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 15

SALLY awoke to the steadily insistent buzz of the telephone. The memory of last night with Jack crashed straight into her mind with the consciousness of being naked. Her head whipped around on the pillow to check if he was still with her. No. The telephone kept demanding her attention. She grabbed for the receiver on the bedside table and was shocked to see her alarm clock read 9:07. She’d slept almost ten hours!

“Sally Maguire,” she said sharply, realizing that Jeanette would be in the kitchen by now and had put the call through to her room.

“It’s Jack.”

The sound of his voice sent a thrill through her. She smiled and lay back down, her free hand automatically stroking down her stomach, recalling the intense pleasure he’d given her, the incredible sensations. “I just woke up.”

“So did I.”

“Where are you?”

“In my Sydney apartment.”

“Why didn’t you stay?”

“I have an appointment for lunch today.”

“Oh!” His life in the city … she tried to swallow her disappointment but it probably crept into her voice. “It was so wonderful …”

“I take it you’re not sorry it happened.”

“No.” Impossible to be sorry. Hadn’t she secretly wanted him all along?

“I didn’t plan to finish off the night like that, Sally.”

It was a statement of fact and she believed him, remembering how she had hung on to him, virtually inviting what had followed.

“And I forgot to use protection,” he added pointedly.

It was like a knife to her heart. Was he thinking she had lured him into her bed, pulling him into an intimacy with the intention of getting pregnant? Her whole body tensed with horror. Had he left when he’d realised what he’d done, repulsed by the idea he’d fallen into the trap her mother had laid out?

“Jack, it was safe! I swear to you it was!” she cried vehemently. “I’m on the pill!”

She hadn’t planned last night, either, but the very day after her mother had left the property, she’d gone to her local doctor and got a prescription for the pill, determined not to be caught out if she did succumb to the strong attraction of Jack Maguire. She was not going to use a baby to tie him to her financially or any other way.

“Well, that should be safe enough.” His voice had a sardonic ring to it as he added, “I’d hate you not to be fit for competing in the World Cup.”

Relief poured through her. He didn’t seem to be doubting her word. Nevertheless, the reference to her showjumping might mean he intended to distance himself from her, not risk getting trapped again. It took a huge effort to respond to him normally. “It’s only the start of the season, Jack. I’ll have to perform well at every event.”

“Great start! I’m glad I was there to see it.”

He did sound glad. Maybe she was overreacting. Needing more assurance that all was well between them, she asked, “When will I see you again?”

“Probably next weekend. I’ll let you know.”

That sounded too casual, too vague. She’d be on tenterhooks until he did call her. She took a deep breath and tried to pour warmth into her voice. “I hope you have a good week, Jack, and thank you for making yesterday more special.”

“You’re a very special lady, Sally Maguire. ‘Bye for now.”

“‘Bye,” she echoed, then lay there in the bed he’d shared with her so intimately last night, holding the receiver to her thumping heart, hoping that being “a very special lady” did not set her apart in a bad way. She desperately wanted it to mean he believed her innocent of any rotten plotting and would make the effort to be with her again as soon as he could. A week was not very long, not when his business life was tied to the city.

She finally pushed herself to get up, shower, dress and present herself to the world Jack had allowed her to keep for a year because he wanted to experience her. Though whether he wanted to keep experiencing her was the burning question.

Jeanette was in the kitchen, as expected, drinking a cup of tea and reading a Sunday newspaper. She looked up as Sally entered. “Ah! Ready for breakfast?”

“Mmm. Big appetite, too.” She felt terribly empty and very much in need of comfort food. “I’ll have the lot this morning, bacon, eggs, fried tomato, mushrooms if we’ve got them.”

“Coming up.” Jeanette rose from her kitchen stool to busy herself at the stove, throwing Sally a curious look. “Not like you to sleep in this long. I wouldn’t have put that call through except it was Mr. Maguire.”

Sally shrugged off the query, not wanting to explain too much. “Big day yesterday.”

Jeanette smiled. “Tim told us you won the main event. Congratulations!”

“Thanks.”

“And that Mr. Maguire was there to watch you, taking you out to dinner and bringing you home.” This was delivered with an arch look.

“Yes. He did.” Sally hitched herself onto the stool the housekeeper had vacated, trying to look casually relaxed.

“But he didn’t stay,” Jeanette pressed.

“No. He had to get back to Sydney. He was just calling to say he’ll probably be here next weekend.”

“I’ll let everyone know.” She fetched the breakfast items from the refrigerator while the frying pan was heating up and nodded to the coffee machine. “Pour yourself a cup. It’s freshly made, ready for you.”

“You spoil me, Jeannette.” Sally tossed her a smile as she moved to help herself to coffee.

“You’ve always been a good girl,” Jeannette said approvingly, then a pause before the probing comment, “Tim says Mr. Maguire is very taken with you.”

Her heart lifted at hearing the observation, but if Jack believed he had been taken by her … she savagely wished this pregnancy issue had never come up.

“I like him, too. Very much,” she answered.

It drew a look of anxious concern. “Do you think it will be all right, Sally? I mean … it’s sort of complicated with the property and all.”

It was a sobering point of view, and a valid one. What would happen if the relationship between her and Jack fell apart, if his interest in her was satisfied faster than Sally cared to think about? Like right now!

“I don’t know, Jeanette,” she answered, trying to quell a sudden rush of panic at the thought of being abandoned because she’d wanted him to love her. “Whatever happens between us, I don’t believe for a minute Jack would break the contract we’ve signed, so we can count on being here for the full year.” With him, or without him.

“Yes. There’s that. And who knows?” She threw Sally a hopeful smile. “Maybe it will work out very happily.”

That was well and truly a pipedream at the moment, but Sally couldn’t bring herself to throw a wet blanket over it. She was head-over-heels in love with the man. Even though he’d told her straight out that love and marriage was not on his agenda, people could and did change their minds. Last night, the deep connection she had felt with him had consumed any concern she might have had over doing something wrong. If he had felt it, too.

“Where did you have dinner?” Jeannette asked.

Relating that experience was easier than answering questions about Jack—questions she didn’t know the answers for anyway. The dinner at Kirkton Park and the showjumping filled the rest of the conversation over breakfast.

Then Jane rang, wanting to know if she’d scored for the World Cup, and she relived the excitement of her success for her sister. It kept playing through her mind whether or not to tell Jane everything that was happening. They’d never kept secrets from each other. Yet she didn’t want to hear a whole lot of worrywart stuff, which the confiding of her feelings for Jack Maguire would inevitably draw because of their mother’s poisonous view of the situation.

It was Jane who finally brought him up. “Do you know when to expect another visit from Jack?”

“He called this morning to say he’d probably come next weekend,” she answered, trying to sound matter-of-fact and feeling awkward about not sharing.

It was too new, she argued to herself. And it might have already ended for Jack. If he did come next weekend, and he left her still feeling like this about him, she would tell her sister then and deal with the gush of concern.

“Is it okay if I come to visit, too?” Jane asked. “I’d like to meet him on home ground.”

Sally’s chest instantly tightened. She didn’t want Jane watching over her with Jack. It would be inhibiting. Besides, there was Jack’s embargo on Jane’s visits, as well.

“You can be with me as often as you like, but he doesn’t want you here when he is, Jane,” she stated flatly. “He said so from the start. Maybe he’ll soften on that point as time goes on, but I think it’s too soon to try changing the conditions he laid down.”

A short, tense silence.

Sally felt miserably guilty for shutting Jane out, yet she didn’t want family issues intruding on what was a very private and personal new experience for her.

“Does he think I sided with Mum at the solicitor’s office?”

“I don’t know,” she answered quickly, too uncomfortable with the situation to discuss it. “I’ll talk to him about it when the right opportunity arises. Okay?”

“I don’t want to make trouble for you,” came the typically anxious reply.

Sally sighed. “You won’t, Jane. You never do. Just be happy doing your nursing course. I’ll take care of everything at this end.”

The assurance was enough to settle the problem. Temporarily. Sally knew she’d have to deal with it eventually, but having time alone with Jack was a far more pressing need.

The week passed in a flurry of activity, each day raising the hope that everything was still all right between them because there’d been no cancellation of the changes to the master suite.

On Monday the new carpet was laid. It was a deep jade green—deeper than the shades of green on the cupboard doors in the dressing-room—and so plush it felt like velvet underfoot.

The bedroom furniture arrived on Tuesday. The style was French Provincial, mostly ivory with decorative scrolls picked out in gold—a king-size bed, two bedside tables, a very elegant coffee table accompanied by two armchairs upholstered in a diamond pattern of dark jade, a much paler green and ivory in silk brocade with gold braiding around the edges.

Wednesday brought a plasma television, which was installed on the wall to the right of the door leading to the ensuite rooms, taking the place where her mother’s dressing table had previously stood. Jack would have no use for a dressing-table, Sally thought, and the television suggested that he planned to visit frequently.

The rest of the furnishings came on Thursday: beautiful gold and ivory table lamps; bedlinen in dark-jade-green Egyptian cotton; a glorious bedspread in the same silk brocade used on the armchairs; a pile of rich cushions to decorate the bed. Dressing up the double glass doors that opened onto the pergola area outside were silk side curtains in the dark and light green, looped into a graceful drape with gold cord and tassles, an expanse of ivory organza in between, all hanging on a long gold rod with elaborate scrolls at both ends.

The whole effect was beautiful, but it was crowned by the magnificent painting that was carried in and positioned on the other side of the wall to the television set. Sally could hardly believe it was a real Monet—one of the great artist’s paintings of waterlilies—but it was. It really was. Had to be worth millions of dollars, and Jack had chosen to have it hung here!

This couldn’t be such a temporary thing for him. No-one would cart a Monet around frivolously. It complemented the furnishings perfectly, a wonderful highlight, but such a valuable painting had to mean he cared a great deal about wanting this to be a place that would give him a lot of pleasure, so surely he had to intend spending a lot of time at the property. With her.

He called that evening. “I’ll be flying in at six o’clock tomorrow,” he said without preamble.

“And I’ll be waiting to greet you with a glass of champagne,” she trilled back at him, overflowing with a bubbling excitement she couldn’t contain.

“Champagne?” he queried in an amused tone.

“Well, you don’t want a martini, and I think the newly decorated master suite deserves to be christened with champagne.”

“You like it?”

“I love it! They’ve done a wonderful job. And Jack … the Monet painting …it’s so beautiful I have to keep going in to look at it.”

He laughed. “One of my more extravagant investments. I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to enjoy it with me.”

Sharing …caring …for a moment Sally was lost in those blissful thoughts. Then she realised Jack was probably thinking of enjoying the painting with her from the bed in the master suite. Was expecting to do so. Why not, after last Saturday night? It was a reasonable expectation.

Yet somehow—maybe it was the incredibly valuable Monet painting—the feeling of Jack having deliberately set out to make the master suite a temptingly seductive place to be, sent a chill through her mind. Was he using all he was capable of giving to ensure having what he wanted—keeping her captivated for as long as he was enjoying the experience of her? And having given so much, did that remove any guilt he might have about leaving her and moving on when he’d had enough?

She didn’t really know how his mind worked. Except when he set a course of action, he followed it through with ruthless efficiency, doing whatever had to be done for the desired result. Easier not to care, he’d said, but there had to be caring behind the sheer drive of the man. Dark angel. Dark caring. Blackjack Maguire, taking over what his father had owned, what his father had put ahead of him … like her, the adopted daughter.

“Sally?”

“Yes?”

“What was that silence about?”

Boring straight in on her doubts, intent on stopping any retreat from him. It was too late to retreat anyway, Sally told herself, willing away the sense of being ruthlessly manipulated. “I was thinking … I’ve only been in your company for a few days.”

“Time has nothing to do with the connection we have, Sally,” he asserted confidently.

The connection.

He did feel it.

A dark burden lifted from her soul.

No matter what was hidden in the dark recesses of Jack’s mind, the connection between them was real. And there could be no going back to maintaining a distance from him. Besides, she wanted to go forward, regardless of what happened further down the track.

“Six o’clock,” she said, reminding him there was physical time involved.

He laughed as though that had no real relevance.

“I’ll bring a bottle of French champagne and we can toast the Monet together.”

“I’ll have the flute glasses ready. And an ice bucket.”

On the coffee table in the master suite. Her heartbeat instantly accelerated at the thought. Was that too bold of her? No. What was the use of pretending she didn’t want to spend every minute with him, anywhere, any time?

“I’ll be living for the moment.” His voice purred contentedly in her ear. “Good night, Sally.”

“Good night to you, too,” she answered, knowing she’d be living for the moment, as well.

Maybe this pleasure in each other wouldn’t last, but as long as it did, she wasn’t about to turn away from it.