It Started With One Night: The Magnate's Mistress / His Bride for One Night / Master of Her Virtue. Miranda Lee
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‘THAT gold colour looks fabulous on you,’ Max said as they waited for the lift to take them down to the restaurant. ‘So does the dress. I’m glad you took my suggestion to wear it tonight.’
Tara almost laughed. Suggestion! He hadn’t suggested. He’d insisted.
The dress was a cheong-san, brought home by Max after an earlier trip to Hong Kong. Made in gold satin, it might have looked demure with its knee-length hem and high Chinese collar, except for the fact it was skin-tight, with slits up the sides which exposed a good deal of thigh. It was an extremely sensual garment.
Not that Tara needed help in feeling sensual at that moment. The last couple of hours had left all her senses heightened and her body humming. She’d certainly aroused the beast in Max with her provocative behaviour, along with another couple of Maxes. Max, the insatiable. And Max, the rather ruthless.
She shivered at the memory of the interlude on the billiard table.
Tara had briefly thought of sex as a game before going into Max’s den. She hadn’t realised at the time that Max was far ahead of her in the playing of erotic games, making her now wonder how many other women he’d entertained in the past in such a fashion.
At least, she hoped they’d been in the past.
A long and more objective look at Max—so resplendent tonight in black tie—confirmed what Tara had always subconsciously known. That women would throw themselves at him in droves. She had, hadn’t she?
‘Max,’ she said with sudden worry in her voice and in her eyes.
‘What, my darling?’
When he took her hand and raised it to his lips, she looked deep into his eyes.
‘Have you ever been unfaithful to me?’
‘Never,’ he returned, so swiftly and so strongly that she had to believe him.
And yet…
‘Why do you ask?’ he went on, clearly perturbed by her question.
‘I can see by tonight,’ she said carefully, ‘that I haven’t exactly…satisfied you these past twelve months.’
‘That’s not true, Tara. I’ve been very happy with you,’ he claimed.
A flicker in his eyes, however, showed otherwise.
‘I don’t believe you, Max. Tell me the truth.’
‘Look, I admit there have been moments when I wished you were more comfortable with your body, and your sexuality. But I was not discontented. I love you, Tara, not just making love to you. Still, I’m glad you’ve finally realised that sex can be enjoyed in lots of different ways. It doesn’t always have to be slow and serious. It can be fast and furious. Or it can just be fun. You had fun tonight, didn’t you?’
Fun. Had it been fun? It had certainly been exciting, and compelling.
‘I…I guess so.’
His smile was wry. ‘Come, now, Tara. You loved it. All of it. Don’t deny it.’
‘I guess I’m just not used to being so wicked.’
‘Wicked!’ Max exclaimed, laughing. ‘We weren’t wicked. A little naughty perhaps. But not wicked. I could show you wicked later tonight, if you’d like.’
‘What…what do you mean? Doing what?’
‘I’ve always wanted to put those cords around my bed to far better use than tying back the curtains.’
Tara tried to feel scandalised. Instead, curiosity claimed her. What would it feel like for Max to tie her to the bed, to render her incapable of stopping him from looking at her all over, and touching her all over?
Just thinking about it gave her a hint as to what it would actually feel like. Wicked.
Heat filled her face. And the rest of her.
‘I can see that’s a bit of a leap for you,’ Max said wryly. ‘Forget I mentioned it.’
But how could she forget? He’d put the image into her mind. She would never be able to look at that bed now without thinking of herself bound to the bedposts!
The lift doors opened. When she stood there, still in a daze, Max took her hand and pulled her into the lift.
‘Come along, princess, stop the daydreaming. We have to go down and eat. We’re already a quarter of an hour late, courtesy of your keeping me in the shower longer than I intended.’
‘Me keeping you in the shower!’ she gasped. ‘You liar! It was you. You wouldn’t let me get out till I…till I…’
‘Till you’d finished what you started. Yes, I know. Sorry. You’re right. I got a bit carried away. But I didn’t hear you objecting.’
‘I could hardly speak at the time,’ she countered with a defiant glower.
He laughed. ‘That’s the girl. Give it back to me. That’s what I want from you always, Tara. Lots of fire and spirit. I’m never at my best around yes people.’
‘That’s rubbish, Max, and you know it. You love yes people. I hear you on the phone all the time, giving orders and expecting to be instantly obeyed. You like being the boss, in the bedroom as well as everywhere else! You expect all your lackeys to do exactly what they’re told, when they’re told.’
‘Aah, yes, but you’re not one of my lackeys.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ she snapped. ‘Isn’t a mistress another form of lackey?’
‘Mistress! Good lord, what a delightfully old-fashioned word. But I like it. Mistress,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Yes, you would make me a perfect mistress. Now.’ And with a wicked gleam in his eye, he put her fingers to his lips once more.
Tara pulled her hand away. She might have hit him if the lift doors hadn’t opened at that moment.
A brunette was standing there, waiting for the lift. A strikingly attractive brunette with big brown eyes, eyes which grew bigger when they saw Max, then narrowed as they shifted over to Tara.
Max’s fingers tightened around Tara’s.
‘Hello, Max,’ the brunette said first. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘Indeed,’ Max replied, but said no more.
Tara could feel the tension gripping all of Max’s body through his hand. No, not tension. Hostility. He hated this woman, for whatever reason. Why? Had he loved her once?
Tara stared at the brunette more closely, trying to guess her age for one thing. Impossible to tell accurately. Maybe mid-to late-twenties. She had the sleek look of the very rich, which meant she might be older. Weekly visits to beauty salons could hold back the hands of time. Her face was clear of wrinkles and superbly made up. But her shoulder-length, shiny dark-brown hair was her crowning glory, framing her face in a layered bob with not a single strand out of place.
She made Tara conscious of her own hair, which was scraped back from her face and pulled up high on her head into a tight knot, the only style she could manage in the small amount of time Max had given her to get ready. Less than fifteen minutes earlier, her whole head had been sopping wet.
‘You’re looking well,’ the brunette addressed to Max.
‘If you’ll excuse us, Alicia,’ Max said. ‘We are already late for our dinner reservation.’ And he ushered Tara away, stunning Tara with his rudeness. Ever since she’d met Max, she’d never known him to act like that with anyone.
Tara did not glance back, or say a word during the short walk from the lift to the restaurant. She remained