Bedroom Bargains of Revenge: Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure / Bedded and Wedded for Revenge / The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge. Trish Morey
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“A stable hand?” he mocked, still boring in on her. “Looking after other people’s horses?”
“I could be hired to ride them. That’s done in showjumping competition,” she said belligerently.
“Second-string horses? At the whim of another owner? Whom you might disappoint?” He shook his head. “Not what you’re used to, Sally.”
She flushed at the reminder of how easy it had been for her, while he. “How did you start?” she repeated insistently.
He shrugged. “I found I had a talent for poker. I won millions of dollars at poker tournaments around the world. When I’d built up a big enough stake, I diversified, finding investments that turned a quick profit. It’s all about playing the percentages.”
His eyes targeted hers with riveting intensity. “Throwing your lot in with me is a much higher percentage play for you than trying to find work at the bottom of the pile.”
It felt as though a jackhammer was attacking her heart. Jack Maguire was intent on making her choose to do what he wanted. She suddenly knew that with absolute certainty. Whether it would be another triumph for him to draw her away from her family and plant her at his side, or whether he was simply acting on an attraction he wanted to satisfy, she didn’t know. Maybe both.
“You haven’t told me what throwing my lot in with you entails,” she said, trying her utmost to look as though she was objectively weighing up the situation and not helplessly affected by a hormonal rush of excitement.
His mouth curved into a quirky little smile. “Sir Leonard’s secretary told me that when my father flew home each evening, Lady Ellen always met him at the property’s helipad, beautifully dressed for dinner and with a martini in hand ready to pass it to him. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“She devotedly serviced all his needs.”
The sexual glitter in his eyes played havoc with her nerves.
“I don’t know what went on in their bedroom,” she blurted out.
“Oh, I have no doubt Sir Leonard got whatever he wanted. That was Lady Ellen’s power. Why would a man give up being king of his castle for a son who couldn’t give him what his wife did? My father played the percentages, too.”
Love didn’t come into it, she thought. Love wouldn’t come into any proposition Jack Maguire laid out, either. The butterflies in her stomach folded their wings, leaving it feeling strangely hollow. Yet the sense that her future was bound up with this man did not go away.
The waiter returned, set a platter of hors d’oeuvres on the table between them, checked that their glasses of champagne didn’t need refilling, and left them alone again.
“The situation is this, Sally,” Jack said, leaning forward to pick up a smoked salmon roll and move it to the side of the plate. “That represents your horses.” Egg and caviar on a little circle of toast was similarly shifted.
“The facilities you use—stables, horse truck, training field.” A quiche tartlet followed. “Financial support, vet fees, showjumping competition fees, all operational costs.” Sun-dried tomato on mozzarella. “Sole mistress of the house you have always called home, overseeing its running and the running of the property, with the same staff if they want to stay, hiring others if they want to leave. A generous salary for you to maintain the status quo …”
He went on and on, moving the hors d’ouevres to one side in a slow, mesmerising fashion, listing the privileges she had enjoyed and adding the responsibilities which had previously been her mother’s. When there was only one small delicacy left untouched, he lifted his gaze to hers, intent on pushing the decision he wanted.
“You can have the loaded side of the plate—” He pointed to the lone, untouched crab tartlet “—or you can go with Lady Ellen. One or the other, Sally.”
No bending on that point. She could feel his ruthless drive to cut her mother out, to cut her to the quick by replacing her with one of the daughters she’d adopted to replace him in his father’s life.
Sally stared down at the almost empty side of the plate, knowing if she took his deal, she would probably never see her mother again, forever branded as an ungrateful traitor. She was probably that already by agreeing to this lunch with him.
Her gaze shifted to the life he was offering … so tempting. But could he be trusted to deliver on his word if she took his deal? What if he only meant to create as much disharmony in her family as he could and she was being suckered into playing a role in his vengeful game?
She gestured to the loaded side, her eyes searching his for some indication of his motivation. “What do you get out of this, Jack?”
He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a whimsical look that seemed to be mocking himself for whatever was driving him. The expression in his eyes slowly changed, gathering a hypnotic intensity. She felt the force of the man being channelled straight into her, reaching for her heart, her mind, her soul, determined on bending her to his will. Then he spoke the words she had secretly wanted to hear.
“I get you, Sally.”
CHAPTER FOUR
JACK felt the charge of adrenaline that invariably accompanied risking his hand in a high-stakes poker game. Would she go all in or would she fold?
A tide of heat washed up her lovely long neck. Her cheeks bloomed with colour, making the green of her eyes more pronounced—eyes that had unmistakably telegraphed interest in him. Jack knew he was an attractive package to women, especially with wealth heightening his sex appeal. She shouldn’t baulk at having him added to the deal, not with so much else being offered, but at only twenty-four, she might still be young enough to be nursing romantic ideals.
Love and marriage were not on the table.
He had no intention of holding them out to her.
She took a deep breath. Her eyes didn’t waver from his. There was no pretending she didn’t know what he meant in them. She was taking it in, sifting through what it would mean to her. He found himself surprisingly tense as he waited for her reply, willing her to give in to him. In the end she didn’t answer him, choosing to do a bit of probing herself.
“Why me?”
Not “no.” Not “yes,” either. It was an astute question, delving into his motivation. He’d never paid for sex in his life, not in such an upfront fashion as this. Occasionally gifts afterwards, in appreciation of pleasure given. So why was he prepared to lay out so much for Sally Maguire?
Because she wouldn’t come to the man who’d stripped her of everything.
He had to give back in order to make it possible, and what it cost didn’t matter to him.
But she could take the view he was setting her up as his whore. Her pride might get in the way if he left the deal too cut-and-dried. Better to colour it with feelings she could empathise with. Women related to emotion and Sally had shown considerable sensitivity to the injustice to him in their family situation.
“I believe you would have welcomed me home,” he said softly. “I think you’ve been very conscious of the fact that I was not allowed any place at the Yarramalong property and didn’t think it was right. Is that so, Sally?”
She nodded.
“You alone,” he emphasised.
“I don’t think Jane would have minded,” she said quickly.
Jane—she cared very much about her sister—a victim in the Maguire household. Jack was certain of it now, given the pained look on Sally’s face when he’d asked if Jane had been loved. She would want to save her more fragile sister from any further abuse from Lady Ellen. Oddly enough, he did, too. No one should remain a victim of that woman. If he gave Sally more than enough money to cover both sisters’ needs,