Bedroom Bargains of Revenge: Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure / Bedded and Wedded for Revenge / The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge. Trish Morey

from Jack before leaving them to decide on what they wanted to eat.

      She looked at him then—the man who now owned everything her father had built—her eyes deriding his choice of drink. “Do you expect me to toast your victory, Jack?”

      He laughed, amused by her defiance. It lightened his face, making him look wickedly attractive, causing Sally’s pulse to skitter into a wild beat. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself and he seemed amused by that, too, enjoying the power he was exerting over her.

      “I’m in the mood to celebrate,” he drawled.

      “The king is dead. Long live the king?” she shot back at him, bridling against any levity over her father’s death.

      He shook his head, his expression sobering. “Did you love him, Sally?”

      She hesitated, realising she had not really been grieving over her father’s death, the initial shock of it gradually giving way to apprehension about what it would mean to her own and Jane’s lives. Sir Leonard Maguire had been more like a dominating presence, someone who demanded his due for what he gave, rather than a father who naturally inspired a caring closeness. His coldness towards Jane had not endeared him to Sally.

      “He was not an easy man to love,” she said truthfully. “But there were some good times with him.”

      “Did he love you?”

      Again she was thrown into examining her relationship with the man who had denied Jack any love, which made her acutely aware of the wound she might give if she answered yes. Though she didn’t think that was the truth anyway.

      “He was not the kind of man to show open affection,” she answered slowly. “But I know he liked me and was proud of my achievements in showjumping.”

      “You performed for him,” Jack commented sardonically.

      Pride made her say, “I performed more for myself.”

      He nodded. “Earning his approval.”

      She couldn’t deny it. The best times with her father had been when she’d won. If she made mistakes, rode badly, disappointed him … he turned away from her as though she didn’t belong to him. Which always hurt no matter how much she mentally armoured herself against it, silently vowing she’d do better next time.

      “What about Jane?”

      Too many hurts there. Despite all her younger sister’s efforts to please their father, Sally had always felt Jane, at best, was only ever tolerated by him, but she wasn’t about to say so, to lay out Jane’s problems to a man who had every reason not to care about them, might even find some satisfaction in the misery of one of the adopted daughters.

      “We’re not here to talk about my sister,” she reminded him.

      He shrugged. “Just curious. My mother said he had no love in him. Which was certainly my experience. I wondered if it was true for you and Jane.”

      It gave her pause for thought. Was he simply trying to make sense of what had happened between him and their father? It was difficult to make comparisons. Sir Leonard had expected them to perform for him, all in their separate ways. He had provided them with everything and they had shown their appreciation by keeping his home life as pleasant as they could. It was what their mother had trained them to do. He had been the lynch pin around which their lives had revolved. Now that he was gone, they were adrift.

      She hadn’t ever loved her father. What had always been instilled in her was a respect for who he was—the rich powerful man who had given her the chance to do what she wanted and applauded her for it. She didn’t love her mother, either, having picked up from early childhood that “dutiful daughter” was the role she was required to fulfil, never a needy one wanting too much time and attention. She and Jane had been well and truly taught their place in the Maguire household.

      But what was their place now?

      The sense of loss crashed down on her again.

      Would Jack Maguire offer some kind of life raft for her to cling to?

      “Is there any love in you?” she asked, searching his face for a soft answer.

      There was none. “I loved my mother. She died when I was twenty,” he stated grimly.

      Before he returned to Australia and ran straight into the stonewall rejection of both his father and stepmother. A life emptied of any family, she thought, his natural place taken by her and Jane. Did he hate them for it?

      “Do you love Lady Ellen, Sally?”

      She sighed, a heavy weight dragging on her heart. “What was done to you was wrong—shutting you out of our lives—but you wouldn’t have fitted into my mother’s regime, Jack.”

      “She was the queen and you had to pay homage to her?”

      She winced at the description but was unable to deny how apt it was. “There were rules made. Rules that had to be kept for the sake of harmony in the home.”

      “And now? When there is no home?” he pushed, leaning forward, keenly interested in her reply.

      She managed an ironic smile. “The whole basis for those rules no longer exists. We face chaos.”

      He returned the ironic smile as he relaxed back in his chair. “Not necessarily. Not you, Sally.”

      His eyes simmered with the promise of other possibilities. The singling out of herself made her feel uneasy. “What do you mean … not me?”

      The waiter interrupted, serving them with glasses of champagne, asking for their luncheon choices. Sally glanced distractedly at the menu and picked out the fish dish, thinking it would be the easiest to eat. Jack casually ordered the same, plus a platter of hors d’oeuvres for starters. The waiter departed and Sally stared at Jack, waiting to be enlightened. He picked up his glass of champagne in a teasing toast.

      “Let’s drink to a harmonious settlement between us.”

      “Like what?” she demanded, tentatively reaching for her glass, hoping he would offer something acceptable.

      His eyes weighed up her eagerness. “What do you want me to offer you, Sally?” he asked.

      “You said we’d talk about the horses,” she swiftly reminded him.

      “You love your horses.”

      “Yes, I do.”

      He cocked a challenging eyebrow. “More than you love Lady Ellen?”

      She frowned, not wanting to make any comparison.

      “You’ve already taken one step away from her in your desire to keep what you’ve had,” he pointed out. “I’m wondering how many steps you’re prepared to take.” His mouth formed a very sensual moue. “Will you throw in your lot with me or will you run home to Mummy?”

      Sally bridled at the thought of running home to Mummy. Her parting remark “I wash my hands of you” typified her mother’s tyrannical attitude: Do what I say or suffer the consequences. Becoming her whipping boy for the loss of what she had believed would be her inheritance did not appeal, and Sally had no doubt that would be her role. And Jane’s. If they remained dependent on her mother for anything.

      “I have my own life to live,” she said, determined on finding a way to do it. “That’s a third choice, Jack, which doesn’t involve either you or my mother.”

      “A brave choice … starting from nothing,” he remarked, his eyes sceptical of her ability to make good on her own.

      “How did you start?” she threw back at him, wanting to know how he’d come to be so wealthy.

      He ignored the question, boring in on her. “You’re twenty-four years old, Sally, with no training for anything apart from a sport which requires a great deal of financial backing. What do you see yourself doing with your life?”