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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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