The Magnate′s Mistress
The Magnate's Mistress
Miranda Lee
He wanted her as his mistress… but as the mother of his child? Tara was millionaire Australian hotel magnate Max Richmond's mistress. She loved Max for himself, not for the gifts he gave her, their glamorous life, or even their intense lovemaking.But now, she was expecting his baby, the question was, should she stay or should she go? Tara was convinced there was no place for a pregnant mistress in Max's life, or was there?
Miranda Lee
THE MAGNATE’S MISTRESS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE beep-beep which signalled an incoming text message had Tara dropping her book and diving for her cellphone.
Max! It had to be Max. He was the only person who text-messaged her these days.
Arriving Mascot at 1530, she read with her heart already thudding. QF310. Can you pick me up? Let me know.
A glance at her bedside clock said five to twelve. If his plane was to arrive at three-thirty this afternoon, Max had to be already in the air.
She immediately texted him back.
Will be there.
She smiled wryly at the brevity and lack of sentiment in both their messages. There was no I can’t wait to see you, darling. No I’ve missed you terribly. All very matter-of-fact.
Max was a matter-of-fact kind of man. Mostly.
Not quite so matter-of-fact in bed. A quiver rippled down Tara’s spine at the image of Max in the throes of making love to her.
No. Not at all matter-of-fact on those occasions.
Tara glanced at the clock again. Nearly noon.
Not a lot of time for her to get ready, catch a train into town, collect Max’s car and drive out to the airport. She would have to hurry.
Jumping up from the bed reminded Tara of why she’d been lying back down at this late hour on a Saturday morning. A new wave of nausea rolled through her and she just made it to the bathroom in time before retching.
Darn. Why did she have to have a tummy bug today of all days? It had been almost a month since she’d seen Max, the current crisis in the travel industry having kept him on the hop overseas for ages. Hong Kong had been one of the cities worst affected. When she’d complained during his last phone call two nights ago that she’d forget what he looked like soon, Max had promised to see what he could do this weekend. He was flying to Auckland on the Friday for an important business meeting and might have time to duck over to Sydney on the weekend before returning to Hong Kong.
But Tara hadn’t seriously expected anything. She never liked to get her hopes up too much. It was too depressing when she was disappointed. Still, maybe Max was finally missing her as much as she was missing him.
Which was why the last thing she needed today was to feel sick. She might only have the one night with him this time and she wanted to make the most of it. But it would be hard to enjoy his company if she felt like chucking up all the time.
A sigh reverberated through her as she flushed the toilet.
‘Are you all right in there?’ her mother called through the bathroom door.
‘I’m fine,’ Tara lied, experience warning her not to say anything. Her mother would fuss. Tara disliked being fussed over. No doubt she was only suffering from the same twenty-four-hour gastric bug which was going through Sydney’s western suburbs like wildfire. Her sister’s family had had it this past week, and she’d been over there last weekend for a family barbeque.
Actually, now that she’d been sick, Tara felt considerably better. A shower would make her feel even better, she reasoned, and turned on the spray.
Her arrival in the kitchen an hour later with freshly blow-dried hair, a perfectly made-up face and a new outfit on had her mother giving her a narrow-eyed once-over.
‘I see his lord and master must be arriving for one of his increasingly fleeting visits,’ Joyce said tartly, then went back to whatever cake she was making.
Saturday was Joyce Bond’s baking day; had been for as long as Tara could remember. Such rigid routines grated on Tara’s more spontaneous nature. She often wished that her mother would surprise her by doing something different on a Saturday for once. She also wished she would surprise her with a different attitude towards Max.
‘Mum, please don’t,’ Tara said wearily, and popped a slice of bread into the toaster. Her stomach had settled enough for her to handle some Vegemite toast, but she still wasn’t feeling wonderful.
Joyce spun round from the kitchen counter to glower at her daughter. Her impossibly beautiful daughter.
Tara had inherited the best of each of her parents. She had her father’s height, his lovely blond hair, clear skin, good teeth and striking green eyes. Joyce had contributed a cute nose, full lips and an even fuller bust, which looked infinitely better on Tara than it ever had on her own less tall, short-waisted body.
Joyce hadn’t been surprised when one of the wealthy men who patronised the exclusive jewellery boutique where Tara worked had made a beeline for her. She wasn’t surprised—or even too worried—when Tara confessed that she was no longer a virgin. Joyce had always thought it a minor miracle that a girl with Tara’s looks had reached twenty-four without having slept with a man. After all, her daughter’s many boyfriends must have tried to get the girl into bed.
Tara had always claimed she was waiting for Prince Charming to come along. Joyce’s younger daughter was somewhat of an idealist, a full-on romantic. An avid reader, she was addicted to novels which featured wonderful heroes and happy-ever-after endings.
In the beginning, Joyce had hoped that Max Richmond was her daughter’s Prince Charming. He had most of the attributes. Wealth. Good looks. Youth. Relative youth, anyway. He’d been thirty-five when they’d begun seeing each other.
But in the last twelve months Joyce had come to feel differently about her daughter’s relationship with the handsome hotel magnate. It had finally become clear that Max Richmond was never going to marry his lovely young mistress.
For that was what Tara had swiftly become. Not a proper girlfriend, or a partner, as people sometimes called their loved ones these days. A mistress, expected to be there when he called and be silent when he left. Expected to give everything and receive nothing in return, except for the corrupting gifts rich men invariably gave to their mistresses.
Designer clothes. Jewellery. Perfume. Flowers.
A fresh bouquet of red roses was delivered every week when Max was away. But who ordered them? Joyce often wondered. The man himself, or his secretary?
If Tara had been the kind of good-time girl who could handle such a relationship, Joyce would have held her tongue. But Tara was nothing of the kind. Underneath her sophisticated and sexy-looking exterior lay a soft, sensitive soul. A good girl. When Max Richmond eventually dumped her, she was going to be shattered.
Joyce’s thoughts had fired a slow-burning fury, along with her tongue.
‘Don’t what?’ she snapped. ‘Don’t tell it like it is? I’m not going to sit by silently and say nothing, Tara. I love you too much for that. You’re wasting your life on that man. He will never give you what you really want. He’s just using you.’
Tara refrained from reminding her mother how often she’d been told in this house that she didn’t know what she wanted in life. Joyce had frowned over her daughter not using her arts degree to get a job in Sydney. Instead, a restless Tara had gone tripping off to Japan to teach English for two years, at the same time using the opportunity to see as much of Asia as she could. When she’d returned to Sydney eighteen months ago her mother had expected her to look for a teaching position here. Instead, she’d taken a job as a shop assistant at Whitmore Opals, till she decided what she wanted to do next. Her announcement recently that she was going back to university next year to study psychology had been met with rolling eyes, as if to say, there she goes again.
In a way, her mother was right. She didn’t know what she wanted to be, career-wise, the way some people did. But she knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to be tied down at home with children the way Jen was. And she didn’t want to bake cakes every single Saturday.
‘So what is it that you think I really want, Mum?’ she asked, rather curious to find out what secret observation her mother had made.
‘Why, what most women want deep down. A home, and a family. And a husband, of course.’
Tara shook her head. Given that her mother was rising sixty, she supposed there were excuses for holding such an old-fashioned viewpoint.
But the bit about a husband was rather ironic, considering her mother’s personal background. Joyce had been widowed for over twenty years, Tara’s electrician father having been killed in a work accident when Tara was just three. Her mother had raised her two daughters virtually single-handed. She’d worked hard to provide for them. She’d scrimped and saved and even bought her own house. Admittedly, it was not a flash house. But it was a house. And, she’d never married again. In fact, there’d never been another man in her life after Tara’s father.
‘It may come as a surprise to you, Mum,’ Tara said as she removed the popped-up toast, ‘but I don’t want any of that. Not yet, anyway. I’m only twenty-four. There are plenty of years ahead for me to settle down to marriage and motherhood. I like my life the way it is. I’m looking forward to going back to uni next year. Meanwhile, I have an interesting job, some good friends and a fabulous lover.’
‘Whom you rarely see. As for your supposed good friends, name one you’ve been out with in the last six months!’
Tara couldn’t.
‘See what I mean?’ her mother went on accusingly. ‘You never go out with your old friends any more because you’re compelled to keep your weekends free, in case his lord and master deigns to drop in on your life. For pity’s sake, Tara, do you honestly think your jet-setting lover is spending every weekend of his alone when he doesn’t come home?’
Joyce regretted the harsh words the moment she saw her daughter’s face go a sickly shade of grey.
Tara gripped the kitchen counter and willed the bile in her throat to go back down. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mum. Max would never do that.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ Joyce said, but more softly this time. ‘He doesn’t love you, Tara. Not the way you love him.’
‘Yes, he does. And even if he didn’t, I’d still want him.’
Oh, yes, that was one thing she was sure about.
‘I won’t give him up for anything, or anyone,’ she announced fiercely, and took a savage bite of toast.
‘He’s going to break your heart.’
Tara’s heart contracted. Would he? She couldn’t imagine it. Not her Max. Not deliberately. He wasn’t like that. Her mother didn’t understand. Max just didn’t want marriage at this time in his life. Or kids. He’d explained all that to her right from the beginning. He’d told her up front that his life was too busy for a wife and a family. Since his father had been incapacitated by a stroke, the full responsibility of running the family firm had fallen on him. Looking after a huge chain of international hotels was a massive job, especially with the present precarious state of tourism and travel. Max spent more than half his life on a plane. All he could promise her for now was the occasional weekend.
He’d given her the opportunity to tell him to get lost, before she got in any deeper. But of course that had been after he’d taken her to bed and shown her a world she’d never envisaged, a world of incredible pleasure.
How could you give up perfection, just because everything wasn’t perfect?
Tara threw the rest of her toast in the bin under the sink, then straightened with a sigh. ‘If you disapprove of my relationship with Max this much, Mum,’ she said unhappily, ‘perhaps it’s time I moved out of home.’
She could well afford to rent a place of her own on her salary. Her pay as a shop assistant at Whitmore Opals was boosted by generous commission each month. She was their top salesgirl, due to her natural affinity for people and her ability to speak fluent Japanese. A lot of the shop’s customers were wealthy Japanese visitors and businessmen who appreciated being served by a pretty Australian girl who spoke their language like a native.
‘And go where?’ her mother threw back at her. ‘To your lover’s penthouse? He won’t like that. You’re only welcome there when he’s there.’
‘You don’t know that. There again, you don’t know Max. How could you? You never say more than two words to him on the phone and you’ve never invited him here.’
‘He wouldn’t want to come here,’ she grumbled. ‘This house isn’t fancy enough for a man who lives on the top floor of Sydney’s plushest hotel, and whose family owns a waterfront mansion on Point Piper. Which, might I point out, he’s not taken you to, not even over Christmas? Have you noticed that, Tara? You’re not good enough to be taken home to meet his parents. You’re to be kept a dirty little secret. That’s what you are, Tara. A kept woman.’
Tara had had enough of this. ‘Firstly, there is nothing dirty about my relationship with Max. We love each other and he treats me like a princess. Secondly, Max does not keep me a dirty little secret. We often go out together in public, as you very well know. You used to show your friends the photographs in the paper. Quite proudly, if I recall.’
‘That was when I thought something would come of your relationship. When I thought he would marry you. But there have been no photographs in the paper lately, I’ve noticed. Maybe because he doesn’t have time to take you out any more. But I’ll bet he still has time to take you to bed!’
Tara clenched her jaw hard lest she say something she would later regret. She loved her mother dearly. And she supposed she could understand why the woman worried about her and Max. But modern life was very complicated when it came to personal relationships. Things weren’t as cut and dried as they had been in Joyce’s day.
Still, it was definitely time to find somewhere else to live. Tara could not bear to have to defend herself and Max all the time. It would sour her relationship with her mother.
She could see now that she should not have come back home to live after her return from Tokyo. Her two years away had cut the apron strings and she should have left them cut. But when her mother had met her at the airport on her return, Tara didn’t have the heart to dash Joyce’s presumption that her daughter was back to stay with her. And frankly, it had been rather nice to come home to her old bedroom and her old things. And to her mother’s cooking.
But that had been several months before she’d met Max and fallen head over heels in love.
Things were different now.
Still, if she moved out of home, her mother was going to be very lonely. She often said how much she enjoyed Tara’s company. Tara’s board money helped make life easier for Joyce as well. Her widow’s pension didn’t stretch all that far.
Guilt screamed in to add to Tara’s distress.
Oh, dear. What was a daughter to do?
She would talk to Max about the situation, and see what he said. Max had a wonderful way of making things seem clear and straightforward. Solutions to problems were Max’s stock-in-trade. As were decisions. He spent most of his life solving problems and making decisions.
Max was a very decisive man. A little inflexible, however, Tara conceded. And opinionated. And unforgiving.
Very unforgiving, actually.
‘Look, Mum, there are reasons why Max hasn’t taken me home to meet his parents,’ she started explaining to her mother. ‘It has nothing to do with our working class background. His own father was born working-class, but he…’ Tara broke off abruptly before she revealed things told to her in strict confidence. Max would not appreciate her blurting out the skeletons in his family’s closet, even to her mother. ‘Let’s leave all this for now,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I don’t feel up to arguing with you over Max today.’
The moment she added those last words, Tara regretted them, for her mother’s eyes instantly turned from angry to worried. Her mother was a chronic worrier when it came to matters of health.
‘I thought I heard you being sick earlier,’ Joyce said.
‘It’s nothing. Just a tummy bug. Probably the same thing Jen and her kids had. I’m feeling better now.’
‘Are you sure that’s what it is?’ her mother asked, still looking concerned.
‘Well, I don’t think I’m dying of some dreaded disease,’ Tara said. ‘Truly, Mum, you have to stop looking up those health websites on the internet. You’re becoming a hypochondriac.’
‘I meant,’ her mother bit out, ‘do you think you could be pregnant?’
‘Pregnant!’ Tara was totally taken aback. Dear heaven. Mothers! Truly. ‘No, Mum, I am definitely not pregnant.’ She’d had a period during the weeks Max had been away, which meant if she was pregnant, it had been because of an immaculate conception!
Besides, if there was one thing Tara was fanatical about, it was birth control. The last thing she wanted at this time in her life was a baby. Max wasn’t the only one.
When they’d first become lovers, Max had said he’d use condoms. But after one broke one night last year and they’d spent an anxious two weeks, Tara had taken over the job of preventing a pregnancy. She even had her cellphone programmed so that it beeped at the same time every day, a reminder to take her pill. Six pm on the dot. She also kept a spare box of pills in Max’s bathroom, in case she accidentally left hers at home.
Her mother’s tendency to always expect the worst to happen in life had trained Tara to be an expert in preventative action.
‘There is no sure form of contraception,’ Joyce pointed out firmly. ‘Except saying no.’
Tara refrained from telling her mother that saying no to Max would never be on her agenda.
‘I have to get going,’ she said. ‘The next train for the city is due in ten minutes.’
‘When will you be back?’ her mother called after her as she hurried from the kitchen. ‘Or don’t you know?’
It hit home. That last remark. Because Tara didn’t know. She never seemed to know these days. In that, her mother was right. Max came and went like a whirlwind, often without much information or explanation. He expected her to understand how busy he was at the moment. Which she did on the whole. Didn’t she?
‘I’ll let you know, Mum,’ Tara called back as she scooped up her carry-all and swept out the door. ‘Bye.’
CHAPTER TWO
HER wrist-watch said three-forty as Tara slid Max’s silver Mercedes into an empty parking space, then yanked the car keys out of the ignition. Ten seconds later she was hurrying across the sun-drenched car park, wishing she was wearing her joggers, instead of high-heeled slip-on white sandals. They were sexy shoes but impossible to run in. She’d found that out on the way to the station back at home.
Missing the train had put her in a right quandary.
Did she wait for the next train or catch a taxi?
A taxi from Quakers Hill to the city would cost a bomb.
Unfortunately, Joyce had instilled some of her frugal ways in both her daughters, so whilst Tara could probably have afforded the fare, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Aside from the sheer extravagance, she was saving this year to pay for next year’s uni fees.
She’d momentarily contemplated using the credit card Max had given her, and which she occasionally used for clothes. But only when he was with her, and only when it was for something he insisted she buy, and which she wouldn’t wear during her day-to-day life. Things like evening gowns and outrageously expensive lingerie. Things she kept in Max’s penthouse for her life there.
Till now, she’d never used the card for everyday expenses. When she considered it this time, her mother’s earlier words about her being a kept woman made up her mind for her. Maybe if she’d been still feeling sick, she’d have surrendered to temptation and taken a taxi, but the nausea which had been plaguing her all morning had finally disappeared. So she’d bought herself some food and sat and waited for the next train, and now she was running late.
Tara increased the speed of her stride, her stiletto heels click-clacking faster on the cement path. Her heart started to beat faster as well, a mixture of agitation and anticipation. With a bit of luck, Max’s plane might not have arrived yet. She’d hate him to think she didn’t care enough to be on time. Still, planes rarely seemed to land on schedule. Except when you didn’t want them to, of course.
The contrariness of life.
Once inside the arrivals terminal, Tara swiftly checked the overhead information screens, groaning when she saw that Max’s plane had landed, although only ten minutes earlier. The exit gate assigned was gate B.
Surely he could not be through Customs yet, she told herself as she hurried once more, her progress slightly hampered by having to dodge groups of people. Gate B, typically, was down the other end of the building.
Most of the men she swept past turned for a second glance, but Tara was used to that. Blondes surely did get more than their fair share of male attention, especially tall, pretty ones with long, flowing hair and even longer legs.
Tara also conceded that her new white hipsters were on the eye-poppingly tight side today. She’d been doing some comfort eating lately and had put on a couple of pounds since she’d bought them at a summer sale a fortnight ago. It was as well they were made of stretch material. Still, lord knew what the view of her was like from behind. Pretty in-your-face, no doubt.
Her braless state might have stopped traffic as well, if she’d been wearing a T-shirt or a singlet top.
Thankfully, she wasn’t wearing either. The pink shirt she’d chosen that day did a fair job of hiding her unfettered breasts.
In her everyday life, Tara always wore a bra. But Max liked her braless. Or so he’d said one night, soon after they’d starting seeing each other. And, being anxious to please him, she’d started leaving off her bra whenever she was with him.
But as time had gone by, she’d become aware of the type of stares she’d received from other men when Max had taken her out in public.
And she hadn’t liked it.
Nowadays, when she was with Max, she still left her bra off, but compromised by never wearing anything too revealing. She chose evening gowns with heavily beaded bodices, or solid linings. For dressy day wear, she stuck to dresses and covering jackets. For casual wear, she wore shirts and blouses rather than tight or clingy tops. Tara liked the idea of keeping her bared breasts for her lover only.
Her nipples tightened further at the mere thought of Max touching them.
She would have to wait for that pleasure, however, till they were alone in Max’s hotel suite. Although Max seemed to like her displaying her feminine curves in public, he was not a man to make love anywhere but in total privacy. And that included kissing.
The first time he’d come home after being away, she’d thrown her arms around him in public and given him a big kiss. His expression when she finally let him come up for air had been one of agitation, and distaste. He’d explained to her later that he found it embarrassing, and could she please refrain from turning him on to that degree when he could not do anything about it?
He had added later that he was more than happy for her to be as provocative and as assertive as she liked in private. But once stung by what she’d seen as a rejection of her overtures—and affection—Tara now never made the first move where lovemaking was concerned. She always left it up to Max.
Not that she ever had to wait long. Behind closed doors, Max’s coolly controlled façade soon dropped away to reveal a hot-blooded and often insatiable lover. His visits home might have become shorter and less frequent over the last few months—as Tara’s mother had observed—but whilst he was here in Sydney, he was all Tara’s. They spent most of Max’s visits in bed.
Her mother would see this as conclusive evidence that she was just a sex object to Max. A kept woman. In other words, a mistress.
But her mother was not there when Max took her in his arms. She didn’t see the look in his eyes; didn’t feel the tenderness in his touch; or the uncontrollable trembling which racked his body whenever he made love to her.
Max loved her. Tara was sure of it.
His not wanting to marry her at this time in his life was a matter of timing, not lack of love. Max had never said that marriage was never on his agenda.
And as she’d told her mother, she was in no hurry to get married, anyway. What she was in a hurry for was to get to gate B, collect Max and take him back to the Regency Royale Hotel, post-haste.
Fate must have been on her side, for no sooner had she ground to a breathless halt not far from gate B than Max emerged through the customs exit, striding purposefully down the ramp, carrying his laptop in one hand and wheeling a black carry-on suitcase in the other.
Tara supposed he didn’t look all that much different from dozens of other well-dressed businessmen there at the airport that day. Perhaps taller than most. More broad-shouldered. And more handsome.
But just the sight of him did things to her that she could never explain to her mother. She came alive as she was never alive when she wasn’t with him. Her brain bubbled with joy and the blood fizzed in her veins.
Tara conceded not every twenty-four-year-old girl’s heart would flutter madly at Max’s more conservative brand of handsome, or his very conservative mode of dressing. Tara rarely saw him in anything but a suit. Today’s was charcoal-grey. Single-breasted, combined with a crisp white shirt and a striped blue tie.
All very understated.
But Tara liked the air of stability and security which Max’s untrendy image projected. She liked the fact that he always looked a man of substance. And she very much liked his looks.
Yet till now, she’d never really analysed him feature by feature. It had been his overall appearance, and his overall aura which had initially taken her breath away. And which had kept her captivated ever since.
But as Max made his way through gate B, his eyes having not yet connected with hers, Tara found herself studying Max’s looks more objectively than usual.
Now, that was one classically handsome guy, she decided. Not a pretty boy, but not a rough diamond, either.
A masculine-looking man, Max had a large but well-balanced face, surrounded by a thick head of dark brown hair, always cut with short back and sides, and always combed from a side-parting. His ears were nicely flat against his well-shaped head. His intelligent blue eyes were deeply set, bisected by a long, straight nose and accentuated with thick, dark brown brows. His mouth, despite its full bottom lip, had not a hint of femininity about it and invariably held an uncompromising expression.
Max was not a man who smiled a lot. Mostly, his lips remained firmly shut, his penetrating blue eyes glittering with a hardness which Tara found sexy, but which she imagined could be forbidding, especially when he was annoyed, or angry. Tara suspected he could be a formidable boss, if crossed. She’d heard him a few times over the phone when he’d been laying down the law to various employees.
But with her, he was never really annoyed, or angry. He had been frustrated that time when she’d kissed him in public. And exasperated when she refused to let him buy her a car. But that was it.
Tara knew that when he finally caught sight of her standing there, waiting for him, he would smile.
And suddenly, it was there, that slow curve to his lips, that softer gleam in his eyes, and it was all she could do not to run to him and throw herself into his arms. Instead, she stayed right where she was, smiling her joy back at him whilst he walked slowly towards her.
‘For a few seconds, I thought you weren’t here,’ he said once they were standing face to face.
‘I almost wasn’t,’ she confessed. ‘I was running horribly late. You should have seen me a minute ago, trying to bolt across the car park in these shoes.’
He glanced down at the offending shoes, then slowly let his eyes run up her body. By the time his gaze reached her mouth, her lips had gone bone-dry.
‘Are you sure it was the shoes, or those wicked white trousers? How on earth did you get them on? You must have had them sewn on.’
‘They’re stretchy.’
His eyes glittered in that sexy way she adored. ‘Thank the lord for that. I had visions of spending half the night getting them off you. You know, you really shouldn’t wear gear like that to greet me when we’ve been apart for nearly a month. It does terrible things to me.’
‘I thought you liked me to dress sexily,’ she said, piqued that he hadn’t bothered to ask her why she was late. It occurred to her with a degree of shock that maybe he didn’t care.
‘That depends on how long I’ve been away. Thank goodness you’re wearing a bra.’
‘But I’m not.’
He stared at her chest, then up at her mouth. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that,’ he muttered.
‘For pity’s sake, Max, is there no pleasing you today?’
‘You please me all the time,’ he returned thickly, and putting his laptop down, he actually reached out to stroke a tender hand down her cheek. If that didn’t stun her, his next action did.
He kissed her, his hand sliding down and around under her hair, cupping the back of her neck whilst his mouth branded hers with purpose and passion.
The kiss must have lasted a full minute, leaving Tara weak-kneed with desire and flushed with embarrassment. For people were definitely staring at them.
‘Max!’ she protested huskily when his hand then slid down her shirt over her right breast.
‘That’s what you get for meeting me in those screw-me shoes,’ he whispered.
When Tara gaped at him, Max laughed.
‘You little hypocrite. You deliberately dressed to tease me today, and then you pretend to be shocked when you get the reaction you wanted. Here. Give me my car keys and take this,’ he ordered and handed her the laptop. ‘I want one hand free to keep you in line, you bad girl.’
Tara’s cheeks continued to burn as she was ushered from the terminal with Max’s hand firmly clamped to her bejeaned backside. Her head was fairly whirling with mixed messages and emotions.
In all the times she had picked Max up at the airport, he had never made her feel like this. As if sex was the only thing on his mind, and on hers. And whilst she was flustered by this change in behaviour—could her mother have been right about Max just using her for sex?—she was also undeniably turned on.
Neither of them said a single word till they were standing by the Mercedes and Max had put his things into the boot.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ Max said as he slammed the boot shut and turned to her.
‘What?’
By then she was hot all over, not just her cheeks.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ Max repeated. ‘That’s how long till we’re alone. I suspect it’s going to be the longest fifteen minutes of my life.’ His eyes ran all over her again, finally lingering on her mouth. ‘If I kiss you again, I won’t be able to wait. I’ll ravage you in the back seat of this car and to hell with everything.’
Tara wasn’t sure if she liked this beastlike Max as much as the civilised one she was used to. But she suspected that if he kissed her again, she wouldn’t care if he ravaged her on the back seat.
In fact, she was already imagining him doing just that, and it sent her head spinning.
Just then, a couple of young fellows walked by and one of them ogled her before pursing his lips in a mock kiss. When he turned to his mate and said something, they both laughed.
Tara cringed.
‘Then please don’t kiss me,’ she choked out.
Max, who hadn’t seen this exchange, shook his head at her. ‘Still playing the tease? That’s a new one for you, Tara. What’s happened to the sweet, naive, extremely innocent virgin I met a year ago?’
‘She’s been sleeping with you for a year,’ she countered, stung by his inference that this change today was all hers.
His eyes darkened. ‘Do I detect a degree of dissatisfaction in those words? Is that why you were late today? Because you were thinking of not coming to pick me up at all?’
‘So glad that you finally cared enough to ask why I was late!’ she snapped. ‘For your information, I had words with my mother and then I missed my train.’
Did he look relieved? She couldn’t be sure. Max was not an easy man to read.
‘What was the argument about?’
‘You.’
That surprised him. ‘What about me?’
‘Mum thinks you’re just using me.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I told her you loved me.’
‘I do.’
Tara’s heart lurched at his words. Do you, Max? Do you, really?
‘If you truly loved me,’ she pointed out agitatedly, ‘then you wouldn’t talk about ravaging me in the back seat of a car in a public car park.’
He seemed startled, before a thoughtful frown gathered on his high forehead. ‘I see the way your mind is working, but you’re wrong. And so was I. You’re not a tease, or a hypocrite. You’re still the incurable romantic you always were. But that’s all right. That’s what I love about you. Come along, then, princess. Let’s get you home, where we can dive into our lovely four-poster bed and make beautiful romantic love all weekend long.’
‘Do we have a whole weekend this time, Max?’ Tara asked eagerly, relieved that the threat of being publicly ravaged in the back seat of Max’s car had been averted.
‘Unfortunately, no. I have to catch a plane back to Hong Kong around one tomorrow afternoon.
‘Sorry,’ he added when her face fell. ‘But things there are going from bad to worse. Who knows where it will all end? Still, that’s not your concern.’
‘But I like to hear about your work problems,’ she said truthfully, and touched his arm.
He stiffened for a second before picking up her hand and kissing her fingertips. The entire surface of Tara’s skin broke out into goose-pimples.
‘I haven’t come home to talk about work, Tara,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve come home to relax for a night. With my beautiful girlfriend.’
Tara beamed at him. ‘You called me your girlfriend.’
Max looked perplexed. ‘Well, that’s what you are, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s what I am. I hope,’ she muttered under her breath as she turned away from him and hurried round to the passenger side.
She could feel his eyes on her as she climbed into the car. But she didn’t want to see what was in them. It was enough for now that he’d called her his girlfriend. Enough that he’d declared his love. She didn’t want to see the heat in his gaze and misinterpret it. Of course he desired her, as she desired him. Of course!
But he won’t ever give you what you want, Tara.
Yes, he would, she reassured herself as the car sped towards the city. Till he left for the airport tomorrow, he would give her his company, and his love, and his body. Which was all that she wanted right at this moment. His body possibly most of all.
Even now, she was thinking of the hours she would spend in bed with him, of the way she felt when he caressed and kissed her all over, when he made her melt with just a touch of his finger or a stab of his tongue. She especially liked it when he played with her endlessly, bringing her again and again to the brink of ecstasy, only to draw back at the last moment, making her wait in a state of exquisite tension till he was inside her.
Those were the best times, when they reached satisfaction together, when she held him close and she felt their hearts beating as one.
The car zoomed down into the tunnel which would take them swiftly to the city, the enveloping darkness making Tara even more aware of the man beside her. She glanced over at his strong profile, then at his hands on the wheel.
Her thighs suddenly pressed together at the thought of him taking her, her insides tightening.
When Tara sucked in sharply Max’s head turned and his eyes glittered over at her. ‘What are you thinking about?’
She blushed and he laughed, breaking her tension.
‘Same here. But we’re almost there now. It won’t be long to wait.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE Regency Hotel—recently renamed the Regency Royale by Max—was situated towards the northern end of the city centre, not far from Circular Quay. Touted as one of Sydney’s plushest hotels, it had a décor to suit its name. Guests could be forgiven for thinking they’d stepped back in time once they entered the reception area of the Regency, with its wood-panelled walls, velvet-covered couches and huge crystal chandeliers.
The arcade which connected the entrance of the hotel to the lobby proper was just as lavish, also resonant of England in past times, with its intricately tiled floor and stained-glass ceiling. The boutiques and bars which lined the arcade reflected a similar sense of period style and grace.
Max had once told Tara that was why he’d bought the Regency. Because of its period look.
The Royale chain specialised in hotels which weren’t modern-looking in design or décor. Because modern, Max told her, always eventually dated. History and grandeur were what he looked for in a hotel.
Tara had to agree that this made sound business sense. Of all the hotels in Sydney, the Regency Royale stood out for its style and good, old-fashioned service. But it was the look of the place which captivated guests. The day she came here for her interview at Whitmore Opals eighteen months ago, she’d spent a good while walking around the place, both amazed and admiring.
Today, however, as Max ushered her along the arcade past her place of employment, her focus was on anything but the hotel. Her thoughts were entirely on the man whose hand was clamped firmly around her elbow, and on the state of almost desperate desire he’d reduced her to.
Never, in the twelve months they’d been seeing each other, had she experienced anything quite like this. She’d always been happy for Max to make love to her. But never had she wanted him this badly.
‘Afternoon, Mr Richmond,’ a security guard greeted as he walked towards them.
‘Afternoon, Jack,’ Max replied, and actually stopped to talk to the man whilst Tara clenched her teeth in her jaw.
It was probably only a minute before they moved on but it felt like an eternity.
‘Glad to see you again, Mr Richmond,’ another employee chirped after a few more metres.
‘Same here, Warren.’
This time Max didn’t stop, thank goodness. Tara smothered a sigh of relief, even happier when Max bypassed the reception desk and headed straight for the lifts. Not that he needed to book in, for heaven’s sake. But Max was a hands-on hotel owner who liked to be kept informed over the ins and outs of everything. He usually stopped by Reception for a brief chat on arrival.
In the past, Tara hadn’t minded his stopping to talk to his employees. She’d always admired the way Max knew every employee by their first name, from the valet-parking attendants to the managers.
Today, however, she was extremely irritated by the delays. Which wasn’t like her at all.
The alcove which housed the lifts was not empty. A man in his forties, and presumably his wife, were standing there, waiting for a lift. They didn’t look like tourists. Or members of Sydney’s élite. Their clothes and faces betrayed them as working-class Australians, perhaps staying here in Sydney’s flashest hotel for some special event, or occasion.
‘I will never stay in this hotel again,’ the man grumbled. ‘I’d go somewhere right now if it didn’t mean losing my deposit. I couldn’t believe that girl, insisting that I hadn’t booked a harbour-view room. As if I would bring you here for our silver anniversary and not get the very best room I could afford.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Tom,’ the wife placated. ‘I’m sure all the rooms here are lovely.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the thing. And that girl behind the desk was quite rude, I thought.’
‘Not really,’ the woman said with a nervous glance towards Max and Tara. ‘It was just a mix-up. These things happen. Let’s try not to let it spoil our night.’
Tara smothered a groan when she felt Max’s fingertips tighten around her elbow. She knew, as she glanced up at his tightly drawn face, that he was going to do something about this situation.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, just as the lift doors opened. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m Max Richmond, the owner of this hotel. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to accompany you back to Reception, where I will sort this out to your satisfaction.’
‘Max,’ Tara whispered urgently.
‘You go on, darling,’ he said. ‘I’ll be up as quick as I can. Slip into something more comfortable,’ he murmured as he pecked her on the cheek.
Tara stared after him as he led the awestruck couple away, struggling to contain her bitter disappointment and understand that of course, he couldn’t have done anything else. Not her Max. Hadn’t she tried to tell her mother what a good man he was?
But did he have to be good right at this moment? She would have much preferred him to be bad. Very bad.
Again, Tara was amazed by the intensity of her craving, her sudden wish for Max to make love to her not quite so tenderly as he usually did. Maybe Max had been right after all. Maybe she had dressed as she had today to tease and arouse him. Yet her clothes weren’t all that different from what she usually wore. This change seemed to be coming from inside her.
Now that she came to think of it, she felt more aware of her body than usual today. Her breasts. Her nipples. Her belly. She craved to have them stroked, and licked, and kissed. She craved…oh, she wasn’t sure what she craved. She just craved.
Agitated, Tara fished her keycard out of her bag and hurried into the lift before anyone else could come along. She wanted to be alone with her frustrations, and her bewilderment.
But she wasn’t alone in the lift. She had company. Herself, in the reflection she made in the mirrored section of the walls. Was that her, the creature looking back at her with dilated green eyes and flushed cheeks?
Yes. That was her. Tara, the suddenly sex-mad tart.
Shaking her head at herself, Tara dropped her gaze to the floor for the ride up, determined not to look up into those knowing mirrors till the lift doors opened.
The mirrors were actually a new addition, Max having had the lifts recently renovated in keeping with the rest of the hotel. The floor she was staring down at was now covered in thick red carpet which ran up the walls to waist height, at which point the mirrors took over.
Tara knew without glancing up that the ceiling overhead shone like gold. Probably not in real gold but the effect was the same. Recessed lighting was the only visible concession to the twenty-first century, along with the tiny and very discreet cameras situated in the corners.
Tight security was a must in the Regency Royale, its guest list ranging from pop stars to presidents, with the occasional prince thrown in for good measure. There was even a heliport on top of the building so that these more esteemed guests could arrive and leave with less drama and more safety. Nevertheless, Max only allowed a few helicopter movements each week, partly because of local-authority restrictions but mostly because he couldn’t stand the noise himself. His penthouse apartment occupied the floor just below the heliport.
Everything was deathly quiet, however, when Tara emerged from the lift into the spacious lobby which led to the penthouse door. She used another passkey to let herself inside, where it was almost as quiet, just a small humming sound from the air-conditioning which kept all the rooms at a steady twenty-four degrees Celsius, regardless of the temperature outside.
The perfect temperature for lovers and lovemaking, came the immediate thought. For being naked and walking around naked.
This last thought startled Tara. Because that was one thing she never did. Walked around naked. The idea was theoretically exciting, but the reality made her cringe. She would feel embarrassed, and awkward.
Or would she?
Tara knew she looked good in the buff. Certainly better than most girls, though she couldn’t claim this was due to any hard work on her part. Mother nature had just been kind to her. Tara suspected Max wouldn’t have minded if she’d been a little less shy. He was always asking her to join him in the shower and she always refused.
Maybe this weekend might be a good place to try to overcome that particular hang-up. She doubted she would ever feel as wicked, or as driven, as she did at this moment. She could not wait to get her hands on Max. The thought of washing him all over in the shower was not unattractive, just a bit daunting.
A shudder ran through her. She would think about that later. There were other things she had to do first, such as whip around and turn some lamps on.
Max loved lamp-light, and whilst it was still bright and sunny outside—the sun wouldn’t set for hours—the inside of Max’s penthouse always required some lighting. Mostly this was due to the wraparound terraces and the wide eaves. On top of that, the décor of the penthouse was very much in keeping with the décor of the hotel, which meant it wasn’t madly modern like some penthouses, with great open-plan living areas and huge plate-glass windows.
The décor was still period, with wallpapered walls and rich carpets on the floors. French doors lead out onto the balconies and heavy silk curtains draped over the windows. The furniture was all antique. Warm woods covered in velvet or brocade in rich colours. It was like an Edwardian English mansion set up in the sky. As big as a mansion too, with formal lounge and dining rooms, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, a library, a billiard room, along with a large kitchen, laundry and utility rooms.
Everything was exquisite and very expensive.
Tara hadn’t realised the size or extravagance of the place on the first night she’d spent with Max. She’d been overwhelmed by the events and the experience, rather than her surroundings. But the following morning, she’d soon been confronted by the extreme wealth of the man who’d just become her first lover. Initially, she’d been dumbstruck, then totally convinced that he would only want a girl like her for a one-night stand.
But Max had reassured her for the rest of that incredible weekend that a casual encounter was not what he wanted from her at all. Tara recalled thinking at the time that she had found nothing casual in letting him take her virginity less than three hours after she’d first set eyes on him. If she hadn’t known she’d fallen instantly and deeply in love with the man, she would have been disgusted with herself.
Naturally, she’d been thrilled that he found her as special as she found him, and here she was, one year later, with her own private key, getting things ready for her man in the way that women in love had done so for centuries. If it fleetingly crossed Tara’s mind that her role in her lover’s life was more like a mistress than a real girlfriend, she dismissed it with the added thought that it wouldn’t always be like this. One day, things would change. Max would have more time for her. Till then, she aimed to enjoy the time with him she did have and that part of him which was solely hers.
At least, she hoped it was solely hers.
Yes, of course it was. Her mother was wrong about that, as she was wrong about Max all round. The man who was at this moment doing nice things for that couple downstairs was not the kind of man to be unfaithful, or a callous user. She really had to stop letting her mother undermine her faith in Max, or spoil what promised to be a very exciting night.
With a defiant toss of her head, Tara turned and hurried down the plushly carpeted corridor which led to Max’s personal quarters, fiercely aware that the last few minutes away from Max’s rousing presence hadn’t dampened her desires in the slightest. In fact, having sex with Max was all she could think about at that moment, which was not her usual priority when Max came home these days. Mostly, she just wanted to spend time with the man she loved. His lovemaking, though wonderful, was more of a bonus than the be-all and end-all.
Today, it was not only top priority, but close to becoming an emergency!
It was Max’s fault, she decided as she swept into the bedroom and starting fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons of her pink shirt. The way he’d looked at her at the airport. The things he’d said about her clothes. That kiss, and then his threat to ravage her on the back seat of the car.
Tara finally stripped off her blouse then kicked off her shoes.
‘My screw-me shoes,’ she said with a wicked little laugh as she bent to pick them up, carrying the shirt and the shoes into the adjoining dressing room, where she’d put her bag earlier on. There, she stripped off her jeans and undies, stuffing them into the bag’s side-pocket for later washing. The shirt she hung up in her section of the walk-in wardrobe. The shoes she put into the special shoe rack before running her eyes along the clothes she kept at Max’s place, looking for something more comfortable to slip into.
Her mother’s kept-woman tag flashed into her mind at the sight of so many designer evening gowns, all paid for by Max, each worn to one of the many swanky dos Max had taken her to during the first few months of their relationship. Dinner parties at the homes of top politicians. Gala openings at the opera house. Art exhibitions. Balls. The races.
You name it, she’d been there on Max’s arm.
Actually, she had objected the first time he’d suggested buying her a designer dress. But he’d swept aside her possibly feeble protest with what had seemed like acceptable reasoning.
He could well afford it, he’d pronounced. But possibly his most persuasive argument of all was that it gave him great pleasure to see his gorgeous girlfriend in clothes befitting her beauty.
How could she possibly say no?
The lingerie, Tara realised as her eyes shifted further along the rack, had been more recent gifts, brought home from Max’s more frequent trips overseas. She had negligee sets from Paris, London, Rome, New York.
These were all she seemed to wear for him these days, now that she came to think of it. Max hadn’t taken her outside the door of this penthouse for some time. No doubt he wouldn’t this evening either.
‘Good!’ she pronounced aloud with a dizzying rush of excitement, and pulled out a green satin wrap which she knew complemented her fair colouring and green eyes. The matching nightgown she left on the hanger. No point in wearing too much.
Tossing the wrap over her arm, she headed for the bathroom and was about to have a quick shower before Max arrived when she remembered she hadn’t put her pills and her mobile phone on the bedside chest as she usually did. Dashing back to the dressing room, she retrieved the items from her bag and bolted into the bedroom to do just that. Then she stopped to quickly turn the bedclothes back before glancing around to see that everything was ready for a romantic interlude.
Not that Max’s bedroom needed anything to enhance its already romantic décor. Everything about it was rich and sensual. The soft gold carpet was extra thick and the gold-embossed cream wallpaper extra rich, both perfect foils for the dark mahogany wood used in all the elegant furniture. The four-poster bed. The bedside chests. The dressing table and matching stool. The cheval mirror that stood in one corner and the wingbacked chairs that occupied the other corners.
The soft furnishings were rich and sensual-looking as well, all made in a satin-backed brocade which carried a gold fleur-de-lis design over an olive-green background. A huge crystal and brass chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling, but there were also several dainty crystal wall lights dotted around the room.
Tara loved it when it was dark and all the lights were turned off except those. The room took on a magical glow which was so romantic. Much better than the bedside lamps which she thought threw too much light onto the bed. And them.
Of course, the pièce de résistance in Max’s bedroom was the four-poster bed. Huge, it was, with great carved posts and bedhead. The canopy above was made of the same material as all the other soft furnishings, draped around the edges and trimmed with a gold fringe. There were side-curtains, which theoretically could be drawn to surround the bed, but were always kept pulled back and secured to the bedposts with gold tasselled cords.
Tara ran her fingers idly through one of the tassels and wondered what it would be like to be in bed with Max with the curtains drawn.
‘What are you thinking now?’
‘Oh!’ Tara gasped, whirling to find Max standing in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at her with coldly glittering eyes.
‘I…I didn’t hear you come in,’ she babbled, her heart pounding madly as she tried to cover herself with her hands.
With a sigh Max stalked into the room, his face now showing exasperation. ‘Don’t you think we’ve gone past that, Tara? I mean, I do know what you look like naked. Surely you must know that I’d like it if you walked around in front of me nude,’ he finished as he took off his jacket and threw it onto the nearest chair.
She just stared at him, her heartbeat almost in suspension. But her mind was racing. Yes, yes, it was saying. I’d like to do that, too. Truly. I just can’t seem to find the courage.
‘And there I was,’ he muttered as he yanked his tie off, ‘thinking today that you might have finally decided you wanted more than for me to make love to you under the covers with the lights turned down.
‘It’s all right,’ he added a bit wearily when she remained frozen and tongue-tied. ‘I understand. You’re shy. Though heaven knows why. You have the most beautiful body God ever gave to a woman. And you’re passionate enough, between the sheets.’
Turning away from her, he tossed the tie on top of the jacket then started undoing the buttons on his shirt.
‘Go and put something on,’ he bit out, not looking at her. ‘If you must.’
Tara dashed into the bathroom and shakily pulled on the green wrap, hating herself for feeling relieved. When she finally returned to the bedroom, Max was sitting on the foot of the bed, taking off his shoes and socks. His shirt was hanging open, but he hadn’t taken it off.
Tara’s heart sank. Did he think she was that modest? She loved his chest, with its broad shoulders, wonderfully toned muscles and smattering of curls.
‘Did…did you fix up things for those people?’ she asked somewhat sheepishly.
‘Naturally,’ he replied without looking up at her. ‘I had them moved into one of the honeymoon suites, on the house. And I told them they could have a free harbour-view room for their anniversary next year.’
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Miranda Lee
He wanted her as his mistress… but as the mother of his child? Tara was millionaire Australian hotel magnate Max Richmond's mistress. She loved Max for himself, not for the gifts he gave her, their glamorous life, or even their intense lovemaking.But now, she was expecting his baby, the question was, should she stay or should she go? Tara was convinced there was no place for a pregnant mistress in Max's life, or was there?
Miranda Lee
THE MAGNATE’S MISTRESS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE beep-beep which signalled an incoming text message had Tara dropping her book and diving for her cellphone.
Max! It had to be Max. He was the only person who text-messaged her these days.
Arriving Mascot at 1530, she read with her heart already thudding. QF310. Can you pick me up? Let me know.
A glance at her bedside clock said five to twelve. If his plane was to arrive at three-thirty this afternoon, Max had to be already in the air.
She immediately texted him back.
Will be there.
She smiled wryly at the brevity and lack of sentiment in both their messages. There was no I can’t wait to see you, darling. No I’ve missed you terribly. All very matter-of-fact.
Max was a matter-of-fact kind of man. Mostly.
Not quite so matter-of-fact in bed. A quiver rippled down Tara’s spine at the image of Max in the throes of making love to her.
No. Not at all matter-of-fact on those occasions.
Tara glanced at the clock again. Nearly noon.
Not a lot of time for her to get ready, catch a train into town, collect Max’s car and drive out to the airport. She would have to hurry.
Jumping up from the bed reminded Tara of why she’d been lying back down at this late hour on a Saturday morning. A new wave of nausea rolled through her and she just made it to the bathroom in time before retching.
Darn. Why did she have to have a tummy bug today of all days? It had been almost a month since she’d seen Max, the current crisis in the travel industry having kept him on the hop overseas for ages. Hong Kong had been one of the cities worst affected. When she’d complained during his last phone call two nights ago that she’d forget what he looked like soon, Max had promised to see what he could do this weekend. He was flying to Auckland on the Friday for an important business meeting and might have time to duck over to Sydney on the weekend before returning to Hong Kong.
But Tara hadn’t seriously expected anything. She never liked to get her hopes up too much. It was too depressing when she was disappointed. Still, maybe Max was finally missing her as much as she was missing him.
Which was why the last thing she needed today was to feel sick. She might only have the one night with him this time and she wanted to make the most of it. But it would be hard to enjoy his company if she felt like chucking up all the time.
A sigh reverberated through her as she flushed the toilet.
‘Are you all right in there?’ her mother called through the bathroom door.
‘I’m fine,’ Tara lied, experience warning her not to say anything. Her mother would fuss. Tara disliked being fussed over. No doubt she was only suffering from the same twenty-four-hour gastric bug which was going through Sydney’s western suburbs like wildfire. Her sister’s family had had it this past week, and she’d been over there last weekend for a family barbeque.
Actually, now that she’d been sick, Tara felt considerably better. A shower would make her feel even better, she reasoned, and turned on the spray.
Her arrival in the kitchen an hour later with freshly blow-dried hair, a perfectly made-up face and a new outfit on had her mother giving her a narrow-eyed once-over.
‘I see his lord and master must be arriving for one of his increasingly fleeting visits,’ Joyce said tartly, then went back to whatever cake she was making.
Saturday was Joyce Bond’s baking day; had been for as long as Tara could remember. Such rigid routines grated on Tara’s more spontaneous nature. She often wished that her mother would surprise her by doing something different on a Saturday for once. She also wished she would surprise her with a different attitude towards Max.
‘Mum, please don’t,’ Tara said wearily, and popped a slice of bread into the toaster. Her stomach had settled enough for her to handle some Vegemite toast, but she still wasn’t feeling wonderful.
Joyce spun round from the kitchen counter to glower at her daughter. Her impossibly beautiful daughter.
Tara had inherited the best of each of her parents. She had her father’s height, his lovely blond hair, clear skin, good teeth and striking green eyes. Joyce had contributed a cute nose, full lips and an even fuller bust, which looked infinitely better on Tara than it ever had on her own less tall, short-waisted body.
Joyce hadn’t been surprised when one of the wealthy men who patronised the exclusive jewellery boutique where Tara worked had made a beeline for her. She wasn’t surprised—or even too worried—when Tara confessed that she was no longer a virgin. Joyce had always thought it a minor miracle that a girl with Tara’s looks had reached twenty-four without having slept with a man. After all, her daughter’s many boyfriends must have tried to get the girl into bed.
Tara had always claimed she was waiting for Prince Charming to come along. Joyce’s younger daughter was somewhat of an idealist, a full-on romantic. An avid reader, she was addicted to novels which featured wonderful heroes and happy-ever-after endings.
In the beginning, Joyce had hoped that Max Richmond was her daughter’s Prince Charming. He had most of the attributes. Wealth. Good looks. Youth. Relative youth, anyway. He’d been thirty-five when they’d begun seeing each other.
But in the last twelve months Joyce had come to feel differently about her daughter’s relationship with the handsome hotel magnate. It had finally become clear that Max Richmond was never going to marry his lovely young mistress.
For that was what Tara had swiftly become. Not a proper girlfriend, or a partner, as people sometimes called their loved ones these days. A mistress, expected to be there when he called and be silent when he left. Expected to give everything and receive nothing in return, except for the corrupting gifts rich men invariably gave to their mistresses.
Designer clothes. Jewellery. Perfume. Flowers.
A fresh bouquet of red roses was delivered every week when Max was away. But who ordered them? Joyce often wondered. The man himself, or his secretary?
If Tara had been the kind of good-time girl who could handle such a relationship, Joyce would have held her tongue. But Tara was nothing of the kind. Underneath her sophisticated and sexy-looking exterior lay a soft, sensitive soul. A good girl. When Max Richmond eventually dumped her, she was going to be shattered.
Joyce’s thoughts had fired a slow-burning fury, along with her tongue.
‘Don’t what?’ she snapped. ‘Don’t tell it like it is? I’m not going to sit by silently and say nothing, Tara. I love you too much for that. You’re wasting your life on that man. He will never give you what you really want. He’s just using you.’
Tara refrained from reminding her mother how often she’d been told in this house that she didn’t know what she wanted in life. Joyce had frowned over her daughter not using her arts degree to get a job in Sydney. Instead, a restless Tara had gone tripping off to Japan to teach English for two years, at the same time using the opportunity to see as much of Asia as she could. When she’d returned to Sydney eighteen months ago her mother had expected her to look for a teaching position here. Instead, she’d taken a job as a shop assistant at Whitmore Opals, till she decided what she wanted to do next. Her announcement recently that she was going back to university next year to study psychology had been met with rolling eyes, as if to say, there she goes again.
In a way, her mother was right. She didn’t know what she wanted to be, career-wise, the way some people did. But she knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to be tied down at home with children the way Jen was. And she didn’t want to bake cakes every single Saturday.
‘So what is it that you think I really want, Mum?’ she asked, rather curious to find out what secret observation her mother had made.
‘Why, what most women want deep down. A home, and a family. And a husband, of course.’
Tara shook her head. Given that her mother was rising sixty, she supposed there were excuses for holding such an old-fashioned viewpoint.
But the bit about a husband was rather ironic, considering her mother’s personal background. Joyce had been widowed for over twenty years, Tara’s electrician father having been killed in a work accident when Tara was just three. Her mother had raised her two daughters virtually single-handed. She’d worked hard to provide for them. She’d scrimped and saved and even bought her own house. Admittedly, it was not a flash house. But it was a house. And, she’d never married again. In fact, there’d never been another man in her life after Tara’s father.
‘It may come as a surprise to you, Mum,’ Tara said as she removed the popped-up toast, ‘but I don’t want any of that. Not yet, anyway. I’m only twenty-four. There are plenty of years ahead for me to settle down to marriage and motherhood. I like my life the way it is. I’m looking forward to going back to uni next year. Meanwhile, I have an interesting job, some good friends and a fabulous lover.’
‘Whom you rarely see. As for your supposed good friends, name one you’ve been out with in the last six months!’
Tara couldn’t.
‘See what I mean?’ her mother went on accusingly. ‘You never go out with your old friends any more because you’re compelled to keep your weekends free, in case his lord and master deigns to drop in on your life. For pity’s sake, Tara, do you honestly think your jet-setting lover is spending every weekend of his alone when he doesn’t come home?’
Joyce regretted the harsh words the moment she saw her daughter’s face go a sickly shade of grey.
Tara gripped the kitchen counter and willed the bile in her throat to go back down. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mum. Max would never do that.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ Joyce said, but more softly this time. ‘He doesn’t love you, Tara. Not the way you love him.’
‘Yes, he does. And even if he didn’t, I’d still want him.’
Oh, yes, that was one thing she was sure about.
‘I won’t give him up for anything, or anyone,’ she announced fiercely, and took a savage bite of toast.
‘He’s going to break your heart.’
Tara’s heart contracted. Would he? She couldn’t imagine it. Not her Max. Not deliberately. He wasn’t like that. Her mother didn’t understand. Max just didn’t want marriage at this time in his life. Or kids. He’d explained all that to her right from the beginning. He’d told her up front that his life was too busy for a wife and a family. Since his father had been incapacitated by a stroke, the full responsibility of running the family firm had fallen on him. Looking after a huge chain of international hotels was a massive job, especially with the present precarious state of tourism and travel. Max spent more than half his life on a plane. All he could promise her for now was the occasional weekend.
He’d given her the opportunity to tell him to get lost, before she got in any deeper. But of course that had been after he’d taken her to bed and shown her a world she’d never envisaged, a world of incredible pleasure.
How could you give up perfection, just because everything wasn’t perfect?
Tara threw the rest of her toast in the bin under the sink, then straightened with a sigh. ‘If you disapprove of my relationship with Max this much, Mum,’ she said unhappily, ‘perhaps it’s time I moved out of home.’
She could well afford to rent a place of her own on her salary. Her pay as a shop assistant at Whitmore Opals was boosted by generous commission each month. She was their top salesgirl, due to her natural affinity for people and her ability to speak fluent Japanese. A lot of the shop’s customers were wealthy Japanese visitors and businessmen who appreciated being served by a pretty Australian girl who spoke their language like a native.
‘And go where?’ her mother threw back at her. ‘To your lover’s penthouse? He won’t like that. You’re only welcome there when he’s there.’
‘You don’t know that. There again, you don’t know Max. How could you? You never say more than two words to him on the phone and you’ve never invited him here.’
‘He wouldn’t want to come here,’ she grumbled. ‘This house isn’t fancy enough for a man who lives on the top floor of Sydney’s plushest hotel, and whose family owns a waterfront mansion on Point Piper. Which, might I point out, he’s not taken you to, not even over Christmas? Have you noticed that, Tara? You’re not good enough to be taken home to meet his parents. You’re to be kept a dirty little secret. That’s what you are, Tara. A kept woman.’
Tara had had enough of this. ‘Firstly, there is nothing dirty about my relationship with Max. We love each other and he treats me like a princess. Secondly, Max does not keep me a dirty little secret. We often go out together in public, as you very well know. You used to show your friends the photographs in the paper. Quite proudly, if I recall.’
‘That was when I thought something would come of your relationship. When I thought he would marry you. But there have been no photographs in the paper lately, I’ve noticed. Maybe because he doesn’t have time to take you out any more. But I’ll bet he still has time to take you to bed!’
Tara clenched her jaw hard lest she say something she would later regret. She loved her mother dearly. And she supposed she could understand why the woman worried about her and Max. But modern life was very complicated when it came to personal relationships. Things weren’t as cut and dried as they had been in Joyce’s day.
Still, it was definitely time to find somewhere else to live. Tara could not bear to have to defend herself and Max all the time. It would sour her relationship with her mother.
She could see now that she should not have come back home to live after her return from Tokyo. Her two years away had cut the apron strings and she should have left them cut. But when her mother had met her at the airport on her return, Tara didn’t have the heart to dash Joyce’s presumption that her daughter was back to stay with her. And frankly, it had been rather nice to come home to her old bedroom and her old things. And to her mother’s cooking.
But that had been several months before she’d met Max and fallen head over heels in love.
Things were different now.
Still, if she moved out of home, her mother was going to be very lonely. She often said how much she enjoyed Tara’s company. Tara’s board money helped make life easier for Joyce as well. Her widow’s pension didn’t stretch all that far.
Guilt screamed in to add to Tara’s distress.
Oh, dear. What was a daughter to do?
She would talk to Max about the situation, and see what he said. Max had a wonderful way of making things seem clear and straightforward. Solutions to problems were Max’s stock-in-trade. As were decisions. He spent most of his life solving problems and making decisions.
Max was a very decisive man. A little inflexible, however, Tara conceded. And opinionated. And unforgiving.
Very unforgiving, actually.
‘Look, Mum, there are reasons why Max hasn’t taken me home to meet his parents,’ she started explaining to her mother. ‘It has nothing to do with our working class background. His own father was born working-class, but he…’ Tara broke off abruptly before she revealed things told to her in strict confidence. Max would not appreciate her blurting out the skeletons in his family’s closet, even to her mother. ‘Let’s leave all this for now,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I don’t feel up to arguing with you over Max today.’
The moment she added those last words, Tara regretted them, for her mother’s eyes instantly turned from angry to worried. Her mother was a chronic worrier when it came to matters of health.
‘I thought I heard you being sick earlier,’ Joyce said.
‘It’s nothing. Just a tummy bug. Probably the same thing Jen and her kids had. I’m feeling better now.’
‘Are you sure that’s what it is?’ her mother asked, still looking concerned.
‘Well, I don’t think I’m dying of some dreaded disease,’ Tara said. ‘Truly, Mum, you have to stop looking up those health websites on the internet. You’re becoming a hypochondriac.’
‘I meant,’ her mother bit out, ‘do you think you could be pregnant?’
‘Pregnant!’ Tara was totally taken aback. Dear heaven. Mothers! Truly. ‘No, Mum, I am definitely not pregnant.’ She’d had a period during the weeks Max had been away, which meant if she was pregnant, it had been because of an immaculate conception!
Besides, if there was one thing Tara was fanatical about, it was birth control. The last thing she wanted at this time in her life was a baby. Max wasn’t the only one.
When they’d first become lovers, Max had said he’d use condoms. But after one broke one night last year and they’d spent an anxious two weeks, Tara had taken over the job of preventing a pregnancy. She even had her cellphone programmed so that it beeped at the same time every day, a reminder to take her pill. Six pm on the dot. She also kept a spare box of pills in Max’s bathroom, in case she accidentally left hers at home.
Her mother’s tendency to always expect the worst to happen in life had trained Tara to be an expert in preventative action.
‘There is no sure form of contraception,’ Joyce pointed out firmly. ‘Except saying no.’
Tara refrained from telling her mother that saying no to Max would never be on her agenda.
‘I have to get going,’ she said. ‘The next train for the city is due in ten minutes.’
‘When will you be back?’ her mother called after her as she hurried from the kitchen. ‘Or don’t you know?’
It hit home. That last remark. Because Tara didn’t know. She never seemed to know these days. In that, her mother was right. Max came and went like a whirlwind, often without much information or explanation. He expected her to understand how busy he was at the moment. Which she did on the whole. Didn’t she?
‘I’ll let you know, Mum,’ Tara called back as she scooped up her carry-all and swept out the door. ‘Bye.’
CHAPTER TWO
HER wrist-watch said three-forty as Tara slid Max’s silver Mercedes into an empty parking space, then yanked the car keys out of the ignition. Ten seconds later she was hurrying across the sun-drenched car park, wishing she was wearing her joggers, instead of high-heeled slip-on white sandals. They were sexy shoes but impossible to run in. She’d found that out on the way to the station back at home.
Missing the train had put her in a right quandary.
Did she wait for the next train or catch a taxi?
A taxi from Quakers Hill to the city would cost a bomb.
Unfortunately, Joyce had instilled some of her frugal ways in both her daughters, so whilst Tara could probably have afforded the fare, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Aside from the sheer extravagance, she was saving this year to pay for next year’s uni fees.
She’d momentarily contemplated using the credit card Max had given her, and which she occasionally used for clothes. But only when he was with her, and only when it was for something he insisted she buy, and which she wouldn’t wear during her day-to-day life. Things like evening gowns and outrageously expensive lingerie. Things she kept in Max’s penthouse for her life there.
Till now, she’d never used the card for everyday expenses. When she considered it this time, her mother’s earlier words about her being a kept woman made up her mind for her. Maybe if she’d been still feeling sick, she’d have surrendered to temptation and taken a taxi, but the nausea which had been plaguing her all morning had finally disappeared. So she’d bought herself some food and sat and waited for the next train, and now she was running late.
Tara increased the speed of her stride, her stiletto heels click-clacking faster on the cement path. Her heart started to beat faster as well, a mixture of agitation and anticipation. With a bit of luck, Max’s plane might not have arrived yet. She’d hate him to think she didn’t care enough to be on time. Still, planes rarely seemed to land on schedule. Except when you didn’t want them to, of course.
The contrariness of life.
Once inside the arrivals terminal, Tara swiftly checked the overhead information screens, groaning when she saw that Max’s plane had landed, although only ten minutes earlier. The exit gate assigned was gate B.
Surely he could not be through Customs yet, she told herself as she hurried once more, her progress slightly hampered by having to dodge groups of people. Gate B, typically, was down the other end of the building.
Most of the men she swept past turned for a second glance, but Tara was used to that. Blondes surely did get more than their fair share of male attention, especially tall, pretty ones with long, flowing hair and even longer legs.
Tara also conceded that her new white hipsters were on the eye-poppingly tight side today. She’d been doing some comfort eating lately and had put on a couple of pounds since she’d bought them at a summer sale a fortnight ago. It was as well they were made of stretch material. Still, lord knew what the view of her was like from behind. Pretty in-your-face, no doubt.
Her braless state might have stopped traffic as well, if she’d been wearing a T-shirt or a singlet top.
Thankfully, she wasn’t wearing either. The pink shirt she’d chosen that day did a fair job of hiding her unfettered breasts.
In her everyday life, Tara always wore a bra. But Max liked her braless. Or so he’d said one night, soon after they’d starting seeing each other. And, being anxious to please him, she’d started leaving off her bra whenever she was with him.
But as time had gone by, she’d become aware of the type of stares she’d received from other men when Max had taken her out in public.
And she hadn’t liked it.
Nowadays, when she was with Max, she still left her bra off, but compromised by never wearing anything too revealing. She chose evening gowns with heavily beaded bodices, or solid linings. For dressy day wear, she stuck to dresses and covering jackets. For casual wear, she wore shirts and blouses rather than tight or clingy tops. Tara liked the idea of keeping her bared breasts for her lover only.
Her nipples tightened further at the mere thought of Max touching them.
She would have to wait for that pleasure, however, till they were alone in Max’s hotel suite. Although Max seemed to like her displaying her feminine curves in public, he was not a man to make love anywhere but in total privacy. And that included kissing.
The first time he’d come home after being away, she’d thrown her arms around him in public and given him a big kiss. His expression when she finally let him come up for air had been one of agitation, and distaste. He’d explained to her later that he found it embarrassing, and could she please refrain from turning him on to that degree when he could not do anything about it?
He had added later that he was more than happy for her to be as provocative and as assertive as she liked in private. But once stung by what she’d seen as a rejection of her overtures—and affection—Tara now never made the first move where lovemaking was concerned. She always left it up to Max.
Not that she ever had to wait long. Behind closed doors, Max’s coolly controlled façade soon dropped away to reveal a hot-blooded and often insatiable lover. His visits home might have become shorter and less frequent over the last few months—as Tara’s mother had observed—but whilst he was here in Sydney, he was all Tara’s. They spent most of Max’s visits in bed.
Her mother would see this as conclusive evidence that she was just a sex object to Max. A kept woman. In other words, a mistress.
But her mother was not there when Max took her in his arms. She didn’t see the look in his eyes; didn’t feel the tenderness in his touch; or the uncontrollable trembling which racked his body whenever he made love to her.
Max loved her. Tara was sure of it.
His not wanting to marry her at this time in his life was a matter of timing, not lack of love. Max had never said that marriage was never on his agenda.
And as she’d told her mother, she was in no hurry to get married, anyway. What she was in a hurry for was to get to gate B, collect Max and take him back to the Regency Royale Hotel, post-haste.
Fate must have been on her side, for no sooner had she ground to a breathless halt not far from gate B than Max emerged through the customs exit, striding purposefully down the ramp, carrying his laptop in one hand and wheeling a black carry-on suitcase in the other.
Tara supposed he didn’t look all that much different from dozens of other well-dressed businessmen there at the airport that day. Perhaps taller than most. More broad-shouldered. And more handsome.
But just the sight of him did things to her that she could never explain to her mother. She came alive as she was never alive when she wasn’t with him. Her brain bubbled with joy and the blood fizzed in her veins.
Tara conceded not every twenty-four-year-old girl’s heart would flutter madly at Max’s more conservative brand of handsome, or his very conservative mode of dressing. Tara rarely saw him in anything but a suit. Today’s was charcoal-grey. Single-breasted, combined with a crisp white shirt and a striped blue tie.
All very understated.
But Tara liked the air of stability and security which Max’s untrendy image projected. She liked the fact that he always looked a man of substance. And she very much liked his looks.
Yet till now, she’d never really analysed him feature by feature. It had been his overall appearance, and his overall aura which had initially taken her breath away. And which had kept her captivated ever since.
But as Max made his way through gate B, his eyes having not yet connected with hers, Tara found herself studying Max’s looks more objectively than usual.
Now, that was one classically handsome guy, she decided. Not a pretty boy, but not a rough diamond, either.
A masculine-looking man, Max had a large but well-balanced face, surrounded by a thick head of dark brown hair, always cut with short back and sides, and always combed from a side-parting. His ears were nicely flat against his well-shaped head. His intelligent blue eyes were deeply set, bisected by a long, straight nose and accentuated with thick, dark brown brows. His mouth, despite its full bottom lip, had not a hint of femininity about it and invariably held an uncompromising expression.
Max was not a man who smiled a lot. Mostly, his lips remained firmly shut, his penetrating blue eyes glittering with a hardness which Tara found sexy, but which she imagined could be forbidding, especially when he was annoyed, or angry. Tara suspected he could be a formidable boss, if crossed. She’d heard him a few times over the phone when he’d been laying down the law to various employees.
But with her, he was never really annoyed, or angry. He had been frustrated that time when she’d kissed him in public. And exasperated when she refused to let him buy her a car. But that was it.
Tara knew that when he finally caught sight of her standing there, waiting for him, he would smile.
And suddenly, it was there, that slow curve to his lips, that softer gleam in his eyes, and it was all she could do not to run to him and throw herself into his arms. Instead, she stayed right where she was, smiling her joy back at him whilst he walked slowly towards her.
‘For a few seconds, I thought you weren’t here,’ he said once they were standing face to face.
‘I almost wasn’t,’ she confessed. ‘I was running horribly late. You should have seen me a minute ago, trying to bolt across the car park in these shoes.’
He glanced down at the offending shoes, then slowly let his eyes run up her body. By the time his gaze reached her mouth, her lips had gone bone-dry.
‘Are you sure it was the shoes, or those wicked white trousers? How on earth did you get them on? You must have had them sewn on.’
‘They’re stretchy.’
His eyes glittered in that sexy way she adored. ‘Thank the lord for that. I had visions of spending half the night getting them off you. You know, you really shouldn’t wear gear like that to greet me when we’ve been apart for nearly a month. It does terrible things to me.’
‘I thought you liked me to dress sexily,’ she said, piqued that he hadn’t bothered to ask her why she was late. It occurred to her with a degree of shock that maybe he didn’t care.
‘That depends on how long I’ve been away. Thank goodness you’re wearing a bra.’
‘But I’m not.’
He stared at her chest, then up at her mouth. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that,’ he muttered.
‘For pity’s sake, Max, is there no pleasing you today?’
‘You please me all the time,’ he returned thickly, and putting his laptop down, he actually reached out to stroke a tender hand down her cheek. If that didn’t stun her, his next action did.
He kissed her, his hand sliding down and around under her hair, cupping the back of her neck whilst his mouth branded hers with purpose and passion.
The kiss must have lasted a full minute, leaving Tara weak-kneed with desire and flushed with embarrassment. For people were definitely staring at them.
‘Max!’ she protested huskily when his hand then slid down her shirt over her right breast.
‘That’s what you get for meeting me in those screw-me shoes,’ he whispered.
When Tara gaped at him, Max laughed.
‘You little hypocrite. You deliberately dressed to tease me today, and then you pretend to be shocked when you get the reaction you wanted. Here. Give me my car keys and take this,’ he ordered and handed her the laptop. ‘I want one hand free to keep you in line, you bad girl.’
Tara’s cheeks continued to burn as she was ushered from the terminal with Max’s hand firmly clamped to her bejeaned backside. Her head was fairly whirling with mixed messages and emotions.
In all the times she had picked Max up at the airport, he had never made her feel like this. As if sex was the only thing on his mind, and on hers. And whilst she was flustered by this change in behaviour—could her mother have been right about Max just using her for sex?—she was also undeniably turned on.
Neither of them said a single word till they were standing by the Mercedes and Max had put his things into the boot.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ Max said as he slammed the boot shut and turned to her.
‘What?’
By then she was hot all over, not just her cheeks.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ Max repeated. ‘That’s how long till we’re alone. I suspect it’s going to be the longest fifteen minutes of my life.’ His eyes ran all over her again, finally lingering on her mouth. ‘If I kiss you again, I won’t be able to wait. I’ll ravage you in the back seat of this car and to hell with everything.’
Tara wasn’t sure if she liked this beastlike Max as much as the civilised one she was used to. But she suspected that if he kissed her again, she wouldn’t care if he ravaged her on the back seat.
In fact, she was already imagining him doing just that, and it sent her head spinning.
Just then, a couple of young fellows walked by and one of them ogled her before pursing his lips in a mock kiss. When he turned to his mate and said something, they both laughed.
Tara cringed.
‘Then please don’t kiss me,’ she choked out.
Max, who hadn’t seen this exchange, shook his head at her. ‘Still playing the tease? That’s a new one for you, Tara. What’s happened to the sweet, naive, extremely innocent virgin I met a year ago?’
‘She’s been sleeping with you for a year,’ she countered, stung by his inference that this change today was all hers.
His eyes darkened. ‘Do I detect a degree of dissatisfaction in those words? Is that why you were late today? Because you were thinking of not coming to pick me up at all?’
‘So glad that you finally cared enough to ask why I was late!’ she snapped. ‘For your information, I had words with my mother and then I missed my train.’
Did he look relieved? She couldn’t be sure. Max was not an easy man to read.
‘What was the argument about?’
‘You.’
That surprised him. ‘What about me?’
‘Mum thinks you’re just using me.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I told her you loved me.’
‘I do.’
Tara’s heart lurched at his words. Do you, Max? Do you, really?
‘If you truly loved me,’ she pointed out agitatedly, ‘then you wouldn’t talk about ravaging me in the back seat of a car in a public car park.’
He seemed startled, before a thoughtful frown gathered on his high forehead. ‘I see the way your mind is working, but you’re wrong. And so was I. You’re not a tease, or a hypocrite. You’re still the incurable romantic you always were. But that’s all right. That’s what I love about you. Come along, then, princess. Let’s get you home, where we can dive into our lovely four-poster bed and make beautiful romantic love all weekend long.’
‘Do we have a whole weekend this time, Max?’ Tara asked eagerly, relieved that the threat of being publicly ravaged in the back seat of Max’s car had been averted.
‘Unfortunately, no. I have to catch a plane back to Hong Kong around one tomorrow afternoon.
‘Sorry,’ he added when her face fell. ‘But things there are going from bad to worse. Who knows where it will all end? Still, that’s not your concern.’
‘But I like to hear about your work problems,’ she said truthfully, and touched his arm.
He stiffened for a second before picking up her hand and kissing her fingertips. The entire surface of Tara’s skin broke out into goose-pimples.
‘I haven’t come home to talk about work, Tara,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve come home to relax for a night. With my beautiful girlfriend.’
Tara beamed at him. ‘You called me your girlfriend.’
Max looked perplexed. ‘Well, that’s what you are, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Yes, that’s what I am. I hope,’ she muttered under her breath as she turned away from him and hurried round to the passenger side.
She could feel his eyes on her as she climbed into the car. But she didn’t want to see what was in them. It was enough for now that he’d called her his girlfriend. Enough that he’d declared his love. She didn’t want to see the heat in his gaze and misinterpret it. Of course he desired her, as she desired him. Of course!
But he won’t ever give you what you want, Tara.
Yes, he would, she reassured herself as the car sped towards the city. Till he left for the airport tomorrow, he would give her his company, and his love, and his body. Which was all that she wanted right at this moment. His body possibly most of all.
Even now, she was thinking of the hours she would spend in bed with him, of the way she felt when he caressed and kissed her all over, when he made her melt with just a touch of his finger or a stab of his tongue. She especially liked it when he played with her endlessly, bringing her again and again to the brink of ecstasy, only to draw back at the last moment, making her wait in a state of exquisite tension till he was inside her.
Those were the best times, when they reached satisfaction together, when she held him close and she felt their hearts beating as one.
The car zoomed down into the tunnel which would take them swiftly to the city, the enveloping darkness making Tara even more aware of the man beside her. She glanced over at his strong profile, then at his hands on the wheel.
Her thighs suddenly pressed together at the thought of him taking her, her insides tightening.
When Tara sucked in sharply Max’s head turned and his eyes glittered over at her. ‘What are you thinking about?’
She blushed and he laughed, breaking her tension.
‘Same here. But we’re almost there now. It won’t be long to wait.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE Regency Hotel—recently renamed the Regency Royale by Max—was situated towards the northern end of the city centre, not far from Circular Quay. Touted as one of Sydney’s plushest hotels, it had a décor to suit its name. Guests could be forgiven for thinking they’d stepped back in time once they entered the reception area of the Regency, with its wood-panelled walls, velvet-covered couches and huge crystal chandeliers.
The arcade which connected the entrance of the hotel to the lobby proper was just as lavish, also resonant of England in past times, with its intricately tiled floor and stained-glass ceiling. The boutiques and bars which lined the arcade reflected a similar sense of period style and grace.
Max had once told Tara that was why he’d bought the Regency. Because of its period look.
The Royale chain specialised in hotels which weren’t modern-looking in design or décor. Because modern, Max told her, always eventually dated. History and grandeur were what he looked for in a hotel.
Tara had to agree that this made sound business sense. Of all the hotels in Sydney, the Regency Royale stood out for its style and good, old-fashioned service. But it was the look of the place which captivated guests. The day she came here for her interview at Whitmore Opals eighteen months ago, she’d spent a good while walking around the place, both amazed and admiring.
Today, however, as Max ushered her along the arcade past her place of employment, her focus was on anything but the hotel. Her thoughts were entirely on the man whose hand was clamped firmly around her elbow, and on the state of almost desperate desire he’d reduced her to.
Never, in the twelve months they’d been seeing each other, had she experienced anything quite like this. She’d always been happy for Max to make love to her. But never had she wanted him this badly.
‘Afternoon, Mr Richmond,’ a security guard greeted as he walked towards them.
‘Afternoon, Jack,’ Max replied, and actually stopped to talk to the man whilst Tara clenched her teeth in her jaw.
It was probably only a minute before they moved on but it felt like an eternity.
‘Glad to see you again, Mr Richmond,’ another employee chirped after a few more metres.
‘Same here, Warren.’
This time Max didn’t stop, thank goodness. Tara smothered a sigh of relief, even happier when Max bypassed the reception desk and headed straight for the lifts. Not that he needed to book in, for heaven’s sake. But Max was a hands-on hotel owner who liked to be kept informed over the ins and outs of everything. He usually stopped by Reception for a brief chat on arrival.
In the past, Tara hadn’t minded his stopping to talk to his employees. She’d always admired the way Max knew every employee by their first name, from the valet-parking attendants to the managers.
Today, however, she was extremely irritated by the delays. Which wasn’t like her at all.
The alcove which housed the lifts was not empty. A man in his forties, and presumably his wife, were standing there, waiting for a lift. They didn’t look like tourists. Or members of Sydney’s élite. Their clothes and faces betrayed them as working-class Australians, perhaps staying here in Sydney’s flashest hotel for some special event, or occasion.
‘I will never stay in this hotel again,’ the man grumbled. ‘I’d go somewhere right now if it didn’t mean losing my deposit. I couldn’t believe that girl, insisting that I hadn’t booked a harbour-view room. As if I would bring you here for our silver anniversary and not get the very best room I could afford.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Tom,’ the wife placated. ‘I’m sure all the rooms here are lovely.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the thing. And that girl behind the desk was quite rude, I thought.’
‘Not really,’ the woman said with a nervous glance towards Max and Tara. ‘It was just a mix-up. These things happen. Let’s try not to let it spoil our night.’
Tara smothered a groan when she felt Max’s fingertips tighten around her elbow. She knew, as she glanced up at his tightly drawn face, that he was going to do something about this situation.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, just as the lift doors opened. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m Max Richmond, the owner of this hotel. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to accompany you back to Reception, where I will sort this out to your satisfaction.’
‘Max,’ Tara whispered urgently.
‘You go on, darling,’ he said. ‘I’ll be up as quick as I can. Slip into something more comfortable,’ he murmured as he pecked her on the cheek.
Tara stared after him as he led the awestruck couple away, struggling to contain her bitter disappointment and understand that of course, he couldn’t have done anything else. Not her Max. Hadn’t she tried to tell her mother what a good man he was?
But did he have to be good right at this moment? She would have much preferred him to be bad. Very bad.
Again, Tara was amazed by the intensity of her craving, her sudden wish for Max to make love to her not quite so tenderly as he usually did. Maybe Max had been right after all. Maybe she had dressed as she had today to tease and arouse him. Yet her clothes weren’t all that different from what she usually wore. This change seemed to be coming from inside her.
Now that she came to think of it, she felt more aware of her body than usual today. Her breasts. Her nipples. Her belly. She craved to have them stroked, and licked, and kissed. She craved…oh, she wasn’t sure what she craved. She just craved.
Agitated, Tara fished her keycard out of her bag and hurried into the lift before anyone else could come along. She wanted to be alone with her frustrations, and her bewilderment.
But she wasn’t alone in the lift. She had company. Herself, in the reflection she made in the mirrored section of the walls. Was that her, the creature looking back at her with dilated green eyes and flushed cheeks?
Yes. That was her. Tara, the suddenly sex-mad tart.
Shaking her head at herself, Tara dropped her gaze to the floor for the ride up, determined not to look up into those knowing mirrors till the lift doors opened.
The mirrors were actually a new addition, Max having had the lifts recently renovated in keeping with the rest of the hotel. The floor she was staring down at was now covered in thick red carpet which ran up the walls to waist height, at which point the mirrors took over.
Tara knew without glancing up that the ceiling overhead shone like gold. Probably not in real gold but the effect was the same. Recessed lighting was the only visible concession to the twenty-first century, along with the tiny and very discreet cameras situated in the corners.
Tight security was a must in the Regency Royale, its guest list ranging from pop stars to presidents, with the occasional prince thrown in for good measure. There was even a heliport on top of the building so that these more esteemed guests could arrive and leave with less drama and more safety. Nevertheless, Max only allowed a few helicopter movements each week, partly because of local-authority restrictions but mostly because he couldn’t stand the noise himself. His penthouse apartment occupied the floor just below the heliport.
Everything was deathly quiet, however, when Tara emerged from the lift into the spacious lobby which led to the penthouse door. She used another passkey to let herself inside, where it was almost as quiet, just a small humming sound from the air-conditioning which kept all the rooms at a steady twenty-four degrees Celsius, regardless of the temperature outside.
The perfect temperature for lovers and lovemaking, came the immediate thought. For being naked and walking around naked.
This last thought startled Tara. Because that was one thing she never did. Walked around naked. The idea was theoretically exciting, but the reality made her cringe. She would feel embarrassed, and awkward.
Or would she?
Tara knew she looked good in the buff. Certainly better than most girls, though she couldn’t claim this was due to any hard work on her part. Mother nature had just been kind to her. Tara suspected Max wouldn’t have minded if she’d been a little less shy. He was always asking her to join him in the shower and she always refused.
Maybe this weekend might be a good place to try to overcome that particular hang-up. She doubted she would ever feel as wicked, or as driven, as she did at this moment. She could not wait to get her hands on Max. The thought of washing him all over in the shower was not unattractive, just a bit daunting.
A shudder ran through her. She would think about that later. There were other things she had to do first, such as whip around and turn some lamps on.
Max loved lamp-light, and whilst it was still bright and sunny outside—the sun wouldn’t set for hours—the inside of Max’s penthouse always required some lighting. Mostly this was due to the wraparound terraces and the wide eaves. On top of that, the décor of the penthouse was very much in keeping with the décor of the hotel, which meant it wasn’t madly modern like some penthouses, with great open-plan living areas and huge plate-glass windows.
The décor was still period, with wallpapered walls and rich carpets on the floors. French doors lead out onto the balconies and heavy silk curtains draped over the windows. The furniture was all antique. Warm woods covered in velvet or brocade in rich colours. It was like an Edwardian English mansion set up in the sky. As big as a mansion too, with formal lounge and dining rooms, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, a library, a billiard room, along with a large kitchen, laundry and utility rooms.
Everything was exquisite and very expensive.
Tara hadn’t realised the size or extravagance of the place on the first night she’d spent with Max. She’d been overwhelmed by the events and the experience, rather than her surroundings. But the following morning, she’d soon been confronted by the extreme wealth of the man who’d just become her first lover. Initially, she’d been dumbstruck, then totally convinced that he would only want a girl like her for a one-night stand.
But Max had reassured her for the rest of that incredible weekend that a casual encounter was not what he wanted from her at all. Tara recalled thinking at the time that she had found nothing casual in letting him take her virginity less than three hours after she’d first set eyes on him. If she hadn’t known she’d fallen instantly and deeply in love with the man, she would have been disgusted with herself.
Naturally, she’d been thrilled that he found her as special as she found him, and here she was, one year later, with her own private key, getting things ready for her man in the way that women in love had done so for centuries. If it fleetingly crossed Tara’s mind that her role in her lover’s life was more like a mistress than a real girlfriend, she dismissed it with the added thought that it wouldn’t always be like this. One day, things would change. Max would have more time for her. Till then, she aimed to enjoy the time with him she did have and that part of him which was solely hers.
At least, she hoped it was solely hers.
Yes, of course it was. Her mother was wrong about that, as she was wrong about Max all round. The man who was at this moment doing nice things for that couple downstairs was not the kind of man to be unfaithful, or a callous user. She really had to stop letting her mother undermine her faith in Max, or spoil what promised to be a very exciting night.
With a defiant toss of her head, Tara turned and hurried down the plushly carpeted corridor which led to Max’s personal quarters, fiercely aware that the last few minutes away from Max’s rousing presence hadn’t dampened her desires in the slightest. In fact, having sex with Max was all she could think about at that moment, which was not her usual priority when Max came home these days. Mostly, she just wanted to spend time with the man she loved. His lovemaking, though wonderful, was more of a bonus than the be-all and end-all.
Today, it was not only top priority, but close to becoming an emergency!
It was Max’s fault, she decided as she swept into the bedroom and starting fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons of her pink shirt. The way he’d looked at her at the airport. The things he’d said about her clothes. That kiss, and then his threat to ravage her on the back seat of the car.
Tara finally stripped off her blouse then kicked off her shoes.
‘My screw-me shoes,’ she said with a wicked little laugh as she bent to pick them up, carrying the shirt and the shoes into the adjoining dressing room, where she’d put her bag earlier on. There, she stripped off her jeans and undies, stuffing them into the bag’s side-pocket for later washing. The shirt she hung up in her section of the walk-in wardrobe. The shoes she put into the special shoe rack before running her eyes along the clothes she kept at Max’s place, looking for something more comfortable to slip into.
Her mother’s kept-woman tag flashed into her mind at the sight of so many designer evening gowns, all paid for by Max, each worn to one of the many swanky dos Max had taken her to during the first few months of their relationship. Dinner parties at the homes of top politicians. Gala openings at the opera house. Art exhibitions. Balls. The races.
You name it, she’d been there on Max’s arm.
Actually, she had objected the first time he’d suggested buying her a designer dress. But he’d swept aside her possibly feeble protest with what had seemed like acceptable reasoning.
He could well afford it, he’d pronounced. But possibly his most persuasive argument of all was that it gave him great pleasure to see his gorgeous girlfriend in clothes befitting her beauty.
How could she possibly say no?
The lingerie, Tara realised as her eyes shifted further along the rack, had been more recent gifts, brought home from Max’s more frequent trips overseas. She had negligee sets from Paris, London, Rome, New York.
These were all she seemed to wear for him these days, now that she came to think of it. Max hadn’t taken her outside the door of this penthouse for some time. No doubt he wouldn’t this evening either.
‘Good!’ she pronounced aloud with a dizzying rush of excitement, and pulled out a green satin wrap which she knew complemented her fair colouring and green eyes. The matching nightgown she left on the hanger. No point in wearing too much.
Tossing the wrap over her arm, she headed for the bathroom and was about to have a quick shower before Max arrived when she remembered she hadn’t put her pills and her mobile phone on the bedside chest as she usually did. Dashing back to the dressing room, she retrieved the items from her bag and bolted into the bedroom to do just that. Then she stopped to quickly turn the bedclothes back before glancing around to see that everything was ready for a romantic interlude.
Not that Max’s bedroom needed anything to enhance its already romantic décor. Everything about it was rich and sensual. The soft gold carpet was extra thick and the gold-embossed cream wallpaper extra rich, both perfect foils for the dark mahogany wood used in all the elegant furniture. The four-poster bed. The bedside chests. The dressing table and matching stool. The cheval mirror that stood in one corner and the wingbacked chairs that occupied the other corners.
The soft furnishings were rich and sensual-looking as well, all made in a satin-backed brocade which carried a gold fleur-de-lis design over an olive-green background. A huge crystal and brass chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling, but there were also several dainty crystal wall lights dotted around the room.
Tara loved it when it was dark and all the lights were turned off except those. The room took on a magical glow which was so romantic. Much better than the bedside lamps which she thought threw too much light onto the bed. And them.
Of course, the pièce de résistance in Max’s bedroom was the four-poster bed. Huge, it was, with great carved posts and bedhead. The canopy above was made of the same material as all the other soft furnishings, draped around the edges and trimmed with a gold fringe. There were side-curtains, which theoretically could be drawn to surround the bed, but were always kept pulled back and secured to the bedposts with gold tasselled cords.
Tara ran her fingers idly through one of the tassels and wondered what it would be like to be in bed with Max with the curtains drawn.
‘What are you thinking now?’
‘Oh!’ Tara gasped, whirling to find Max standing in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at her with coldly glittering eyes.
‘I…I didn’t hear you come in,’ she babbled, her heart pounding madly as she tried to cover herself with her hands.
With a sigh Max stalked into the room, his face now showing exasperation. ‘Don’t you think we’ve gone past that, Tara? I mean, I do know what you look like naked. Surely you must know that I’d like it if you walked around in front of me nude,’ he finished as he took off his jacket and threw it onto the nearest chair.
She just stared at him, her heartbeat almost in suspension. But her mind was racing. Yes, yes, it was saying. I’d like to do that, too. Truly. I just can’t seem to find the courage.
‘And there I was,’ he muttered as he yanked his tie off, ‘thinking today that you might have finally decided you wanted more than for me to make love to you under the covers with the lights turned down.
‘It’s all right,’ he added a bit wearily when she remained frozen and tongue-tied. ‘I understand. You’re shy. Though heaven knows why. You have the most beautiful body God ever gave to a woman. And you’re passionate enough, between the sheets.’
Turning away from her, he tossed the tie on top of the jacket then started undoing the buttons on his shirt.
‘Go and put something on,’ he bit out, not looking at her. ‘If you must.’
Tara dashed into the bathroom and shakily pulled on the green wrap, hating herself for feeling relieved. When she finally returned to the bedroom, Max was sitting on the foot of the bed, taking off his shoes and socks. His shirt was hanging open, but he hadn’t taken it off.
Tara’s heart sank. Did he think she was that modest? She loved his chest, with its broad shoulders, wonderfully toned muscles and smattering of curls.
‘Did…did you fix up things for those people?’ she asked somewhat sheepishly.
‘Naturally,’ he replied without looking up at her. ‘I had them moved into one of the honeymoon suites, on the house. And I told them they could have a free harbour-view room for their anniversary next year.’
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Miranda Lee
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: He wanted her as his mistress… but as the mother of his child? Tara was millionaire Australian hotel magnate Max Richmond′s mistress. She loved Max for himself, not for the gifts he gave her, their glamorous life, or even their intense lovemaking.But now, she was expecting his baby, the question was, should she stay or should she go? Tara was convinced there was no place for a pregnant mistress in Max′s life, or was there?