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

Max was an excellent snooker player and had tried to teach Tara in their early days together, when they had time for more than bed. But she was never much good and they hadn’t played in ages.

Tara wasn’t about to suggest a game today. She had other games in mind, a thought which both shocked and stirred her. She’d never thought of making love as a game before.

Her hand shook as it reached for the brass door knob but no way was she going to back out now. But she didn’t barge straight in. Tara had been brought up with better manners than that. She tapped on the door before she opened it, then popped her head inside.

Max, she swiftly saw, was sitting in his favourite chair, bathed in a circle of soft light from the lamp which stood behind the chair. Yes, he was wearing the white towelling bathrobe, she noted. And yes, nothing else, not even on his feet.

But he wasn’t exactly sitting around, impatiently waiting for her to wake up so that he could make love to her again. He was working. And drinking. His laptop was open and balanced across his thighs, he was sipping a very large Scotch and chatting to someone on the phone at the same time.

Max was one of those rare men who could actually do more than one thing at a time.

‘Ah, there you are,’ she said, containing her irritation with difficulty.

Instead of asking him if it was all right if she interrupted him, as she usually would have, Tara walked straight in and shut the door behind her.

He was taken aback, she could see. But that was just too bad. This was her time with him, no one else’s.

When he put up his hand towards her in a stopping gesture and kept on talking—something about a website—rebellion overcame Tara’s usually automatic tendency to obey him. Slowly, she moved towards him across the expanse of dark green carpet, her hips swaying seductively, her breasts moving underneath the wrap. The act of walking parted the silky material around her knees, giving tantalising glimpses of her bare legs.

One of his brows arched as he eyed her up and down. ‘I’ll have to speak to you later, Pierce,’ he said into the phone. ‘Something’s just come up.’

‘Much later,’ Tara said as he clicked off the call. Pierce was only Max’s PA, after all. He could wait.

Max smiled an odd smile before dropping his eyes back to the laptop screen. ‘I have something I have to finish up here first, Tara,’ he said without looking up at her again. ‘Why don’t you toddle off back to bed and I’ll join you there as soon as I can?’

Pique fired her tongue before she could think better of it. ‘What if I don’t want to go back to bed? What if I want to stay here? What if I want you to stop working right here and now?’

Slowly, his eyes rose. Hard and glittering, they were, just as she liked them. He sipped some more of his drink whilst he studied her over the rim of the glass.

His gaze was knowing. He was mentally stripping her, making her face flush and her nipples tighten.

‘Make me,’ he said at last, his voice soft and low and dark.

His challenging words sent a bolt of electricity zigzagging through her, firing her blood and her resolve not to weaken. Because she knew what he wanted. He wanted to see her, all of her. Not lying in a bed, but standing upright, in front of him. Facing him.

Her heartbeat quickened whilst her hands went to the sash on her wrap. She might have fumbled if the knot had been difficult, but she only had to tug the ends of the ties to make the bow unravel. In a split-second, the sides of the wrap fell apart.

But he showed no reaction whatsoever, just went back to sipping his drink.

Shock at his low level of interest held her frozen, and finally, his eyes dropped back to the screen in his lap.

‘Go back to bed, Tara,’ he said. ‘Clearly, you’re not cut out for the role of seductress just yet.’

Stung, she stripped the robe off and dropped it to the floor. When he still didn’t pay her any attention, she went right up to him and banged the lid of the laptop down.

‘Look at me,’ she hissed.

He looked at her, his narrow-eyed gaze now travelling with exquisitely exciting slowness over every inch of her nakedness.

‘Very nice,’ he murmured. ‘But it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.’

‘You might see something new,’ she threw at him, ‘if you put that drink down. And that infernal computer.’

He closed the laptop and placed it beside the chair, but kept the drink. He looked her over again as he leant back into the chair and took another mouthful of whisky.

Now fear did return. The fear of making a fool of herself.

‘I’m waiting,’ he said, and finally placed the near-empty glass on the small round side-table next to the chair.

Tara swallowed.

‘Come, come, Tara. This is your show. I’m curious to see how far you’ll go before you turn tail and run. I’m not going to help you one little bit.’

Tara gaped at him as the realisation struck that he didn’t just want her to parade herself in front of him. He wanted her to make love to him.

If he’d issued this type of challenge on any other day before today, she probably would have turned tail and run. But today was a different day in more ways than one. Today, a new and exciting dimension had entered their relationship and she refused to retreat from it.

Don’t think, she told herself as she stepped forward to stand between his stretched-out legs. Just do what he thinks you don’t dare to do.

She heard his sharp intake of breath when she knelt down and reached for the sash on his robe.

Don’t look up at his face, she warned herself shakily.

She didn’t want to see any undermining shock, or surprise, in his eyes. He’d told her once he didn’t mind how provocative or assertive she was in private. Well, he was just about to get a dose of provocative assertiveness, even if she was quaking inside.

The sash on his robe was as easy to undo as her own, being only looped over. Pushing the sides of the robe back was not so easy, because she knew what would confront her when she did so.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

So his apparent uninterest had all been a lie! He was already aroused. Fiercely so.

Tara resisted the urge to close her eyes and put her mind elsewhere. Her days of cowardice were over. She would look at him there, and touch him there, and kiss him there.

Yet oddly, once she started stroking the velvety length of him, once she felt Max quiver and grow even harder beneath her hands, any reluctance or revulsion melted away. Tara found herself consumed by the intense desire to make the beast emerge in him again, to drive him wild with pleasure and need, to love him as she had never loved him before.

Max could not believe it when she took him into her mouth, making the blood roar through his veins, his flesh expand even further, threatening to make him lose all control.

Surely she would not want that. Surely not!

Max groaned his worry that he might not be able to stop himself. Then groaned again when her head lifted, showing him that he had wanted her to continue more than anything he had wanted in a long time.

But any disappointment was swiftly allayed by her crawling up onto the chair onto his lap. She was even at that moment straddling his tautly held thighs, her knees fitting into the far corners of the chair.

He gasped when she took him in her hands again and directed him up into her body. Her hot, wet, delicious body. She sank downwards and suddenly he was there, totally inside her. Her face lifted and their eyes met, hers dilated, his stunned.

‘Max,’ was all she said before she bent down to kiss his mouth, her hands cupping his face, her tongue sliding deep into his mouth.

How often had he hoped for a Tara like this?

Then she began to ride him. Slowly at first, but then with more passion. The wilder rise and fall of her hips wrenched her mouth away from his. Her hands fell to his shoulders to steady herself, her fingernails biting into his flesh till suddenly her back arched, her flesh gripping his like a vice.

‘Oooh,’ she cried out.

The power of her climax was mind-blowing. He exploded in erotic response, the pleasure blinding as, all the while, she kept moving upon him, rocking back and forth, her eyes shut, her breathing ragged.

Afterwards, she sank down against his chest, her head nestling into the base of his throat. His arms encircled her back and he held her like that for quite a while, both of them silent and content.

But inevitably, the significance of what had just happened came home to him. His gorgeous Tara had finally abandoned her inhibitions.

Suddenly, he wanted her in every way a man and a woman could make love.

Tara sat up straight, her startled eyes searching his.

‘Too soon?’ he said, his hands sliding down her back to cup her bottom.

She shook her head.

He kept on caressing her bottom, and soon her lips fell apart on a sensual sigh of surrender. Max had never felt such love for her. Or such desire.

He was glad that their dinner reservation wasn’t till eight o’clock. He had plans for the hour and a half till then, and none of them had anything to do with going back to bed.

CHAPTER SIX

‘THAT gold colour looks fabulous on you,’ Max said as they waited for the lift to take them down to the restaurant. ‘So does the dress. I’m glad you took my suggestion to wear it tonight.’

Tara almost laughed. Suggestion! He hadn’t suggested. He’d insisted.

The dress was a cheong-san, brought home by Max after an earlier trip to Hong Kong. Made in gold satin, it might have looked demure with its knee-length hem and high Chinese collar, except for the fact it was skin-tight, with slits up the sides which exposed a good deal of thigh. It was an extremely sensual garment.

Not that Tara needed help in feeling sensual at that moment. The last couple of hours had left all her senses heightened and her body humming. She’d certainly aroused the beast in Max with her provocative behaviour, along with another couple of Maxes. Max, the insatiable. And Max, the rather ruthless.

She shivered at the memory of the interlude on the billiard table.

Tara had briefly thought of sex as a game before going into Max’s den. She hadn’t realised at the time that Max was far ahead of her in the playing of erotic games, making her now wonder how many other women he’d entertained in the past in such a fashion.

At least, she hoped they’d been in the past.

A long and more objective look at Max—so resplendent tonight in black tie—confirmed what Tara had always subconsciously known. That women would throw themselves at him in droves. She had, hadn’t she?

‘Max,’ she said with sudden worry in her voice and in her eyes.

‘What, my darling?’

When he took her hand and raised it to his lips, she looked deep into his eyes.

‘Have you ever been unfaithful to me?’

‘Never,’ he returned, so swiftly and so strongly that she had to believe him.

And yet…

‘Why do you ask?’ he went on, clearly perturbed by her question.

‘I can see by tonight,’ she said carefully, ‘that I haven’t exactly…satisfied you these past twelve months.’

‘That’s not true, Tara. I’ve been very happy with you,’ he claimed.

A flicker in his eyes, however, showed otherwise.

‘I don’t believe you, Max. Tell me the truth.’

‘Look, I admit there have been moments when I wished you were more comfortable with your body, and your sexuality. But I was not discontented. I love you, Tara, not just making love to you. Still, I’m glad you’ve finally realised that sex can be enjoyed in lots of different ways. It doesn’t always have to be slow and serious. It can be fast and furious. Or it can just be fun. You had fun tonight, didn’t you?’

Fun. Had it been fun? It had certainly been exciting, and compelling.

‘I…I guess so.’

His smile was wry. ‘Come, now, Tara. You loved it. All of it. Don’t deny it.’

‘I guess I’m just not used to being so wicked.’

‘Wicked!’ Max exclaimed, laughing. ‘We weren’t wicked. A little naughty perhaps. But not wicked. I could show you wicked later tonight, if you’d like.’

‘What…what do you mean? Doing what?’

‘I’ve always wanted to put those cords around my bed to far better use than tying back the curtains.’

Tara tried to feel scandalised. Instead, curiosity claimed her. What would it feel like for Max to tie her to the bed, to render her incapable of stopping him from looking at her all over, and touching her all over?

Just thinking about it gave her a hint as to what it would actually feel like. Wicked.

Heat filled her face. And the rest of her.

‘I can see that’s a bit of a leap for you,’ Max said wryly. ‘Forget I mentioned it.’

But how could she forget? He’d put the image into her mind. She would never be able to look at that bed now without thinking of herself bound to the bedposts!

The lift doors opened. When she stood there, still in a daze, Max took her hand and pulled her into the lift.

‘Come along, princess, stop the daydreaming. We have to go down and eat. We’re already a quarter of an hour late, courtesy of your keeping me in the shower longer than I intended.’

‘Me keeping you in the shower!’ she gasped. ‘You liar! It was you. You wouldn’t let me get out till I…till I…’

‘Till you’d finished what you started. Yes, I know. Sorry. You’re right. I got a bit carried away. But I didn’t hear you objecting.’

‘I could hardly speak at the time,’ she countered with a defiant glower.

He laughed. ‘That’s the girl. Give it back to me. That’s what I want from you always, Tara. Lots of fire and spirit. I’m never at my best around yes people.’

‘That’s rubbish, Max, and you know it. You love yes people. I hear you on the phone all the time, giving orders and expecting to be instantly obeyed. You like being the boss, in the bedroom as well as everywhere else! You expect all your lackeys to do exactly what they’re told, when they’re told.’

‘Aah, yes, but you’re not one of my lackeys.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ she snapped. ‘Isn’t a mistress another form of lackey?’

‘Mistress! Good lord, what a delightfully old-fashioned word. But I like it. Mistress,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Yes, you would make me a perfect mistress. Now.’ And with a wicked gleam in his eye, he put her fingers to his lips once more.

Tara pulled her hand away. She might have hit him if the lift doors hadn’t opened at that moment.

A brunette was standing there, waiting for the lift. A strikingly attractive brunette with big brown eyes, eyes which grew bigger when they saw Max, then narrowed as they shifted over to Tara.

Max’s fingers tightened around Tara’s.

‘Hello, Max,’ the brunette said first. ‘Long time, no see.’

‘Indeed,’ Max replied, but said no more.

Tara could feel the tension gripping all of Max’s body through his hand. No, not tension. Hostility. He hated this woman, for whatever reason. Why? Had he loved her once?

Tara stared at the brunette more closely, trying to guess her age for one thing. Impossible to tell accurately. Maybe mid-to late-twenties. She had the sleek look of the very rich, which meant she might be older. Weekly visits to beauty salons could hold back the hands of time. Her face was clear of wrinkles and superbly made up. But her shoulder-length, shiny dark-brown hair was her crowning glory, framing her face in a layered bob with not a single strand out of place.

She made Tara conscious of her own hair, which was scraped back from her face and pulled up high on her head into a tight knot, the only style she could manage in the small amount of time Max had given her to get ready. Less than fifteen minutes earlier, her whole head had been sopping wet.

‘You’re looking well,’ the brunette addressed to Max.

‘If you’ll excuse us, Alicia,’ Max said. ‘We are already late for our dinner reservation.’ And he ushered Tara away, stunning Tara with his rudeness. Ever since she’d met Max, she’d never known him to act like that with anyone.

Tara did not glance back, or say a word during the short walk from the lift to the restaurant. She remained discretely silent whilst the maître d’ greeted them, then instructed their personal waiter—a good-looking young guy named Jarod—to show them to their table.

It was a very special table, reserved for special occasions and people who wanted total privacy from the other diners. Set in a back corner of the restaurant, the candlelit table was housed in a tiny room, which was dimly lit and very atmospheric.

The first time Max had brought her here, she’d thought it was so romantic. Subsequent visits had been just as romantic. Tonight, however, the encounter with the brunette had turned Tara’s mind away from romance. Unless one could consider jealousy an element of romance. Max could say what he liked but the way that woman had looked at him—just for a moment—had been with the eyes of a woman who’d been more than a passing acquaintance, or an employee.

As the minutes dragged on—Max was spending an inordinate amount of time studying the drinks menu—her agitation increased. By the time the waiter departed and the opportunity presented itself to ask him about the infernal woman, Tara feared she was going to put her questions all wrong. She dithered over what to actually say.

‘There’s no need to be jealous,’ Max pronounced abruptly. ‘Alicia was Stevie’s girlfriend, not mine.’

‘I wasn’t jealous,’ Tara lied with a lift of her chin. ‘Just bewildered by your rudeness. So what did this Alicia do to Stevie to make you hate her so much?’

‘The moment my brother was diagnosed with testicular cancer, Alicia dumped him like a shot. Said she couldn’t cope.’

Tara was stunned to see Max’s hands tremble as he raked them through his hair.

‘My God, she couldn’t cope,’ he growled. ‘How did she think Stevie was going to cope when the girl he loved—and who he thought loved him—didn’t stand by him through his illness? I blame her entirely for his treatment being unsuccessful. When she left him, he lost the will to live.’

‘But I thought…’

‘Yes, yes, I blame my father, too. But Alicia even more so. At least Dad never pretended a devotion to Stevie. When he didn’t come home to be by his dying son’s bedside, it wasn’t such a shock. Not to Stevie, anyway. He told me just days before he died that Dad didn’t love him the way he loved me.’ Max’s deeply set blue eyes looked haunted. ‘God, Tara, do you know how I felt when he said that? Stevie, who was such a good boy, who’d never hurt anyone in his life. How could any father not love him more than me? I wasn’t a patch on my little brother.’

Tara frowned. Max had told her ages ago about the circumstances surrounding his younger brother’s tragic death. Yet he’d never mentioned Stevie’s girlfriend’s part in it.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Alicia, Max? You told me what your father did.’

‘I don’t like to talk about Stevie. I told you as much as I had to, to explain why I didn’t invite you home to visit my parents, especially last Christmas. Alicia was irrelevant to that explanation,’ he finished brusquely. ‘Aah, here’s the champagne.’

Tara wasn’t totally satisfied with Max’s explanation but stayed silent whilst the waiter opened the bottle, poured them both a glass then finally departed after Max told him to return in ten minutes for their meal order.

‘It’s not like you to order champagne,’ she said as she took a sip. Max usually ordered red wine.

‘I thought we would share a bottle. To celebrate the anniversary of our meeting. It was a year ago today that I walked into Whitmore’s. Of course, it was a Friday not a Saturday, but the date’s spot-on.’

‘Oh, Max, how sweet of you to remember!’

‘I’m a sweet guy.’

Tara smiled. ‘You can be. Obviously. But I wouldn’t say sweetness is one of your best-known attributes.’

‘No?’ He smiled across the table, reminding her for the second time that night how very handsome he was. ‘So what is my best-known attribute?’

She couldn’t help it. She blushed.

Max laughed. ‘I will take that as a compliment. Although you’ve hardly been able to compare, since I’m your one and only lover. At least, I presume I am. Though maybe not for long, after today.’

‘What on earth do you mean by that?’

‘Maybe you’ll want to fly to other places. Experience other men.’

Tara stared at him. ‘You don’t know me very well if you think that. What happened earlier, Max, is because I love you deeply and trust you totally. I could never be like that with some other man. I would just die of embarrassment and shame.’

His eyes softened on her. ‘You really mean that, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do!’

He shook his head. ‘You’re one in a million, Tara. There truly aren’t many women like you out there for men like me. True love is a luxury not often enjoyed by the rich and famous. Our attractiveness lies in our bank balances, not our selves.’

‘I don’t believe that. You’re far too cynical, Max.’

‘I’ve met far too many Alicias not to be cynical. Do you know that within six months of telling Stevie she loved him but couldn’t cope, she’d married another heir to a fortune? Then, when she’d divorced that sucker twelve months later, she even had the temerity to make a line for me one night when our paths crossed.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Don’t take me for a total fool, Max. Something happened between you two. I felt it.’

He sighed. ‘You feel too much sometimes. OK, so I was in a vengeful mood that night. When Alicia started coming on to me, I played along with it. When I suggested leaving the party we were attending she jumped at the chance, even though she’d come with someone else. I took her to a club, where we drank and danced.’

Danced! Tara’s stomach crunched down hard at the mere thought of another woman in her Max’s arms. She knew it was before they’d met, but still…

‘I waited for her to make her excuses about Stevie,’ Max continued as he twisted his champagne glass round and round. ‘I knew she would. But what she said really floored me. She told me that she’d only dated Stevie to be near me. She told me that she’d never really loved my brother. It was me she’d loved all along. She claimed she only married that other man because she thought she had no chance with me. I told her what I thought of her and her so-called love and walked out.’

Tara never said a word, because she suspected that what the woman had said might be true. She’d seen a photograph of Stevie and whilst he had been a nice-looking boy, his face had lacked Max’s strength and charisma.

‘Love is just a weapon to such women,’ Max added testily. ‘My own mother pretends she still loves my father, despite his having been a neglectful husband, as well as a neglectful father. Why? Because it would probably cost too much money to divorce him. I overheard her tell a lady friend once that she knew about Dad’s womanising ways, but turned a blind eye. Even now that he’s in a wheelchair, a wretched wreck of a man, she stays with him, catering to his every need. They’re as bad as each other, bound together by their greed and their lack of moral fibre. That’s why I have as little as possible to do with them these days. Both of them make me sick.’

Tara was stunned by his outburst, and the depth of his bitterness. Bitterness was never good for anyone’s soul. Neither was revenge. It was very self-destructive.

‘But you could be wrong, Max,’ she ventured quietly. ‘Your mother might very well love your father. There might be things you don’t know. We rarely know what goes on inside a marriage. I found that out last weekend. I always thought my sister was unhappy in her marriage. She fell pregnant, you see, during her last year at school. Dale wasn’t much older, and still doing his plumbing apprenticeship. They got married, with Jen thinking she could finish her schooling. But she was too sick during her pregnancy to study. Then, when her first baby was barely six months old, she fell pregnant again. She’s always complaining about her life, and her husband. She says he spends too much time and money drinking with his mates. But when I asked her why she didn’t leave him and get a divorce, she looked at me as though I was mad. Told me she was very happy with Dale and would never dream of getting a divorce. So maybe you’re wrong, Max. It is possible, you know,’ she added with a wry little smile.