The Millionaire's Mistress. Miranda Lee
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on in.’
Adelaide Montgomery was perched up in bed against a mountain of pillows, a blockbuster novel in one hand and a half-eaten chocolate in the other. At fifty-seven, Justine’s mother was still a very attractive lady, meticulous with her hair and face. But her once hourglass figure had succumbed to more than middle-age spread over the past few years or so. She was always bemoaning her increased weight, blaming it on everything from early menopause to hormone replacement therapy.
‘Mum, you naughty lady,’ Justine reproached when she saw the large box of chocolates beside the bed. ‘You’re supposed to be starting a diet this week.’
‘And so I am, darling. Tomorrow.’
‘Daddy not home yet?’ Justine asked, levering herself up onto the end of her parents’ huge four-poster bed.
‘No, he’s not. And I’m going to have a word with him when he does come too. When he rang to let me know he wouldn’t be home for dinner, he could have indicated he might be this late. Just as well I’m not a worrier.’
Which she wasn’t, Justine conceded. Her mother never worried about anything because she never took responsibility for anything. Grayson Montgomery was the head of the Montgomery family in every way. He ran the household, hired and fired staff, made all the decisions and paid all the bills. Neither mother nor daughter knew much about his business dealings, other than the fact he ran a high-powered financial consultancy and worked very long hours.
A handsome and charismatic man, Grayson spoilt his wife and daughter shamelessly in material things, but, in truth, didn’t spend much time with either of them. Never had.
Justine sometimes wondered what sort of relationship her older brother would have had with his father—had he lived. But Adelaide Montgomery’s firstborn hadn’t lived. Her beloved little Lome had died, a cot death when he was only ten months old. From what Justine still gathered from family whispers, her mother had had a breakdown over her son’s death, and vowed never to have another baby.
When Justine arrived, nearly ten years later, Adelaide had by then perfected her ‘non-worrying’ mode, and became a splendidly indulgent, rather scatty-headed mother. Justine had been allowed to run wild; the very opposite to the normal smothering reaction to a previous cot death in a family.
This lack of mothering, on top of her father’s many absences, meant Justine had grown up with a serious lack of discipline. She’d brilliantly failed most of her exams at school, despite her reports saying she was exceptionally bright. This she had proved, by putting her head down during the last six months of her final year of school—a male classmate had raised her hackles by calling her a blonde bimbo one day—and achieving a surprisingly acceptable pass. Enough to get her onto a degree course at the university not far from where the Montgomerys lived at Lindfield.
She had already spent a delightful three years on the college campus, joining every club it had, partying and having the most fantastic fun. Unfortunately, her frantic social life had resulted in her failing her exams again. In fact, she’d failed her first year two years in a row. At the beginning of this year, when she’d tried to sign up to repeat the first year of her degree course yet again, the dean had suggested she might like to try some other subject. She couldn’t think what, and had wangled her way back for a third try, her dazzling smile achieving the dean’s agreement with remarkable ease.
Thankfully, she hadn’t let him down, and was confident she had sailed through this time. She’d happily finished her last exam this week and was looking forward to moving on to her second year at long last.
‘How did you enjoy the party, darling?’ her mother asked vaguely as she munched into another chocolate, then turned the page of her book.
‘Oh, it was all right, I guess. The same old crowd. Just as well I went in my own car, though, and didn’t let Howard pick me up like he wanted to. Truly, he’s getting to be a real pain. Just because I’ve been out with him a couple of times, he thinks he owns me. I was having a perfectly nice time in the pool when he came up behind me, pulled me under the water and tried to take my top off. I was furious, I can tell you. I can’t stand being manhandled like that. The way he was carrying on, anyone would think we were sleeping together.’
Adelaide blinked up from her book. ‘What was that, dear? Did you say you were sleeping with someone?’
Justine sighed. She could say she was sleeping with the entire male faculty at the university and her mother would not react normally. Truly, one day something would happen that would shock her out of the fog she lived in.
‘No, Mum. I said I wasn’t sleeping with Howard. Howard Barthgate,’ she added, when her mother looked vague for a moment.
‘Ah, yes. The Barthgate boy. And you’re not sleeping with him? That does surprise me, I admit. Such a good-looking boy. But that’s the way to really catch them, darling. Don’t sleep with them. You couldn’t do better, you know. His father has squillions, and Howard’s his only son.’
‘Mum, I am not going to marry Howard Barthgate!’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because he’s an arrogant, snotty little creep.’
‘Is he? I thought he was quite tall when I met him. Oh, well...whatever you think best, dear. Someone else will come along. A girl like you will always have men trailing after her.’
‘What do you mean? A girl like me?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Adelaide said airily. ‘Rich. Single. Sexy.’
Justine was surprised by this last adjective. Most mothers would have said pretty, or lovely, or beautiful. Justine was not stupid. She saw herself in the mirror every day and she knew she was a good-looking girl.
But sexy? Now she’d never thought of herself as that, mostly because she wasn’t all that interested in sex. Never had been really. While all her girlfriends’ hormones had been raging for years, she’d sailed along with myriads of boyfriends and dates, but nothing beyond the kissing and minor groping stages.
Actually, it was her aversion to even minor groping which stopped her from allowing more. She hated all that heavy breathing stuff. The thought of hot fumbling fingers pawing at her breasts, or a wet sloppy mouth slobbering all over her gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Justine always made it quite clear on the first date that if the boy thought she was going to come across at the end of the night, he could find himself someone else to take out. She had no intention of giving a man sex just because he bought her dinner, or took her to a movie. Only true love, she reasoned loftily, would make such an intimate and yukky act bearable.
Despite this highly unique stance for a nineties girl, Justine still had a great social life, never lacking in invitations or escorts. Her life was full of fun, without complication, without the emotional traumas which seemed to come with a sexual relationship. All her girlfriends told her tales of woe about their various boyfriends and lovers.
Frankly, Justine thought sex was more trouble than it was worth.
Of course, there was an irritating faction within her female friends who thought differently on the subject. Trudy, who lived two streets away from Justine and who’d been her best friend for yonks, was simply mad about men and sex. Only last week she’d assured Justine that one day some hunky guy would come along and sweep her off her feet and into bed before she could blink an eye.
Justine had scoffed at such an unlikely scenario. He’d have to be a man in a million, that was for sure, with a darn lot of sex appeal and know-how. Nothing at all like Howard Barthgate. Dear heaven, she wouldn’t be going out with the likes of him again!
Dismissing Howard from her mind with her usual slightly ruthless speed, Justine jumped up from her mother’s bed. ‘I think I’ll go make myself some hot chocolate. Want some?’
‘No, thank you, darling. Hot chocolate’s very fattening,’ her mother said with all seriousness as she popped another milk crème into her mouth.
Justine