her the satisfaction of seeing any evidence of a guilt trip. Besides which, she felt no guilt. None at all. She and Jane had done their best to please their father while he was alive. That need to please had ended with his death.
Lady Ellen puffed herself up and started to stalk out of the room in high dudgeon. She snapped her fingers at Jane. “You can come and help me pack.”
“No. Jane stays here with me,” Sally countermanded, not about to let her sister suffer the role of whipping boy.
“What? Even the worm turns,” was jeered at Jane who shrank behind Graham as Lady Ellen passed by.
Then she was gone, leaving behind a bleak emptiness that drained away the strength Sally had somehow managed to hang on to during the horrible confrontation. She started to shake.
“Anything I can do for you, Sally?” Graham asked caringly.
Her mind felt too scattered to think straight anymore. She needed comfort. “Would you ask Jeanette to bring us a pot of tea, please, Graham?”
“Sure.”
He left the two sisters together. Sally held out her arms to Jane, who flew into the offered embrace, hugging her tight and bursting into tears. “It’s okay,” she automatically soothed. “We have each other. Whatever the future holds, we’ll always have each other.”
Right now the future felt like a blank slate.
But it wasn’t really.
Jack Maguire was written on it.
This had been his day of reckoning.
Hers and Jane’s, too.
She wondered how the slate would read in a year’s time, but was too worn-out to think about it. Just take one day at a time, she told herself, do what feels right. Even when Jack Maguire comes to visit, I won’t do anything that doesn’t feel right.
CHAPTER SIX
JACK Maguire stood at the lounge room window of his Woolloomooloo apartment, watching the Queen Mary 2 make its majestic way down Sydney Harbour. It was accompanied by a flotilla of small craft which were made to look absolutely tiny by the massive cruise ship. Quite an incredible spectacle, Jack thought, and bound to bring out crowds of spectators on this, the new Queen Mary’s first visit to Sydney.
His mind drifted to another first visit—one which he expected to be more personally satisfying. It had been two weeks since the contract with Sally Maguire had been signed, and she hadn’t called him for help on any problem. He’d given her his cell-phone number but not once had she used it. Was she intent on proving herself capable of any task or was she shying clear of him?
Lady Ellen would have tried her best to poison her mind against him, but Lady Ellen had left the Yarramalong property the morning after the reading of the will. Couldn’t bear to stay there with Sir Leonard gone, he’d heard on the social grapevine. Not a word about eviction. She was currently being cosseted as a house-guest of a high-society friend, playing the grieving widow and saving pride by pretending she’d left Sally to manage the property with her horses.
The silence from Yarramalong niggled him. Had Sally agreed to her mother’s pretence, intent on keeping him out of their lives as long as she could? He didn’t care what Lady Ellen said or did, provided she was out of the picture he’d set up for himself. However he did want to know if Sally had actually thrown her lot in with him or was playing along with her mother’s game of deceit.
Time to make contact with her, he decided, and smiled cynically over the rush of eagerness that charged through him. Lust could make a fool of a man, and Jack was determined on never becoming any woman’s fool. The trick was to control his desire for Sally Maguire, not ever allow it to gain too much power over his thoughts or actions. Being master of his own fate was the prime directive of his life and he was not about to change it.
He forced himself to wait until after the dinner hour before he called her, anticipating she would definitely be in the house at that time—not out with her horses—and readily available to chat with him. Having armed himself with a relaxing glass of cognac, he settled into his favourite chair, made the connection to the Yarramalong property, and listened to the buzzing summons of the telephone, conscious of a buzz of excitement in his blood as he wondered how much she’d thought about him this past fortnight.
“Sally Maguire.”
The blunt announcement gave nothing away except her name.
“Hello, Sally,” he drawled, rolling that same name off his tongue with considerable relish. “It’s Jack Maguire, calling to catch up with what’s happening at your end.”
“Oh!” A breathy gush of surprise, then a burst of anxious concern. “Was I supposed to give you weekly reports or something? I don’t remember you saying so.”
“I didn’t. I hear Lady Ellen is in town. I take it she won’t be coming back to the property?”
A pause, then still with a note of anxiety, “I’m not expecting her to. She took all her personal things. I don’t think it would suit her to … to make trouble over the situation.”
It was an astute point. Wrong image if the widow wanted to make golden hay with a second husband. “How much trouble did she make for you, Sally?” he asked, still wondering if she had agreed to some deceptive scenario with her mother behind his back.
He heard the slight huff of a deep breath being scooped in. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said very firmly. “I stood my ground. Okay? Everyone who works here has chosen to stay on. We’re doing fine. No problems.”
I stood my ground.
Jack smiled over those fighting words.
There’d been trouble, all right, but Sally had not given in to her mother on anything. Definitely a strong backbone there. He liked that in her. It could very well add a lot of spice to getting her into bed with him. He didn’t believe she would come easily. Which made the prospect of winning the pillow fight all the more exciting.
“Are you … are you planning to visit soon?”
Her hesitant question revealed a nervous apprehension about his presence on the property. He didn’t want her afraid of him. That wasn’t part of his plan at all. Better to settle any fears she had—possibly implanted by the venomous Lady Ellen—before they grew into an insurmountable block.
“Tomorrow,” he decided. “It’s Friday. I’ll fly in about six-thirty tomorrow evening and spend the weekend evaluating the whole place.”
“Tomorrow,” she said weakly, as though in shock at how quickly he would be arriving on the scene.
“Okay with you?” he pushed.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said in a rush, obviously determined not to be found at fault. “Six-thirty. I’ll have the welcome mat ready.”
“Thank you, Sally.” He poured warmth into his voice. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Sally fiercely told herself she had no reason to feel any sense of panic. Everyone had worked hard all day to ensure everything was picture perfect for Jack Maguire’s personal evaluation of his property. The cleaning ladies had the house spick and span. The gardener had trimmed the lawn. Jeanette, after a frenzy of food shopping, was cooking a special welcome-home dinner. It was almost six o’clock and the only problem she had was deciding what to wear.
Should she dress up as her mother had always insisted they do for her father? She wasn’t a wife or a daughter to Jack Maguire, only an employee, and although he had expressed a wish to be welcomed as his father had, Sally couldn’t help worrying if dressing up might encourage him to think she was his for the taking—his grateful little mistress!
She hated her mother’s spin on the situation, didn’t want to give it any credence, yet she couldn’t quite banish it from her mind, having thought the same thing before she’d persuaded herself otherwise.
She should trust her own judgement. Her mother hadn’t talked with Jack, as she had. He wanted the welcome mat out. Part of that was dressing up, as anyone would for an important visitor. Who more important than Jack in these circumstances? Besides, in her heart of hearts, she wanted to look attractive, which was why she’d already spent so long washing and drying her hair into a gleaming mass of partially tamed curls.
Smart-casual, she finally decided, pulling on white slacks and a wraparound top in green and black and white. The top had cap sleeves and the V-neckline wasn’t low enough to show any cleavage, yet as she did up the ties at the side of her waist, she started worrying that he might see it as invitational. But if he had sex on his mind, it didn’t really matter what she wore, did it? And time was running out. Stupid to keep dithering.
She slapped some make-up on to give her face some colour. No perfume. Definitely not perfume, which might be interpreted as enticing. Satisfied with looking fresh and respectable, and doing her best to ignore the nervous thumping of her heart, she headed for the lounge room where the ingredients for a martini were lined up on her father’s bar, ready to be mixed. She would present him with one when he emerged from the helicopter. That part of the arrival ceremony was surely harmless. Besides, a greeting drink was appropriate in the circumstances.
Jeanette came in with a carefully arranged plate of antipasta and laid it on the bar counter. “In case he’s peckish before dinner,” she said, anxious to please. “Graham’s waiting in the kitchen. He’ll come out and carry Mr. Maguire’s bag to the guest room when the helicopter lands.” She gave Sally a worried look. “Are you sure he won’t want the master bedroom? We don’t want to offend.”
“I’ll ask him when he gets here. It’s easy enough to change, Jeannette,” she said soothingly.
The housekeeper patted down her apron and primped her permed grey hair. She was in her fifties and on the plump side, being fond of her own baking, but she prided herself on always looking neat and tidy and Sally knew these actions were symptoms of an attack of nerves. Change was difficult for everyone, she thought, probably more so for older people.
“The antipasta looks delicious and Jack Maguire will certainly appreciate the care you’ve put into dinner,” Sally assured her. “Stop worrying, Jeanette.”
She heaved a sigh then cocked her head in listening mode. “That’s the helicopter coming. Good luck, Sally.” Her kind brown eyes flashed approval. “You look very nice.”
“Thanks. And thanks for all you’ve done to make Jack feel welcomed here.”
“Got to make him happy to have this place to come to. I don’t mind telling you I’d hate to leave. That cottage has been our home for so long …” Another big sigh before she bustled out, leaving Sally to put the last finishing touch—a spiked olive—to the martini.
The helicopter noise was louder now. It seemed to vibrate right through Sally, making her body feel quivery. She gripped the martini glass very firmly and concentrated on not spilling a drop as she forced her shaky legs to walk out to the patio overlooking the helipad. It was important for Jack to see her there, waiting to welcome him. She had to get this right. Other people depended on her making him feel good about holding on to this property. A year would not be enough for Jeanette. The housekeeper wanted to keep her home.
The moment she stepped outside, the whirling wind from the helicopter blades blew her hair into wild disarray. She should have tied it back instead of leaving it loose—not thinking ahead, but nothing she could do about it now. She held grimly on to the glass, waiting for the craft to settle before heading down the steps to meet Jack.
The engine was switched off. The blades slowed. The doors opened for both Jack and the pilot to emerge. Sally plastered a smile on her face and, moving with what she hoped looked like casual grace, descended to the helipad to greet the man who had so suddenly become a driving force in her life.
Jack alighted from the passenger seat with a broad smile on his face and an eager bounce in his step. Amazing what a lift it had been to see Sally waiting for him on the patio, the fiery halo of her hair blown into a wild sunburst by the incoming helicopter. His mind did take note that she was only doing what he’d asked of her, but the cynical aside in no way reduced his pleasure in seeing her.
“Welcome home, Jack,” she called to him, pausing her approach as he strode towards her, holding out the martini she’d brought to give him.
He laughed, enjoying the black humour of the situation. This home had been bought, as Sally well knew. He had no emotional connection to it. The connection was to her, and she was simply fulfilling the role he had wickedly suggested. Doing it with class, too, looking country-fresh and beautiful in white and green. She belonged here. He had no sense of belonging to anywhere.
Yet as he took the offered drink, and felt desire for her firing through his blood, he was glad he’d come, even though the welcome had been paid for.
“Thank you, Sally,” he said, his eyes keenly sweeping hers for some sign of what she was feeling.
“How was your day?” she asked brightly, as though he’d only left her this morning.
“Busy,” he drawled, amused by the fiction she was keeping up. “Yours?”
“Very busy.” Her own lips twitched in amusement over the trite conversation. She gestured to the grey suit he wore. “You look as though you’ve come straight from a boardroom.”
“I have.” He waved to the helicopter pilot who was already on his way up to the house with Jack’s bag. “Bill has to fly back to Sydney while there’s still daylight, so time was tight. I thought I’d change into more relaxing clothes when I got here.”
“Of course.” Her gaze flickered with some anxious uncertainty. “I’ve had the guest quarters prepared for you, Jack. My … your … father’s personal things are still in the master bedroom suite. I wasn’t sure if you’d want some … some keepsake …”
“No.” He felt himself bristling with rejection of all that had not been freely given him by his father. Nothing had been offered. He would take nothing.
“I’m sorry.” Her hands flew out in apologetic appeal. “I should have asked when you called last night but I didn’t think of it until today, and then I didn’t want to bother you at work.”
“Fair enough,” he clipped out, annoyed that he’d made his anger obvious to her, determined to clamp down on it. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested, adopting a more pleasant tone. “You can show me the master suite on the way to the guest quarters and I’ll decide what’s to be done.”