Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure

“It’s Maguire,” he reminded her with derisive emphasis. “Jack Maguire. Commonly known as Blackjack in some circles. It’s a name that darkens other people’s dreams.”

It was a name that would haunt Sally for a long time to come. Ten years would pass before she would meet him again—ten years before he would once more set foot on this land, bringing with him the bitter harvest of the wrongs that were being enacted today.

Jack watched her go. She didn’t stable her horse. She galloped straight up the hill as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. The sun was starting to set, burning the clouds in the sky, spreading a haze of red around the big white house. He hoped Sally Maguire would spread some heartburn around with her questions about him.

Time to return to his car, leave this property before Lady Ellen sent a posse to run him off. He probably shouldn’t have said so much to the girl, venting his anger at how he’d been treated, but the urge to set a cat amongst the pigeons had been irresistible.

And she was so damned beautiful, he’d wanted to claw her off her complacent perch, make her aware of a darker side to her world of privilege. He’d revelled in the troubled worry reflected in her fascinating sagegreen eyes, in the scarlet flush that had stained her flawless, pale skin.

She’d been given too much and he’d been given too little.

That was the core of it.

He’d come on a scouting mission to feel out the lay of the land. Once he knew precisely what he was dealing with, he’d work out how to achieve what he wanted.

One certainty burned in his mind.

Whatever it took, somehow, some day, the scales would be balanced.

CHAPTER ONE

Ten Years On…

SALLY stared at the coffin which held her father. It was still difficult to believe he was dead, that a sudden fatal heart attack could steal his life away. No warning. Never a day’s illness that she knew of. He’d always radiated such a powerful life force, the shock of its being ended so abruptly was still numbing any sense of grief. Which was just as well since her mother had instructed her and Jane to maintain absolute dignity during this funeral service.

They were on public show.

They had to do their father proud.

Sir Leonard Maguire was being honoured today.

There’d been television crews outside the cathedral, shooting their arrival, not to mention all the powerful people who’d come to pay their last respects: politicians, captains of industry, the horseracing fraternity. She could hear them taking their places behind her, shuffling into the pews, greeting each other in muffled tones.

On the other side of the aisle were the major figures in her father’s work force—his other family—who had shared his dreams of a transport empire and been closely involved in carrying out his grand plans. He’d spent much more time with them than with us, Sally thought. They were probably devastated by his death, not only grieving for their leader but wondering what would come next. Who would fill the huge shoes of the man who was no longer with them?

She had no grasp of her father’s business. Neither did Jane who was studying to become a nurse. Her mother had dedicated her life to being the perfect wife, certainly the CEO of their home, but not interested in anything beyond maintaining the social status that was all important to her. They’d been cocooned in the protection of great wealth, but none of them knew what would happen now. They were floating in a vacuum.

Maybe her father had provided the answers in his will. Tomorrow they had to go to the solicitor’s office to hear it read. Her mother was upset—furious—that Victor Newell, who’d been her father’s legal advisor for many years, had refused to come to them in the privacy and comfort of their own home. It meant another trip to the city, another brave front to be put on in public.

Regardless of being subjected to her mother’s intense displeasure over the telephone, the solicitor had not budged from his edict, stating he was following Sir Leonard’s instructions. No argument prevailed against that. Not even her mother could break her father’s iron grip on the people he had employed.

But he’d lost his grip on life. No, he’d had it taken from him. Probably the only thing that had ever been taken from him. Except…

The memory of Jack Maguire flashed into her mind. Despite what her parents had told her, she didn’t really believe his mother had taken him from the man who now lay in this coffin. Her father had chosen to let him go. She couldn’t imagine anything else, especially since he’d chosen not to have him back. It was the only reasonable answer to why Jack Maguire had not become part of their lives.

Too late now for the scales to be balanced, she thought sadly.

He’d made such a strong impact on her at their one and only meeting, she’d often wondered how he’d dealt with his father’s rejection. It would surely have bitten deep. Though that personal blow had not stopped him from becoming a successful business entrepreneur in his own right. Maybe it had spurred him on to make a name for himself.

She’d read about him in the newspapers from time to time, fixing deals that were highly profitable. Photographs of him never showed him smiling, not even when he was pictured with beautiful women at A-list parties. His eyes were always cold. She’d imagined it was because his heart was cold, no family to warm it.

No chance left of its ever being warmed by acceptance or approval from his father. The media had given enormous coverage to Sir Leonard Maguire’s life and death in the past few days so he would certainly know about it. Jack had been mentioned as the estranged son. Such a cold phrase. It had made her feel bad again about being a much-indulged adopted daughter.

The organ music droned to a halt. Sally glanced at her watch. It was time for the funeral service to begin. The Bishop of Sydney would emerge from the vestry any moment now, ready to conduct the ceremony. The congregation hushed. The footsteps of a latecomer walking down the aisle were clearly audible, not hurrying, measured at a dignified pace. Whoever it was seemed to have an unsettling presence, giving rise to a rush of whispering. The footsteps kept coming, right up to the front pew.

Was it the bishop, making some kind of ceremonial arrival? Out of the corner of her eye, Sally saw her mother’s head turn slightly—licence enough to take a sideways glance without being reprimanded since her mother was doing the same thing.

It was a man in a black suit, royal-blue shirt. He’d paused in the middle of the aisle, right beside them, and from the hiss of her mother’s sharply indrawn breath, he was someone who did not meet with her approval. Sally instinctively leaned forward to see his face, wanting to identify the problem.

Shock knifed through her.

Jack Maguire!

His strikingly handsome face was grimly set, a cold blue gaze projecting hostile scorn at her mother, whose head jerked forward, instantly breaking whatever eye contact he’d drawn from her. His mouth curled mockingly as his gaze slid to Sally who was too stunned by his presence to do anything but stare openly at him.

For a moment he stared back and she felt herself beginning to burn, heat surging into her cheeks. He nodded, as though she’d given him the reaction he wanted, then turned away, moving to the front pew on the other side of the aisle, seating himself directly opposite her mother, where amazingly there was a place vacant for him and none of her father’s top executives queried his right to take it.

He was Sir Leonard Maguire’s son.

Did they think he might be his heir?

It made no sense to Sally. The estrangement had been total…hadn’t it?

Strike one! Jack thought with intense satisfaction. The shock and chagrin on Lady Ellen’s face was worth his own bit of stage management. The gall of the woman, writing him a letter to say he wasn’t welcome at Sir Leonard’s funeral. He hoped his prominent presence here would eat into her mean heart and destroy her arrogant composure.

Sitting there in fashion-plate perfection, the stylish black hat framing artfully streaked honey-blonde hair, big brown eyes subtly shaded to look mournful, pearls around her throat, a black suit—no doubt carrying a designer label—hugging her voluptuous figure. She had to be forty-five, but living a life of luxury no doubt contributed to her looking only about thirty. The eighteen-year-old nymphet who’d seduced his father had done very well for herself.

Not so well in the future, Jack vowed.

They made a striking trio, the Maguire women; the blonde, the redhead and the brunette. He’d only caught a glimpse of Jane, sitting beyond Sally in the pew. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, all shadowed by her older sister’s blazing beauty, which was far more pronounced now than when she was fourteen. The glorious cascade of red-gold curls, the white skin, still prone to revealing rushes of emotion, the fasciating sage-green eyes… Jack had to admit the woman she was now stirred the beast in him.

He’d like to have her in his bed.

Maybe he’d get her there…one way or another.

The idea had huge appeal, for many reasons.

Sally didn’t hear much of the funeral service. Her mind kept circling around Jack Maguire’s presence. What did it mean? Had he simply come to see his father buried, taking some dark satisfaction in publicly claiming the relationship that had never been acknowledged to his satisfaction in life, putting any hope of it to bed, once and for all? A funeral was about finality, letting go.

Her mother’s hands were not folded neatly on her lap. They were tightly clenched. No way would she make a public scene about Jack Maguire’s effrontery in doing what he’d done here in the cathedral, but she was fuming over it. No doubt she’d throw one of her vicious tantrums when they got home. It invariably happened when things didn’t go to plan. Everything always had to be picture perfect for her mother, and Jack Maguire was a huge black blot on this landscape.

Blackjack…darkening other people’s dreams.

He’d darkened hers, many a time. She’d never been able to forget him. The knowledge that he was out there somewhere, not getting what she got from her father, always ate at her comfort zone about accepting all she did from her parents.

He was not out there today.

He was right here.