The Brazilian's Blackmail Bargain

‘No…’ she replied faintly. Because that was exactly what she had done. Albeit against her will. But if he knew that…He could never know how much she had wanted it to be for real. Finding out the extent of his own deceit when hers had been unintended had exposed a wound that was still far too raw…He’d annihilate her and it would bring up all the emotions she’d buried in London, thinking she’d never see him again. She desperately tried another tack. ‘But you hate me…How can you want me?’

‘I think that you aren’t so naïve as to imagine that love or even friendship needs to be involved in the act of sex. I want you—you want the house. It’s a simple equation.’

His words flayed her somewhere inside and her hands were clenched tight into fists by her sides. ‘But how? I mean, for how long or when?’

‘Until I leave Dublin.’

She backed away again, the house, her mother, forgotten. All she could see was the menacing threat in front of her. The dispassionate way he was talking reached down to somewhere deep inside her and she knew that he had the power to rip away the very fabric of herself if she allowed him to do this. She summoned up some last reserve of strength. ‘But that’s two months…I can’t…I won’t sleep with you. I couldn’t…’ she sought feverishly for something to make him back off ‘…I don’t want you.’

‘Liar.’

Before she could emit a sound of protest, with lightning speed his arms reached out and he hauled her against his chest, his head descending so quickly that she didn’t have time to twist her own away. A hand snaked around to hold it in place, his mouth covering hers, crushing her lips to his. She could taste blood on the tender inner skin of her mouth. Despite the obvious cruelty of the kiss, Maggie could feel an intense excitement explode in her belly, every cell straining to get closer, acutely aware of his absolute maleness and strength.

Then, with a subtle and expert change in tempo, his lips softened, the hand on the back of her head became caressing. His fingers loosening the already unravelling bun, she felt her hair tumble down her back. Her fists, crushed against his chest, could feel his heart beating, the warm skin under the shirt, and they wanted to stretch out, feel, take in the exquisite breadth of it. She shook with the effort it took not to allow that to happen.

With the long wait and no food all day, she was already light-headed; Caleb’s potent sexuality effortlessly swept away any resistance. Her eyes closed, Maggie was soon lost in sensation, unaware of anything but the feel of his mouth on hers, hard yet soft. When his tongue sought entry, her mouth opened on a defeated sigh and his tongue touching hers ignited a fire between her legs.

Being in his arms again, with the intensely sensual memories that had never abated…she didn’t stand a chance. His mouth moved away and Maggie sucked in a betraying breath until she felt his lips blaze a hot trail down her neck, down to where the pulse beat erratically against her skin. The hand on her back moved lower and pulled her bottom up and into him where she could feel the hard evidence of his desire. She felt every part of her pulsating with the need for him to take her.

That desire transported her back in time and was as effective as a cold douche. She used all her strength to break free. If he hadn’t kept his hands on her shoulders she would have collapsed at his feet. Her eyes were glazed, wide and dark green with unmistakable arousal. Her lips were swollen and moist.

The look on his face was triumphant, derision in his eyes at what he thought of her paltry attempt to stop his lovemaking. ‘As I said…you’re a liar.’ He cupped one hand around her chin, tilting her head up inexorably. ‘The honey of the honey trap still tastes surprisingly sweet.’

Maggie breathed out on a shuddering breath. She pulled herself away and tried to disguise the trembling in her legs.

‘You should be thankful that I still desire you…or you’d have nothing to bargain with.’

His stark words forced Maggie’s stricken mind back to why she was there. How could she have forgotten? She focused on them—anything to take her mind off her awful weakness. ‘Are you saying you’ll give my mother back her house?’

He inclined his head slowly. ‘If you give me what I want.’

‘Me.’

‘Yes.’

Maggie suddenly thought of something and seized on it. ‘But…don’t you have a girlfriend?’

‘What?’ he asked sharply.

She flushed at her quick words and the realisation that it might be obvious she’d scoured the papers for news of him—where it was common knowledge that he was never without a beautiful companion. ‘The papers…’ Her voice trailed off, her cheeks pink.

‘Girlfriend!’ He laughed mockingly. ‘How quaint. I don’t think I’ve had a girlfriend since I was six and living in Rio de Janeiro with my mother. I don’t do girlfriends, and no, there’s no one at the moment, not that you should care, since you have the morals of an alley cat.’

That’s handy, Maggie thought slightly hysterically, not even registering his insulting words—plenty of room for the sacrificial lamb to enter stage left. And he was right—how could she be so naïve? This man moved in rarefied circles where the most beautiful and socially acceptable women would be available. Men like him took mistresses until they grew bored or until they needed to marry. And then it would be to the right person, groomed for the job.

Knowing she sounded strangely calm, and knowing it was shock, she asked, ‘How would this work?’

‘If I’m going to sign the house back to your mother, then be here at two p.m. tomorrow with your bags packed.’

A numbness seeped into her bones. ‘You’d expect me to move in with you?’

‘Yes. I’ll need an escort, companion…and a willing lover.’

The word lover, never mind willing, made shivers of treacherous anticipation skitter down Maggie’s spine. She stood stock-still, her hair and clothes in disarray, legs still trembling slightly, her mouth feeling bruised and sensitised.

How had he done this to her? How had she let him?

He had been as guilty as her stepfather six months ago, as far as she was concerned. Both had used her like a pawn in their game of domination. And yet she couldn’t help this awful, craving desire that wiped all logic from her brain. That made her weak to him. She hated herself for it. Self-contempt laced her voice. ‘What, then?’

‘You’ll sign a contract that makes sure you get nothing from the deal. The house goes into your mother’s name solely, not even to pass to you as inheritance. One condition will be that she can’t sell it…just in case that was what you were planning.’

She felt sick. ‘God…what they say about you is true; you’ve already sized up every way I could possibly use this for my own ends. You have no heart.’

A flash of something crossed his face for a split second; if Maggie had been less biased at that moment she could almost have said it was hurt. But him? No way. The man wasn’t capable of such a feeling. As if to confirm her opinion, his face was like a mask again—it must have been her imagination.

He ignored her words. ‘And this will happen when you’ve given me what I want.’

‘When I’ve slept with you.’

‘For two months or as long as I desire you.’

‘What if that’s only one night?’ she said defiantly.

He stepped closer again and stopped just short of her. His scent enveloped her. She froze. ‘Oh, but it won’t be, Maggie. I can tell you that much.’

Turning her back for a moment, she sought some respite from his laser-like gaze. Her hands twisted as her mind raced. Their house was worth millions by now…She hadn’t a hope of raising that kind of money, and it wasn’t about the money. That house was where her mother should be able to live out her days. In peace at last. For Maggie’s whole life she had protected her mother. Sometimes more successfully than others. Ever since the first time she’d tried ineffectually to come between Tom’s fists and her mother’s body. She’d been just six years old and she still bore the scar of that day.

But Tom was gone. This was her mother’s last chance of happiness and if she could make sure it happened, undo the wrong that had been done, then she had to. Somehow…and she couldn’t think now, not when he was so close…she would have to do this. She turned around again and faced Caleb unflinchingly, determined not to let him see how she had crumbled inside. She hitched her chin. ‘And if I’m not here tomorrow?’

At the look on her face Caleb felt a bizarre lurch somewhere in his chest. For a split second he actually wasn’t sure if she would do this…and didn’t like how that felt. At all. Not after having decided that he would take her as his mistress. He quashed the doubt and the feeling ruthlessly. She was just playing him, probably already trying to figure out how much she could walk away with, which he vowed would be nothing more than he was prepared to give. He stood to his full intimidating height and glanced at the heavy platinum watch that encircled one brown wrist. ‘You would now have one week and six days to move out of that house before I move in.’

She watched as Caleb started to walk away, no hint of the passionate kiss they’d just shared in evidence anywhere. He wasn’t tousled and shaking like her. He was cool and almost…bored. As if he did this sort of thing every day. He turned, closing his top button, straightening his tie.

‘It’s up to you, Maggie. Be here tomorrow or say goodbye to the house. You can let yourself out.’

And then he walked out the door.

CHAPTER THREE

THE next day at half past one, Maggie sat in her car outside Caleb’s offices, feeling hot and cold and clammy all at the same time. Her mind lurched from one dead end to another. Going home last night, she’d almost convinced herself that she could persuade her mother that they could start afresh somewhere, let the house go…anything so she wouldn’t have to become Caleb’s…chattel.

But when she’d arrived home she’d met the doctor on his way out. Panic had seized her, Caleb forgotten. The doctor had been grim. Things were not good. He’d said that he was afraid for her mother’s long-term health…her mental health in particular. That he hadn’t seen such acute grief in a long time. Miserably, Maggie knew exactly what was wrong.

The house being taken was just the straw breaking the camel’s back. And if anything placed her in a position of no going back, this was it. Even though she’d known deep down she’d never have had the heart to deny her mother this anyway. Not when she could do something about it. Not when she’d been partly responsible, however coerced she’d been at the time. She knew with that thought she wasn’t really being fair on herself, but the truth was…she was responsible. Tom had sucked her into an awful complicity with him. And, however misplaced, she still felt the guilt.

The absolute point of no return had been that morning when she’d informed her mother that, amazingly, Caleb had been merciful enough to leave her the house. But on the condition that Maggie start work for him immediately in recompense.

Maggie had explained that he’d agreed to sign the house back over once she’d started work and moved into the city to be closer. Her mother had been too stunned and ecstatic to question Maggie too deeply. And the difference in her, in the space of even those few minutes, had been nothing short of miraculous, driving the nail into the coffin of Maggie’s hopes for escaping her fate.

And now here she was. About to embark on the longest, most treacherous two months of her life. But in the end, if it bought her freedom too…then she would cope. Somehow. And she thought she knew how. Caleb thought she was a conniving, mercenary woman of the world…so that was what she would be. He would never see inside the protective shell she was going to erect around herself. Would never see the part of her that was so vulnerable to him. The part that had stupidly believed six months ago…for a brief moment…that he might actually be interested in her. Her mouth compressed. Oh, he had been…just not in the way her silly, foolish heart had believed, or hoped. She looked at her watch. Two o’clock. She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

Lifting a hand to knock on Caleb’s office door, having been directed there by the unsmiling Ivy, Maggie jumped when it opened suddenly. Caleb stood on the other side, his shirt un-buttoned, showing a few crisp hairs and the smooth brown column of his throat. His rolled-up sleeves revealed muscular forearms and his hair looked as though he’d just run an impatient hand through it.

‘You’re late,’ he bit out.

Maggie made a herculean effort to appear blasé and looked at her watch. ‘Two minutes late, Mr Cameron.’

‘I take it you’re accepting the offer.’

She nodded jerkily. ‘If you’ll keep your end of the bargain.’

‘Of course.’ He ran a heated look up and down her body, then focused on her face; freckles descended all the way down to the cleavage just exposed by the V-necked cardigan she wore. His body tightened. ‘Don’t be late again.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

They bristled at each other from either side of the door for a few seconds. A muscle twitched at Caleb’s jaw. Maggie could feel a light sweat break out on her brow. He reached out and, taking her arm, pulled her into his office, the bizarre moment gone. Once inside, she pulled free and walked to one corner. Caleb went and propped a hip on the side of his desk.

For a moment Maggie was simply stunned by the view that had been obscured by last night’s darkness. Windows on all sides gave a breathtaking vista of the bustling city, all the way to the Dublin mountains in the distance. She would have loved to go and study it but kept the awe from her face and resolutely fixed her gaze on him.

‘I think we can progress from Mr Cameron to Caleb from now on…I don’t like formality in the bedroom.’

‘We’re not in the bedroom yet,’ she snapped.

He stood and was automatically dangerous. Maggie fought against backing away. How was she going to convince him she was a world-weary socialite if she jumped every time he moved? He strolled indolently towards her, coming to a halt just inches away. He was so close that she could see darker flecks of blue in his eyes. ‘Oh…we will be. Soon enough. Now, say my name. I want to hear it.’

What? She frowned up at him, opened her mouth to speak and, for the life of her…just couldn’t. For some reason, even though she’d called him by his first name only the day before, right now, she couldn’t conceive of saying it out loud. It felt as if it had become loaded with some kind of meaning…an endearment of sorts. She shook her head, confusion in the depths of her eyes, a red tide creeping up her face.

He moved closer, bringing a hand to the back of her neck, caressing, finding the delicate spot just below her hairline. ‘Maggie…’

Paralysis gripped her. ‘I…can’t.’

‘Maggie. Say it.’

She felt as though she’d been drugged, her limbs heavy, blood flowing thick and slow through her veins. His head was bending, drawing closer…he was going to kiss her. Weakly, she brought her hands up between them.

‘Caleb.’ It came out huskily, much like a lover would say it. And, in saying it, she knew why it had been so hard. She’d stepped over the line completely. She was his now. How could such an innocuous moment feel so full of meaning?

He stopped and straightened slowly. ‘There…now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

God. She had only been in his office less than five minutes and already she was being reduced to a gibbering wreck. She had to get a grip. Had to play the part she’d planned. The only way she knew how to protect herself.

She moved briskly away, dislodging his hand, and searched her mind for something, anything, to deflect his intense focus. She seized on the first thing and whirled around, a bright forced smile on her face. ‘Clothes!’

‘What about them?’ Caleb was very watchful, arms crossed. He couldn’t figure it; in the space of a split second she’d gone from blushing just saying his name to clothes? One thing he knew for certain—he couldn’t trust her an inch. She was up to something. And, from what he knew of women, that something always amounted to something financial.

Maggie twirled a lock of hair around one finger, something she normally did out of unconscious habit but this time contrived to look as coquettish as possible. ‘Well, I expect you’ll want me to look my best…and I’ve left all those sorts of clothes in London…so unless you like this casual look…’ She gestured disdainfully at her chain store outfit. She hated this. It went against every sensibility she had to ask for anything, but she wanted him to think the worst.

Her abrupt volte-face jarred with him but then a world-weariness seeped into his bones. She was just like all the others. No different. But then he’d hardly expected her to be different, had he? And he didn’t want her in some other man’s cast-offs. The very thought made his fists curl. She was his now. She would dress for his pleasure—no one else’s.

‘Just tell me where and I’ll set up an account—you can go this afternoon. I have to go to Monte Carlo for two days tomorrow—something that’s just come up—so you can come too. I presume your passport is in order?’

Maggie blanched, her sham of confidence abruptly shaken, and nodded dumbly, taking in the rapid-fire delivery. Monte Carlo? She really was in another world now…

Caleb had moved back to his desk and was picking up the phone, looking at her expectantly, impatiently. Maggie furiously tried to remember his question and mentioned the double-barrelled name of an exclusive store nearby—somewhere she’d never normally go.

After a quick, brusque conversation it was done. Caleb stood and came around to Maggie, tilting her face to his with long fingers. ‘Stay away from the cheap tarty stuff, if you can. I don’t want a repeat performance of that dinner, where I had to endure every man in the room tripping over himself to get a look at your…’ he flicked a glance down to her chest ‘…assets.’

She burned with humiliation at his mention of the dress her stepfather had forced her to wear. A memory rushed back. Tom Holland’s mottled, angry red face in hers.

‘You can wear this or go naked. If you don’t…you’ll be responsible for what’s going to happen to your mother.’

Maggie willed the image away and clenched her jaw against Caleb’s hand.

‘I’ll do my best. But I still have the dress, so I might just surprise you.’

The look on his face was chilling. ‘Do that and I’ll rip it off and dress you myself. Don’t play games with me. You won’t win.’

A finger of fear clutched at her throat. She didn’t know what had made her want to provoke him just then. Of course she didn’t still have the dress; it had been relegated to a bin that awful night. She would have burned it if she could.

Finally he released her. She went on wobbly legs to the door. Just as she was about to leave, he called her name. She turned around reluctantly.

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