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 14

“SALLY MAGUIRE riding Midnight Magic …”

It WAS the last event of the day, the most important event for those competing. Not only did it carry the largest prize money, but points would be awarded in the scoring system used to select the team for the World Cup.

From his seat in the grandstand, Jack leaned forward to watch Sally ride the big black gelding into the show ring. Midnight Magic was her top-level horse, the one she’d been training up to this standard for the past five years. It was a magnificent animal, its mane and tail plaited, its gleaming coat brushed into a checkerboard pattern. Tim Fogarty had groomed it beautifully—an absolute stand-out horse—but it was performance not looks that won this event.

Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt nervous about an outcome. Probably back in his poker days when it was impossible to control what cards would turn up on the table and he needed to win, needed big money fast so he could play in his father’s arena. Right now he wanted Sally to win but he couldn’t make it happen. It was up to her and the horse. Nevertheless, he found himself willing her to ride faultlessly, willing it so fiercely it surprised him that he cared so much.

And it wasn’t because it would put her in a good mood afterwards, easier for him to move closer to her. The desire that had spurred him along this road had been somewhat derailed by other factors; the sheer entertainment of her company—such a fresh outlook on life and so straight-line it commanded his respect. She made the sophisticates in his social set totally boring in comparison. He didn’t want to spoil her world, yet the desire she stirred in him was so damned strong, playboy George had been in danger of being flattened if he’d kept his lecherous hands on her.

Mine …

He shook his head over the mad spurt of possessiveness that had seized him. Bad enough that the urge to be with her again had made waiting for the redecorating to be done intolerable. She was turning his world upside down. He’d actually spoken the truth when she’d asked him whether he’d bought her for sex. It had been his initial motivation, yet the more he was with her, the more he did want the whole experience of Sally Maguire, not just her body pleasuring his.

The starter gun went off. She set Midnight Magic into a controlled stride towards the first jump. Jack felt his stomach clenching as the horse lifted and cleared the hurdle. His breath whooshed out in relief. Go, girl, go … his mind chanted as she rode around the course, fault free. He kept an eye on the time clock. The seconds were ticking by. The horse rattled the rail on the water obstacle—was she taking him too fast? The big triple was coming up. If the pacing was wrong, the horse might baulk at the wall.

Jack was on his feet, unable to sit still as she moved into the approach to the triple, ahead of the previous rider on the clock. The lift and the landing for the first two jumps had to be right, the paces in between perfectly measured. His heart was pumping hard as he watched Midnight Magic soar over all three cleanly, then gallop to the finish line.

She’d done it!

Beaten every other rider so far.

He clapped so hard his hands hurt. She looked up at the grandstand, saw him. He gave her a high five and she returned it, her lovely face lighting up with a brilliant smile. She rode out of the ring and he sat down again, smiling himself over the shared moment of exhilaration. There were two more riders to go but she’d done well and he was happy for her.

The winner!

Joyful triumph was thumping through Sally’s heart as the judge hung the blue ribbon around Midnight Magic’s neck. She scanned the grandstand for Jack but couldn’t spot him. He’d moved from where he had been, probably coming to congratulate her. She’d achieved a couple of thirds at this level, but never a first, and it wouldn’t have been possible without Jack’s support. She wanted to thank him, wanted … oh, she was filled with so many wants, her body was buzzing with them.

He was waiting for her just beyond the gate, chatting with Tim Fogarty, both of them grinning their delight in her success. She virtually leapt off her horse in her eagerness to join them. Tim came forward to take the reins and lead Midnight Magic away.

“Great riding, Sally. Mr. Maguire’s just been telling me he’s taking you off for a celebratory dinner and I got to say you deserve it. Leave the horses to me. I’ll take care of them and get them home. You go and enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks, Tim. I’ll have to change my clothes in the truck first.”

“I’ll be here for a while. No hurry. Give me your helmet and I’ll put it away.”

She quickly unclipped it, handed it over, then, still brimming over with excitement, she turned to Jack. He spread his arms as though saying, “Look at you—a blue ribbon winner!” and she couldn’t stop herself from hurtling into a hug. He lifted her up and swung her around, laughing at her happy exuberance, sharing it.

“That’s the best I’ve ever done!” she cried as he set her on her feet again. “Thank you for making it possible, Jack.”

“I’m glad I did,” he said, his vivid blue eyes sparkling with warm pleasure.

“I felt you watching me. I had to do well, show you I was worth supporting,” she babbled on.

“I was willing you over every jump.”

“It was like I had wings.”

He laughed, the sparkle in his eyes gathering a wicked tease. “You had a dark angel riding on your shoulder.”

She sighed, frowning at his description of himself. “I don’t want you to be dark, Jack.”

His mouth quirked into a musing little smile as he surveyed the earnestness on her face. “Maybe I need your sunshine in my life, Sally Maguire.”

“Yes,” she agreed, happy with the idea that she could answer a need in him that had nothing to do with sex. Somehow it helped to even out all he was giving her and made their connection more important. Though, having her breasts pressed to the hard wall of his chest and her thighs brushing up against the strong muscularity of his was making her very sexually aware of him. She slid her hands down from his shoulders, easing back from his embrace as she voiced her thought. “I’d like to think I could make a difference to all that’s gone before. I’m sorry you were left so … so alone. It must have made you feel very dark.”

“At times,” he admitted. “But not right now. This is definitely a champagne moment.” He dropped his embrace, took one of her arms and tucked it snugly around his. “Let’s get on our way and have ourselves a fine dinner.”

It was the best evening of Sally’s life.

Jack had driven up to Maitland in his BMW convertible and he put the hood down before they took off for the Hunter Valley vineyards where there were dozens of fine restaurants. It felt great, zooming along the road in his beautiful car, her hair fluttering in the lovely cooling breeze, Jack tossing her amused smiles as she rattled off a whole lot of showjumping stories, continually prompting her to tell him more, enjoying her company, exciting her with the warm interest in his eyes.

He handled the powerful car with brilliant ease. She couldn’t help watching his hands moving on the steering wheel, controlling the gearstick—so competent, confident—and wondered what it would feel like to have them touching her. Her gaze was drawn again and again to his powerful thighs flexing against the stretch denim of his jeans as he braked or accelerated. He oozed a maleness that had her stomach clenching over the thought of seeing him naked, feeling him naked.

Wicked thoughts.

Dangerous thoughts.

Yet she couldn’t stop them from sliding into her mind, no matter how sternly she told herself that love and marriage was not on his agenda and it would be foolish to succumb to a physical affair where she would most probably end up craving more than he was prepared to give of himself. Not only that, it would change their current arrangement, maybe spoil it. On the other hand, it was impossible to ignore what she was feeling with him.

They stopped at Kirkton Park, a beautiful holiday resort in the middle of vineyard country. Having collected glasses of champagne from the bar, they strolled out to the rose garden—all red roses, scenting the air. They sat on one of the garden benches, enjoying the delightful ambience as they sipped the celebratory drink in the twilight of this wonderful day.

Sally queried Jack on the work that was occupying his business life and he talked openly of the problems he was sorting out in the transport industry, revising the truck drivers’ schedules so that none of them had to take drugs to stay awake on unreasonably long hauls. “My father cut too many corners in his drive for maximum profits, always intent on expanding his empire. He didn’t care about his people,” he explained, and suddenly the darkness was back, brooding behind his eyes.

Impulsively Sally reached over and squeezed the hand resting on his thigh. “I’m glad you care, Jack.”

He turned his hand to take hers, his strong fingers lacing through her fingers, gripping, transmitting a heat that ran up her arm and spread through her entire body. “It’s easier not to,” he said mockingly. “Caring eats into you.”

Like the caring that had brought him back to Australia, the caring that had driven him to command his father’s attention, the caring that had demanded retribution for how he had been treated. Sally understood exactly what he meant.

“It’s in your nature to care,” she said quietly, certain it was true. “You’re not like your father. Nor my mother,” she added ironically, lifting her gaze to show her empathy for all he had felt.

He shook his head, regarding her curiously. “How did the person you are survive in that household, Sally?”

She shrugged. “I learnt to play the role expected of me. Until you changed everything.”

His grimace expressed a sudden burst of intense distaste. “When I fly in next time, you don’t have to meet me with a martini,” he said gruffly. “Just be yourself. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She smiled.

Then abruptly he was on his feet, drawing her up from the garden bench, his voice a low burr, announcing, “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”

He held on to her hand. Sally’s feet wanted to dance all the way inside to the restaurant. She could barely keep a lid on the coiled springs in her legs. He liked the person she was. He wanted her in his life. Her mind bubbled with a wild happiness. She wanted him in her life, too. It felt right.

They ordered a meal and ate it, washing it down with a glass of fine chardonnay. Everything tasted delicious. Jack talked about life on his stepfather’s ranch, competing in rodeos when he was a teenager. Sally hung on every word, fascinated that horses had played such a big part of his younger years, loving the fact that he’d been so attuned to her riding in the show ring today.

She should have been revelling in the pleasure of being with him on the drive home to Yarramalong, but somewhere along the way she drifted off to sleep, the huge energy drain of the day catching up with her. Consciousness returned with a jolt—an arm sliding under her knees, words murmured in her ear.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Lift your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you in to your room.”

“What …?”

“We’re home.”

While still befuddled, she was hoisted up out of the passenger seat of the car, her arms instinctively flinging themselves over his shoulders for extra support. “Jack …I can walk.” It was a half-hearted, foggy protest. Her body didn’t want to cooperate with it at all and did nothing to assert its independence, perfectly content to be cradled against his warm chest.

“Just relax, Sally,” he instructed, and it was so nice simply to do as she was told, dropping her head onto his shoulder, her face pressing close to the strong column of his neck, breathing in the heady male scent of him—cologne, shampoo … she didn’t know what but he smelled good.

Home, she thought dizzily, until a practicality struck her. “Door key.”

“Got it in my hand,” he assured her.

She sighed, happy that he’d thought of everything. The house was undoubtedly empty by now, but Jeanette would have left lights on in the foyer and hall before heading off to her cottage with Graham. No problem for Jack to negotiate his way inside. He wasn’t even breathing heavily from carrying her. So strong.

She supposed Tim had passed on the news that she’d be coming home later with Jack. One of the guest suites would have been made ready for him. That was no problem, either. Except she wanted to keep holding on to him. Her nerves were humming with the pleasure of being this close.

The front door was opened and shut behind them.

Across the foyer.

Down the hall.

Sally’s heart drummed harder with each step Jack took towards her bedroom. The drowsy languor was gone. She was wide-awake and acutely aware of fast approaching the moment of parting, wantonly wishing it didn’t have to be so.

He opened her door.

Left it open.

She felt his muscles tense as he moved towards the bed, which was visible from the light in the hall. He was going to lay her down and leave. She knew it and inwardly screamed at his gentlemanly restraint.

Put her down and go, Jack savagely told himself. Sally was trusting him to do just that. He’d brought this raging desire upon himself, gratifying some caveman instinct by carrying her—his woman. It wasn’t her fault that the softness of her breasts against his chest was making his heart pound harder, that her breath against his throat was an almost unbearable tease. He wanted the heat of her mouth pressed to his skin, but she hadn’t done it. Any other woman he’d been with would have, showing her own desire for the sexual connection he craved. But Sally.

Just put her down and let her go to sleep on a happy day.

He forced himself to lean over and lay her gently on the bed. Her arms did not slide away. They remained locked around his neck. He looked down at her face, seductively framed by the spill of red-gold curls on the white pillow. Her eyes weren’t closed. They were wide-open, mutely appealing, striking straight at the heart of the desire he’d been trying to contain, rendering it impossible to resist.

It wasn’t a light kiss. It wasn’t a “sweet-dreams, good-night” kiss. His mouth fell upon hers with ravaging passion, the pent-up urges of many weeks driving him to take all she was willing to give. And her response was equally wild and fierce, hands raking through his hair, holding his head to hers as her mouth accepted and returned his plunder, deeply intimate, intensely exciting.

He wasn’t even conscious of moving onto the bed with her. He felt her body straining against his, the whole gorgeous length of her femininity seeking the feel of him. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging tightly. She hooked a leg over his. They kissed with a feverish madness that consumed any rational thought. There was only need answering need, revelling in the mutual hunger for each other.

“Clothes off,” he rasped as he broke from her mouth to draw breath, his hand already under her T-shirt, un-clipping her bra.

“You, too,” she demanded, levering herself up, tearing at his shirt.

They dragged off everything, hurling each unwanted garment out of the way, the need to be free of any barriers between them driving a haste that allowed no sense of inhibitions. They came together again, skin against skin, soft flesh moulding itself to his hardness, generating more heat, more hunger.

His mind was awash in sensation. His body knew only intense urgency. She was ready for him, hot, moist, welcoming, and he plunged inside her, revelling in feeling her convulse around him. He kissed her again, his tongue driving deeply into her mouth. Hers pushed into his, passionately repeating his invasion. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her body lifting, arching, wanting him to pump himself into her.

He was completely out of control, his heart thundering with the rhythm of their bodies thrusting for the ultimate peak of pleasure, exulting in the excitement as they raced towards it. He felt her tension break into quivering, heard her cry out, and his own explosive release gushed from him in violent spasms, and a deep, guttural cry burst from his throat.

He held her to him with a fierce possessiveness, and they lay together, still intimately joined, their legs entwined, slowly getting their breath back, pulse rates calming down, luxuriating in the sense of intense togetherness. Her head was tucked under his chin. His fingers savoured the silk of her hair. He smelled it, kissed it, tasted it, loved it. Her skin was like silk, too. He felt intoxicated by the glorious sensuality of her lovely curvy body. Another time he would kiss her all over, but right now he just wanted to hold her.

She fell asleep on him.

He didn’t mind.

It showed she wasn’t worried about what they’d done.

Or was happy about the possibility of getting pregnant.

A wave of cold sanity washed through him.

He’d lost his head in a blaze of lust.

He hadn’t used protection.