The Millionaire's Mistress

For a moment she was sure she had him—and without having to humiliate herself too much. But then he wrenched his eyes away, snapping forward on his chair.

‘I am not unsympathetic to your position, Miss Montgomery,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘If you had a steady job to back up your boarding house plan, I would have no hesitation in sanctioning this loan. But you’ve listed your occupation as a university student. What exactly are you studying?’

‘I’ve been doing a degree in Leisure Studies.’

‘Leisure Studies,’ he repeated drily.

Justine supposed it did sound a bit empty.

‘I’m specialising in Tourism Management,’ she elaborated. ‘It’s much more complicated than it sounds. And should lead to a well-paid job. Eventually.’

‘And how long have you to go?’

‘I’ve...um...just finished my first year.’

‘Only your first year? Yet your application form says you’re twenty-one—twenty-two next month. What did you do when you left school? Travel?’

‘No. I...er...failed my first year a couple of times.’

‘I see,’ was his dry remark.

‘No, you don’t,’ she defended sharply. ‘I’m not dumb, Mr Hampton. I just didn’t apply myself properly. I was too busy having fun. But I can do anything, once I apply myself.’

‘Anything, Miss Montgomery?’ he mocked.

Justine bristled. ‘Well, almost anything,’ she snapped. ‘I doubt I could be a brain surgeon. But running a boarding house shouldn’t be beyond me. My mother would help.’

‘I thought you said your mother hadn’t been well.’

‘She’s not physically sick. It’s more of an emotional problem, one which would be solved if she could stay in her home.’

Justine waited for him to say something but he didn’t. My God, for a supposedly inveterate womaniser, he wasn’t making this easy for her. Maybe he enjoyed watching women grovel. Maybe he got a kick out of reducing them to pathetic pawns in his sick little power game.

She swallowed, pushed the remnants of her pride to the back of her mind, then took the plunge. ‘I’ll try to get a job, Mr Hampton. I will do anything you want. Anything,’ she repeated, making strong eye contact and promising him all sort of things with her eyes and her softly parted lips.

Once again he said nothing, although he did stare at those lips. Justine’s stomach tightened, her mouth drying in the face of his unnerving silence.

‘If you give me this loan, Mr Hampton.’ she added shakily, ‘you will have my undying gratitude.’

‘But I don’t want your gratitude, Miss Montgomery,’ he said quite coldly.

Justine felt her face flame into embarrassed heat as those hard black eyes looked her over. Never before had she felt so small, or so irritatingly lacking in confidence. Confusion reigned supreme. Her heart was racing, her stomach turning over and over.

‘Then what is it you want?’ she threw at him in her fluster.

Let him be the one to belittle himself now, Justine thought raggedly. Let him say it out loud, show the world what sort of man he really was, not this coolly controlled customer who looked as if he’d never put a foot wrong in his life!

Then she was going to get up and walk out. She might even report him to his boss. What was his name? Osborne. Marcus Osborne. Yes, she’d go and tell Mr Marcus Osborne the kind of man he had in his employ!

‘I want you to go home and convince your mother to sell the house,’ he shocked her by saying in a harsh tone. ‘Then I want you to go and get yourself a proper job. But, most of all, I want you to stop playing provocative and potentially dangerous games. You think I don’t know what you were getting at just now, Miss Montgomery? You’re not the first beautiful young woman to tempt me. And I dare say you won’t be the last!

‘There is no quick and easy way in life, Justine,’ he lectured on while her mouth dropped open. ‘Not if you’re a decent human being with values and standards. Don’t go down your father’s path. You’re far too young and far too beautiful to sell yourself so cheaply.’

Justine went bright, bright red. Embarrassed beyond belief, she grabbed her bag and jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t want to give me the loan, then just say so. There’s no need to insult me.’

‘Very well. I’m not going to give you the loan.’

‘Fine. Then I’ll get the money some other way!’

Marcus watched her whirl round and flounce out. He almost called her back, almost told her that he’d changed his mind and the loan was hers.

But of course that was impossible now. He’d done his dash in more ways than one. But by God, there’d been a moment there, a deliciously dark moment, when he’d almost taken her up on her none too subtle offer.

Just think, Marcus, he mocked himself. You could have been taking her out tonight if you’d played your cards right. Taking her out, then taking her back home, to bed, maybe for the whole weekend.

And what did you do?

You wimped out.

He muttered an expletive under his breath.

Now all he had to look forward to this weekend was Felix’s fiftieth birthday party.

He hated parties these days, but sometimes he just had to get out of the house—that bloody awful house which he’d bought for Stephany and which she’d graced for less than twelve months. He’d sell the darned thing if it wasn’t such a good investment.

Marcus scowled at himself anew. Is that all you think about, Marcus? Good investments? Returns on your money? There’s more to life than money, you know.

Or so his beloved wife had thrown at him the day he’d thrown her out.

Which was ironic, because she’d certainly needed plenty of cold hard cash to support the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to. Women like her always did.

His mind turned to Justine Montgomery once more. He’d felt sorry for her there for a while. Her father might have been a rotter but he’d still been her father. It must have been pretty terrible to have him not only die, but to die in debt and disgrace.

Any sympathy had been dashed, however, when she’d said she had no intention of moving to a smaller house. Not for girls like her a simpler life, or a simpler house. Heaven forbid!

Her boarding house plan was laughable. Did she have any idea how much work would be involved in running such an operation? Did she think she could manage to do it on the side whilst continuing her degree in Leisure Studies?

Her choice of degree was deliciously ironic as well. Girls like Justine Montgomery made an art form of ‘leisure’. They didn’t have to study the subject. It came naturally to them. As did bartering their bodies for betterment of their circumstances, although mostly it was an advantageous marriage on their minds, not a miserable loan.

Why, you’re a cynic, Marcus, came the none too surprising self-realisation. Not to mention a selfrighteous holier-than-thou bore. Even with her tarnished soul, Justine Montgomery has more life and fun in her little finger than you have in your whole body.

‘Oh, shut up!’ he growled, and got to his feet. ‘I don’t need this.’

Too right, that merciless inner voice shot back. What you need is some decent sex!

CHAPTER FOUR

‘MUM, you’re not ready!’ Justine exclaimed on going into her mother’s room and finding her sitting on the side of the bed, still in her bathrobe, her hair in rollers. Yet it was right on eight-thirty, the time they’d agreed to leave for Felix’s party.

Adelaide gave her daughter a wan little smile. ‘I’ve decided not to go, darling. But you go. Goodness, but don’t you look gorgeous? Red is definitely your colour. And I love your hair up like that. You look so sophisticated.’

Justine ignored the barrage of compliments, seeing them for what they were: her mother’s way of deflecting her attention from the reality of the situation, which was that she was slumped down on her still unmade bed, trying to be bright and brave when in fact her eyes were once again shimmering with tears. She’d cried on and off since Justine had told her yesterday the house would probably have to be sold. Cried and just sat around, looking defeated and depressed.

Justine had hoped the party tonight might buck her up. She hated seeing her mother like this, so unlike her usual happy if scatty self.

‘Oh, no, you don’t, Mum,’ Justine said, knowing firmness was sometimes the best way with her mother. ‘I’m not going by myself.’ She walked over to where a beaded black crepe gown was draped over the gold velvet chair in the corner. ‘Is this the dress you’re going to wear? Come on, let’s get it on you and then I’ll help you with you hair. It won’t matter if we’re late. Parties never get going till well after nine anyway.’

‘I can’t wear that dress,’ Adelaide said bleakly.

‘Why not?’

‘It doesn’t fit me.’

‘Doesn’t fit you,’ Justine repeated, clenching her teeth down hard in her jaw. They must have taken thirty evening gowns of her mother’s down to the second-hand shop yesterday, and one of the two dresses her mother had chosen to keep didn’t fit her. Truly, ‘vague’ did not begin to describe her sometimes!

‘Then what about the other dress? Where is it?’

‘It doesn’t fit me either. Neither of the dresses I kept fit me,’ her mother confessed on a strangled sob. ‘I didn’t realise how much weight I’d put on since your father’s funeral. I...I always eat when I’m unhappy. I was so pretty and slim when Grayson married me. He loved me back then; I’m sure he did. But after my baby boy died, I started to eat and I...I... Oh, God, it’s no wonder your father never wanted to come home. It’s all my fault he went with other women. Everything’s all my fault!’

Justine’s heart felt as if it was breaking as she watched her mother dissolve into sobs. She rushed over to her, gathering her close, hugging her fiercely. ‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ she choked out. ‘Please don’t cry. Nothing’s your fault. Nothing! Daddy didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t a very nice man. In fact, he was quite wicked. We’re well rid of him. But you’ve still got me. We’re going to make it together, Mum, don’t you worry,’ she went on, fired up with renewed resolve. ‘I haven’t given up yet on getting that loan.’

Her mother glanced up at her through soggy lashes. ‘You haven’t?’

‘Not by a long shot! There are other banks, aren’t there? Other establishments which lend money? Felix’s party will be full of influential people tonight, moneyed men with plenty of contacts. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and who knows? I bet I have some good news for you by the time I come home.’

Justine leant over and swept a handful of tissues from the box beside the bed. ‘Now, dry your eyes, Mum. And don’t give up hope. Your daughter has just begun to fight!’

Justine’s newly found optimism wavered during the short drive to the Turrells’ place. It was all very well to spout positive aspirations, quite another to put them into action. Giving her mother false hopes might have done the trick for one night, but what would happen in the morning, when she didn’t have any good news?

Justine sighed, then sighed again when she turned into the leafy street which housed the Turrell mansion. It was lined with cars, not a spare parking spot in sight.

Negotiating a U-turn, Justine finally found a place to park in the adjoining street, the lengthy walk back bringing her attention to the tightness of her skirt. Keeping this little red number had been a bad choice, really. It wasn’t at all versatile and could only be worn on really warm evenings.

She’d spotted it in the window of a very exclusive boutique back at the beginning of spring, the red colour attracting her attention. She always kept an eye out for a red dress in the months leading up to Christmas, because she liked to wear red at the big Christmas party her mother threw every year.

Naturally, this year there hadn’t been any Christmas party. Justine had found the dress when she’d gone through her wardrobe, and just couldn’t bring herself to sell it for a fraction of its value, unworn. It had cost a small fortune, being an original design made from raw silk.

Still, she now regretted keeping it. She should have kept her little black crêpe number along with the black velvet. People didn’t remember black, whereas they could see her coming in this red for miles. Dumb choice, Justine. Dumb, dumb, dumb!

By the time she’d manoeuvred her way up the steep front steps in her high heels and rung the front doorbell, Justine was wishing she’d stayed home with her mother.

Trudy opened the door, scowling at the sight of the latecomer. ‘So there you are! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. And after I’d twisted Mother’s arm to get you an invite. Where’s your mum?’

‘She didn’t feel up to it. A headache.’

‘Oh, well, perhaps it’s for the best.’

Justine bristled. ‘How do you see that?’

‘Oh, you know my mother, Jussie. She’s not the most tactful woman in the world. She’d probably put her big foot in her mouth and say something to offend your mum. She’s not sweet-natured like me, darling. She’s a natural bitch.’

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