The Millionaire's Mistress

by Miranda Lee

‘Still, you’ve got the garden looking lovely, Tom. I’m only sorry we can’t pay you.’

  ‘You couldn’t pay me for what I get while I’m here, my dear,’ he said softly, so that her mother could not hear.

  Justine didn’t say a word, just smiled at him. He smiled back, and Justine thought what a really nice man he was. He had lovely eyes. A soft brown, they showed intelligence and kindness. He was not as handsome as her father, but still a fine figure of a man.

  Her mother glanced up from her weeding, her face rosy-cheeked, her pretty blue eyes sparkling. ‘Did you and Trudy find a nice new little car, dear?’

  ‘Not new, Mum. But little, and much more economical. And Trudy found herself a nice new boyfriend.’

  ‘That girl! Speaking of boyfriends, Marcus rang earlier, by the way,’ she added with a knowing little smile. ‘He said he’d ring back.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ No use denying Marcus was about to join the boyfriend category. She just hoped her mother didn’t start thinking an engagement ring and wedding bells were to follow.

  Despite her attempt at cool sophistication, the sudden sound of the telephone ringing sent Justine’s heart leaping and her stomach contracting.

  ‘That’ll be him now, I don’t wonder,’ her mother said. ‘Aren’t you going to go in and answer it?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s too hot to hurry.’ Justine took her time, not picking up the receiver in the hallway till the phone had rung a dozen times.

  ‘Hello?’ she said nonchalantly.

  ‘Miss Montgomery?’ a woman’s voice answered.

  Justine’s instant and very intense disappointment showed what a fool she was to think she could play at being a woman of the world. The truth was she’d been dying to hear from Marcus all day, to feel reassured that he still wanted her after sleeping on his discovery that she was a virgin.

  ‘Yes,’ she said rather wearily. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Grace Peters here. Mr Osborne’s secretary. I’ve organised a removalist to call at your house Friday morning at ten, Miss Montgomery. Does that suit?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s fine.’

  ‘And Mr Osborne can see Mrs Montgomery tomorrow morning at eleven, if that suits as well?’

  ‘Yes, that should be fine too.’

  ‘Splendid. Now Mr Osborne would like to speak to you himself. I’ll just put you through.’

  ‘Justine?’

  She clutched at the phone. Just his voice was doing worrisome things to her body, especially her knees.

  ‘I’m ringing, as asked,’ he said on a drily teasing note.

  ‘Yes. So you are.’ She was astonished at her coolly composed reply. Amazing when she was in danger of dissolving onto the carpet. Still, if she was going to have a strictly sexual affair, then it was imperative she keep a semblance of control over the situation.

  ‘I did ring earlier but you weren’t home,’ he volunteered. ‘Your mother said you were out shopping with Trudy. Since I can’t imagine that particular young lady being acquainted with supermarkets I assume you were conducting an end-of-summer raid on the Double Bay boutiques?’

  Justine pulled a face at the sardonic note in that last remark. Obviously Marcus still thought she was an irresponsible idiot, using what little money she had left on clothes. ‘I don’t have the money for such frivolities as fashion,’ she pointed out. ‘If you must know, I was busy trading in my car for a cheaper model.’

  Silence at the other end.

  ‘Marcus? Are you there?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m here. Sorry. Grace came in for a second. What was that you were saying? Something about trading in your car?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been going to do it for ages. Dad bought me a silver Nissan for my twenty-first last year, you see. Paid cash for it, which was darned lucky, otherwise it would have been repossessed like poor Mum’s car. But it was an unnecessary expense to run and maintain. The insurance alone was horrendous.’

  ‘So what did you buy instead?’

  ‘A used Pulsar.’

  ‘Did you have it inspected?’

  ‘No. Why should I?’

  ‘Did you get a warranty with it?’

  ‘Twelve months. Oh, for pity’s sake, don’t go all macho male on me and start asking me a million mechanical questions about the darned thing. It’s a car with four wheels and will get me from point A to point B and that’s all that matters. You’re the one who said I should live within my means and that’s what I’m doing.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘What does “mmm” mean?’

  ‘It means I wish I could see you tonight.’

  Justine’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I...I wish you could too.’

  ‘God, Justine, I—’

  ‘No, Marcus,’ she broke in. ‘I have to go to work. Stop trying to tempt me.’

  ‘What about tomorrow? Meet me for lunch.’

  A quickie at lunchtime? Oh, no. That was not what she wanted at all! ‘No, Marcus,’ she said firmly. ‘Saturday, and not before. Pick me up at seven.’

  ‘Seven...’

  ‘Is that too early?’

  ‘No,’ he said drily. ‘Not nearly early enough—unless you’re talking about seven a.m.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. In that case I won’t be ringing you again before then. It’s far too...disturbing.’

  The thought of him sitting behind his desk in a state of acute arousal gave Justine a perverse jab of pleasure. She didn’t stop to analyse too deeply why she wanted him to suffer, but she did. Maybe she wanted some revenge for his propelling her out of her innocent and largely happy world, where sexual passion and frustration had been alien concepts and emotions.

  ‘In that case, don’t you work late any night this week,’ she said tartly. ‘Because I find that disturbing!’

  ‘Mmm. Now, that’s a very provocative confession, Justine. Brings all sorts of possibilities to mind about desks and deliciously polished boardroom tables.’

  She flushed at the images he evoked. Thankfully, he couldn’t see her flaming cheeks.

  ‘I think your board of directors would expect their esteemed president to restrict his activities in that room to mergers of a more financial kind, don’t you?’ she countered.

  Marcus laughed. ‘We’ll see, Justine. We’ll see. I’ll give you a reprieve for this week. But I won’t promise the same for next week. That might be a different story.’

  Justine couldn’t even begin to think about next week. Saturday night was as far as her thoughts would extend at that moment.

  ‘Will you be coming in with your mother in the morning?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you need me?’

  ‘Would you care to rephrase that?’

  ‘Is my presence strictly necessary?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What a pity! I was about to iron my lime-green dress.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. That dress exposes more leg than your shorts did yesterday.’

  ‘Not to worry. I’ll wear it on Saturday night, if you like. I might have to, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean...have to?’

  ‘Well, if this heat keeps up, I have the stunning choice of the lime-green or the red silk I wore to Felix’s party. They’re the only summery dresses I kept.’

  ‘Kept?’

  Justine bit her bottom lip. Darn! She didn’t want Marcus to think she was crying poor-mouth, or looking for pity.

  ‘Justine? Explain, please.’

  When Marcus got that tone about him, there was nothing to do but obey. ‘Look, I had to sell most of our going-out clothes to get some cash for food, and to pay the phone bill, otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you now. It’s not a big deal. Mum and I didn’t need dozens of glam dresses, anyway. I didn’t expect to be going out much for a while, to be honest, so if we’re to date on a regular basis then you’ll have to put up with seeing me in the same things over and over, I’m afraid. Sorry.’

  ‘There’s no ne
ed to apologise, Justine,’ he said tautly. ‘No need at all.’

  ‘Good, because I didn’t mean to. It’s a habit with females, that’s all, saying sorry all the time when there’s absolutely no need. Though I was sorry I hadn’t told you I was a virgin last night.’

  His sigh could have meant anything, but Justine automatically concluded it meant something bad.

  ‘If you want to call it quits,’ she said sharply, ‘then just say so.’

  ‘I don’t want to call it quits.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  ‘Who says there’s a problem?’

  ‘You sighed.’

  His laugh was dry. ‘So I did.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘A sigh is just a sigh, Justine. Don’t read so much into it. I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I doubt I’ll get much sleep for the rest of the week.’

  ‘Oh.’ She quivered at the thought of his lying wide awake in bed, thinking of her, wanting her, needing her.

  ‘Marcus,’ she said, and her voice was low and husky.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t be late on Saturday night.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said ruefully, ‘I won’t be.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HE WAS late. Seven minutes. But it was enough for Justine to have a taste of how she would feel if he never came, or if he ever decided to wipe her from his life altogether.

  Devastation did not begin to describe her feelings. She spent those interminable seven minutes pacing to and fro across the lounge room and peering anxiously through the curtains, grateful that her mother was relaxing in a bath upstairs after her afternoon’s gardening, unable to witness her daughter’s uncharacteristic agitation.

  Justine tried telling herself that sexual frustration was the reason for her fear-filled state, but somehow that didn’t wash. Realisation dawned once Marcus pulled up in his Mercedes and she almost burst into tears with relief.

  ‘Oh, my God, I am in love with him!’ she wailed aloud.

  Dropping the curtains, she clutched her bag to her chest and tried not to cry. Though whether it was from delight or dismay now, she wasn’t sure.

  Get a grip on yourself, girl, common sense demanded very quickly. So you’re in love with him. That’s nice. But he’s not in love with you, so don’t go winding romantic dreams around him. Trudy warned you good and proper. He’s not going to marry you. All he wants is an affair. Right? Got that? Good!

  An artificially composed Justine went to answer the doorbell at seven minutes past seven, having schooled her face into a perfectly understandable pout. She swung open the front door, ready to lambaste him for being late, but her words of reproach died at the sight of him.

  He was wearing black. All over. Not the bleak, funereal black of that pin-striped suit he’d been sporting at their first meeting. A devilishly dark and sleek black, which screamed sin and sex from every angle.

  She tried to keep the hunger out of her gaze as it swept over him, absorbing each wickedly elegant detail.

  Lightweight woollen trousers proclaimed Italian tailoring. A black silk shirt, with long sleeves and an open neck. Shoes and belt fashioned in black leather. Combined with his flashing ebony eyes and sleek black hair. He looked like every woman’s fantasy of a bad-boy lover come true.

  It took several seconds for Justine to appreciate that the sight of her in her red silk dress had rendered him just as speechless. She tried to guess what he was thinking as he took in every inch of her from her upswept hairdo down to her outrageously high red heels. By the look of the smouldering expression in those deeply set dark eyes of his, he was as aroused by her appearance as she was by his.

  The thought sent her blood fizzing through her veins.

  ‘I think the lime-green would have been preferable,’ he muttered at last.

  ‘As would your pin-stripes,’ she countered drily.

  His eyes clashed with hers and a wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘Shall we skip dinner in favour of a late supper?’ he drawled. ‘A late...late supper?’

  Justine hesitated. It was one thing to plunge into an affair with him when it had just been a matter of sex. Would she survive giving him her body in true love? This was a new experience for her in more ways than one. Frankly, it terrified the life out of her.

  Marcus saw her hesitation and frowned. What was she playing at now? Was he to be teased some more, made to sit and wait over a long drawn-out dinner he had no appetite for? Was she hoping that by the time the big moment came he’d be so blind with lust and longing he’d promise her anything? Marriage, even?

  This last thought brought him back to cold, hard reality with a jolt. There he’d been, worrying about her all week, about his own selfishly wicked intentions, about how she constantly seemed to be smashing all his preconceived ideas after her. He’d even begun to believe her feelings for him might be genuine, that she had no mercenary plans in mind.

  But if that were true then she would not be hesitating now; she’d be wanting him as badly as he was wanting her. There would be no hesitation, no game-playing.

  ‘If you’re desperate for dinner,’ he grated out testily, ‘then we’ll have dinner.’

  ‘I...I’m not desperate for dinner...’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  ‘The problem? I...I guess I’m a little nervous,’ she confessed.

  Marcus sighed. He hadn’t thought of that. No matter what her motives, she hadn’t been to bed with a man before. He was so sure himself it would be fantastic that he hadn’t stopped to think she might be worried about the outcome.

  He picked up her hand and drew it to his mouth, pressing his lips to each fingertip. ‘Trust me,’ he murmured thickly, and felt his desire for her kick back to where it had been all week, tormenting him every minute of every day.

  She didn’t say a word as he drew her down the front path to the street, where he settled her into his car; nor on the twenty-minute drive to his house; nor in the time it took to guide her from the triple garage in through his front door.

  She made no comment over his house, as luxurious as it was. There again, girls like her were used to luxury, he reasoned. They took such things for granted.

  The first words she spoke came when he led her into the master bedroom and turned her to him.

  ‘I won’t sleep with you in the same bed as you slept with your wife.’

  He was taken aback, both by her shakily delivered pronouncement and the obvious emotion behind it. Was it jealousy which inspired such a sentiment? He hoped it was. Jealousy was real, not contrived. Jealousy he empathised with. The thought of Justine going from his bed to any other man’s brought such a black jealousy that he hadn’t yet confronted its full meaning.

  He pulled her into his arms, his mouth barely inches away from her. Her eyes glittered and he saw her hunger matched his.

  ‘It’s not the same bed,’ he growled. ‘I bought a new one after I threw her out.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That’s all right, then.’ And, sliding her arms around his waist, pressed herself against him.

  Marcus’s mouth crashed down on hers, passion rampaging through him like a river in flood. It was a battle to control the primitive urge to rip the clothes from her body and surge into her where they stood. She didn’t help when she moaned deep in her throat, or when her nails began to dig into his back.

  He wrenched his mouth away at last to drag in a much needed breath, but his name on her lips brought him swiftly back. His hands shook uncontrollably as they moved to undo the single button at the back of the halter-necked dress. When he felt it give way he groaned, the knowledge that shortly she would be naked bringing a white-hot haze down over his brain. His already teetering control shattered totally. With a harshly primal cry, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

  Justine exulted in his animal-like force. This was what she wanted, what she needed. To be given no time to think or to worry. To be swept
away on the passion of the moment.

  She lay there, wide-eyed and head whirling, while he stripped her then joined her on the bed.

  His hands stroked possessively over her nakedness, heating her flesh and her blood. She gasped under his caresses, then moaned, wriggled and writhed. Her legs fell wantonly apart, inviting more intimacies.

  He knew exactly where to touch to drive her wild. And how to touch. His fingers eventually gave way to his lips, and finally his tongue. Her first climax brought cries and shudders. Her second, a tortured sob. Her third, pleas to stop.

  He did. But not for long, stripping himself and drawing on protection in no time. Before her breathing even slowed a fraction he was looming over her, magnificent in his nakedness, awesome in his need. The memory of the pain he’d caused last time brought a moment of panic. So when he bent his mouth to her breasts instead, she sighed her relief.

  But his tongue on her nipples soon brought moans, not sighs. He laved them mercilessly, then tugged at them with his teeth till they burned with a white-hot heat which blazed a furnace through the rest of her body. When he moved between her legs she was no longer thinking about pain, so great was her craving to be as one with the man she loved.

  And there was no pain as his flesh fused with hers, despite his filling and stretching her to the fulL Her legs automatically wound around his waist, their bodies becoming blended and moulded in a single unit.

  Justine moaned softly when he began to move, then when he cupped her face and kissed her at the same time, his tongue surging in a parallel rhythm with his penis. It was so much more intimate than anything she could ever have imagined, so much more emotionally moving. She clung to him with her hands and her heart, then finally came with him.

  ‘Oh, Marcus,’ she cried, her mouth bursting from his as her body clenched and unclenched his in a series of deeply satisfying spasms. ‘Darling Marcus...’

  ‘Darling Marcus’ didn’t allow himself the pleasure of staying inside her after he was done, rolling from her before he ended up losing more than his control. But, dear God, she tugged at his heart, made him want to say stupid things, promise stupid things.