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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him about her. She passed swiftly by but paused at the next door, turning anxiously appealing eyes to his.
“This is Jane’s room. Most of the time she’s in Sydney, sharing an apartment with other students while she attends the University of Technology. She’s in her last year of studying to be a nurse and wants to be a midwife eventually. Is it okay if she comes home …I mean visits me …” she hastily corrected,” …when she can?”
Jack seized the chance to confirm that the victimised sister had been rescued from her monster mother. “If Lady Ellen is supporting Jane, wouldn’t she expect a grateful daughter to give all free time to her?”
Colour whooshed into Sally’s cheeks. “I’m supporting Jane. You’re paying me enough. I can do it.”
They were fighting words. Jack got the impression she would defend that action to the death. The break from Lady Ellen was definitely complete. The adopted daughters would never kowtow to her again. He smiled, reaching up to gently stroke her hot cheek in a salute of approval.
“What you choose to do with your salary is your business, Sally. I’m glad to hear you’re looking after your sister.”
“Then you don’t mind if she comes here?”
Her eyes were huge pools of green. For a moment Jack almost lost himself in their brimming emotion—the kind of caring he’d only ever known from his mother. Jane wasn’t even Sally’s birth sister, yet …an odd spurt of jealousy formed his reply.
“I have no objection to her coming here to be with you, but I’d prefer not to have her visits clash with mine.” Taking your attention away from me.
He dropped his hand, separating himself from the bond shared by the two sisters. No way was he going to allow it to interfere with what he wanted from Sally. Compassion for a victim he barely knew went only so far.
“Thank you. I’ll see that they don’t,” she said, her gaze skidding away from his, which suggested a very acute consciousness of what was sizzling through his intentions where she was concerned.
Jack was sure she was every bit as sexually aware of him as he was of her. It all came down to timing, he thought, telling himself that patience would serve him well. This weekend was groundwork, learning the lay of the land so he made no mistakes when he played his hand. It was like a poker game, knowing when to check and when to raise the stakes. Winning was often a delicate balancing act. And having the right cards was going to be essential with Sally Maguire.
She showed him into the guest quarters: a comfortable sitting room equipped with a plasma television and a kitchenette, serving two bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms. His bag had been brought in and placed on a stool in one of the bedrooms. All the décor was inoffensively beige, brown and white. The only splashes of colour came from the fresh flowers in vases and a bowl of fruit on the coffee table—welcoming touches. The one thing missing from the sense of being in a classy hotel was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. But he had been presented with a martini.
Sally made a quick departure, saying, “I’ll leave you to get settled. Join me in the lounge room when you’re ready.”
No friendly lingering.
No availability signals.
“Thank you,” he said to her fast retreating back, silently vowing this was the last time she would treat him as a guest.
He intended to be much more than that in Sally Maguire’s life. Before this weekend was over, the distance she was trying to keep between them was going to be considerably lessened and the connection he felt with her re-asserted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE MADE no move on her.
All weekend …not the slightest suggestion of a move.
For much of it Sally had been racked with tension, expecting him to act on the pull of attraction she was unable to hide. When he had made her laugh over dinner on Friday night, his vivid blue eyes twinkling an appreciative tease as he remarked on Jeannette’s delicious veal dish being the perfect offering of the fatted calf for the prodigal son; in the stables on Saturday morning after an exhilarating ride; relaxing on sunlounges after a swim in the pool when she couldn’t help admiring his athletic physique, sleek-wet masculinity glistening, urging a desire to touch.
So many moments of acute vulnerability on her part—a dangerous electricity racing through her veins—and she knew he was aware of her reaction to him. His eyes simmered with his knowledge of it, a silent satisfaction that seemed to hum around her, yet not once did he take advantage of it, nor even speak of it.
If he wanted her as his “grateful little mistress,” his lack of action on that front made no sense. Unless he was content to wait, get to know her better, enjoy building up her anticipation of what it might be like with him. Or maybe he didn’t want that with her at all, just a place to come home to now and then without any sexual complications.
He’d given her a fleeting thank-you kiss on the cheek before leaving in the helicopter, certainly nothing to get fussed about. Yet after he’d gone, she couldn’t settle to doing anything, wandering around the house, thinking about him until Jeanette called her for dinner, a light informal meal of quiche and salad in the kitchen, more than enough after the long, sumptuous lunch she’d shared with Jack.
“He’s charming,” Jeanette declared. “Lovely manners. A real gentleman. I don’t know why Lady Ellen took against him.” Then with an arch look at Sally, “And very handsome, too, I must say.”
“Sensible chap,” Graham chimed in approvingly. “Took an interest in everything. Got himself a thorough understanding of what’s involved in running this place.”
They liked him. There’d been nothing not to like. He’d taken the time to have long chats with both Graham and Tim Fogarty who’d been the groom for Sally’s horses for years and lived in a self-contained apartment attached to the stables. Any worries the staff had about Jack’s takeover had been completely allayed this weekend. He’d assured himself of a ready welcome by all of them any time he chose to visit in the future, though that wouldn’t be for a while.
“I won’t come back until the redecorating is done,” he’d told her.
Sally didn’t know how quickly his interior decorator would accomplish the changes in the master bedroom, but she figured it would probably take a few weeks. It was stupid to feel so …so let down by the fact that Jack was not hot to trot with her. He had a busy life in the city, maybe a woman who meant more to him there, a beautiful woman who was sharing a bed with him on a regular basis. No need for a country mistress.
She should be feeling relieved by the lack of sexual pressure from him, glad that her mother had been wrong. At least, when Jane telephoned her somewhat anxiously at eight o’clock, Sally had nothing bad to report.
“Has he gone?” came the first whispered question, as though Jack might overhear.
“Yes. He flew out at five-thirty.”
“Are you all right, Sally? He didn’t …”
“No. Nothing like that,” she assured her sister. “As Jeannette remarked, Jack Maguire was a real gentleman. And Graham and Tim were very impressed with the interest he took in everything to do with the property.”
A huge sigh of relief. “I’ve been so worried all weekend. After what Mum said about his intentions …”
“I told you there was no need to worry. I can handle myself, Jane. The showjumping scene is loaded with womanisers and I’m well practised at fending them off.” Easy when you don’t find them attractive. “Anyway, Jack didn’t give me a problem. On the contrary, he even took a copy of the upcoming showjumping events I want to enter and said he would time his visits not to interfere with my schedule. And it’s okay with him for you to visit me here.”
She didn’t add the rider—not when he was in residence—because