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

“Yes. He flew out at five-thirty.”

“Are you all right, Sally? He didn’t …”

“No. Nothing like that,” she assured her sister. “As Jeannette remarked, Jack Maguire was a real gentleman. And Graham and Tim were very impressed with the interest he took in everything to do with the property.”

A huge sigh of relief. “I’ve been so worried all weekend. After what Mum said about his intentions …”

“I told you there was no need to worry. I can handle myself, Jane. The showjumping scene is loaded with womanisers and I’m well practised at fending them off.” Easy when you don’t find them attractive. “Anyway, Jack didn’t give me a problem. On the contrary, he even took a copy of the upcoming showjumping events I want to enter and said he would time his visits not to interfere with my schedule. And it’s okay with him for you to visit me here.”

She didn’t add the rider—not when he was in residence—because it was easy enough to make arrangements which didn’t clash with his time at the property, and Jane would only start worrying about his intentions again.

“He sounds …nice.”

Nice was not a word Sally could apply to Jack Maguire. Her instincts were sensing a dark power in him which he kept leashed until the opportune moment came to unleash it. Just being with him filled her with a nervous excitement which was impossible to ignore or control.

“I wish Mum had let him into our lives,” Jane went on ruefully. “It’s not knowing him that’s been the worry.”

“Well, at least he doesn’t feel vengeful towards us, Jane.”

“No. Obviously not. He’s being very generous. I just don’t understand why, when we’ve done nothing for him.”

“Maybe I’m doing it for him now, making him feel welcome here.”

Jane heaved a sigh. “I hope that’s all it is, Sally.”

“Stop worrying. How’s everything at your end? Has Mum been in touch?”

“No. You?”

“No. But I’ll have to call her.”

She explained about Jack wanting the master bedroom redecorated to his taste and they chatted on, trying to fill the void of having lost the family situation they had been accustomed to all their lives, holding tightly to their sisterhood. Their parents were no longer there to influence or support them. They had to hang on to each other, though Sally couldn’t confide her feelings about Jack Maguire to Jane, which made her feel very alone. Nevertheless, she’d chosen this route into her future—the best route since she could help her sister—so she had to stick with it. Besides, they were probably foolish feelings, anyway.

She did her best to forget them in the weeks leading up to the Maitland Show where she’d be competing in two showjumping events, the main one giving points towards securing a place in the World Cup team. Training her horses up to peak performance level kept her busy and focused on what was important to her.

On the home front she organised a removalist to take the bedroom furniture her mother wanted stored for future use. Jack’s interior decorator came in, took a lot of measurements, had the red carpet taken up and carted away, brought in a tradesman to repaint the walls and promised to notify Sally when the new carpet, curtains and furniture would be installed.

Jack did not contact her personally, nor did she contact him. He knew about the Maitland Show and she had no qualms about loading up the horse truck and heading off for the weekend with Tim Fogarty, who always helped her with the horses on these excursions, feeding them, grooming them, setting up the exercise pen and generally seeing they were ready for her to ride. Tim was in his fifties, an experienced stable hand who’d once worked for a racehorse trainer. There was nothing he didn’t know about horses, and Sally had a comfortable relationship with him, always respecting whatever advice he gave her.

There was accommodation for him at one end of the horse truck and she stayed at a local motel, usually booked out by other riders wanting a bit of social life in between training and competing. This time she planned to keep to herself, avoiding the gossipy crowd and their inevitable curiosity about the outcome from her father’s death. Most of them would imagine she was an heiress, and they’d be all agog if she had to explain her real situation. It was none of their business and she didn’t need that kind of distraction when she was competing.

As it was she had to deal with expressions of sympathy, but the aloof air she maintained protected her from more personal approaches. Until after she won a third place with her second-string horse and George Ponsonby decided she’d be in a more accessible mood with this success under her belt.

She’d no sooner dismounted and handed the horse over to Tim than George pounced, giving her a playful smack on the backside and flashing his whiter than white smile, designed to curl the toes of any female fool enough to fall for his boyish good looks and Casanova charm. Having competed in two Olympic Games, he was a fixture on the showjumping scene, and at thirty, had already been married and divorced twice to heiresses who’d found him cheating on them. Apparently she was his next target, no longer having a protective father in the picture.

“Great seat, Sally! How about plonking it on me tonight? I’m available. Good time guaranteed. Though since you must now be rolling in scads of money, you can shout for the drinks.”

Before she could draw breath enough to pour scorn on his arrogant confidence, another voice cut in, a hard challenging voice that brooked no opposition.

“Miss Maguire is not available tonight. She will be dining with me.”

Jack!

The shock of seeing him kicked her heart and left her mouth agape. George was stunned, too, not expecting to be challenged on what he considered his stamping ground. They both stared at Jack as he strolled forward to claim her company, taller than George and strongly emitting the dark power Sally associated with him—not a man to be thwarted on anything he aimed for.

Did George feel it, too?

He backed off fast. “Sorry. Didn’t know Sal was spoken for,” he gabbled and shot off to find easier game for a roll in the hay.

Jack paused to watch him flee the scene, surrendering the contest without so much as a backward glance, then cocked a sardonic eyebrow at Sally. “Just trying it on, was he?”

She scooped in a quick breath to relieve the tightness of her chest, which was being pummelled by a wild heartbeat. “George tries it on with every woman he fancies,” she answered dryly. “He’s incapable of keeping his trousers zipped.”

“No serious attachment,” Jack concluded.

“Never has been. Never will be with him,” Sally said, shrugging to show the situation with George was totally unimportant and not worth discussing. “What are you doing here, Jack?”

“Came to watch you compete.” His eyes drilled hers. “Am I in the way of some other attachment you have?”

“No. The riders are a fairly incestuous group. They tend to use sex as a bit of relaxation after the heat of competition. I don’t like that kind of meaningless intimacy so I steer clear of it.”

Why she was pouring out this intimate information she didn’t know. Somehow it seemed important for him to understand she was very discriminating about whom she shared a bed with.

“So you don’t sleep around on the showjumping circuit.”

Sexy satisfaction in his voice.

A wave of heat ran through her. “I’m not an easy lay anywhere, Jack,” she flashed at him, suddenly feeling he might be measuring her for his bed and not wanting him to think she would just fall into it with him at his bidding.

He smiled, not the least bit put out by her aggressive statement, amused by her need to make it. “I can get an easy lay any time I want one, Sally. That’s not what brought me to this show today. I simply wanted to see you doing your thing, and I was about to congratulate you on your third place when George’s familiarity with you distracted my intention.”