The Millionaire's Mistress

by Miranda Lee

  But what the hell? he thought recklessly. She enchanted him, despite everything. Enchanted and aroused him unbearably. It was as much as he could do to sit here, acting the cool, controlled banker. He felt anything but controlled in her company. His mind would not give him any peace. It kept wandering to tonight, to that moment when he would at last have the opportunity to draw her into his arms and kiss her.

  Unless, of course, an opportunity arrived earlier...

  ‘Excuse me for a moment, Justine,’ he said abruptly.

  He pressed a buzzer on an intercom system, his secretary answering straight away. ‘I’d like you to cancel all my appointments after lunch, Grace.’

  ‘All of them?’

  Marcus could understand Grace’s shock. He’d never taken an afternoon off.

  Well...not since that day he’d gone home on a hunch and found Stephany in bed with her lover.

  The memory popped into his mind with all its usual explicitness, but oddly enough there was no accompanying pain, and hardly any bitterness. His amazement was only exceeded by his gratitude towards the exciting young creature who was even now looking at him with a flatteringly focused interest.

  A lot of people had told him that the way to forget Stephany was to find someone else. It seemed they’d been right. Not that he planned on marrying her. He wasn’t that much of a fool. If darling Justine had actually moved on to plan B with him—and it was possible—then she was doomed to disappointment. Still, the fringe benefits of her trying to hook him were insidiously attractive.

  ‘Yes, Grace,’ he said firmly. ‘All of them.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Osborne. Oh, before you go...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gwen just rang. She’s had a little accident. Sprained her ankle. The doctor says she’ll be off her feet for a fortnight. She said to tell you she’d miss you. Anyway, I’ll organise a temp to fill in, but I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. Ring the florist, Grace, and send her some flowers. Include a note saying Marcus hopes she makes a swift recovery and that he’s already looking forward to her return.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Osborne.’

  Marcus turned off the intercom and glanced up, startled to see Justine frowning at him. It came to him that she might be puzzled over his sending flowers to some woman who declared she would miss him. He didn’t have to explain, but he didn’t want her to have any reason whatsoever to reject him as a potential husband or lover. No way did he want her thinking he had some other lady-love in his life. The only lady-love Marcus wanted in his life for now was Justine herself.

  ‘Poor woman,’ he said. ‘She’s one of my cleaners. Does this room every night. Cleans this whole floor, actually. We often have a chat when I work late. Her husband is unemployed at the moment and she has five children. So she’s the sole breadwinner.’

  Marcus looked at Justine across his desk. To give her credit, she could adopt a sweetly sympathetic face when required. Truly, she could look almost angelic at times.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she murmured. ‘That’s tough. Will she get sick pay?’

  ‘Yes, of course. She’s regular staff.’

  ‘Let me do her job while she’s away!’

  Marcus was stunned by her request. And quite put out. Good God, the last thing he wanted was for her to spend every night cleaning his damned bank. He had other plans for her evenings.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re asking,’ he said curtly. ‘Gwen cleans this whole floor. She works from six till midnight five nights a week. It’s very hard work.’

  ‘You think I’m afraid of hard work?’ she flung at him, clearly affronted.

  He didn’t think she was afraid of it. She just had no idea what it entailed.

  ‘Well, I’m not!’ she insisted. ‘I can do it. I know I can.’ She leant forward in the chair in an appealing fashion, her lovely face both eager and enchantingly earnest. ‘The university doesn’t go back for another two weeks. I intend to put an ad in next Saturday’s Herald offering full board. I would imagine I’ll get plenty of takers, given the convenience of our house to the campus, but we won’t be getting any money in for three weeks at least. I could do with two weeks’ pay, I can tell you.

  ‘Please, Marcus,’ she pleaded, when he said nothing.

  He stiffened as her use of his first name curled around his heart like a clinging vine, squeezing out feelings he’d never wanted to feel again for any woman. His immediate reaction to this unexpected weakness was immediate and fierce. He didn’t want her touching his heart, damn it! The only part of him he wanted her touching was much lower.

  Suddenly there was a perverse appeal in the image of her down on her hands and knees, cleaning and polishing the surfaces where he walked, and sat, and leant. It kept her firmly where he wanted her kept. In his carnal desires. Nothing deep or dangerous.

  Marcus saw now that an intimate little dinner date tonight would have been a mistake. They’d have talked too much. He didn’t want to get to know her—except biblically. There was no reason why he couldn’t conveniently work late these two weeks, no reason why he couldn’t have her in his office instead of his bed.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, fighting to keep his equilibrium in the face of his wildly flaring desires. ‘You can have the job.’ He flicked on the intercom before his conscience could get the better of him. ‘Grace? Forget about finding a temporary cleaner. I have someone here willing and able to do the job. She’ll be right out with her particulars. You can take her down to Personnel and sign her on as a casual.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Osborne,’ Grace said dutifully.

  ‘You are willing and able, aren’t you, Justine?’ he couldn’t help saying in slightly mocking tones. Though it was himself he was mocking.

  You’ve lost it, Marcus. You’ve finally lost it.

  She bristled at his tone. ‘I told you once that I could do anything if I set my mind to it. You didn’t believe me then and I see you don’t believe me now.’

  ‘Seeing is believing, Justine.’

  Her blue eyes narrowed, and that lovely bottom lip of hers jutted forward. ‘Yes,’ she pouted. ‘It will be, won’t it?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘YOU’RE going to work as a cleaner!’

  Justine prayed for patience. ‘Only for two weeks, Mum,’ she said, and walked across the kitchen to open the refrigerator. She hadn’t long been home from the bank, and desperately needed a cool drink. It was terribly hot outside.

  She found a can of chilled cola in the door. The last one. She’d have to go food-shopping soon or they’d be eating the paint off the walls!

  ‘But...but,’ her mother was stammering in the background.

  ‘But what?’ Justine said frustratedly, only just managing not to slam the refrigerator door.

  ‘Do you think you’ll know what to do?’ Adelaide asked uneasily.

  ‘Oh, not you too!’ She ripped the ring-top off the can, then tipped it up to her mouth.

  ‘What do you mean? “Not you too...’”

  The cold cola didn’t cool her temper, which had been steadily rising along with the day’s temperature. It had been the hottest summer on record for a hundred years, according to the silly weather man her mother devotedly listened to every evening.

  ‘Marcus doesn’t think I can do it, either. But I’ll show him,’ she vowed. ‘I’ll show him if it’s the last thing I do!’

  Justine threw some more cola down her throat.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Marcus Osborne,’ she elaborated irritably. ‘The president of the bank. The man at Felix’s party the other night. The man I saw today. Mr Sanctimonious! My God, what I wouldn’t give to wipe that superior smirk off that disgustingly handsome face of his.’

  ‘Disgustingly handsome?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘How old is this disgustingly handsome man?’

  ‘Mid-thirties or thereabouts. It’s hard to say. Sometimes he looks younger, sometimes older.’

  ‘Married
?’

  ‘You’re just as bad as Trudy!’ She shook her head in exasperation then downed the rest of the cola.

  ‘Really? In what way?’ her mother asked vacantly.

  ‘She’s trying to marry me off to him as well. She thinks he fancies me, which is as far from the truth as you can get. I embarrassed him into giving me the loan the other night and now he probably regrets it, but he’s too much of a gentleman to go back on his word. He thinks I’m an irresponsible nitwit and he’s waiting for me to fall flat on my face. I dare say the only reason he’s offered to buy the paintings is to prevent his looking a fool for giving me the loan in the first place!’

  ‘He’s going to buy the paintings?’

  ‘If he likes them. He’s shown interest in the antiques as well. He’s coming here this afternoon to look at them.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t like them?’

  ‘He will. Men like Marcus Osborne measure everything in profit and loss. All those things are bargains, Mum, and well he knows it.’

  ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

  Justine thought of him, sitting in that big leather chair, looking oh, so impressive, but oh, so supercilious. ‘He rubs me up the wrong way.’

  ‘Is that all. Well, he’s a man, dear, isn’t he? Men often rub women up the wrong way. It’s the nature of the beast. But it’s often the most annoying men who are the most attractive. From what you’ve said about him, being Mr Osborne’s wife would be a much better job than being his cleaner.’

  Justine laughed. ‘The day I become Mrs Marcus Osborne I’ll walk naked down the aisle!’

  Her mother gave her an irritatingly knowing little smile. ‘That should make for an interesting ceremony, darling. You’d better wear a long veil.’

  ‘Very funny, Mum.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be funny. It’s just that I’ve never seen you so rattled by a member of the opposite sex. Usually you’re very laissez-faire about them while they’re running around in circles trying to impress you. Are you sure your Mr Osborne isn’t trying to impress you, but in a more subtle, grownup kind of way? Since he’s in his mid-thirties, then he is a man, darling, whereas all your other admirers have been mere boys.’

  Justine gritted her teeth. ‘Mum, I will only say this one more time. Marcus doesn’t fancy me. He isn’t trying to impress me. He’s a banker through and through, with ice where his blood should be. The only woman he’s ever really fancied, I’ll bet, is Dame Nellie Melba!’

  ‘He’s into opera?’

  ‘He might be, but that’s not what I meant, Mum. Melba happens to be one of the lucky ladies who grace our bank notes! I’m sure he kisses her image goodnight every evening. Now, no more talk about our esteemed banker. All that does is raise my blood pressure, along with my temperature. I’m going to go have a long, cooling shower and find something negligible to put on before I dissolve into a puddle.’

  Marcus pulled up outside the Montgomery residence in his pale grey Mercedes and looked over at the house. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was a distinctive two-storeyed stone residence, sitting on a large block and surrounded by a lovely garden. It was also at the bottom of the street backing onto a bushland reserve which overlooked the Lane Cove River. It would bring well over a million at auction in this prestigious North Shore suburb, and in such an attractively private position. Justine was right. He was on a certain bet lending money with such a desirable property as security.

  Feeling not at all soothed by this knowledge, he opened the car door and was immediately assailed by the heat Everyone had been complaining about the long, hot summer, but weather didn’t bother Marcus in the main. His life was mostly spent indoors and in air-conditioning. His house and his car were air-conditioned, as was the bank. He did go sailing on a Sunday, but you never seemed to feel the heat on the Harbour.

  Despite the blistering afternoon sun, he dismissed the momentary temptation to take off his jacket and tie, determinedly ignoring his discomfort as he strode across the pavement and let himself in through the front gate. He sighed with some relief once he reached the shade of the portico, though the long wait for someone to answer the doorbell didn’t do much for his composure. Beads of perspiration started forming on his forehead, which he dabbed at ineffectually with his pocket handkerchief.

  His discomfort increased when the door was wrenched open and there stood the daughter of the house, wearing nothing but the shortest of denim shorts and a strawberry-coloured tube-top. Her lovely face was scrubbed free of make-up and her long blonde hair lay darkly damp and tangled across her bare shoulders, suggesting a recent shower and shampoo. A hairbrush in her hand, plus her dismayed expression, showed he’d taken her by surprise.

  ‘You’re early!’ she accused.

  ‘It’s right on two by my watch.’

  The grandfather clock which stood in a nearby corner suddenly started to strike the hour.

  ‘Oh, my God, so it is. Sorry. Time seems to have gotten away with me. I was going to change before you arrived.’

  Change? He didn’t want her to change. He wanted her to stay exactly as she was, although it was a struggle to keep his eyes cool as they brushed over her bare shoulders, then dipped down to take in the disturbingly explicit outline of naked breasts beneath the ribbed red top. Difficult not to stare at her prominent nipples. Downright dangerous to think what he’d like to be doing to them.

  ‘There’s no need,’ he said, a touch thickly. ‘What you’re wearing is fine.’

  ‘It’s certainly a lot cooler than what I was wearing this morning. Aren’t you hot, dressed like that?’

  Marcus’s smile was strained, to say the least. ‘I have felt cooler,’ came his huge understatement.

  ‘Then come inside and take your jacket off, for heaven’s sake.’

  Swallowing, he came into the relative cool of the cavernous foyer and allowed her to help him out of his jacket.

  ‘And that silly tie,’ she added, and held out her hand.

  He imagined he wasn’t the first man she’d encouraged to undress. Neither would he be the last, he kept reminding himself. ‘Are you sure you won’t tell on me?’ he said wryly as he tugged the tie loose and lifted it over his head.

  Her beautifully defined eyebrows arched in surprise, possibly at the flirtatious note in his remark. ‘Is there anyone to tell? Aren’t you the big boss at that bank of yours?’

  ‘Yes and no. I am the president of the bank, but I don’t own it. I’m answerable to the board.’

  ‘I presume the board demands their president always wears a suit during work hours?’

  ‘They would view my dressing casually with disapproval.’

  She gave a dry little laugh. ‘I’ll just bet they would. But the board’s not here, is it? You’re playing hookey for the afternoon. From the sound of that secretary of yours this morning, you don’t play hookey all that often, do you?’

  ‘I’m a novice at the game, I must admit’

  ‘well I was an expert when I was at school. The first hookey-playing rule is that you dispense with your uniform. No one can have fun wearing a uniform. Now give that tie to me. I have a feeling you’ll put it back on as soon as my back is turned.’

  He obediently placed it in her hand then watched as she hung both the jacket and tie in a coat closet under the stairs. Marcus’s mouth dried at the sight of her from the rear. Truly, those denim shorts should be registered as a lethal weapon, along with that devastating top!

  ‘And the second rule?’ he asked on her return, congratulating himself on his outward composure.

  ‘Oh, there isn’t really a second rule. What comes next is up to the individual. You just go with the flow. Playing hookey is all about doing what you want to do instead of what you should be doing.’

  ‘And what was it that you wanted to do when you played hookey, Justine?’

  She smiled a rueful smile. ‘Ah, now that would be telling. You already think I’m the silliest most irresponsible girl who ever drew breath. I don�
�t want to give conviction to your suspicions. Let’s just say anything was preferable to going to school on the days we had Mrs Bloggs for personal development and sex education classes.’

  Marcus watched the way her mouth twitched with amusement, the way her eyes lit up with wicked pleasure at the memory. No doubt she hadn’t needed any classes in either subject. She’d preferred to substitute practical experience for the theory.

  He wished he’d been a boy going to her school around that time. He’d have gladly played hookey with the delectable Justine. There hadn’t been any girls in the institution for boys he’d attended. No lady teachers, either. The place had been staffed by hard-nosed brutal teachers who hadn’t heard that the laws regarding corporal punishment had been changed.

  But he didn’t want to think about that now. He wanted to focus his attention on this deliciously irrepressible creature whose path he’d fortuitously crossed.

  He could no longer judge her harshly. She was what she’d been brought up to be. But there was no evil in her. No malice or cruelty. She wasn’t another Stephany. She was like a breath of fresh air wafting in the window of his boring banking life.

  All of a sudden he was sick and tired of the bank, sick and tired of working eighteen-hour days. He wanted to have fun, wanted to play hookey...with her.

  He might have pulled her into his arms then and there, might have kissed those lovely lips senseless if a woman hadn’t suddenly appeared in the hallway—a woman Marcus guessed was Justine’s mother.

  She looked him up and down as only a mother can. ‘Mr Osborne from the bank, I presume?’ she said, coming forward with her hand outstretched, and smiling suddenly. ‘How do you do? I’m Adelaide Montgomery. Justine’s mother.’

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Montgomery?’ He shook her plump little fingers while taking in her general appearance.

  Overweight and overdressed, she was the perfect example of a pampered lifestyle. Still, for all her obvious over-indulgence, Adelaide Montgomery possessed a childlike charm in her smile which belied her background and made one instinctively like her.