It Started With One Night: The Magnate's Mistress / His Bride for One Night / Master of Her Virtue

‘What’s going to happen tomorrow?’

He told her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_c539304a-d2e9-5680-b9c8-9c47b123d7aa)

TARA lay in bed, slowly nibbling on one of the dry biscuits she’d put beside the bed the night before. Hopefully, they would make her feel well enough to rise shortly and go for a walk on the beach.

Yesterday, she’d stayed in bed most of the day before going for a walk. But then yesterday she’d been desperately tired.

Today she’d woken more refreshed, but still nauseous. Hence the biscuits.

It had been good of Kate to give her some, no questions asked. Although there’d been a slight speculative gleam in her eyes as she’d handed Tara the plate of biscuits after dinner last night.

But that was Kate all over. The woman was kind and accommodating without being a sticky-beak, all good qualities for anyone who ran a bed and breakfast establishment. Tara had met her a few years ago when she’d stayed here at Kate’s Place with some of her uni friends. It was popular with students because it had been cheap and conveniently located, only a short stroll to Wamberal Beach.

When she’d been thinking of where she could go and be by herself for a while, Tara had immediately thought of Kate’s Place. Wamberal was not far away from Sydney—an hour and a half’s drive north—but far enough away that she would feel secure that she wouldn’t run into Max, or anyone who knew Max.

So on Thursday night she’d taken a taxi to Hornsby railway station, then a train to Gosford, then another taxi to Wamberal Beach. Rather naively, in a way. What would she have done if Kate had sold the place in the years since she’d stayed there? Or if she didn’t have any spare rooms to rent?

Fate had been on her side this time and whilst Kate had gone more upmarket—renaming her refurbished home Kate’s Beachside B & B—she had still been in the room-renting business, although the number of rooms available had been reduced to three.

Fortunately, all of them were vacant. The end of February, whilst still summer, was not peak tourist season. On top of that she’d stopped advertising, not wanting to be full all of the time.

‘I’m getting old,’ she’d complained as she showed Tara upstairs. ‘But I’d be bored if I stopped having people to stay altogether. And terribly lonely. Still, I might have to give it away when I turn seventy next year. Or give in and hire a cleaner.’

Tara had selected the bedroom at the front of the two-storeyed home, which had a lovely view of the beach as well as an en suite bathroom. No way did she want to have to race down hallways to a communal bathroom first thing in the morning.

True to form, Kate hadn’t asked her any questions on her arrival, although Tara had spotted some concern in the elderly woman’s eyes. She supposed it was rare for a guest to show up, unannounced and un-booked, at ten-thirty at night. Tara’s excuse that it was a spur-of-the-moment impulse had probably not been believed.

But Kate at least appreciated that she was an adult with the right to come and go as she pleased, something Tara wished other people recognised. She was not a child who had to be directed. She did have a mind of her own and she was quite capable of making decisions, provided she was given the time to work out what was best for herself, and the baby.

Impossible to even think at home at the moment with her mother criticising and nagging all the time. Jen wasn’t much better. She seemed to have forgotten how emotional and irrational she was when she found out she was pregnant.

Of course, Tara would not have bolted quite so melodramatically if Max hadn’t been on his way. Max of the ‘we should work this out together’ mode.

Huh! Tara knew what that meant. Max, taking total control and telling her what to do.

From what she’d seen, Max had no idea how to truly work together with anyone or anything. Max ordered and people obeyed.

She’d been obeying him for twelve months.

But not any more.

The time had come for mutiny.

Her first step had been to put herself beyond his reach. Which she had. And, to be honest, taking that action had felt darned good. Clearly, she’d been harbouring more resentment than she realised over Max’s dominant role in their relationship.

Not so good was the niggling remorse she felt over her mother. By last night guilt had begun to override her desperate need for peace and privacy. She would have to ring her mother today. It wasn’t fair to leave her worrying.

And she would be worrying. Tara had no doubt of that.

A firm tap-tap on her bedroom door had Tara calling out that she was coming before gingerly swinging her feet onto the floor and standing up. As she reached for the silky housecoat she’d brought with her, she was pleased to find her stomach hadn’t heaved at all when she got to her feet. Those biscuits seemed to have done the trick.