The Magnate's Mistress

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.