Читать книгу The Brazilian's Blackmail Bargain - Эбби Грин, ABBY GREEN - Страница 7

THAT evening Maggie prepared a light supper and woke her mother up. When they were sitting in the kitchen afterwards she finally asked the question Maggie had been dreading. ‘How did it go with Michael?’

She steeled herself. ‘Not great. I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

Her mother’s fingers clenched around the mug, her knuckles white. ‘What is it?’

Maggie could have wept at the familiar stoic look in her eyes. She drove down the lump. ‘Mum…someone took over Tom’s business…Just the day after he died it became apparent that he had lost everything. Effectively we’re bankrupt. It was…’ she quashed the potent image of Caleb from her mind’s eye ‘…someone who he had tried to take over.’

‘I always knew a lot of people had grievances against him…There was bound to be someone…So what does it mean?’ her mother asked.

‘Well…’ Maggie desperately fought against saying the house just yet ‘…it means that we don’t get anything; it’s all gone.’

Her mother gave much the same reaction as Maggie had earlier. ‘Well, that’s not the worst thing, is it? I mean, what have we ever had?’ She smiled a watery smile at her daughter and looked around the kitchen. ‘At least we have the house…Honestly, love, I don’t know what I’d do if we didn’t have this; it’s all I have left of your father and now I’ll be able to live here in peace.’ Maggie’s mother reached across the table and took her daughter’s hand, ‘Don’t look so worried, pet, everything will work out. I’ll get a job…you’ve got your painting; we’ll be okay.’

She hadn’t figured it out yet, Maggie knew with a sick horror. Somehow, her mother hadn’t equated signing over the house as collateral with Tom losing everything.

‘Mum…you don’t realise. We’ve lost everything…’

Her mother still looked at her blankly.

‘Mr Murphy said you signed the house over to Tom before we left London…’

‘Yes, love, but that was just…he just said it was…that it was only to…’ She stopped talking.

‘Oh, dear God, what did I do?’

Maggie held her hand. ‘It’s gone too. It was included in the rest of his assets.’

Her mother didn’t move for some time and then pulled her hand away slowly and got up to rinse out her cup. Maggie followed her, worried about her lack of reaction.

When her mother turned to face her she felt real fear, her eyes were dead, any sign of life or spark gone.

‘Mum…’

‘Margaret, I can’t…don’t make me think about this…I can’t bear it.’

She watched helplessly as the bowed woman walked out of the kitchen and knew that she was struggling with all of her might to keep herself together. That night she heard the muted sobs through her wall and knew that her proud mother would hate her to witness the awful grief. She couldn’t bear to hear her pain. What could she do? There had to be some way out…some solution.

The next morning, as the weak dawn light filtered through the curtains, Maggie lay with eyes wide open after a sleepless night. A night where demons had invaded every thought. Demons that had a familiar severely handsome face. She knew with a fatal certainty what she had to do. What the only option was.

When she walked into the kitchen a short while later any doubts in her head about her plan fled. Her mother was sitting there listlessly. She looked up briefly with shadowed eyes, her face a grey mask of disappointment and weariness. Maggie went and sat down beside her. ‘Mum, look at me.’ She waited until her mother brought her head around, slowly, as if it were a heavy weight.

‘I’m going to go into town for a while…I have something to do, but I’ll be back later or first thing in the morning.’

Hopefully with good news…

She didn’t want to say too much in case she got her mother’s hopes up, but right then and there Maggie vowed with everything in her heart that she would do whatever it took to get the house back in her mother’s name. She cooked a light breakfast and forced her mother to have some, relieved to see a slight bloom return to her cheeks before she left.

Once in her small, battered Mini, she stopped by Michael Murphy’s office in the main street to find out where Caleb’s offices were. He didn’t ask any questions, just said as he handed her the address, ‘He’s not going to be easy to see; everyone in Dublin is begging an audience…’

‘I know, but I’ll camp outside his door if I have to,’ Maggie replied grimly.

She hit the rush hour traffic on the way into town and the journey, which might normally take thirty minutes, took three times as long.

Finally she was in the city centre and parked near the building in the financial district where Caleb’s offices had been set up. She was dressed smartly in her one and only suit. She wanted to look as businesslike as possible. It was dark blue—a skirt and short jacket with a matching cream silk shirt. She wore sheer stockings and high heels and had tied her unruly hair back in a severe bun. She wanted to feel armoured against Caleb’s scathing looks and condemnation. Even if she was shaking like a leaf on the inside.

The spring air was deceptively mild, yet she shivered. At reception they directed her up to the top floor, which Caleb had taken over in its entirety for his sole use. Her stomach churned as she ascended in the lift, the thought of seeing him face to face again more daunting than she had thought possible.

Any illusion of ease in getting to see him was swiftly dashed on her arrival on to the opulently designed floor. A veritable bulldog of a secretary was guarding the main foyer and looked Maggie up and down when she requested to see Caleb.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘Well…not exactly, but when he hears who it is he might have a couple of minutes to spare. I won’t take up much of his time.’

‘I’ll let him know, but he has meetings back to back all day. You might be waiting for some time.’

‘That’s fine.’ She’d wait until midnight if she had to. She made a quick call on her mobile to a friend of her mother’s in the village, asking her to look in and make sure she was okay. With that done, she settled in for the wait.

Some eight hours later Maggie had run the gamut of emotions: irritation, boredom, anger, despair, disbelief and now she was just exhausted. Her suit was crumpled, her shoes were off and her hair was unravelling. Any make-up that had been there had long slid off. She hadn’t left for anything except a crucial toilet visit in case she missed him. All day long men in suits had come and gone. She’d seen lunch being delivered and then taken away again, prompting her own stomach to rumble. The first secretary had been and gone and had been replaced by another similarly bad-tempered one.

Caleb’s door opened again and Maggie resigned herself to seeing yet more faceless suits departing and thought dimly that the man’s stamina was unbelievable. She didn’t register for a minute that it was Caleb himself walking out, his tall, powerful build unmistakable. When her sluggish brain finally clicked into gear, she jumped up, her body protesting at the sudden movement after sitting for so long. He was striding towards the lift, not looking left or right; he hadn’t even seen her as she was partially tucked away behind a plant.

‘Caleb…’ she cursed her impulse to call him by his first name ‘…Mr Cameron—wait!’

He had just pressed the button for the lift and turned around slowly, his brows snapping together when he saw her. Maggie forced herself to stand tall, only realising then that she was in stockinged feet, her shoes abandoned somewhere near the chair. She hitched up her chin.

‘Mr Cameron, I’ve been waiting all day to see you. I know you’re busy, but I’d appreciate just a few minutes of your time.’

‘Ivy told me you were here earlier, but she knew I was tied up all day.’

‘I insisted on staying…I hoped you might have a window somewhere…’

‘Well, as you can see, I didn’t. And now, if you’ll excuse me…Call tomorrow and maybe there will be a free appointment.’

He couldn’t leave. Maggie stood, open-mouthed. She’d been waiting for hours without food or water to see him. The look on his face said he couldn’t have cared less if she’d been bleeding and begging at his feet. He turned away dismissively.

She looked at his broad back, the doors of the lift opening silently; she had to stop him. She ran forward and put her hands in to stop the closing doors, looking up into his forbiddingly expressionless face.

‘Please, Mr Cameron, I’m begging you to just listen to what I have to say for five minutes. I’ve been waiting here since half ten this morning. I know that’s my own fault, but I have to talk to you.’

He stood back against the wall of the lift, casually looking Maggie up and down as if he were used to women flinging themselves in his path. Which he more than likely was, she thought bitterly. He regarded her for a long moment. She fought against squirming under his look.

‘Very well. Five minutes.’

‘Thank you,’ Maggie let out on a sigh of relief.

He stepped back out of the lift and, with a flick of his hand, instructed the gaping secretary to go for the night. Without looking back to see if Maggie was following, he went into his office. She found her shoes and scrambled to put them on and follow him in before he changed his mind.

When she walked in warily he was pouring himself a shot of some dark liquid and sat down at his desk, one large hand clamped around the glass. Maggie stood nervously, taking in the dominantly masculine aura of the room. One low lamp cast a pool of light. The shadows in the room made him look even darker than he normally did, which, she remembered, came from his Brazilian mother. His father was the quintessential Englishman and the two sides—one tempestuous and passionate, the other sophisticated—proved to be a heady combination. As Maggie remembered all too well.

‘Well?’ he asked softly, with more than a hint of steel in his tone.

She took a deep breath. ‘It’s about our house.’

‘You mean my house.’

She nodded slightly, feeling a surge of anger at his proprietary arrogance. ‘That house belonged to my father…my birth father,’ she qualified. ‘It’s always been my mother’s, the one thing that Tom didn’t own.’

‘And…?’ he asked in a bored tone, vaguely remembering a plain, nervous woman who had hovered around the edges of the meetings in Holland’s house.

Maggie moved closer behind the chair opposite his, her hands curling unconsciously around the top, knuckles white. ‘Tom made her sign the house over to him. It’s always been in her name. I…I don’t know how he managed it; she always vowed she’d never—’ Maggie stopped herself. He didn’t need to know the gory details. ‘By taking the house, the only person you’re punishing is my mother, and she’s got nothing to do with what happened…She’s suffered enough—’

‘As the wife of a multi-millionaire?’ he sneered, his lip curling in disbelief. ‘You must be joking if you expect me to believe that. You just want to salvage something and you’ve concocted some lame sob story—’

‘It’s not!’ Maggie said fiercely. ‘Please. You have to believe me.’

‘Believe you?’ He stood up and advanced around the desk to her side. She stood rooted to the spot. ‘You don’t have a truthful bone in your body…Tell me, how many other men have you teased for Tom Holland in the last few months…Ten? Twenty? Or maybe you gave them the delectable fruits of your body that you denied me?’

His crude words shocked her into action, wide green eyes stared up and, without thinking about what she was doing, somehow she had moved closer and her hand lifted up, trembling, but before it could reach its target, her wrist was caught. She abhorred violence and yet, here she was, about to strike him.

‘Now, now…Sheath your claws, you little cat. I don’t think you really want to do that, do you?’

With the shock of the near violence and Caleb’s hand like a steel clamp around her wrist, Maggie felt her pulse speeding up to triple time. Her eyes drank him in despite herself, taking in the hard jaw, the dark hair swept back off his forehead. The sensuous lips pulled into a grim line. But it was the eyes she remembered the most. Piercing blue—a blue that she’d fancied herself drowning in once…she shut her eyes at the memories…eyes which sliced through her when she opened her own again.

‘You can give up the act.’ He dropped her hand as though it was infectious and Maggie stepped back; she had to put space between them. She rubbed her wrist absently where he had gripped it, knowing that she’d have a bruise in the morning. She forced herself to look at him again.

‘The simple fact is that if you take the house it will kill my mother. It’s all she’s ever counted on, all that she has to remind her of my father. She didn’t get anything from Tom Holland except—’

Maggie belatedly remembered her mother’s desperate plea not to reveal the reality of her marriage.

‘Yes? Except what?’

This man would never understand. Too much had happened for her to count on any level of trust.

She steeled herself against his overpowering presence, the condemnation in his cold, implacable gaze. She ignored his prompt. ‘I know my word means nothing to you, but please just hear me out. She never had anything to do with any of his business concerns and certainly nothing to do with trying to take you down…’

Caleb’s eyes narrowed and Maggie seized on a chink in the armour. ‘You can ask anyone who knew him,’ she said in a rush, ‘Ask Mr Murphy; he knows. This isn’t for me; it’s for her. I’m asking you to put the house back into her name…for her sake.’

He just watched her with those hard eyes, his face shuttered. Then he said slowly, ‘And all the time your mother was supposedly blithely unaware, you were in league with your stepfather, doing your seductive routine, conning innocent men…and now what? You have a fit of conscience and want to make it up to her? I don’t buy it.’

Maggie couldn’t fight his opinion of her; it was so low that it may as well have been in the gutter.

She answered with a brittle smile. ‘Yes, you could say that’s what it is. I’m trying to mend my ways, starting with my mother.’ She felt silly tears smart at the back of her eyes. The truth of what she too had suffered at the hands of that man burned like a brand and that someone like Caleb, especially Caleb, would never believe her.

‘If I were to do as you ask, how can I be sure you’re being altruistic—and what will make it worth my while?’

‘I’ll do anything you want…anything! Wash floors…’ she said wildly, the brittleness gone, sensing a chance, however flimsy. ‘Anything. Just please give my mother back her house; she doesn’t deserve this punishment.’

Caleb lounged back nonchalantly against the desk, arms folded across his broad chest, the material of his shirt straining. Maggie couldn’t believe that in the midst of all this she could be so aware of him. His gaze was uncomfortably assessing.

He’d already decided he was going to take a mistress, but why go to the tiresome bother of having to go through the motions just to get someone into his bed? When what…who he really wanted was conveniently within his grasp. One thing he knew for certain as she stood in front of him, her whole petite frame quivering so lightly that it was barely perceptible—was that he wanted her. Badly. More than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life. And he always got what he wanted…

‘You’d sell your soul to the devil?’

‘Yes.’ She answered simply, without hesitation. ‘If I had to.’

‘You’d sell yourself to me?’ he asked softly.

It took slow seconds for his words to sink in; she wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. ‘I’m sorry—what…?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Sell myself like…like some kind of—’

‘Mistress. You…’He looked her up and down thoroughly, his eyes resting for long seconds on her breasts, which rose and fell, her distress evident. ‘Your body to me in exchange for the house.’

Maggie stepped back, blanching at his stark words, his intent, but Caleb stood and advanced a step for every one that she took back. As if she could have ever hoped that she could appeal to just his mercy. Men like him exacted payment for everything.

‘I couldn’t do that…How…how could you even suggest such a thing?’

‘Because, you see, I can. Believe me, I don’t want to want you…but I do. And you owe me…ever since you seduced me up in that hotel room six months ago and then turned on the ice maiden act. Tell me, did it turn you on? Was it part of the plan? Did you feel powerful, knowing that you could bring a man to the brink—’

‘Stop! It wasn’t…I didn’t…’ she denied automatically, wanting to halt his words, the tide of burning humiliation that threatened to overwhelm her, as she remembered just how awfully wanton she had been, the shock of her response to him. It had been that, along with the crushing burden of guilt, that had stunned her into frozen immobility at the time. Everything else had been forgotten. Even her mother. Even the threat. And it had scared the life out of her.

But it had been too late for her to laugh it off or feign nonchalance and then he had dropped the bombshell…revealing just how much he had known all along. Far more than her. Any nebulous desire she might have had to confide in him had died a death right there. He had set out to seduce her as cold-bloodedly as he’d believed she had done. She shivered. And yet there’d been nothing cold-blooded about their lovemaking.

‘You tricked me, Maggie. Can you deny that you met me that night with seduction and betrayal in mind?’ he asked, making her focus again on the present conversation. A stillness came into the air around them.

‘No…’ she replied faintly. Because that was exactly what she had done. Albeit against her will. But if he knew that…He could never know how much she had wanted it to be for real. Finding out the extent of his own deceit when hers had been unintended had exposed a wound that was still far too raw…He’d annihilate her and it would bring up all the emotions she’d buried in London, thinking she’d never see him again. She desperately tried another tack. ‘But you hate me…How can you want me?’

‘I think that you aren’t so naïve as to imagine that love or even friendship needs to be involved in the act of sex. I want you—you want the house. It’s a simple equation.’

His words flayed her somewhere inside and her hands were clenched tight into fists by her sides. ‘But how? I mean, for how long or when?’

‘Until I leave Dublin.’

She backed away again, the house, her mother, forgotten. All she could see was the menacing threat in front of her. The dispassionate way he was talking reached down to somewhere deep inside her and she knew that he had the power to rip away the very fabric of herself if she allowed him to do this. She summoned up some last reserve of strength. ‘But that’s two months…I can’t…I won’t sleep with you. I couldn’t…’ she sought feverishly for something to make him back off ‘…I don’t want you.’

‘Liar.’

Before she could emit a sound of protest, with lightning speed his arms reached out and he hauled her against his chest, his head descending so quickly that she didn’t have time to twist her own away. A hand snaked around to hold it in place, his mouth covering hers, crushing her lips to his. She could taste blood on the tender inner skin of her mouth. Despite the obvious cruelty of the kiss, Maggie could feel an intense excitement explode in her belly, every cell straining to get closer, acutely aware of his absolute maleness and strength.

Then, with a subtle and expert change in tempo, his lips softened, the hand on the back of her head became caressing. His fingers loosening the already unravelling bun, she felt her hair tumble down her back. Her fists, crushed against his chest, could feel his heart beating, the warm skin under the shirt, and they wanted to stretch out, feel, take in the exquisite breadth of it. She shook with the effort it took not to allow that to happen.

With the long wait and no food all day, she was already light-headed; Caleb’s potent sexuality effortlessly swept away any resistance. Her eyes closed, Maggie was soon lost in sensation, unaware of anything but the feel of his mouth on hers, hard yet soft. When his tongue sought entry, her mouth opened on a defeated sigh and his tongue touching hers ignited a fire between her legs.

Being in his arms again, with the intensely sensual memories that had never abated…she didn’t stand a chance. His mouth moved away and Maggie sucked in a betraying breath until she felt his lips blaze a hot trail down her neck, down to where the pulse beat erratically against her skin. The hand on her back moved lower and pulled her bottom up and into him where she could feel the hard evidence of his desire. She felt every part of her pulsating with the need for him to take her.

That desire transported her back in time and was as effective as a cold douche. She used all her strength to break free. If he hadn’t kept his hands on her shoulders she would have collapsed at his feet. Her eyes were glazed, wide and dark green with unmistakable arousal. Her lips were swollen and moist.

The look on his face was triumphant, derision in his eyes at what he thought of her paltry attempt to stop his lovemaking. ‘As I said…you’re a liar.’ He cupped one hand around her chin, tilting her head up inexorably. ‘The honey of the honey trap still tastes surprisingly sweet.’

Maggie breathed out on a shuddering breath. She pulled herself away and tried to disguise the trembling in her legs.

‘You should be thankful that I still desire you…or you’d have nothing to bargain with.’

His stark words forced Maggie’s stricken mind back to why she was there. How could she have forgotten? She focused on them—anything to take her mind off her awful weakness. ‘Are you saying you’ll give my mother back her house?’

He inclined his head slowly. ‘If you give me what I want.’

‘Me.’

‘Yes.’

Maggie suddenly thought of something and seized on it. ‘But…don’t you have a girlfriend?’

‘What?’ he asked sharply.

She flushed at her quick words and the realisation that it might be obvious she’d scoured the papers for news of him—where it was common knowledge that he was never without a beautiful companion. ‘The papers…’ Her voice trailed off, her cheeks pink.

‘Girlfriend!’ He laughed mockingly. ‘How quaint. I don’t think I’ve had a girlfriend since I was six and living in Rio de Janeiro with my mother. I don’t do girlfriends, and no, there’s no one at the moment, not that you should care, since you have the morals of an alley cat.’

That’s handy, Maggie thought slightly hysterically, not even registering his insulting words—plenty of room for the sacrificial lamb to enter stage left. And he was right—how could she be so naïve? This man moved in rarefied circles where the most beautiful and socially acceptable women would be available. Men like him took mistresses until they grew bored or until they needed to marry. And then it would be to the right person, groomed for the job.

Knowing she sounded strangely calm, and knowing it was shock, she asked, ‘How would this work?’

‘If I’m going to sign the house back to your mother, then be here at two p.m. tomorrow with your bags packed.’

A numbness seeped into her bones. ‘You’d expect me to move in with you?’

‘Yes. I’ll need an escort, companion…and a willing lover.’

The word lover, never mind willing, made shivers of treacherous anticipation skitter down Maggie’s spine. She stood stock-still, her hair and clothes in disarray, legs still trembling slightly, her mouth feeling bruised and sensitised.

How had he done this to her? How had she let him?

He had been as guilty as her stepfather six months ago, as far as she was concerned. Both had used her like a pawn in their game of domination. And yet she couldn’t help this awful, craving desire that wiped all logic from her brain. That made her weak to him. She hated herself for it. Self-contempt laced her voice. ‘What, then?’

‘You’ll sign a contract that makes sure you get nothing from the deal. The house goes into your mother’s name solely, not even to pass to you as inheritance. One condition will be that she can’t sell it…just in case that was what you were planning.’

She felt sick. ‘God…what they say about you is true; you’ve already sized up every way I could possibly use this for my own ends. You have no heart.’

A flash of something crossed his face for a split second; if Maggie had been less biased at that moment she could almost have said it was hurt. But him? No way. The man wasn’t capable of such a feeling. As if to confirm her opinion, his face was like a mask again—it must have been her imagination.

He ignored her words. ‘And this will happen when you’ve given me what I want.’

‘When I’ve slept with you.’

‘For two months or as long as I desire you.’

‘What if that’s only one night?’ she said defiantly.

He stepped closer again and stopped just short of her. His scent enveloped her. She froze. ‘Oh, but it won’t be, Maggie. I can tell you that much.’

Turning her back for a moment, she sought some respite from his laser-like gaze. Her hands twisted as her mind raced. Their house was worth millions by now…She hadn’t a hope of raising that kind of money, and it wasn’t about the money. That house was where her mother should be able to live out her days. In peace at last. For Maggie’s whole life she had protected her mother. Sometimes more successfully than others. Ever since the first time she’d tried ineffectually to come between Tom’s fists and her mother’s body. She’d been just six years old and she still bore the scar of that day.

But Tom was gone. This was her mother’s last chance of happiness and if she could make sure it happened, undo the wrong that had been done, then she had to. Somehow…and she couldn’t think now, not when he was so close…she would have to do this. She turned around again and faced Caleb unflinchingly, determined not to let him see how she had crumbled inside. She hitched her chin. ‘And if I’m not here tomorrow?’

At the look on her face Caleb felt a bizarre lurch somewhere in his chest. For a split second he actually wasn’t sure if she would do this…and didn’t like how that felt. At all. Not after having decided that he would take her as his mistress. He quashed the doubt and the feeling ruthlessly. She was just playing him, probably already trying to figure out how much she could walk away with, which he vowed would be nothing more than he was prepared to give. He stood to his full intimidating height and glanced at the heavy platinum watch that encircled one brown wrist. ‘You would now have one week and six days to move out of that house before I move in.’

She watched as Caleb started to walk away, no hint of the passionate kiss they’d just shared in evidence anywhere. He wasn’t tousled and shaking like her. He was cool and almost…bored. As if he did this sort of thing every day. He turned, closing his top button, straightening his tie.

‘It’s up to you, Maggie. Be here tomorrow or say goodbye to the house. You can let yourself out.’

And then he walked out the door.