A virgin! He could still not believe it. Title Page 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 FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN Copyright

A virgin! He could still not believe it.

How could a girl looking like her, responding as she did to a man’s touch, reach almost twenty-two without having intimately known a male body?

Presents

Looking for sophisticated stories that sizzle?

Wanting a read that has a little extra spice?

Pick up a Presents Passion— where seduction is guaranteed!

Look out for our next Passion title in July,

by favorite author

Emma Darcy

#2038, The Secret Mistress

The Millionaire’s Mistress

Miranda Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

HE WATCHED her from the safety of distance, annoyed with himself for watching her at all.

She was cavorting in the pool with a group of young bucks, revelling in their admiration, flirting outrageously with all of them.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her any more than they could, his narrowed gaze captivated by that long tawny blonde hair, those flashing blue eyes and that lushly laughing mouth.

The laughter died on her lips when one of the young men playfully pulled her under the water. She came up spluttering, struggling to push the mass of thick wet hair out of her face. Whirling away from her admirers, she swam with petulant strokes over to the ladder, where she hauled herself upwards, her nose in the air, water cascading from her curves—her perfectly proportioned, glisteningly gorgeous curves.

Once out of the pool, she flipped her hair over and slowly wrung it out like a towel, bending forward as she did so, her breasts almost spilling out of her bikini top, which was slightly askew.

He cursed as he felt his flesh automatically respond. She was everything he desired—and despised. A high-spirited, high-class rich bitch, with beauty to burn, a body to die for, and a soul undoubtedly as spoilt and selfish as sin.

He didn’t know her name. He didn’t need to. It would be something like Tiffany, or Felicity. Maybe Jacqueline. Perhaps even another Stephany.

Her name didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. What mattered was that he wasn’t yet immune to her type.

God, would he never learn?

His sigh was weary. He should not have come. This sort of empty partying was not for him. He’d grown past it. He wanted more these days. And he wouldn’t find more here.

Putting his drink down on a nearby table, he turned from the window and went in search of his host.

‘But the night’s still young!’ Felix exclaimed when his esteemed guest said his goodbyes.

‘Sorry,’ he returned. ‘It’s been a long week.’

‘You work too hard at that bank of yours.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘You should learn to relax more, Marcus,’ came the unwelcome advice. ‘Why not stay a little while longer? Have another drink and I’ll introduce you to the Montgomery girl.’

“The Montgomery girl?’

‘Justine Montgomery. I saw you watching her a moment ago. Not that I blame you. She’s a peach. Ripe and ready for the picking.’

Justine...

Yes, that suited. It had a snooty air to it, just like its owner. As for her being ripe and ready for the picking... Marcus only just managed to suppress a cynical laugh. He had no illusions about the Justine Montgomerys of this world. The odds were she’d been picked from the tree many years before. Picked and handled and devoured in every way possible.

He’d met plenty of Justines over the past ten years or so. He’d even married one.

A small shudder ran through him at the memory.

‘I don’t think so, Felix. Girls like Miss Montgomery are best admired from a distance.’

‘Don’t let your marriage to Stephany sour you. Not all women are as fickle or as faithless as her.’

‘Thank God for that. Though I would hardly categorise Miss Montgomery as a woman. She doesn’t look a day over twenty-one.’

‘That’s because she isn’t. But so what if she’s young? Stephany was only twenty-one when you married her, wasn’t she?’

‘Exactly,’ came his dry reply.

‘You don’t have to marry the girl, you know.’

‘Oh, yes, I know that. Only too well.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Don’t judge the daughter by the father. Grayson Montgomery might be amoral, but Justine’s a very sweet girl.’

Marcus’ laughter was cold and hard. ‘Too sweet for me, I think. I like my peaches a little less...er... ripe. Still, if I ever run into Miss Montgomery again, I’ll remember your recommendation. Now, I really must go. I have a board meeting first thing tomorrow morning.’

Justine parked her silver Nissan 200SX Sports in the double garage, and zapped the roll-down door shut behind her. Her father’s car space was empty and she frowned. Where on earth could he be at midnight on a Sunday night?

A Saturday night would have been different. He played poker with his racing buddies most Saturday nights, to all hours of the morning. It was not unknown for him to stay out all night, going straight to his Sunday golf game without returning home.

But Sunday evening he usually reserved for his wife. Still frowning, Justine scooped up her carryall from the passenger seat and ran up the back stairs to the first floor of the house—and the bedrooms. Seeing the light on under her mother’s door, she stopped and knocked softly.

‘Mum? Are you awake?’

‘Yes, darling. Come on in.’

Adelaide Montgomery was perched up in bed against a mountain of pillows, a blockbuster novel in one hand and a half-eaten chocolate in the other. At fifty-seven, Justine’s mother was still a very attractive lady, meticulous with her hair and face. But her once hourglass figure had succumbed to more than middle-age spread over the past few years or so. She was always bemoaning her increased weight, blaming it on everything from early menopause to hormone replacement therapy.

‘Mum, you naughty lady,’ Justine reproached when she saw the large box of chocolates beside the bed. ‘You’re supposed to be starting a diet this week.’

‘And so I am, darling. Tomorrow.’

‘Daddy not home yet?’ Justine asked, levering herself up onto the end of her parents’ huge four-poster bed.

‘No, he’s not. And I’m going to have a word with him when he does come too. When he rang to let me know he wouldn’t be home for dinner, he could have indicated he might be this late. Just as well I’m not a worrier.’

Which she wasn’t, Justine conceded. Her mother never worried about anything because she never took responsibility for anything. Grayson Montgomery was the head of the Montgomery family in every way. He ran the household, hired and fired staff, made all the decisions and paid all the bills. Neither mother nor daughter knew much about his business dealings, other than the fact he ran a high-powered financial consultancy and worked very long hours.

A handsome and charismatic man, Grayson spoilt his wife and daughter shamelessly in material things, but, in truth, didn’t spend much time with either of them. Never had.

Justine sometimes wondered what sort of relationship her older brother would have had with his father—had he lived. But Adelaide Montgomery’s firstborn hadn’t lived. Her beloved little Lome had died, a cot death when he was only ten months old. From what Justine still gathered from family whispers, her mother had had a breakdown over her son’s death, and vowed never to have another baby.

When Justine arrived, nearly ten years later, Adelaide had by then perfected her ‘non-worrying’ mode, and became a splendidly indulgent, rather scatty-headed mother. Justine had been allowed to run wild; the very opposite to the normal smothering reaction to a previous cot death in a family.

This lack of mothering, on top of her father’s many absences, meant Justine had grown up with a serious lack of discipline. She’d brilliantly failed most of her exams at school, despite her reports saying she was exceptionally bright. This she had proved, by putting her head down during the last six months of her final year of school—a male classmate had raised her hackles by calling her a blonde bimbo one day—and achieving a surprisingly acceptable pass. Enough to get her onto a degree course at the university not far from where the Montgomerys lived at Lindfield.

She had already spent a delightful three years on the college campus, joining every club it had, partying and having the most fantastic fun. Unfortunately, her frantic social life had resulted in her failing her exams again. In fact, she’d failed her first year two years in a row. At the beginning of this year, when she’d tried to sign up to repeat the first year of her degree course yet again, the dean had suggested she might like to try some other subject. She couldn’t think what, and had wangled her way back for a third try, her dazzling smile achieving the dean’s agreement with remarkable ease.

Thankfully, she hadn’t let him down, and was confident she had sailed through this time. She’d happily finished her last exam this week and was looking forward to moving on to her second year at long last.

‘How did you enjoy the party, darling?’ her mother asked vaguely as she munched into another chocolate, then turned the page of her book.

‘Oh, it was all right, I guess. The same old crowd. Just as well I went in my own car, though, and didn’t let Howard pick me up like he wanted to. Truly, he’s getting to be a real pain. Just because I’ve been out with him a couple of times, he thinks he owns me. I was having a perfectly nice time in the pool when he came up behind me, pulled me under the water and tried to take my top off. I was furious, I can tell you. I can’t stand being manhandled like that. The way he was carrying on, anyone would think we were sleeping together.’

Adelaide blinked up from her book. ‘What was that, dear? Did you say you were sleeping with someone?’

Justine sighed. She could say she was sleeping with the entire male faculty at the university and her mother would not react normally. Truly, one day something would happen that would shock her out of the fog she lived in.

‘No, Mum. I said I wasn’t sleeping with Howard. Howard Barthgate,’ she added, when her mother looked vague for a moment.

‘Ah, yes. The Barthgate boy. And you’re not sleeping with him? That does surprise me, I admit. Such a good-looking boy. But that’s the way to really catch them, darling. Don’t sleep with them. You couldn’t do better, you know. His father has squillions, and Howard’s his only son.’

‘Mum, I am not going to marry Howard Barthgate!’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because he’s an arrogant, snotty little creep.’

‘Is he? I thought he was quite tall when I met him. Oh, well...whatever you think best, dear. Someone else will come along. A girl like you will always have men trailing after her.’

‘What do you mean? A girl like me?’

‘Oh, you know,’ Adelaide said airily. ‘Rich. Single. Sexy.’

Justine was surprised by this last adjective. Most mothers would have said pretty, or lovely, or beautiful. Justine was not stupid. She saw herself in the mirror every day and she knew she was a good-looking girl.

But sexy? Now she’d never thought of herself as that, mostly because she wasn’t all that interested in sex. Never had been really. While all her girlfriends’ hormones had been raging for years, she’d sailed along with myriads of boyfriends and dates, but nothing beyond the kissing and minor groping stages.

Actually, it was her aversion to even minor groping which stopped her from allowing more. She hated all that heavy breathing stuff. The thought of hot fumbling fingers pawing at her breasts, or a wet sloppy mouth slobbering all over her gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Justine always made it quite clear on the first date that if the boy thought she was going to come across at the end of the night, he could find himself someone else to take out. She had no intention of giving a man sex just because he bought her dinner, or took her to a movie. Only true love, she reasoned loftily, would make such an intimate and yukky act bearable.

Despite this highly unique stance for a nineties girl, Justine still had a great social life, never lacking in invitations or escorts. Her life was full of fun, without complication, without the emotional traumas which seemed to come with a sexual relationship. All her girlfriends told her tales of woe about their various boyfriends and lovers.

Frankly, Justine thought sex was more trouble than it was worth.

Of course, there was an irritating faction within her female friends who thought differently on the subject. Trudy, who lived two streets away from Justine and who’d been her best friend for yonks, was simply mad about men and sex. Only last week she’d assured Justine that one day some hunky guy would come along and sweep her off her feet and into bed before she could blink an eye.

Justine had scoffed at such an unlikely scenario. He’d have to be a man in a million, that was for sure, with a darn lot of sex appeal and know-how. Nothing at all like Howard Barthgate. Dear heaven, she wouldn’t be going out with the likes of him again!

Dismissing Howard from her mind with her usual slightly ruthless speed, Justine jumped up from her mother’s bed. ‘I think I’ll go make myself some hot chocolate. Want some?’

‘No, thank you, darling. Hot chocolate’s very fattening,’ her mother said with all seriousness as she popped another milk crème into her mouth.

Justine kept a straight face with difficulty as she left the room. Truly, the woman was incorrigible. But she was such a dear, with not a mean bone in her body. Justine would not have had her any other way. It was quite wonderful to have a mother who loved you to death but who didn’t interfere. Justine liked running her own show. She liked it very much.

Her smile was full of indulgent affection as she skipped down the sweeping central staircase, sliding her hand down the carved mahogany banister on the way and thinking of all the times she’d slid more than her hand down that perfectly polished and thankfully sturdy construction. What a wonderfully carefree and punishment-free childhood she had had! Some people called her spoilt and wilful, but Justine didn’t see it that way. She thought she was the luckiest girl in Sydney, and maybe even Australia!

The front doorbell rang just as she jumped off the bottom step into the marble-tiled foyer. She stood there for a moment, startled. Who on earth could be calling at this time of night?

A strange chill invaded Justine as she made her way with uncharacteristic hesitation towards the door.

‘Who is it?’ she asked through the door, a burst of nerves making her voice sharp.

‘The police, ma’am.’

The police! Oh, my God...

She shot back the door chain and wrenched open the door, paling at the sight of the two uniformed officers standing on the front porch. Their serious faces betrayed that their mission was not a pleasant one.

‘Mrs Montgomery?’ the older officer queried with a frown.

‘No. Mum’s upstairs in bed. I’m Justine Montgomery, her daughter. What is it? Has something happened to my father?’

When Justine saw their exchanged glances her head began to swim.

Pull yourself together, she ordered herself. Mum is going to need you.

‘He...he’s dead, isn’t he?’ she blurted out, a silent scream in her head.

The officer nodded sadly. ‘I’m truly sorry, miss.’

‘I...I suppose it was a car accident,’ she choked out, thinking how often she’d chided her father for driving too fast.

The two police officers exchanged another, more meaningful glance, and Justine stiffened.

‘Er...no, miss. Not a car accident. I’m sorry. I really think that—’

‘Tell me, for pity’s sake!’ she interrupted. ‘I need to know the truth!’

The older officer sighed. ‘Your father had a fatal coronary in a Kings Cross club where gentlemen go to be...er...entertained.’

Justine rocked back, gripping the front door for support, her eyes wide upon the bearer of this almost unbelievable news.

‘Let me get this straight, Sergeant,’ she said slowly, her mouth parched. ‘Are you saying my father died in a brothel?’

He looked painfully embarrassed and reluctant to repeat his news. ‘Um...yes, miss,’ he finally admitted. ‘That’s what I’m saying. Look, I realise this has come as a shock. Unfortunately, there—’

‘Who’s that at the door, darling?’

The policemen broke off. Justine whirled round.

Adelaide Montgomery was coming down the stairs, sashing her dressing-gown, a frown on her plumply pretty face. ‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked worriedly in her little-girl voice.

Justine watched her mother blanch at the sight of the two policemen at the front door, watched as Adelaide’s eyes filled with panic and fear. She clutched at the neckline of her robe with both hands as she swayed on unsteady feet. ‘Oh, dear God, no! Not Grayson...’

Justine hurried to hold her mother before she fainted, knowing that their lives would never be the same again.

CHAPTER TWO

‘A BOARDING house!’ her mother exclaimed in horror. ‘You want to turn my home into a boarding house? Oh, no, no, no. That would never do, Justine. It’s out of the question. Goodness, whatever will my friends think?’

‘Who cares what they think?’ came Justine’s frustrated reply. ‘Most of them are just fair-weather friends anyway. How many phone calls or visits have you had from your so-called friends lately?’ Justine asked her mother. ‘How many invitations? They all came to the funeral, mouthing platitudes of sympathy and support, but as soon as they found out all our money was gone, they dropped us like hot-cakes. It’s as though we’ve suddenly got a brand on our foreheads. Poor, it says. To be given a wide berth.’

‘Oh, Justine, you’re imagining things. Why, only yesterday I received an invitation in the mail from Ivy, inviting us both to Felix’s fiftieth birthday party this coming Saturday evening.’

Justine refrained from pointing out that that was probably Trudy’s doing, Ivy being Trudy’s mother. The invitation had been suspiciously late. Yesterday was Wednesday, after all. No doubt Trudy had made a fuss when she’d found out Justine and her mother were not on the guest list for her father’s party and insisted her mother ask them.

Justine didn’t like Ivy Turrell one bit. She was an awful snob. Her husband wasn’t much better. Felix had made a fortune selling insurance, and only invited people to his home who could be of benefit to him. Naturally, there’d been a time when the well-to-do Montgomerys had always been on the Turrells’ guest-list. Not so for much longer, Justine thought ruefully.

‘People are giving us a little time to get over our grief,’ her mother went on, seeing through her usual rose-coloured glasses. ‘We’re not really poor, and it’s only been two months since your father...since he...he...’ She slumped down on the side of her unmade bed, her hands twisting together in her lap. ‘Since the funeral,’ she finished in a strangled tone.

Justine sat down beside her, sliding a comforting arm around her sagging shoulders.

‘Mum, we have to face facts. We are poor, compared to the people we’ve been mixing with. Okay, so technically you still own this house and its contents. But we have no income any more. And Daddy died owing nearly half a million dollars.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ her mother wailed.

‘Where did all the money go? I inherited a considerable amount from my parents when they passed away. It all came to me. I was their only child.’

‘Daddy spent it all, Mum. And in a way, so did we. Neither of us ever asked where he got the money for our generous allowances, did we? We never budgeted, never went out to work ourselves, never questioned our lifestyles of sheer luxury. We just accepted all this as our due,’ she finished, waving around at the opulent bedroom, with its silk furnishings and antique furniture.

‘But Grayson never liked my asking him questions,’ came the tremulous excuse.

Justine patted her mother’s hands. ‘I know, Mum. I know.’

‘He...he used to get angry if I asked him questions.’

Bastard, Justine thought bitterly.

She’d once loved and admired her father, but not any more. She knew the real man now, not the smiling sugar-daddy who’d obviously thought being a husband and father was covered by keeping his wife and daughter’s bank accounts topped up. The truth was he’d shamefully neglected his family, relying on his empty charm to keep sweet the women in his life.

Justine was forced to accept now that her father had married her mother for money, never love. Grayson Montgomery’s greed had been as prodigious as his lust. One of the worst rumours she’d heard since his death was that he’d taken advantage of several elderly and very wealthy widows who’d consulted him about investments, worming his way into their affections and becoming a beneficiary in their wills—money which he’d subsequently frittered away.

Justine didn’t doubt any of it. She only had to look at their own dire financial situation to know the truth about the man. Over the last few years, her father had cashed in every viable asset to bankroll his increasingly expensive lifestyle. His rampant gambling plus regular visits to high-class call girls had cost quite a bit. He’d died with no life insurance, a considerable overdraft and a massive personal loan on which the family home had been offered as security. His Jaguar had since been repossessed, as had her mother’s Astra. Only her own Nissan was unencumbered. But even that would have to go. Justine would have to trade it in next week, for a cheaper, smaller model.

‘We really don’t have any money?’ her mother asked tearfully.

‘None, I’m afraid,’ she confessed. ‘Daddy’s bank is also threatening to sell the house so they can recoup their losses. They will, too.’

Her mother’s eyes flooded with tears and her shoulders began to shake. ‘But this is my home. My father bought it when he married my mother sixty years ago. I was born here. Brought up here. All my memories are here. I...I couldn’t bear to lose this as well.’

Justine could see that. It had been her home as well, since her grandparents had passed away. She didn’t want to sell the house, but someone had to be practical; someone had to face reality and do something to make ends meet!

Like her mother, Justine had spent her entire life not having to worry about a thing, and it hadn’t been easy for her since her father’s death. But oddly enough, in adversity Justine had found hidden strengths of character she hadn’t realised she possessed. One was a determination not to succumb to self-pity.

‘Which is why I’m trying to save it,’ she pointed out firmly to her mother. ‘The boarding house idea is the only solution. Even so, we’re going to have to auction off some of the contents to reduce the loan. I thought I’d start with the things Grandma left me in her will. They’re quite valuable, you know.’

Up till today, Justine’s mother had simply refused to face what her husband had done, both in life and in death. She’d gone along blithely pretending that everything would come out right in the end if she buried her head in the sand long enough.

Justine watched now as she struggled to accept reality. Unfortunately, her mother’s ingrained habit of ignoring unpalatable facts was simply too strong.

Instead of facing their situation, she became stroppy. ‘Part with your grandmother’s legacy? Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it! I...I’ll go down to the bank manager myself tomorrow and explain. I’m sure he can wait till we both get jobs and can repay your father’s debts.’

Justine could not believe her mother’s naïvety! Who on earth was going to employ a fifty-seven-year-old woman who’d never worked in her life? Her own prospects weren’t much better!

‘Mum, neither of us have skills to offer an employer,’ she explained patiently. ‘I’d have some chance because I’m younger. But nothing fancy. Even if I was lucky enough to get a job in a boutique or a supermarket, my salary would not even touch the sides of the loan repayments. Our only chance is to run a business. We have five spare bedrooms in this house if we share this one. Daddy’s study could be made into a bedroom as well, since it has a very comfy convertible sofa. The university is just down the road. We could bring in good money by renting all six rooms to students who want full board.’

‘But who would do all the cooking and cleaning? You let Gladys and June go last week.’

‘We’ll have to do it together, Mum. We can’t afford a cook. Or a cleaner. Or a gardener, for that matter.’

‘Oh, no, not Tom too,’ Adelaide protested.

‘Yes, Tom too. We just don’t have enough money to pay him. Fact is, Mum, we don’t have any money left at all. The electricity bill came in this week, and the phone bill is still unpaid since before Christmas. They’re threatening to cut us off by the end of the week. We’re going to have to sell a few things today to pay those bills and buy some food. Some personal things we don’t really need.’

Adelaide’s head jerked up, her eyes pained. ‘Not my mother’s jewellery!’

Justine sighed and stood up. ‘It might come to that eventually, but, no, we’ll hang on to Grandma’s jewellery for a while. We wouldn’t get a fraction of what it’s worth, anyway. I was thinking of taking a car-load of clothes down to that second-hand clothing store which specialises in designer labels. Just our evening dresses to begin with,’ she added when her mother looked appalled. ‘I doubt we’ll be getting invited to too many dinner parties or fancy dos in future.’

‘What about Felix’s birthday party?’ her mother challenged with a burst of petulance. ‘I’ll have you know that that invitation said “black tie”. What are we going to wear if we sell all our evening clothes?’

‘Very well, we’ll keep a couple of evening dresses each,’ Justine compromised. ‘But we’ll have to sell some day wear instead. Shoes and bags included. Do you want me to go through your wardrobe and sort something out, or will you?’

Adelaide began shaking her head from side to side. ‘This is terrible. Whatever is to become of us?’

‘Nothing too terrible, if I can sell my boarding house plan to the man I’m going to see this Friday morning.’

Adelaide glanced up with that blankly childlike expression which made you want to protect her. ‘Man? What man?’

‘A man in a bank. Not the bank who’s threatening to sell us up. One of those merchant banks which specialises in low-interest business loans. Trudy’s given me the name of a loans officer there whom she knows personally. It seems he’s simpatico to damsels in distress.’

Actually, Trudy hadn’t put it quite like that.

‘Wade has an insatiable appetite for women,’ she’d said. ‘He’ll do anything to get his leg over. I was at a New Year’s Eve party the other week and he boasted to me of the loans he’d granted last year in exchange for some slap and tickle. I think he was trying to impress me with his boldness. Didn’t do a bad job, either. Given his penchant for female flesh, you’d be sure to qualify for one of his loans.’

‘I’m not that desperate, Trudy,’ Justine had said, shuddering at the thought of giving sex for a loan. That was no better than prostitution!

‘No one’s suggesting you have to actually come across, Jussie. Of course I might, just for the hell of it,’ Trudy had added with an impish grin. ‘Wade is a handsome devil. But I can understand that a girl like you, who’s waiting for true love to strike, would not even consider such an outrageous idea!

‘So just smile and flirt and flatter the sexy scoundrel. And give him the impression that he’ll be amply rewarded if he sanctions your loan. With that face and figure of yours he’ll be drooling at the mouth, his brains firmly in his pants as he puts pen to paper.’

‘But what will happen when I don’t deliver?’ Justine had pointed out.

‘Oh, he’ll be seriously peeved. No doubt about that. But he can hardly go to his boss and complain, can he? Believe me when I say that the head of that particular bank would not take kindly to one of his employees using his position to rubber-stamp loans in exchange for sexual favours. I’ve met Marcus Osborne. Father’s had him over to the house on a couple of occasions. He’s a formidable man at the best of times. Ruthlessly ambitious but straight as a die. If he ever finds out what Wade is up to, poor Wade will be out on his ear.’

And well deservedly, Justine had thought at the time. She still did. But she also saw she had no alternative but to keep her appointment with the lecherous Wade or let the house be sold. All Justine’s other banking options had finally run out. After a myriad of phone calls, only one other loans officer had consented to see her during the past week, and he’d actually laughed at her idea.

The memory of that laughter hardened Justine’s resolve. Come ten o’clock tomorrow morning, she was going to sashay into Wade Hampton’s office, ready to do anything to achieve her goal and save her family home. If she had to humiliate herself a little, then she would. If she had to surrender some of her infernal pride, then too bad. If she had to beg, then...

No-no, she would not beg. That was going too far.

So was actually sleeping with the man. Good Lord! The very idea!

‘What are you going to wear?’ her mother asked.

‘What?’

‘For your appointment with this man in the bank. What are you going to wear?’

‘I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about it yet.’

‘Then perhaps you should, before you sell off all your decent clothes.’

The word ‘decent’ struck a certain irony with Justine. Decent was not the look she would be striving for tomorrow, not if she wanted Wade Hampton’s brains to be addled from the moment she walked into his office. She needed to wear something very bright, very tight and very sexy.

A certain lime-green dress popped into her mind. She’d bought it whilst shopping with Trudy—always a mistake. Trudy was a bad influence at the best of times. Admittedly, the girl did have an infallible taste for the kind of clothes which made men sit up and take notice.

This particular dress was made of a double knit material which clung like Howard Barthgate. It had a modest enough neckline but was appallingly short, the tight, straight skirt curving provocatively around her derrière. Justine had only worn it once, to lectures late last year. When she’d sat down and crossed her long tanned legs to one side of her cramped desk, the poor professor’s eyes had nearly popped out of his head.

Would Wade Hampton’s eyes pop out as well?

Justine cringed at the thought, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, she’d found out. The rules of her life had changed. She was now playing a new game. It was called survival.

Oddly enough, the thought enthused her. She jumped up from the chair, full of new determination.

‘Come on, Mum. Time for us to go downstairs and have a hearty breakfast. We have a lot of work to do today!’

CHAPTER THREE

MARCUS sat at his desk, angrily tapping his gold pen on the leather-inlaid surface, his eyes not properly focused on the paper in his right hand.

He still could not believe the gall of that young man! Not a hint of remorse, or conscience. He hadn’t even cared about being dismissed on the spot, without a reference.

Of course he came from a moneyed family, with plenty of the right connections and contacts. He didn’t need his salary. He hadn’t had to work his finger to the bone to make something of himself, to drag himself out of the gutter of abject poverty and succeed against all the odds. Wade Hampton’s job as loans officer was really just a fill-in, a way of passing the time till he inherited the Hampton family fortune.

The Wade Hamptons of this world had no idea how the other half lived. They were born with silver spoons in their mouths and grew up without having to toe the line in any way, shape or form.

Even Marcus’s diatribe this morning over his lack of moral fibre had not made a single dent in the young man’s insolence and arrogance.

When Marcus had been told of Hampton’s tendency to approve loans not on the merit of the business venture but on the sexual co-operativeness of the client, he’d seen red. The thought that the reputation of the bank was being besmirched behind his back was like salt rubbed into a raw wound. If there was one thing Marcus valued above all else it was his good name, and the good name of his bank. Yet here was an employee, using his position of power to virtually blackmail women into his bed.

Not that Hampton had seen it that way.

‘Blackmail?’ he’d scorned when this accusation had been thrown at him. ‘I don’t have to blackmail women to go to bed with me. Not the second time, anyway,’ he’d smirked. ‘There’s nothing wrong with what I did. Everyone was happy. Me. The ladies. And your stupid old bank. Not one of my loans has ever been foreclosed. It’s only stuffed shirts like you who think combining business with pleasure is a crime. God, just look at you. You dress like an undertaker. And you act like my grandfather. I’ll bet you haven’t been to bed with a bird in donkey’s years.

‘But that’s your problem. As are my appointments for today,’ he’d declared as he whirled and strode for the door. ‘I’m outta here!’

A good fifteen minutes had passed since Hampton’s departure, during which time Marcus had instructed his secretary to inform Personnel of the situation, then get him a computer printout of the loans officer’s appointments for that Friday, all of which had been done with her usual efficiency.

It was Marcus who was not operating with his usual efficiency. The appointment list had been in his hands for a full five minutes, yet he hadn’t been able to concentrate on the names. Hampton’s comment about his sex life—or lack of it—still rankled.

How long had it been since he’d been to bed with a woman?

Too damned long, came the testy realisation.

Clenching his teeth, Marcus dragged his attention back to the paper in his hands, his eyes widening, then narrowing when he spied the first name on the list.

Hampton’s ten o’clock appointment—his first for the day—was none other than Miss Justine Montgomery!

Marcus’s surprise was only exceeded by his curiosity. What on earth was the wealthy Miss Montgomery doing coming to his bank for a loan? She must know they specialised in business loans. What use would she have for such a loan?

Did she fancy herself going into some small business to pass her idle hours away till she landed herself a rich husband? An art gallery perhaps? Or a fashion boutique? A trendy coffee shop?

Marcus could only guess. There was one way of finding out for certain, he supposed. Take the appointment himself and ask.

The thought of seeing Miss Montgomery again—and in a position where he had the upper hand—held an insidious attraction. Marcus began to appreciate what Hampton had found so appealing about his job. To have a woman—especially an incredibly beautiful young woman—beholden to you. To have it in your power to give her something she wanted in exchange for something you wanted...

Marcus’s pulse rate quickened as he contemplated such a corrupting scenario. Justine Montgomery had lived on in his memory since that warm November night two months before, when he’d surreptitiously watched her almost naked body emerge from that pool. He still recalled every inch of her physical perfection, from her impossibly long legs to her tight little bottom to her lushly nubile breasts.

How would you like to go to bed with her? the devil whispered in his ear.

He stood up abruptly, took a fob watch from a pocket in his waistcoat and checked the time. Five to ten. He had two options. He could have Miss Montgomery’s appointment rescheduled to a later date with another loans officer. Or he could go downstairs to Loans and see her himself.

His experience-honed instinct for avoiding trouble warned him to have her rescheduled, but when he glanced up and glimpsed his reflection in the wide semicircular window which wrapped around behind his desk, Hampton’s insults once again jumped into his mind.

He glared hard at the man glaring back, the pompously dressed stuffed shirt who believed combining business with pleasure was a crime...

His reflection faded from his conscious mind as another vision took over, that of Justine Montgomery’s lovely yet startled face as he laid out the terms for her getting a loan. His mouth dried as he imagined the moment when he first drew her into his arms. He could actually feel her initial reluctance, feel the fluttering of her heart against his chest.

Till he kissed her.

After that there was no more resistance, only the most delicious surrender as she melted against him...

Marcus gritted his teeth as the painful hardening in his trousers brought him back to reality. He knew he would never do such a disgusting thing as blackmail her into his bed. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. There was something darkly compelling about the idea of having Justine Montgomery in his sexual power.

Common sense and professionalism demanded he steer well clear of the girl, now that his carnal desires were engaged.

But both were poor arguments against the excitement which beckoned just one floor down.

Not that he was going to try to coerce or corrupt the girl, Marcus reassured himself as he stuffed the fob watch back into its pocket and strode from the room. Nothing—not even the most desirable female in the world—would induce him to stoop to such low behaviour.

The possibility that the incredibly desirable Justine Montgomery might try to coerce or corrupt him had yet to occur to Marcus Osborne.

Justine glanced at her watch as she stepped from the lift. Five to ten.

Scooping in a steadying breath, she straightened her shoulders and walked with her head held high to the large reception desk straight ahead. Not normally a nervous girl, she had to admit to wild flutterings in her stomach that morning. It would have been so easy to turn and flee. But fleeing was out of the question. Anyone with a brain in their heads could see her mother might have another breakdown if she lost her home on top of everything else. Justine had listened to the poor love cry herself to sleep last night, the awful sounds reaffirming her determination to get this darned loan if it was the last thing she did.

The pretty brunette behind the desk stopped tapping on her PC and glanced up as Justine approached.

‘May I help you?’ she asked politely.

‘I’m Justine Montgomery. I have a ten o’clock appointment with Mr Hampton.’

‘Oh, yes, Miss Montgomery. Wade’s away from his desk at the moment, but I know he’s somewhere in the building. I’m sure he’ll be with you in a moment. I’ll take you along to his office and you can wait for him there.’

Mr Hampton’s office was minute, more of a walled cubicle than a real office. Justine settled herself in the single chair which faced the less than impressive desk to await the loans officer’s arrival. She recrossed her legs several times, none of the positions finding favour. Her long stockingless legs still felt awfully overexposed. She tried sitting with her knees pressed primly together but knew that looked ridiculous.

Steeling her nerves, she dropped the handbag she’d been clutching in her lap down by the legs of the chair and crossed her legs one last time, steadfastly ignoring the way the skirt rode up dangerously high. Another glance at her watch told her it was one minute past ten.

Two minutes later, she heard firm footsteps coming down the tiled corridor. She twisted her head round just as a man strode in and closed the door behind him.

Justine blinked, trying not to look as taken aback as she was. But surely this couldn’t be Wade Hampton!

For starters, Justine had been expecting someone much younger, not a man in his mid-thirties! Trudy’s taste in men usually ran to the toy-boy type, with pretty-boy looks, longish hair and wickedly dancing eyes, trendy dressers who smiled at the drop of a hat and oozed a type of cheeky sex appeal.

Justine could not help but stare as this man stalked into the room, his face seemingly set in concrete. No smile of greeting softened that hard mouth, or those deeply set black eyes.

Admittedly he was a handsome devil, with a strikingly sculptured face, a sensually shaped mouth and deeply set dark eyes which sent shivers down her spine. But that black pin-striped suit, though impressively tailored, was anything but trendy, and his ruthlessly cut black hair was plastered back like Michael Douglas in that movie Wall Street.

He looked about as warm and as approachable as a Kremlin advisor on nuclear waste, hardly the type to be susceptible to flirting or flattery, or a short, tight lime-green dress!

‘Good morning, Miss Montgomery,’ he said brusquely, his handsome face coldly unreadable. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’

He moved around behind his desk and sat down, his dark eyes immediately dropping to scan the application form he’d carried in with him. It was a full minute before he glanced up at her.

‘So how may I help you, Miss Montgomery?’ he asked quite curtly.

The dean had spoken to her in a similarly cool fashion when she’d gone to him for permission to repeat the year. Yet he’d warmed to her soon enough once she smiled at him.

Justine found that same smile, flashing it for all its worth at the loans officer. ‘I have a business proposition to put to your bank, Mr Hampton. I think it’s a very good proposition and one which would benefit both of us.’

Marcus just sat there for a long moment, frozen to the chair.

She thought he was Wade Hampton.

Understandable, considering. He hadn’t enlightened her otherwise, although he’d meant to, before the sight of those incredible legs had distracted him.

His eyes washed over her more thoroughly, taking in the provocative little green dress, the highly glossed mouth, the beautiful but overbright eyes. She was either nervous, or excited. Or both.

Marcus’s suspicions were instantly aroused. Did Miss Montgomery know of Wade Hampton’s reputation for being a loans officer of easy virtue? Had she come here today armed with that knowledge, ready and willing to barter her delectable young body in exchange for a business loan of some kind? Was that what she meant when she said her proposition could benefit both of them?

The possibility gave a serious push to his already teetering conscience. But, dear God, she was breathtakingly beautiful, even more when she smiled.

Beautiful but bad, came the silent reminder.

Well, he didn’t know that for sure, did he? Not yet. And, if he were honest, he wouldn’t mind so much if she was bad. Not now, at this very moment, with his loins aching. Who knew what she might do if she’d come here ready and willing to be really bad? The various scenarios such thinking evoked did little for his already painful arousal.

Marcus stared at the object of his darkest desires for a few more moments before deciding not to tell her who he was. He settled back as best he could in Hampton’s narrow chair and waited for her to put her foot further into her pretty mouth.

‘Is that so?’ he said, steepling his fingers across his chest and trying not to eat her up too much with his eyes. But it was difficult not to wonder just how far she would go if he dangled the right carrot in front of those full sensual lips of hers.

He had to clear his throat before going on, not to mention his mind. Damn, but the girl was a temptation all right. If the devil wanted to send someone to corrupt him, he could not have chosen anyone more perfect.

‘Perhaps if you could outline your proposition to me,’ he said, ‘I would be better able to judge its benefit to both of us.’

Justine heard the sardonic edge in his voice, and hesitated. He knew—knew she was going to flirt with him, knew she was going to subtly offer herself as part of the loan package. He was sitting there, waiting like a big black spider for her to walk into his web.

Pride demanded she jump up straight away and stalk out of there.

But pride was not going to get her a loan. It would be cold comfort when she went home and explained to her mother that the house would have to be sold. Pride would not be of much value to Justine when they carted her mother off to some sanitarium or other.

Practicality won over pride. As did pragmatism. Who cared what he thought of her? The man was a creep. A user and abuser of women.

Well, it’s you who’s going to be used this time, buster, Justine thought. She flashed another winning smile at him, then launched into an explanation of her present financial situation.

Hampton frowned when she told him of her father’s death and subsequent debts, the frown deepening when she revealed the other bank’s intention to sell up the house and recoup their losses.

‘Can they do that?’ she asked abruptly.

‘They’re within their legal rights. Will the value of the house cover the entire debt?’

‘Oh, easily. It’s worth a million at least.’

‘Mmm.’

‘My mother doesn’t want to sell, Mr Hampton. And neither do I. If you could see your way clear to taking over the loan at business rates and giving me a little time, I have a plan whereby I’m sure I can repay the entire loan.’

His dark eyebrows arched. ‘Really. Perhaps you’d better tell me about this plan.’

‘I’d be glad to. Firstly, I could substantially reduce the loan within a few short weeks by auctioning off some the house’s contents.’

‘I see. And how much do you think you could raise this way?’

‘I’m sure I could cut the loan down to two hundred thousand dollars.’

‘How did you plan on repaying the final two hundred thousand?’

‘In the normal way, with monthly repayments.’

‘You’d still be looking at repayments of two thousand dollars a month. Where will the money come from to make those repayments, Miss Montgomery?’

The logical question led Justine into an outline of her boarding house project. To give Hampton credit, he listened politely, asking her relevant questions about how much she thought she would get for each room, and what her weekly profit might be. Clearly he didn’t just rubber-stamp any old loan, regardless of the fringe benefits.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery,’ he said at last.

‘I’m afraid we can’t help you. Your plan just isn’t financially feasible. It has too many variables. I really think it would be in your best interests for you and your mother to sell the house and buy something smaller with what money is left over.’

‘But I don’t want to live in anything smaller,’ Justine suddenly snapped, shock and nerves getting the better of her.

One of those straight black brows arched.

Justine gritted her teeth. She should be simpering at him, not snapping. Flirting, not flaring up. God, but it was hard to grovel.

‘My mother hasn’t been well,’ she tried explaining. ‘She’s still grieving for my father and it would break her heart to lose her home. Please,’ she pleaded, looking straight into his eyes and breaking her vow not to beg. ‘I know I can make a success of this.’

For a moment she was sure she had him—and without having to humiliate herself too much. But then he wrenched his eyes away, snapping forward on his chair.

‘I am not unsympathetic to your position, Miss Montgomery,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘If you had a steady job to back up your boarding house plan, I would have no hesitation in sanctioning this loan. But you’ve listed your occupation as a university student. What exactly are you studying?’

‘I’ve been doing a degree in Leisure Studies.’

‘Leisure Studies,’ he repeated drily.

Justine supposed it did sound a bit empty.

‘I’m specialising in Tourism Management,’ she elaborated. ‘It’s much more complicated than it sounds. And should lead to a well-paid job. Eventually.’

‘And how long have you to go?’

‘I’ve...um...just finished my first year.’

‘Only your first year? Yet your application form says you’re twenty-one—twenty-two next month. What did you do when you left school? Travel?’

‘No. I...er...failed my first year a couple of times.’

‘I see,’ was his dry remark.

‘No, you don’t,’ she defended sharply. ‘I’m not dumb, Mr Hampton. I just didn’t apply myself properly. I was too busy having fun. But I can do anything, once I apply myself.’

‘Anything, Miss Montgomery?’ he mocked.

Justine bristled. ‘Well, almost anything,’ she snapped. ‘I doubt I could be a brain surgeon. But running a boarding house shouldn’t be beyond me. My mother would help.’

‘I thought you said your mother hadn’t been well.’

‘She’s not physically sick. It’s more of an emotional problem, one which would be solved if she could stay in her home.’

Justine waited for him to say something but he didn’t. My God, for a supposedly inveterate womaniser, he wasn’t making this easy for her. Maybe he enjoyed watching women grovel. Maybe he got a kick out of reducing them to pathetic pawns in his sick little power game.

She swallowed, pushed the remnants of her pride to the back of her mind, then took the plunge. ‘I’ll try to get a job, Mr Hampton. I will do anything you want. Anything,’ she repeated, making strong eye contact and promising him all sort of things with her eyes and her softly parted lips.

Once again he said nothing, although he did stare at those lips. Justine’s stomach tightened, her mouth drying in the face of his unnerving silence.

‘If you give me this loan, Mr Hampton.’ she added shakily, ‘you will have my undying gratitude.’

‘But I don’t want your gratitude, Miss Montgomery,’ he said quite coldly.

Justine felt her face flame into embarrassed heat as those hard black eyes looked her over. Never before had she felt so small, or so irritatingly lacking in confidence. Confusion reigned supreme. Her heart was racing, her stomach turning over and over.

‘Then what is it you want?’ she threw at him in her fluster.

Let him be the one to belittle himself now, Justine thought raggedly. Let him say it out loud, show the world what sort of man he really was, not this coolly controlled customer who looked as if he’d never put a foot wrong in his life!

Then she was going to get up and walk out. She might even report him to his boss. What was his name? Osborne. Marcus Osborne. Yes, she’d go and tell Mr Marcus Osborne the kind of man he had in his employ!

‘I want you to go home and convince your mother to sell the house,’ he shocked her by saying in a harsh tone. ‘Then I want you to go and get yourself a proper job. But, most of all, I want you to stop playing provocative and potentially dangerous games. You think I don’t know what you were getting at just now, Miss Montgomery? You’re not the first beautiful young woman to tempt me. And I dare say you won’t be the last!

‘There is no quick and easy way in life, Justine,’ he lectured on while her mouth dropped open. ‘Not if you’re a decent human being with values and standards. Don’t go down your father’s path. You’re far too young and far too beautiful to sell yourself so cheaply.’

Justine went bright, bright red. Embarrassed beyond belief, she grabbed her bag and jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t want to give me the loan, then just say so. There’s no need to insult me.’

‘Very well. I’m not going to give you the loan.’

‘Fine. Then I’ll get the money some other way!’

Marcus watched her whirl round and flounce out. He almost called her back, almost told her that he’d changed his mind and the loan was hers.

But of course that was impossible now. He’d done his dash in more ways than one. But by God, there’d been a moment there, a deliciously dark moment, when he’d almost taken her up on her none too subtle offer.

Just think, Marcus, he mocked himself. You could have been taking her out tonight if you’d played your cards right. Taking her out, then taking her back home, to bed, maybe for the whole weekend.

And what did you do?

You wimped out.

He muttered an expletive under his breath.

Now all he had to look forward to this weekend was Felix’s fiftieth birthday party.

He hated parties these days, but sometimes he just had to get out of the house—that bloody awful house which he’d bought for Stephany and which she’d graced for less than twelve months. He’d sell the darned thing if it wasn’t such a good investment.

Marcus scowled at himself anew. Is that all you think about, Marcus? Good investments? Returns on your money? There’s more to life than money, you know.

Or so his beloved wife had thrown at him the day he’d thrown her out.

Which was ironic, because she’d certainly needed plenty of cold hard cash to support the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to. Women like her always did.

His mind turned to Justine Montgomery once more. He’d felt sorry for her there for a while. Her father might have been a rotter but he’d still been her father. It must have been pretty terrible to have him not only die, but to die in debt and disgrace.

Any sympathy had been dashed, however, when she’d said she had no intention of moving to a smaller house. Not for girls like her a simpler life, or a simpler house. Heaven forbid!

Her boarding house plan was laughable. Did she have any idea how much work would be involved in running such an operation? Did she think she could manage to do it on the side whilst continuing her degree in Leisure Studies?

Her choice of degree was deliciously ironic as well. Girls like Justine Montgomery made an art form of ‘leisure’. They didn’t have to study the subject. It came naturally to them. As did bartering their bodies for betterment of their circumstances, although mostly it was an advantageous marriage on their minds, not a miserable loan.

Why, you’re a cynic, Marcus, came the none too surprising self-realisation. Not to mention a selfrighteous holier-than-thou bore. Even with her tarnished soul, Justine Montgomery has more life and fun in her little finger than you have in your whole body.

‘Oh, shut up!’ he growled, and got to his feet. ‘I don’t need this.’

Too right, that merciless inner voice shot back. What you need is some decent sex!

CHAPTER FOUR

‘MUM, you’re not ready!’ Justine exclaimed on going into her mother’s room and finding her sitting on the side of the bed, still in her bathrobe, her hair in rollers. Yet it was right on eight-thirty, the time they’d agreed to leave for Felix’s party.

Adelaide gave her daughter a wan little smile. ‘I’ve decided not to go, darling. But you go. Goodness, but don’t you look gorgeous? Red is definitely your colour. And I love your hair up like that. You look so sophisticated.’

Justine ignored the barrage of compliments, seeing them for what they were: her mother’s way of deflecting her attention from the reality of the situation, which was that she was slumped down on her still unmade bed, trying to be bright and brave when in fact her eyes were once again shimmering with tears. She’d cried on and off since Justine had told her yesterday the house would probably have to be sold. Cried and just sat around, looking defeated and depressed.

Justine had hoped the party tonight might buck her up. She hated seeing her mother like this, so unlike her usual happy if scatty self.

‘Oh, no, you don’t, Mum,’ Justine said, knowing firmness was sometimes the best way with her mother. ‘I’m not going by myself.’ She walked over to where a beaded black crepe gown was draped over the gold velvet chair in the corner. ‘Is this the dress you’re going to wear? Come on, let’s get it on you and then I’ll help you with you hair. It won’t matter if we’re late. Parties never get going till well after nine anyway.’

‘I can’t wear that dress,’ Adelaide said bleakly.

‘Why not?’

‘It doesn’t fit me.’

‘Doesn’t fit you,’ Justine repeated, clenching her teeth down hard in her jaw. They must have taken thirty evening gowns of her mother’s down to the second-hand shop yesterday, and one of the two dresses her mother had chosen to keep didn’t fit her. Truly, ‘vague’ did not begin to describe her sometimes!

‘Then what about the other dress? Where is it?’

‘It doesn’t fit me either. Neither of the dresses I kept fit me,’ her mother confessed on a strangled sob. ‘I didn’t realise how much weight I’d put on since your father’s funeral. I...I always eat when I’m unhappy. I was so pretty and slim when Grayson married me. He loved me back then; I’m sure he did. But after my baby boy died, I started to eat and I...I... Oh, God, it’s no wonder your father never wanted to come home. It’s all my fault he went with other women. Everything’s all my fault!’

Justine’s heart felt as if it was breaking as she watched her mother dissolve into sobs. She rushed over to her, gathering her close, hugging her fiercely. ‘Don’t cry, Mum,’ she choked out. ‘Please don’t cry. Nothing’s your fault. Nothing! Daddy didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t a very nice man. In fact, he was quite wicked. We’re well rid of him. But you’ve still got me. We’re going to make it together, Mum, don’t you worry,’ she went on, fired up with renewed resolve. ‘I haven’t given up yet on getting that loan.’

Her mother glanced up at her through soggy lashes. ‘You haven’t?’

‘Not by a long shot! There are other banks, aren’t there? Other establishments which lend money? Felix’s party will be full of influential people tonight, moneyed men with plenty of contacts. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and who knows? I bet I have some good news for you by the time I come home.’

Justine leant over and swept a handful of tissues from the box beside the bed. ‘Now, dry your eyes, Mum. And don’t give up hope. Your daughter has just begun to fight!’

Justine’s newly found optimism wavered during the short drive to the Turrells’ place. It was all very well to spout positive aspirations, quite another to put them into action. Giving her mother false hopes might have done the trick for one night, but what would happen in the morning, when she didn’t have any good news?

Justine sighed, then sighed again when she turned into the leafy street which housed the Turrell mansion. It was lined with cars, not a spare parking spot in sight.

Negotiating a U-turn, Justine finally found a place to park in the adjoining street, the lengthy walk back bringing her attention to the tightness of her skirt. Keeping this little red number had been a bad choice, really. It wasn’t at all versatile and could only be worn on really warm evenings.

She’d spotted it in the window of a very exclusive boutique back at the beginning of spring, the red colour attracting her attention. She always kept an eye out for a red dress in the months leading up to Christmas, because she liked to wear red at the big Christmas party her mother threw every year.

Naturally, this year there hadn’t been any Christmas party. Justine had found the dress when she’d gone through her wardrobe, and just couldn’t bring herself to sell it for a fraction of its value, unworn. It had cost a small fortune, being an original design made from raw silk.

Still, she now regretted keeping it. She should have kept her little black crêpe number along with the black velvet. People didn’t remember black, whereas they could see her coming in this red for miles. Dumb choice, Justine. Dumb, dumb, dumb!

By the time she’d manoeuvred her way up the steep front steps in her high heels and rung the front doorbell, Justine was wishing she’d stayed home with her mother.

Trudy opened the door, scowling at the sight of the latecomer. ‘So there you are! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. And after I’d twisted Mother’s arm to get you an invite. Where’s your mum?’

‘She didn’t feel up to it. A headache.’

‘Oh, well, perhaps it’s for the best.’

Justine bristled. ‘How do you see that?’

‘Oh, you know my mother, Jussie. She’s not the most tactful woman in the world. She’d probably put her big foot in her mouth and say something to offend your mum. She’s not sweet-natured like me, darling. She’s a natural bitch.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.