The Magnate's Tempestuous Marriage
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It wasn’t the penthouse. But it was only one floor down from the top and was simply huge, its wide wraparound balconies having views to die for. The plate-glass window in the main living room formed a perfect frame for the Sydney Harbour Bridge, with the Opera House underneath it in the distance. The same view applied to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the master bedroom. At night, it all looked magnificent.
There were two guest bedrooms aside from the master suite, each with their own en-suite bathroom. Add to this two formal receptions rooms, a home theatre, another powder room, a gym and a kitchen that was large enough to satisfy the caterers Sarah employed whenever they had a dinner party. Which up till now was at least once a month. Sarah could cook but cooking several courses for a large number of guests—their dinner table seated twelve—and trying to play hostess at the same time was beyond her.
After letting herself into the apartment Sarah stood in the spacious marble-floored foyer for a long moment, remembering how impressed she’d been when she’d first seen this place. Despite not having been brought up poor—Sarah came from a middle-class upbringing—she’d been overawed by the size of the rooms, the expensive fittings, the elegant imported furniture. She hadn’t wanted to change a thing.
Sarah made her way down the carpeted hallway to the master suite. As she entered what had once been her favourite area in the house Sarah kept her eyes averted from the neatly made king-sized bed, trying desperately not to think of how it had looked last Saturday morning with its tangled oil-stained sheets, not to mention the long blue chiffon scarf that had been draped haphazardly over the black lacquered bedhead. But despite her best efforts, Sarah did think about it, her mouth drying at the memory of how turned on she’d been by Scott binding her wrists like that; how he’d poured body lotion all over her and proceeded to show her exactly how much he knew about a woman’s secret fantasies. When he’d flipped her over and poured more lotion over her entire back, she hadn’t protested. Just pleaded for him not to stop.
And he hadn’t...
Oh, God.
Must not cry over last Friday night any more, she told herself sternly. Just get all your things and go!
Sarah hurried on across the thick cream carpet and into her walk-in wardrobe, where she pulled down the two large cases that they’d taken on honeymoon to Hawaii. She’d been happy then. Very happy. Scott had seemed happy, too.
Maybe that had all been an illusion. Maybe he’d always been a bit bored with her in bed. Sarah imagined most rich men eventually got bored with their trophy wives, which was why they traded them in for newer models a lot, or took mistresses, women who did even more kinky things than what she’d done with Scott last Friday night. Maybe those rumours about Scott and Cleo were right after all.
No—no. She refused to believe that. She hadn’t really believed it then and she didn’t believe it now!
Well, if you didn’t believe it, why did you rush into the hotel bathroom and throw up when the investigator said there was not a shred of evidence of Scott and Cleo having an affair?
The truth was, at the back of her mind, where old tapes from the past were stored, she had believed it. Of course she had. She was programmed to believe that most husbands were cheaters, and their silly wives forgave them much too often. It haunted Sarah to think what she would have done if the investigator had said the opposite. That yes, Scott was having an affair with Cleo. Would she have confronted him? Would she have left him? Was she actually leaving Scott now?
Perversely, the question of her forgiving him would probably never arise. Clearly, her husband believed she’d been unfaithful. More than likely, he would want a divorce. If there was one thing Sarah knew about Scott it was his black-and-white thinking. It was both his strength, and his weakness. Whilst she’d always admired his straight-down-the-line character, plus his total adherence to honesty and integrity, Scott could be slightly one-eyed over things. There was no grey in his thinking. Forgiveness would not come easily to Scott, not if he thought he’d been wronged. And he believed she’d wronged him.
Pushing aside this distressing train of thought, Sarah turned to begin taking some clothes off their hangers when she suddenly caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the back wall of the walk-in wardrobe. Dear God, but she looked a fright. Her hair was awful, having not been washed properly in days. The need to recondition her straw-like locks with her own lovely products suddenly became a necessity. It wasn’t as though Scott was going to come home unexpectedly and catch her, naked, in the shower. She had plenty of time to be out of here before he left his precious office.
But she still hurried, wanting to be out of the place as soon as possible.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN SCOTT DROVE into the underground car park and saw Sarah’s car parked in its allotted space, the frustration he’d been feeling at not finding her at Cory’s house revved up a notch. She hadn’t been sick at all, had she? She’d snuck home here whilst she believed he was at work, no doubt to collect her things, plus possibly anything else she fancied. He’d heard of such things happening to other men who’d come home to find their houses stripped clean.
This furious thought stayed with him during his ride up in the lift, his angry mood lessening once he let himself into the apartment and discovered that nothing was missing. The artwork was still on the walls and all the expensive knick-knacks still there.
When he called out to Sarah, however, she didn’t answer, leaving him with the sudden far more awful thought that maybe she’d brought her car back—it had been a Christmas present from him—and just left it, then taken a taxi off to Lord knew where. The realisation that Sarah might have done such a thing, that she was leaving him permanently, and that he would never have the opportunity to find out the truth, made him feel sick to the stomach.
It was then that he heard the faint sound of water running somewhere. Recognising the sound, Scott dashed down the hallway to their bedroom, where he noted that the bathroom door was shut. Clearly, Sarah was having a shower. Scott could not deny the relief that flooded him. But there were some other confusing emotions too. Surely he wasn’t hoping she’d come home seeking a reconciliation? Surely she didn’t expect him to forgive her?
Glancing to the left of the bathroom door, he saw that their walk-in wardrobe door was open. Scott marched over to stand in the doorway, his hands curling into fists as he stared down at the two open cases on the floor, his teeth clenching down just as hard. Okay, so she wasn’t looking for a reconciliation, then. Good. All Scott wanted—or so he told himself—was an explanation of her actions.
It had niggled him all over the weekend that he’d been neglecting Sarah lately, leaving her alone way too much, not giving her the kind of attention that she’d obviously been secretly craving. Last Friday night had shown him that, at least. She’d been a different woman in his arms that night. Wild. Wanton. Bold. The kind of woman another man would do anything to get, and whom a husband would never be able to forget.
Scott groaned at the possibility that Sarah might not have been thinking of him when he’d been inside her last Friday night. She might have been thinking of the man she’d been with that lunchtime, whom she’d probably been with every time he went away on business.
The sudden silence from the bathroom coincided with his mood turning very dark indeed. Scott threw off his suit jacket and tie, flicked open the top button of his shirt before kicking off his shoes then stretching out on top of the bed. His stomach churned as he waited for his unfaithful wife to emerge, but his mind remained hard, and cold.
* * *
Sarah dried herself quickly, wrapping her wet hair in a towel before grabbing the long pink silk robe that she kept on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. Not an overly sexy garment, it was nevertheless pretty and very comfy with three-quarter-length sleeves in the kimono style. No way was she going to leave it behind. Pulling it on over her flushed nakedness, she tied the sash loosely around her waist before tossing the towel aside then drying her hair properly with her hair dryer, which was much more powerful and efficient than Cory’s. With a much better result, she thought as she ran her fingers through her long straight silky locks before opening the bathroom door.
The unexpected sight of Scott lying on top of the bed brought a gasp of alarm to her lips. Despite his nonchalant pose—his hands were linked behind his head and his ankles were crossed—there was nothing nonchalant in his chilly grey gaze.
‘I gather you’re not staying, then,’ he drawled, his voice as cold as his eyes.
Sarah could not find her tongue, fear drying her mouth and making her heart pound behind her ribs. She’d never been afraid of Scott before but she was at that moment.
‘No,’ she croaked out at last. ‘I...I just came to get my clothes.’
Scott uncrossed his ankles then sat up abruptly. ‘There’s no need to sound so petrified, Sarah. I would never hurt you. Surely you must know that.’
‘You hurt me last Friday night,’ she threw at him.
‘Now you know that’s not true,’ he ground out, standing up and towering over her. ‘You enjoyed every moment of what we did last Friday night. Please don’t add hypocrisy to your adultery.’
Her hand whipped up to slap him but he grabbed it before she could make contact with his face.
‘Come now, Sarah,’ he said. ‘Let’s try to act like adults here, shall we?’
For a long moment she thought he was going to pull her against him. The intent was in his glittering grey eyes. Her already racing heartbeat accelerated further. When he released her, she could not decide if she was relieved or disappointed.
A rueful smile twisted his mouth.
‘I suggest you go put some more clothes on and we adjourn to somewhere less...dangerous. I find myself unable to focus with you nearly naked like that. All I can think of at this moment is how much I still want you, despite everything.’
Sarah’s mouth dropped open at his startling admission. Even more startling was the fact that she wanted him just as much. How perverse was that?
It rattled her, this irrational but powerful urge she had to close the space between them, to reach up and kiss that hard, angry mouth of his.
His eyes narrowed on hers, perhaps glimpsing the crazy jolt of desire in their depths. For suddenly, his hands reached out to grab her shoulders, dragging her against him as his head swooped.
She could have fought him; could have been the ultimate hypocrite. But she didn’t, moaning under his quite brutal kiss, melting against his big strong body, her lips and her hips betraying her own frantic desire.
Insane. All of it. Sarah knew he still thought she’d been unfaithful to him. But right at this moment she didn’t care what he thought. All she cared about was the here and now. And the here and now was turning her on to a degree that surpassed even last Friday night. She kissed him back with a quite savage need, telling him without words that she was still his, no matter what he believed.
When he wrenched his mouth away, she groaned in protest, staring up at him with wide glazed eyes.
‘God, Sarah,’ he ground out, then kissed her again, obliterating every sensible thought with the wildness of his passion. His mouth stayed glued to hers whilst he stripped off her robe, tossing it aside with careless abandon. By then she was trembling violently, but not from cold. A large lock of hair had fallen across her face, and eyes. She stared through the strands up into his lust-filled face. It thrilled her, this knowledge. She was already lost to the mindless world he’d created last Friday night; a world of excitingly erotic pleasure, which didn’t seem to possess a conscience, only a craving for constant satisfaction.
His hands slowly scooped her hair back from her face, bundling it into a tight bunch at the nape of her neck as he pulled her head back, his captive hold doing wicked things to her traitorous body. He glared down at her, his face flushed, his breathing ragged.
‘Don’t go thinking this means I forgive you,’ he threw at her.
‘I’ve done nothing for you to forgive,’ she managed to say. But he only laughed, then kissed her again, kissed her and touched her till she was beyond protest, let alone wordy explanations. When he scooped her up and dumped her sideways across the silvery-grey quilt, she just lay there, quivering with need whilst he hurriedly undressed. And then he was on top of her, and inside her, and she was making those animal noises again, holding him tight as she opened her legs wide and wrapped them high around his back. She moved with him, moaning his name and reaching for that moment when her flesh would shatter around his. Her climax came with a rush, making her cry out, wracking her body with wave after wave of pleasure. It was brilliant. Glorious. She gasped with the electric pleasure of it all.
But the moment the tsunami of ecstasy began to wane, common sense blasted back into her brain, bringing with it the crushing reality of what she had just done.
‘Oh, God,’ she groaned, her tongue giving voice to her acute dismay. How could she have let him do that, believing what he still believed? How could she have enjoyed it, knowing this? At least last Friday night, she hadn’t known about those photos, or what Scott had been thinking.
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