of the rent on the apartment she shared with other students, give her an allowance, set it up so she was completely independent of their mother and her demands. It would give her sister the chance of making a life of her own, free of the rants and raves over the knock of fortune that would inevitably make their mother mean.
Sally had no illusions on that score. However, she did feel confused about what Jack wanted from her. Was it the home he’d never had? He wouldn’t pay so much for sex with her, would he? He was so attractive, he could have plenty of women for nothing—truly beautiful women, like those she’d seen photographed with him at high-society events.
Were those devilish blue eyes really twinkling with sexy excitement at the prospect of her getting into bed with him, or did he give any passably attractive woman that look as a matter of course? Passably attractive was all she could be to him.
Carrots they’d called her at school because of her wretchedly unruly red curls sticking out everywhere.And she hated having the pasty white skin that always needed multi applications of blockout cream to prevent burning or, horror of horrors to her mother, freckling. She was more an oddity than a beauty. Yesterday she’d been sure he’d only called her beautiful at the funeral to spite her mother, and that was definitely the more likely truth.
She was the one wanting him, not the other way around. It was embarrassing to think now of how she had questioned him so directly on being his kept woman. Having what his father had known—the home he’d denied Jack—had to be driving his offer. It couldn’t be wanting a whole year of sex with her. That made no sense. Besides, he’d just assured her that sex was not a given in the deal, hadn’t he?
A year would give her time to look around for other opportunities she might take up in the future, should this deal with Jack Maguire turn sour. Right now she simply didn’t know the heart of the man. Only time would tell her if the connection she felt between them could develop into the kind of relationship she’d love to have with him. A year would be long enough to find out.
“Okay. I’ll take that contract,” she said decisively, her eyes challenging his integrity on every word of it.
He grinned, his delight in her acceptance making her heart dance in a wild hip-hop. “I’ll set it up right now,” he said, whipping a small silver cell phone from his suit pocket.
He spoke to Victor Newell’s secretary, dictating the terms he had outlined to Sally and asking for the contract to be drawn up and ready for their signatures by the time they’d finished lunch. He cocked a challenging eyebrow at her as he put the ‘phone away. “Satisfied?”
Her mouth had gone dry, drained of moisture by a last-minute attack of nerves. “Yes,” she croaked, acutely aware that she was not only signing a year of her life to him, but quite possibly making a permanent break from the woman who had adopted and raised her.
An ungrateful daughter.
A serpent daughter, dancing with the devil.
But hadn’t her mother brought this situation upon herself by being so set against Jack? If she’d accepted him as a stepson, let him into their lives …
“So let’s now drink to something good coming out of this,” Jack purred at her, lifting his glass of champagne in a toast.
She snatched up her own glass and clinked it with his. “Something good,” she repeated with reckless fervour, and drank, wanting the bubbles to go straight to her brain and blow out all the worries about taking a wrong jump and rushing headlong into bad territory.
CHAPTER FIVE
LUNCH over, contract signed, Jack accompanied Sally down to street level and offered her a limousine ride home.
She quickly declined, preferring to make her own way rather than arrive in grand style, looking as though she was revelling in her defection to the man who was taking over everything. Including her. More or less.
“Thank you for the lunch and the contract,” she said, offering her hand in a businesslike fashion.
His eyes simmered with sexy amusement as he wrapped his fingers around hers. “Call me if you have any problems you can’t resolve yourself,” he said with a quirky little smile.
Up until that moment he hadn’t touched her. The warmth and strength of his hand, the confidence in his eyes, the whole aura of a master of manipulation at work, made Sally acutely aware of how vulnerable she was to this man’s power.
“You put me in charge. I’ll be in charge,” she asserted, not wanting to appear weak in any way whatsoever. “When can I expect you to visit?”
The smile broadened into a grin that reawakened the butterflies in her stomach. “I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll need fair warning if you want me to put out the welcome mat.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “I shall enjoy the thrill of anticipation.”
Her heart started leaping all over the place. Don’t think about it. Just get on with it, her mind frantically dictated. “Well, I’ll see you when I see you,” she almost gabbled. “Goodbye for now, Jack.”
She quickly withdrew her hand and spun away from him, walking blindly down Martin Place to Wynyard Station, guiltily conscious of the thrill of anticipation playing merry hell with her female hormones.
A train to Wyong.
Call home to get someone to pick me up.
Work out how to face my mother and Jane with all this.
Her mind kept reiterating what it had to concentrate on, trying to overcome the wild dance of nervous excitement Jack Maguire had set in motion. She had to deal with him in the future. Somehow. But right now she had very immediate concerns that needed her full attention.
It took her most of the two-hour train journey to sober up completely and get her head around how best to present the deal to her mother. On a purely common-sense basis, it meant one daughter would not be a financial drain on her. Neither would the other if Jane agreed to Sally’s plan. The big problem was … would her mother be in the mood to listen? And was she going to accept eviction?
Sally suspected a major tantrum was going on at home. When she’d called to request a pick-up from the station, Jeanette Deering, the housekeeper, had sounded badly distracted, hemming and hawing anxiously before deciding her husband, Graham, could meet the train—Graham, who was supposed to maintain security at the property, keeping out trespassers. Like Jack Maguire. Did they already know Jack couldn’t be kept out anymore?
When she walked out of the station at Wyong, Graham had his Land Rover handily parked and his big frame was propped against the driver’s door, beefy arms folded, a grim look on his darkly weathered face. He and Jeanette had been in her father’s employ at the Yarramalong property all Sally’s life and she was fond of both of them. Never before had Graham greeted her without a smile.
“A bad day. A bad, bad day,” he muttered as he rounded the vehicle to open the passenger door for her. “Don’t know what we’re all going to do now, Sally.”
“Mum told you about the takeover?”
“Didn’t have to. There’s
