his private thoughts. He smiled at her, charmingly persuasive, causing the knots in her stomach to develop flutters. “I thought we could ride up to the Skyroom Restaurant at the top of this building and chat informally over lunch. Is that agreeable to you?”
“Yes,” she said. It seemed a very civilised arrangement to her. She didn’t want this man to be an enemy, and hopefully, by spinning out lunch as long as possible, she could surely get a lot of information about him. Maybe even change his mind about the eviction order, or get it extended. Certainly being antagonistic was not going to win anything back from him. Perhaps nothing would, but at least this was a chance to try.
“Good!” A satisfied nod before addressing the solicitor again. “Thank you for your services this morning, Victor. Masterly, as always.”
The solicitor harrumphed and waved them to the opened door where he still stood after seeing her mother and Jane out of the meeting room. Sally thanked him, too, as she passed him by, aware that his courtesy and diplomacy had not received any appreciation from her family. Shock didn’t really excuse people behaving badly, she thought, wishing her mother had maintained some dignity instead of flying off the handle so aggressively. It didn’t help the situation. It only reinforced Jack Maguire’s inclination to be merciless.
He fell into step beside her in the corridor leading to the elevators, instantly making his presence felt. He didn’t touch her, but the power of the man swept every other thought out of her mind, filling it with a whirl of speculation about what he might want with her. He couldn’t really care about the horses. Nor could he really care about her. Yet … her whole body literally tingled with nervous anticipation.
They stepped into the elevator together. He pressed the button for the restaurant, then slanted a teasing little smile at her as the doors closed. “You don’t always obey your mother’s commands?”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she said, her chin instinctively lifting in a tilt of self-determination.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, a devilish appreciation of the fact twinkling from his vivid blue eyes.
Sally’s breath caught in her throat. Was this luncheon invitation more about them—an exploration of an attraction that had nothing to do with the horses? He’d called her beautiful yesterday. But he couldn’t have really meant it.
Her mother’s warning rang in her ears … You can’t trust a word he says!
Nevertheless, Sally’s eyes were telling her he looked absolutely fabulous in his navy pinstripe suit, and every female hormone she had was buzzing with excitement at the possibility of a sexual connection with this man. However mad and bad of her it was to be even considering such a thing with Jack Maguire, she couldn’t help what he made her feel, though a strong streak of self-respect demanded some caution about showing the impact he had on her.
“You said you lunched regularly with my father,” she recalled, wondering if they’d dined in the Skyroom Restaurant together. “Did the two of you become close over the years?”
“Not in any father-and-son sense,” came the dry reply, accompanied by a flash of irony. “He came to view me as a competitor in the business world and liked to keep tabs on what I was doing.”
“You must have kept tabs on what he was doing, as well,” Sally remarked, pointedly adding, “for you to step in and offer a rescue package.”
“Yes.” It was a matter-of-fact reply, no elaboration offered.
“He must have been grateful to you,” Sally prodded.
His laugh was derisive. So were his eyes. “He hated it. Quite simply, the alternative to not taking my offer was worse.”
“Why did you do it?” It was the most pertinent question, going directly to the heart of the man.
“Oh, there was a certain piquancy about getting by force what was denied me in any natural way,” he drawled, watching her reaction with glittering interest.
To Sally, it was sad that he had never been able to achieve the natural relationship he had sought with his father. Lost years when he was in America, years of trying after he’d returned to Australia, the continual sense of rejection …. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted, Jack,” she said softly.
His face tightened. His eyes narrowed to sizzling slits. He didn’t like her sympathy, didn’t want it. Sally tensed, expecting some kind of hit back at her, but the moment of venom passed and mockery took its place.
“But I did, Sally. With the bonus of taking from your mother the hallowed home which I was never allowed to darken.”
The little hope in her heart died. There would be no softening over the eviction.
“Would you have darkened it if the welcome mat had been put out for you?” she asked, remembering the day he had been turned away.
He shrugged. “If I had ever been welcomed in my father’s home, many things might have been different. As it is … people reap what they sow.” His lips twitched in sardonic amusement. “And I make a very good Grim Reaper.”
Dark and diabolical.
A little shiver ran down Sally’s spine.
Was her mother right? Should she leave now, not listen to any deal he might put to her? Was she playing into his hands—hands that couldn’t be trusted—by staying with him?
The elevator came to a halt.
The doors slid open.
He gestured for her to precede him out of the compartment.
Her gaze flicked up to his, fearful, uncertain. The biting blue eyes glittered with challenge, calling her a coward if she failed to respond. Her feet moved forward even while her heart hammered at the thought she was walking straight into a lion’s den. But they would be surrounded by other people while they had lunch. It wasn’t as though they’d be really alone, she told herself, so what harm could come to her?
She let him escort her into the restaurant and pretended to be captivated by its spectacular view over Sydney as they were led to a table for two and seated comfortably in plush armchairs upholstered in blue. It truly was a sky room. Even the blue and white décor was designed to make the occupants feel they were floating on clouds, looking down on the world. A waiter handed them luncheon menus and took an order of two glasses of champagne 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
