Читать книгу Bedroom Bargains of Revenge: Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure / Bedded and Wedded for Revenge / The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge - Trish Morey, Emma Darcy - Страница 10

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, it should achieve two purposes—Jane’s freedom and Sally’s compliance with his plan.

“Jane would not be here with me, as you are,” he pointed out.

She knew it as well as he did. The younger adopted daughter had scuttled after her mother like a frightened mouse. Before Sally could say any more in defence of her sister, he went on describing what he hoped was a seductive vision.

“It’s you I feel a connection with, Sally. I remember watching you jumping your horse all those years ago. Poetry in motion. I like the idea of your being there, keeping everything up as it was. Only, this time it would be there for me, too. Not that I intend to live at the property with you, but I’d like to visit from time to time, feel the sense of homecoming that my father always enjoyed.” He constructed a whimsical little smile. “Being welcomed with a smile and a martini. Going riding with you. Enjoying your company. That sounds very good to me.”

“You ride?”

It wasn’t so much probing for more information this time but a spark of pleasure in the idea that they could share something other than a bedroom. Which they could. He would enjoy riding with her.

“Much of my youth was spent on a horse. I worked on my stepfather’s ranch before and after school. I could certainly help you exercise your horses,” he offered with a smile.

She smiled back.

It was an instinctive response, almost immediately quashed.

She wasn’t won yet, but Jack knew he was making ground with her. Besides, if the idea of being available for occasional sex with him had been totally unpalatable, she would have slapped him down with a definite no by now. The weird part was he found the vision he’d laid out for her very seductive himself. Having places to live—even palatial penthouse apartments—had always been nothing more than conveniences for him. Could Sally Maguire give him a sense of coming home? It would be interesting to find out.

The waiter reappeared, gesturing to the uneaten hors d’oeuvres. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

Jack wickedly waved to the loaded side of the plate. “Would you like to sample one, Sally?”

She shook her head.

Not ready to commit herself yet, Jack thought. He was tempted to eat the one representing her monster mother, but decided that might be too in-her-face offensive. “Take it away,” he instructed the waiter. “We’ll enjoy the main course when it comes.”

The waiter removed the plate and himself.

Silence from Sally, her beautiful eyes downcast, hands in her lap, sitting very straight, closed in upon herself … thinking what?

Jack tossed up whether he should push or be patient. He needed to know how her mind was working so he could counter any negatives and drive forward on the positives. Silence gave him nothing.

“Do we have a deal, Sally?” he asked quietly, forcing her to acknowledge his presence.

The veiling lashes slowly lifted. Bright green eyes looked directly at him, sharply intelligent eyes that demanded no evasion. “Do you see me as family—a sister you’d like to have—or are you intent on having me as your kept woman on the side, for as long as I give you satisfaction?”

Heat raced into her cheeks again as she bluntly voiced the second option. Her chin tilted defiantly. She was determined on getting the unvarnished truth from him, regardless of how much heartburn it gave her.

She was gut-wrenchingly beautiful.

And she was skewering him with those eyes.

The sense of walking a tightrope to get to the end he wanted was very strong. “Hardly a kept woman when you will be earning your keep,” he answered. “And I have no doubt you will run the property to my satisfaction. Would a manager’s salary of a hundred thousand dollars a year be acceptable?”

He didn’t care if it took him the whole year to get Sally Maguire, have her he would.

“A hundred thousand?” she repeated incredulously.

It had to be more than enough to set Jane up independently, as well as looking after Sally’s personal needs. He’d already promised to take care of all other expenses. Right now it probably sounded suspiciously too much, but give her enough time to think about what she could do with that money …

“It’s a very valuable property,” he reminded her. “Worth millions. I want it to hold its value. I’m sure you’ll do your best to maintain it as it should be maintained. I trust you to do that. And to ensure you can trust me to deliver on my word, we can go back to Victor Newell after lunch and have him draw up a legal contract between us.”

“For a year,” she murmured, weighing it up in her mind.

“To begin with.” He might want her longer than that. Already the excitement of the chase was firing up his blood. He suspected if he spun out the time with her, she could keep him very enticingly engaged. More so than any other woman he’d known.

Her eyes refocused on his. The distraction of the tempting contract was clearly set aside. ‘You didn’t answer my first question, Jack.’

Straight back to the sexual angle!

The devil in him prompted a provocative question. “Would you like me to treat you as my sister, Sally?”

“I’m not,” she replied so quickly, so emphatically, he almost laughed with a heady sense of triumph. The woman in her was definitely responding to the man in him.

He brought the burst of exhilaration under control and gave her some rope to hang on to. “That’s not my view of you, either. However, let me assure you I’ve never bought sex from a woman. As I said, I would like to be welcomed by you whenever I visit the property, but …” He shrugged. “Is that too much to ask of you?”

She frowned. “No. As my employer, you’d be entitled to a ready welcome.”

So sleeping with the boss was okay?

It was what her mother had done.

Was Sally Maguire of the same ilk?

Time would tell.

All he needed from her at this point was a yes to the contract, which would give him the open door to pursuing her at his leisure. He leaned forward, bringing all the force of his personality into play.

“Seize the day, Sally!”

Seize the day ….

Sally wanted to. It was a plum job. A hundred thousand dollars a year, with all expenses paid, being able to carry on what she loved doing. And with that amount of money at her disposal, she could support Jane through her last two semesters at university, pay her part of the rent on the apartment she shared with other students, give her an allowance, set it up so she was completely independent of their mother and her demands. It would give her sister the chance of making a life of her own, free of the rants and raves over the knock of fortune that would inevitably make their mother mean.

Sally had no illusions on that score. However, she did feel confused about what Jack wanted from her. Was it the home he’d never had? He wouldn’t pay so much for sex with her, would he? He was so attractive, he could have plenty of women for nothing—truly beautiful women, like those she’d seen photographed with him at high-society events.

Were those devilish blue eyes really twinkling with sexy excitement at the prospect of her getting into bed with him, or did he give any passably attractive woman that look as a matter of course? Passably attractive was all she could be to him.

Carrots they’d called her at school because of her wretchedly unruly red curls sticking out everywhere.And she hated having the pasty white skin that always needed multi applications of blockout cream to prevent burning or, horror of horrors to her mother, freckling. She was more an oddity than a beauty. Yesterday she’d been sure he’d only called her beautiful at the funeral to spite her mother, and that was definitely the more likely truth.

She was the one wanting him, not the other way around. It was embarrassing to think now of how she had questioned him so directly on being his kept woman. Having what his father had known—the home he’d denied Jack—had to be driving his offer. It couldn’t be wanting a whole year of sex with her. That made no sense. Besides, he’d just assured her that sex was not a given in the deal, hadn’t he?

A year would give her time to look around for other opportunities she might take up in the future, should this deal with Jack Maguire turn sour. Right now she simply didn’t know the heart of the man. Only time would tell her if the connection she felt between them could develop into the kind of relationship she’d love to have with him. A year would be long enough to find out.

“Okay. I’ll take that contract,” she said decisively, her eyes challenging his integrity on every word of it.

He grinned, his delight in her acceptance making her heart dance in a wild hip-hop. “I’ll set it up right now,” he said, whipping a small silver cell phone from his suit pocket.

He spoke to Victor Newell’s secretary, dictating the terms he had outlined to Sally and asking for the contract to be drawn up and ready for their signatures by the time they’d finished lunch. He cocked a challenging eyebrow at her as he put the ‘phone away. “Satisfied?”

Her mouth had gone dry, drained of moisture by a last-minute attack of nerves. “Yes,” she croaked, acutely aware that she was not only signing a year of her life to him, but quite possibly making a permanent break from the woman who had adopted and raised her.

An ungrateful daughter.

A serpent daughter, dancing with the devil.

But hadn’t her mother brought this situation upon herself by being so set against Jack? If she’d accepted him as a stepson, let him into their lives …

“So let’s now drink to something good coming out of this,” Jack purred at her, lifting his glass of champagne in a toast.

She snatched up her own glass and clinked it with his. “Something good,” she repeated with reckless fervour, and drank, wanting the bubbles to go straight to her brain and blow out all the worries about taking a wrong jump and rushing headlong into bad territory.