Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure

Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure Emma Darcy Step into a world of sophistication and glamour, where sinfully seductive heroes await you in luxurious international locations.The billionaire’s bedroom bargain…Black sheep Jack Maguire was turned away from his father’s house by his social-climbing stepmother. But he has never forgotten or forgiven that day – or how much he wanted his stepsister, Sally… Ten years have passed – and Jack’s back! Now a supremely successful billionaire tycoon in his own right, by a twist of fate he’s inherited his father’s property – and an opportunity to get his revenge… Jack has a bargain to make with Sally, who has grown up into a beautiful, desirable woman. She can keep her beloved house and receive a generous allowance…if she will be his mistress at weekends!For Jack, it’s a most pleasurable solution: a country retreat, with Sally at his beck and call – especially in the bedroom… “The situation is this, Sally,” Jack said, leaning forward. “You can be mistress of the house you have always called home, overseeing its running and the running of the property, with the same staff if they want to stay. A generous salary for you to maintain the status quo…” Her thoughts shifted to the life he was offering… it was so tempting. But could he be trusted to deliver on his word if she took his deal? What if he only meant to create as much disharmony in her family as he could, and she was being suckered into playing a role in his vengeful game? “What do you get out of this, Jack?” He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a whimsical look that seemed to be mocking himself for whatever was driving him. The expression in his eyes slowly changed, gathering a hypnotic intensity. She felt the force of the man being channelled straight into her, reaching for her heart, her mind, her soul, determined on bending her to his will. Then: “I get you, Sally.” Dear Reader This year Mills & Boon is celebrating its 100th birthday, and it amazes me that for a quarter of that time—the past 25 years—I have been one of the authors in their long publishing history. This book is my 97th for the Modern™ Romance line. I’m thinking I should have organised myself better to make it my 100th. I’ve had a wonderful time writing romance. For me it’s like having the power of a fairy godmother. No matter how bad or difficult the initial situation is for my hero and/or heroine in my stories, I can make everything turn out beautifully right in the end. That’s the magic of romantic fiction and I love it. Always makes me feel good. When I write the last line of a story, I’m smiling with a joyful satisfaction because my wand has worked again. I hope you smile, too, assured that my hero and heroine, whose lives you’ve entered into as you read the story, are truly right for each other and will be very happy in their marriage. I really piled it on for Jack in this story, giving him such a dark history. His ruthless course of revenge is absolutely breathtaking, yet that need for justice in all of us can’t help sympathising with him. He’s one of my most dangerous heroes, one of my most intriguing. Can he—will he—turn his life around as he slowly comes to understand how much he wants to keep the sunshine of Sally’s love? When it comes to the crunch—wow! I’ve got to say Jack acts brilliantly. Tears and smiles. Hope you revel in it as much as I did! Last but not least, I’d like to thank the staff at Mills & Boon for having such a great understanding of what the romance dream is all about. It’s great to be able to share it with people who know. As I share it with you, dear readers. Always with love Emma Darcy BOUGHT FOR REVENGE, BEDDED FOR PLEASURE BY EMMA DARCY www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) PROLOGUE “I’M JACK MAGUIRE, Leonard Maguire’s son,” he told the man on the other side of the security gate, feeling the bitter irony of having his identity questioned. “Didn’t know he had one,” the man muttered, a frown beetling over suspicious eyes. “You’ve got an American accent.” Hardly surprising since Jack had been tucked away, living in Texas for most of his growing-up years. But he’d been born in Australia, a seven-year-old boy when he’d been taken from this country. Now, at twenty-four, he was a man—a man of means, he thought with intense satisfaction—and ready to make his mark on his father’s home ground. “Just call the house and check me out,” he instructed. While the security guard did just that, using a mobile ’phone he’d detached from his belt, Jack’s gaze travelled up the long avenue of maples which led to the huge sprawling house at the top of the hill overlooking the valley. It was spring and the new leaves on the trees were a brilliant lime green in the bright afternoon sunshine. The whole valley was green—prime property—nothing but the best for his father’s second family. The house was white. The fences were white. Everything kept in a pristine state. Which, of course, cost a lot of money. A lot. Which was only to be expected of a man who owned a vast transport company, including a domestic airline. All Jack had ever got from him were birthday cards, Christmas cards—probably sent by whoever his current secretary was—and a few days at a luxury hotel in Las Vegas when his father was there on business, once when Jack was twelve and again when he was eighteen. He remembered being asked that last time, “What do you intend to do with your life, boy?” As though it had nothing to do with Leonard Maguire. Still, Jack had asked hopefully, “Are you offering an opportunity?” Any such idea was totally obliterated by the harsh reply. “No. Make your own way, as I did. If you have the guts to do it you’ll become a man I can respect.” The challenge had eaten into Jack’s soul. His father was a self-made billionaire, starting from nothing, building a transport empire. Yet looking at the evidence of his wealth now—wealth spent freely on his second wife and two adopted daughters—Jack could feel no respect for him. What kind of man did nothing for his flesh-and-blood son and gave every privilege money could provide to a couple of girls his second wife had wanted and acquired? Would they be told to make their own way when they were eighteen? The security man clicked his ’phone shut and gave Jack a look of curious sympathy. “Can’t let you in, mate. I’ve been told to run you off. Lady Ellen says you’re not welcome here.” Lady Ellen. The title soured Jack’s stomach. She’d been an on-the-make young office clerk, sleeping with her much older boss, committing adultery, and now because his father had been knighted for services to his country and she was his wife, she could call herself Lady. “Ask to speak to my father,” he demanded. “No can do. Sir Leonard is not home yet.” “When does he arrive home?” “Helicopter usually flies in about seven.” The man glanced at his watch. “Another three hours from now. No sense in waiting around. Can’t let you past the gate unless I get the word.” Jack had got the message. His father’s home was forbidden territory to him as far as Lady Ellen was concerned. Probably always had been. Bitch, guarding her own interests tooth and nail. Though his father hadn’t bucked them. How much power did she wield over her much-older husband? Whose choice was it to keep theson in exile? There was so much Jack wanted to know. Was determined to know. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I’m stationed in the cottage,” the guard warned, nodding to the small ranch house overlooking the entrance to the property. He was making it clear that no one slipped past him. The guy was probably in his early fifties but his big, burly frame was still all muscle—a formidable opponent in a fight. Not that Jack was looking for one, not with this man, who was just doing his job. He returned to the rental car he’d hired at the airport, thinking the view from the ranch house did not take in the whole perimeter of this estate. Half an hour later he’d parked the car on the verge of a side road, raided his luggage for jeans, a dark-blue T-shirt, and Nikes, changed out of his visiting clothes and hiked cross-country to the white fence that marked the territory he wanted to scout. He leaned on the top railing for a while, taking in the view of horses grazing in lush pastures, what was undoubtedly state-of-the-art stables, and a rider—a girl with a mass of red-gold curls streaming out from the tight constriction of her riding hat—putting her horse through a series of pony club jumps. Was she the elder of the two adopted daughters? Or a stable hand, employed to train the horse to jumping? The slender figure looked shapely enough to be a young woman, though that factor certainly didn’t rule out a girl of fourteen. She rode well, handling the horse with confident authority, but then he had, too, at fourteen, having learnt the hard way on his stepfather’s ranch. He scaled the fence and strolled towards the exercise enclosure, wanting his curiosity satisfied. It was a matter of supreme indifference to him that he was trespassing. To his mind he had more natural right to be here than anyone else on this property. Sally didn’t see the man’s approach. Blaze hadn’t been completely set right for the triple jump and she wanted to take him through it again. The big gelding had been too eager. She had to rein him in a bit, make the timing perfect. Her concentration on the task was total. Only when Blaze had sailed beautifully over the third hurdle did the sound of clapping alert her to the presence of a spectator. Flushed and exhilarated by her success, she turned to smile at the person who had admired her skill enough to applaud it, expecting to see Tim Fogarty, the stable hand who always helped her groom Blaze for showjumping. It startled her to see a stranger, especially a stranger who was alone. That didn’t happen here. A visitor was always accompanied by someone. He was very handsome, outstandingly so compared to the young men of her acquaintance—thick black hair, a face that instantly drew fascinated interest, and his tall and strong physique was definitely ten out of ten. His forearms, resting on the top railing of the enclosure, were tanned and muscular, suggesting he lived an outdoors life. Maybe he was a new employee. Sally nudged Blaze into walking over to where the man stood, aware that the flutter in her stomach was caused more by a sense of excitement than curiosity. His eyes were examining her in a very detailed fashion—vivid blue eyes—making her extremely conscious of how she looked and raising a silly hope that he found her attractive. It was silly because it was obvious he was too old for her. In his twenties, she judged. At fourteen she had the height and the figure of a young woman but not the years to match this man. There was something in his eyes—a knowingness that came from a lot of hard learnt experience. “Who are you?” she asked, feeling a compulsion to learn everything she could about him. His mouth quirked into a dryly amused little smile, making her wonder how it would feel to have such beautifully sculptured lips kissing hers. Would they be gentle and sensitive to her response or hard and ravishing? He was the kind of man who could have stepped out of one of the romance books she’d read, making her wish for things that weren’t yet part of her life. “Who are you?” he countered, surprising her with his American accent. Nice voice, though, deep and manly. “I’m Sally Maguire,” she answered with a touch of pride, wanting to impress him with her status as daughter to a man who was virtually an Australian legend. “Ah…” he said, but it wasn’t an admiring Ah, more a mocking one that told her he wasn’t impressed at all. Had she seemed snobby about who she was? “Fine horse,” he remarked. “You handle him well. Have you been riding long?” She nodded, suddenly feeling ill at ease with him. “Dad gave me a pony when I was five.” “No doubt he bought this one for you, too.” The mocking tone was more pronounced this time. “Who are you?” she repeated more sharply. “What are you doing here?” He shrugged. “Just looking around.” “This is private property. If you have no business here, you’re trespassing.” “Oh, I have business to be done. Very personal business.” His eyes stabbed into hers like blue lasers, scouring her soul. “I’m waiting for my father to come home.” None of the employees had a son like him. She was sure of it. “Who’s your father?” “The same as yours.” Shock rendered her speechless for a moment. Was it true? A bastard son who’d never been publicly acknowledged? He didn’t look like her father, though he did have blue eyes, a much sharper blue though. “I know nothing about you,” she blurted out, seized by the fear that whoever he was, he’d come to make trouble. “Not surprising,” he drawled derisively. “I’m sure Lady Ellen prefers to pretend I don’t exist.” He hated her mother. She could see it, hear it, feel it. “She probably doesn’t know about you, either,” Sally threw at him defensively, fretting over his attitude. He shook his head. “What a protected little cocoon you live in, Sally Maguire!” There was a wicked challenge in his eyes as he added, “Why don’t you ask Lady Ellen about the marriage she busted up and the boy she wanted no part of?” “What marriage?” “Leonard Maguire’s marriage to my mother,” he tossed at her, obviously confident that he was dealing with irrefutable fact. Sally could only stare at him, her mind struggling to take this stunning information on board. If what he said was true, he wasn’t a bastard son. He was her father’s natural-born heir, not adopted like her and her younger sister. Her very safe world suddenly felt very shaken. “Have you been up to the house?” she asked in a burst of panic, feeling that everything she’d thought she’d known was about to change. “Not yet.” “Does my mother know you’re here?” “She knows I’ve come. Lady Ellen was not inclined to put out the welcome mat for me. In fact, she had me turned away at the gate. What do you think of that, Sally Maguire?” He cocked his head to one side, mockingly assessing her reaction to this information. “Here you are on prime horseflesh, revelling in having your love of riding indulged and completely catered for—” he gestured towards the stables, obvious evidence for his viewpoint “—and I am turned away from setting foot on my father’s land.” It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. A sense of guilty shame sent a gush of heat flooding into her cheeks. Yet she had only this man’s word that what he was telling her was true. She had no idea of what had happened with these relationships in the past, before she was born and adopted into this family. Maybe her mother had good reason to block his entry to this property. Hadn’t she just felt her own world being threatened by him? “What do you want?” The words spilled out of the fear that was curdling her stomach. He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want something. “I had my father for seven years. You’ve had him for fourteen. Wouldn’t you say there should be a better balance to be struck?” “Like what? You’re grown up now. There’s no way of getting back years that are gone,” she argued anxiously. He knew her age. It felt all wrong that he had information about her and she had none about him. “True,” he agreed. His eyes went flint hard. “But there’s the future to be reckoned with.” He was going to make trouble. “What about your mother?” Sally threw at him, trying to mitigate the situation he’d spelled out. “She must have taken you with her. Where is she now?” “Dead,” he stated bluntly, his voice flat, showing no emotion at all. Somehow that was more frightening than anything else. “I’m sorry,” she said defensively. “Sorry you feel—” Her mind sought frantically for the right word “—displaced.” Which was what she would have felt if she hadn’t been adopted. Having no parents, no sense of belonging to a family…it would be awful, an empty life. She’d been so lucky, while he… “I wasn’t displaced,” he corrected her savagely. “I was replaced by you and the other adopted daughter.” “I didn’t know. Jane doesn’t know, either,” she pleaded. It wasn’t her fault. Yet he was making her feel horribly guilty. “I’ll go and talk to my mother,” she offered, feeling too churned up to stay talking to him, and needing to know why he had been turned away. “That should be an interesting conversation,” he mocked. “Pity I can’t be a fly on the wall.” The taunt spurred her into nudging Blaze into a canter. She rode quickly to the exit from the enclosure, intensely conscious of those laser-blue eyes boring into her. Forced to pause while opening the gate, she couldn’t stop herself from looking back at him. He hadn’t moved. His gaze was fixed on her. It felt hard, relentless, accusing. “You haven’t told me your name,” she called out, wishing he could be more…brotherly. “It’s Maguire,” he reminded her with derisive emphasis. “Jack Maguire. Commonly known as Blackjack in some circles. It’s a name that darkens other people’s dreams.” It was a name that would haunt Sally for a long time to come. Ten years would pass before she would meet him again—ten years before he would once more set foot on this land, bringing with him the bitter harvest of the wrongs that were being enacted today. Jack watched her go. She didn’t stable her horse. She galloped straight up the hill as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. The sun was starting to set, burning the clouds in the sky, spreading a haze of red around the big white house. He hoped Sally Maguire would spread some heartburn around with her questions about him. Time to return to his car, leave this property before Lady Ellen sent a posse to run him off. He probably shouldn’t have said so much to the girl, venting his anger at how he’d been treated, but the urge to set a cat amongst the pigeons had been irresistible. And she was so damned beautiful, he’d wanted to claw her off her complacent perch, make her aware of a darker side to her world of privilege. He’d revelled in the troubled worry reflected in her fascinating sagegreen eyes, in the scarlet flush that had stained her flawless, pale skin. She’d been given too much and he’d been given too little. That was the core of it. He’d come on a scouting mission to feel out the lay of the land. Once he knew precisely what he was dealing with, he’d work out how to achieve what he wanted. One certainty burned in his mind. Whatever it took, somehow, some day, the scales would be balanced. CHAPTER ONE Ten Years On… SALLY stared at the coffin which held her father. It was still difficult to believe he was dead, that a sudden fatal heart attack could steal his life away. No warning. Never a day’s illness that she knew of. He’d always radiated such a powerful life force, the shock of its being ended so abruptly was still numbing any sense of grief. Which was just as well since her mother had instructed her and Jane to maintain absolute dignity during this funeral service. They were on public show. They had to do their father proud. Sir Leonard Maguire was being honoured today. There’d been television crews outside the cathedral, shooting their arrival, not to mention all the powerful people who’d come to pay their last respects: politicians, captains of industry, the horseracing fraternity. She could hear them taking their places behind her, shuffling into the pews, greeting each other in muffled tones. On the other side of the aisle were the major figures in her father’s work force—his other family—who had shared his dreams of a transport empire and been closely involved in carrying out his grand plans. He’d spent much more time with them than with us, Sally thought. They were probably devastated by his death, not only grieving for their leader but wondering what would come next. Who would fill the huge shoes of the man who was no longer with them? She had no grasp of her father’s business. Neither did Jane who was studying to become a nurse. Her mother had dedicated her life to being the perfect wife, certainly the CEO of their home, but not interested in anything beyond maintaining the social status that was all important to her. They’d been cocooned in the protection of great wealth, but none of them knew what would happen now. They were floating in a vacuum. Maybe her father had provided the answers in his will. Tomorrow they had to go to the solicitor’s office to hear it read. Her mother was upset—furious—that Victor Newell, who’d been her father’s legal advisor for many years, had refused to come to them in the privacy and comfort of their own home. It meant another trip to the city, another brave front to be put on in public. Regardless of being subjected to her mother’s intense displeasure over the telephone, the solicitor had not budged from his edict, stating he was following Sir Leonard’s instructions. No argument prevailed against that. Not even her mother could break her father’s iron grip on the people he had employed. But he’d lost his grip on life. No, he’d had it taken from him. Probably the only thing that had ever been taken from him. Except… The memory of Jack Maguire flashed into her mind. Despite what her parents had told her, she didn’t really believe his mother had taken him from the man who now lay in this coffin. Her father had chosen to let him go. She couldn’t imagine anything else, especially since he’d chosen not to have him back. It was the only reasonable answer to why Jack Maguire had not become part of their lives. Too late now for the scales to be balanced, she thought sadly. He’d made such a strong impact on her at their one and only meeting, she’d often wondered how he’d dealt with his father’s rejection. It would surely have bitten deep. Though that personal blow had not stopped him from becoming a successful business entrepreneur in his own right. Maybe it had spurred him on to make a name for himself. She’d read about him in the newspapers from time to time, fixing deals that were highly profitable. Photographs of him never showed him smiling, not even when he was pictured with beautiful women at A-list parties. His eyes were always cold. She’d imagined it was because his heart was cold, no family to warm it. No chance left of its ever being warmed by acceptance or approval from his father. The media had given enormous coverage to Sir Leonard Maguire’s life and death in the past few days so he would certainly know about it. Jack had been mentioned as the estranged son. Such a cold phrase. It had made her feel bad again about being a much-indulged adopted daughter. The organ music droned to a halt. Sally glanced at her watch. It was time for the funeral service to begin. The Bishop of Sydney would emerge from the vestry any moment now, ready to conduct the ceremony. The congregation hushed. The footsteps of a latecomer walking down the aisle were clearly audible, not hurrying, measured at a dignified pace. Whoever it was seemed to have an unsettling presence, giving rise to a rush of whispering. The footsteps kept coming, right up to the front pew. Was it the bishop, making some kind of ceremonial arrival? Out of the corner of her eye, Sally saw her mother’s head turn slightly—licence enough to take a sideways glance without being reprimanded since her mother was doing the same thing. It was a man in a black suit, royal-blue shirt. He’d paused in the middle of the aisle, right beside them, and from the hiss of her mother’s sharply indrawn breath, he was someone who did not meet with her approval. Sally instinctively leaned forward to see his face, wanting to identify the problem. Shock knifed through her. Jack Maguire! His strikingly handsome face was grimly set, a cold blue gaze projecting hostile scorn at her mother, whose head jerked forward, instantly breaking whatever eye contact he’d drawn from her. His mouth curled mockingly as his gaze slid to Sally who was too stunned by his presence to do anything but stare openly at him. For a moment he stared back and she felt herself beginning to burn, heat surging into her cheeks. He nodded, as though she’d given him the reaction he wanted, then turned away, moving to the front pew on the other side of the aisle, seating himself directly opposite her mother, where amazingly there was a place vacant for him and none of her father’s top executives queried his right to take it. He was Sir Leonard Maguire’s son. Did they think he might be his heir? It made no sense to Sally. The estrangement had been total…hadn’t it? Strike one! Jack thought with intense satisfaction. The shock and chagrin on Lady Ellen’s face was worth his own bit of stage management. The gall of the woman, writing him a letter to say he wasn’t welcome at Sir Leonard’s funeral. He hoped his prominent presence here would eat into her mean heart and destroy her arrogant composure. Sitting there in fashion-plate perfection, the stylish black hat framing artfully streaked honey-blonde hair, big brown eyes subtly shaded to look mournful, pearls around her throat, a black suit—no doubt carrying a designer label—hugging her voluptuous figure. She had to be forty-five, but living a life of luxury no doubt contributed to her looking only about thirty. The eighteen-year-old nymphet who’d seduced his father had done very well for herself. Not so well in the future, Jack vowed. They made a striking trio, the Maguire women; the blonde, the redhead and the brunette. He’d only caught a glimpse of Jane, sitting beyond Sally in the pew. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, all shadowed by her older sister’s blazing beauty, which was far more pronounced now than when she was fourteen. The glorious cascade of red-gold curls, the white skin, still prone to revealing rushes of emotion, the fasciating sage-green eyes… Jack had to admit the woman she was now stirred the beast in him. He’d like to have her in his bed. Maybe he’d get her there…one way or another. The idea had huge appeal, for many reasons. Sally didn’t hear much of the funeral service. Her mind kept circling around Jack Maguire’s presence. What did it mean? Had he simply come to see his father buried, taking some dark satisfaction in publicly claiming the relationship that had never been acknowledged to his satisfaction in life, putting any hope of it to bed, once and for all? A funeral was about finality, letting go. Her mother’s hands were not folded neatly on her lap. They were tightly clenched. No way would she make a public scene about Jack Maguire’s effrontery in doing what he’d done here in the cathedral, but she was fuming over it. No doubt she’d throw one of her vicious tantrums when they got home. It invariably happened when things didn’t go to plan. Everything always had to be picture perfect for her mother, and Jack Maguire was a huge black blot on this landscape. Blackjack…darkening other people’s dreams. He’d darkened hers, many a time. She’d never been able to forget him. The knowledge that he was out there somewhere, not getting what she got from her father, always ate at her comfort zone about accepting all she did from her parents. He was not out there today. He was right here. Assaulting everyone’s comfort zone. Hymns were sung, prayers recited, eulogies given, the service proceeding as planned, until it was time for them to stand and follow the coffin as it was wheeled out of the cathedral. Her mother stepped out of the pew first. Sally and Jane were supposed to flank her for the walk down the aisle. Before they could take their places, Jack Maguire moved out from his pew, positioning himself beside his father’s widow, leaving them no option but to pair up behind them. For several tense moments—Sally thought her mother might explode at this spoiling intrusion—Lady Ellen stood rigidly still. Jane felt the danger, too, instinctively grabbing Sally’s hand for sisterly support. She had always been timid, too scared of horses to ever try riding, and too easily browbeaten by their mother who could be truly scary when she flew out of control. Which didn’t happen often. It had never happened in front of their father. But if things didn’t go as she planned, as she expected… Lady Ellen started walking, head held high, determinedly ignoring the man accompanying her. Both Sally and Jane breathed a sigh of relief and followed, keeping pace with the lead couple. Not that they were a couple, Sally thought, not by any stretch of imagination. Her mother and Jack Maguire were two separate units, and the sense they were heading towards a nasty collision had her own nerves twitching and her heart at a gallop. She studied the back of Jack Maguire’s head, fiercely wishing she could see into the workings of his brain. He had pulled back from making trouble ten years ago and kept away from the family, but whatever embargo he must have accepted during that time had obviously been lifted by his father’s death. Sally could almost smell trouble in the air, positively sulphurous now for having been held back for so long. They moved beyond the last pew, beyond ears that might hear. “Didn’t you get my letter, telling you not to come to the funeral?” her mother sliced at Jack Maguire in a low, venomous tone. “Did you really expect me to respect your wishes, Lady Ellen?” he drawled sotto voce, the words dripping with derision. “Your father wouldn’t have wanted it.” “My father is beyond speaking for himself.” “He didn’t want you with him all these years.” “On the contrary, we lunched regularly together. You were kept out of our relationship.” Sally tensed, her mind bombarded by one shock after another, and nervously aware that her mother’s supposedly unassailable stance had just been seriously undermined. How would she react to this claim? “I don’t believe you.” Flat denial. “Ask his secretary. She made the appointments,” came the mocking reply. “Or any one of his executive staff, all of whom are well aware of the connection.” It certainly answered why the seat in the front pew had been vacant for him! Besides, he spoke with such confidence, Sally could not disbelieve him. And, in her heart of hearts, she was glad he had managed to strike up a relationship with his father, even if it did make her mother furious. All these years of having been shut out from the family had not been right. They emerged from the cathedral. The funeral attendants lifted the coffin from the trolley to carry it down the steps to the waiting hearse. During the pause while this procedure got underway, they stood in silence, the heat of the midsummer afternoon beating down on them. Sally wondered what was steaming through her mother’s mind. The loss of authority would certainly make her burn, yet she should concede Jack Maguire’s right to be here. It was the gracious thing to do. Besides, she couldn’t make him go away. This man was not about to bend to her will. He was not of the same breed as the highly civilised, born-to-wealth bachelors her mother kept pushing at her and Jane; more a dark, dangerous animal, primed to pounce. A little shiver ran down her spine. Fear or excitement? She wasn’t sure. Would he speak to her when they moved down to stand behind the hearse? She wanted him to. She wanted a connection with him. Though that was an unlikely outcome, given the circumstances. Obviously he had conceded to his father’s wish to keep the family separated during his lifetime, and although that time was now gone, Jack Maguire had no reason to care about the feelings of people who’d never shown any caring for his. Writing him a letter to say he wasn’t welcome at his own father’s funeral must have been like a red rag to a bull. “Please have the decency to leave,” her mother hissed at him. “I think the more decent thing is for me to be here, Lady Ellen,” he coolly replied. “You don’t belong with us.” Spoken more vehemently as the funeral attendants moved beyond close earshot. “True. But today belongs to my father,” he retorted pointedly. “Not you and your daughters.” “We had more of him than you did,” she shot back in a flare of temper. Sally caught a glimpse of icy contempt on his face as he replied, “Well, I hope you stored up a treasure-house of memories, because that’s all the treasure you’re going to get.” “What do you mean by that?” He disdained an answer, moving forward to begin descending the steps to the sidewalk. Her mother hastily followed, grabbing his arm to command his attention. “What do you mean by that?” she repeated, the urgency in her voice revealing deep concern over his last comment. Sally didn’t understand it. Didn’t he simply mean that his father was beyond supplying any more memories? He looked down at the hand clutching him, then directly at his antagonist, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you need my support, Lady Ellen?” “I do not!” she snapped, instantly removing her hold, tossing her head back and marching on down the steps to the sidewalk. Jack Maguire strolled after her, not caring about her taking the lead. As she and Jane followed, Sally couldn’t help thinking the TV cameras would use this bit of footage for a provocative piece on the widow and the son. And her mother would be furious about that, too, though it was her own fault for losing the control she’d demanded of her daughters. The four of them stood on the sidewalk together as the coffin was loaded into the hearse and the many floral tributes were arranged around it. “I will not have you riding in the mourning car with us,” her mother warned the man who wouldn’t go away at her command. “I have no intention of mourning with you, Lady Ellen. I really don’t care for your company,” he stated dryly, then turned his gaze to Sally, the riveting blue eyes intent on capturing and holding her attention. Her pulse-rate instantly zoomed. It was impossible to look away. Besides which, she didn’t want to. He was such a fascinating man, challenging, dangerous, and so good-looking her stomach was all aflutter, registering a strong sexual interest in him, which wasn’t sensible at all but well and truly activated nevertheless. “I must say mourning becomes you, Sally,” he said with an ironic twist. “I’ve never seen any woman look quite so beautiful at a funeral.” Heat surged through her again. No one had ever called her beautiful, and for him to do it…though more likely it was a sly hit at her mother whose beauty invariably did draw comment. For one of her daughters to be viewed as outshining her…yes, he wanted to put her mother down, every way he could. She could have said she’d never seen any man look quite so handsome—it was the truth—but her mother would have killed her. So she remained silent, her eyes fastened helplessly on his, scarlet cheeks flagging her physical response to the compliment, despite the obvious motive behind it. “This isn’t the time or the place for us to get reacquainted,” he went on, addressing her, focussing on her, ignoring her mother. “Perhaps after the meeting at the solicitor’s office tomorrow.” “You’ll…be…there?” Sally barely got the words out as her mind tumbled over the startling news that he would be at the reading of the will, and the fact that the solicitor had insisted they come to his office suddenly took on a very ominous meaning. As did Jack’s comment to her mother about memories being the only treasure she’d be left with. Had her father handed everything over to his son? “I will most certainly be there.” The confirmation was delivered with a cruel little smile, which stayed on his mouth as his glittering blue gaze swept around all three of them. “Until then, ladies.” He walked away. No, he strode away. Like a conqueror who’d succeeded in laying waste the enemy, leaving carnage behind him. The funeral director moved in to usher them to the car for the mourning family. The back door of the hearse had been closed. It was time to go to the cemetery. Would he be there when they arrived? Sally didn’t think so. Jack Maguire had done what he’d come to do… making his presence felt as a force to be reckoned with and leaving them squirming over what might happen in the solicitor’s office tomorrow. One weight had just been added to the lighter side of the scales. CHAPTER TWO ALL the way to the solicitor’s office, Sally’s mind had been hopelessly torn, her family’s needs warring against the natural justice in Jack Maguire’s right to be his father’s heir. Her mother, of course, had been railing against the black-sheep son’s right to get anything, almost convincing herself that yesterday’s scene at the funeral had just been a brazen front, a vengeful slap in the face for denying him a place with the family. There was too much evidence of something very different, Sally thought, but she’d held her tongue, careful not to feed the rage being vented, reducing her sister to a trembling mouse. “What will we do if he gets it all?” Jane had asked her fearfully when they’d finally escaped their mother’s tirade. “I don’t think that will happen,” Sally had answered soothingly. “But what if it does?” She’d sighed. “Well, let’s face it, Jane. We’ve been very lucky to have had it good all these years. If our luck runs out, we’ll just have to take charge of our own lives instead of being looked after.” Her sister had shaken her head hopelessly. “I’m not strong like you, Sally.” True. Jane had spent her whole life trying to please, seeking approval, happy when she got it, crushed when she didn’t. She simply wasn’t geared to standing on her own two feet. The training, discipline and determination required to compete successfully on the showjumping circuit had put a lot of steel in Sally’s backbone. She knew she wouldn’t crumble under adversity. Unfortunately, wishing she could give Jane some of her own steel was futile. Her sister’s nature was too different… sweet, gentle and, more often than not, exasperatingly weak. “Don’t worry, Jane. We’ve been sisters all these years. I won’t abandon you, no matter what,” she’d said, and then had to mop up a flood of grateful tears. Abandonment had run through all of Jane’s nightmares. Sally had often wondered if it was a common fear of adopted children. She had the same insecurity, which had probably driven her to make the most of all the wonderful opportunities being in the Maguire family had brought her, never quite sure when or if they would be taken away. There’d always seemed to be a price to be paid for being adopted…dutifully meeting her mother’s demands, doing her utmost to hold on to her father’s approval. The only unconditional love she’d ever felt was with Jane, even though they weren’t blood sisters. Should the privileges they’d been granted come to an end now…well, they’d still have each other. They were asked to wait in the reception area until Mr. Newell’s secretary came to collect them. Her mother interpreted this as VIP service, which put her in a less fractious mood, especially when the secretary, a rather plump woman in her fifties, treated her with great deference as she escorted them into an elevator and poured out sympathy over Sir Leonard’s unexpected passing while they rode up to the right floor. Lady Ellen was responding very graciously to the secretary who ushered them to what looked like a men’s club private meeting room. Five dark-green leather chairs were placed around an oval table of highly polished mahogany. Bookshelves full of serious leather tomes lined the walls. An elegant traymobile was set up with various refreshments. Five chairs. Would the secretary take one of them or was the fifth chair for Jack Maguire? Had he been bluffing about being at this meeting yesterday, giving them a night of worry as a payback for the rotten feelings her mother had undoubtedly inflicted on him with her letter? The secretary directed them to the three chairs around one end of the table and proceeded to the tray-mobile, asking for their preferred drinks. Sally and Jane decided on simple glasses of water but their mother went for the whole ceremonial fuss of requesting Earl Grey tea with a slice of lemon. They were all served with little plates of finger sandwiches and dainty pastries. Neither Sally nor Jane felt like eating anything but their mother suddenly found a cheerful appetite. Apparently she had decided there was no longer any cause for concern. Satisfied with her ministering, the secretary excused herself to go and tell Mr. Newell they were waiting for him. “Will she come back?” Jane whispered anxiously, nodding to the fifth chair. “I don’t know,” Sally murmured, nowhere near as sure as her mother that Jack Maguire was out of the picture. “What are you girls muttering about?” their mother demanded. Jane instantly shrank back in her chair. “We’re just a bit nervous about what’s going to happen next,” Sally answered. “Obviously we are the beneficiaries of your father’s will.” Declared with confidence. “Yes,” Sally quickly agreed. Raising doubts would instantly snap that good humour, so she kept them to herself. Better to keep quiet and simply wait, but she couldn’t help feeling tense. Until the fifth chair was occupied by someone else, the spectre of Blackjack Maguire was hanging over it, certainly darkening Jane’s dreams. As for her own…what did she want? The bottom-line truth was she wanted to see Jack Maguire in that chair even though it meant he was a threat to the life she’d had up until now. She wanted him to get something from his father. It would be wrong if he didn’t. But more than anything else she wanted to see him again, wanted to feel the physical thrill of his presence, wanted him to pursue an acquaintance with her as he had suggested yesterday. It was undoubtedly sheer madness to be craving some involvement with him, given the family history. Her mother would have a fit if she knew. Jane would be frightened for her. Yet the strong tug of the man kept pulling at her mind, her heart. Her whole body buzzed with excitement at the thought of connecting with him. No one else had ever affected her like this. Maybe it was a dark dream, better set aside. She’d probably be wiser after this meeting. If he came. Her heart leapt as the door to the meeting room opened, but the man who entered was not Jack Maguire. He was tall and lean, meticulously dressed in a dark-grey suit, white shirt, dark-red and grey striped tie, the tip of a matching dark-red handkerchief peaking out of his coat pocket. Sally judged him to be in his fifties, grey hair getting sparse, making his high forehead even higher, rimless spectacles resting on a hawkish nose, narrow jaw, thin lips. This had to be the solicitor, Victor Newell. She’d never met him but he certainly had the distinguished air of authority that went with heading one of the most reputable legal firms in Sydney—the kind of man who was accustomed to people coming to him, not the other way around. He gestured to someone still outside in the corridor, and Sally held her breath, wanting it to be Jack Maguire, no matter what that meant. Yes! It was him! A weird exultation bubbled through her. She told herself she was glad that his father had not disowned him. But the truth was far more personal than that. He was here, in the same room as herself, and there was a chance that something might happen between them. The moment of truth, Jack thought sardonically, stepping inside and sweeping his gaze around the three women, waiting for the reading of the will. Lady Ellen had lightened her funeral garb this morning. Her black hat had a white edging around the rim, matching the white edging around the lapels of her suit coat—the stylish grande dame. Her eyes flared hatred and her mouth compressed to an unattractive thin line when she saw him. Jack smiled. Sally wasn’t wearing a hat, her glorious red-gold curls tumbling free, and Jack instantly envisaged them spread in disarray across a pillow. She wore a sage-green linen shirtmaker dress, very prim and proper for this occasion, though the button-through style was quite provocative since he instantly started imagining undoing all her buttons. The colour matched her eyes, which were pinned on him with guarded interest. No thinning of those lush lips. He wondered how she’d respond if he crushed them with his own. The younger sister looked about to faint with fright, staring at him as though he was the devil himself, complete with horns and pitchfork. Her lips were parted, gasping in air. She wore a beige outfit—no hat—and with her brown hair and brown eyes, seemed totally colourless next to Sally. Jack had the impression Jane wished she could disappear. He actually felt a stab of sympathy for her. Which was absurd. She’d had a good twenty-one years with the Maguire wealth. “Good morning, all,” he said cheerfully, strolling around the table to the chair facing the two sisters. Sally was the only one who returned the greeting, and promptly flushed when she realised she was on her own in acknowledging his presence. But she didn’t shoot an apologetic look at her mother. Her gaze remained fixed on him, a rebellious glint in her eyes. Excitement fizzed through Jack. She had fire. And backbone. A mind of her own. The idea of pursuing a connection with her grew stronger legs. It had been circling around in his mind since yesterday’s funeral service. As perverse as it was of him to find Sally Maguire so desirable, there was no denying the sexual chemistry she’d stirred. He’d wondered if it was because of who she was—forbidden territory. It certainly added a piquancy to the attraction. But right now it was pure gut stuff. Everything about her appealed. He knew this morning’s meeting could very well turn him into a hated antagonist in her mind. Any normal man-woman approach to her would be wiped out. But that only made the situation between them even more interesting, challenging, exciting. He needed to get into her mind, find out what was important to her, play on it. Victor Newell made a little ceremony of greeting each one of them before taking the chair at the head of the table, directly facing Lady Ellen, who obviously took this to mean she was the major player in the will, throwing Jack a snooty, condescending look as though she imagined he was here for a few insignificant crumbs. The solicitor leaned forward with an earnest air, his hands linked over the manila folder which contained Sir Leonard Maguire’s last will and testament. He addressed Lady Ellen. “Please accept my sympathy over Sir Leonard’s passing. I know he expected to live for many more years. It is most unfortunate that his time was cut short.” She nodded with sombre dignity. Victor sighed and opened the folder. “This will was made and signed a year ago. It’s very simple. There are only two beneficiaries. It reads…to my son, Jack Ryan Maguire, I give one dollar…” “One dollar!” A wild peal of laughter erupted from Lady Ellen’s throat. Her eyes danced malicious triumph at Jack. “How brilliant of Leonard! You can’t contest his will since he’s put you in it.” “I have no intention of contesting it, Lady Ellen,” he returned carelessly, his gaze shifting to Sally to catch her reaction. She looked embarrassed, pained by her mother’s gloating. Her eyes flashed dismay at him before her lashes lowered, hiding her feelings. But they’d already been clear enough to Jack. She cared that he was apparently getting next to nothing from his father. A soft heart, not a greedy one. It made her even more appealing. And gave him another weapon to use in winning her over to what he wanted. The muscles around his groin tightened. He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman so much. One way or another he was going to have Sally Maguire. Every part of her. Victor Newell cleared his throat with a come-to-attention cough and continued reading the will. “Contingent upon my wife, Ellen Mary Maguire surviving me by thirty days, I give her the remainder of my estate absolutely, and if she does not survive me by thirty days, I give the remainder of my estate in equal shares as tenants in common to my daughters, Sally Ann Maguire and Jane Therese Maguire.” He closed the folder and linked his hands across it, having completed the task of reading the legal document. A grimace of distaste preceded his next words. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lady Ellen, but I now have the onus of explaining to you that Sir Leonard’s estate does not encompass a great deal.” The smug satisfaction on her face wavered. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply. Jack focussed his attention on her. This was the pay line. This was why he’d stipulated that his father leave him a dollar, giving him the right to be here, to watch this woman get her comeuppance. She wouldn’t be walking away with nothing, as his mother had, but her greedy heart was about to bleed. Not fatally. Just enough to balance the scales she had loaded against Jack all these years. Victor Newell got straight to the point. “When Sir Leonard made this will a year ago, he was faced with bankruptcy and being charged with fraud.” “What?” The word exploded from Lady Ellen, shock followed by a gabble of disbelief. “He would have told me if he was in so much trouble.” “I’m sorry that he withheld this information from you,” Victor said sympathetically. “Nevertheless, it is true. In building his transport empire, Sir Leonard was in the habit of skating close to the wind in regard to the law. He took risks, and eventually those risks caught up with him. He overextended with the airline, and everything was about to crash around him.” “But there was no hint of this,” Lady Ellen argued vehemently, unable to accept what she was being told. “We kept living in the same manner.” “A matter of pride, I imagine. And I understand Sir Leonard always kept his home life separate from his business life. He was, in fact, facing a lengthy prison term on several counts, apart from losing everything. At this point in time, his son…” He nodded to Jack. “…offered him a rescue package.” A hiss of sharply indrawn breath from Lady Ellen. Sally cocked her head, regarding Jack thoughtfully. She wasn’t shocked. He sensed she was putting two and two together, weighing up what he’d done and why. Jane’s head was lowered, her eyes closed, her shoulders hunched over as though expecting a blow to fall. Victim slid into Jack’s mind and he frowned over the word. There was something very wrong about Sally’s younger sister. It wasn’t just about what was happening today. A victim mentality was built up over years. By his father or Lady Ellen? Indifference could be an abuse in itself—his father’s specialty—but Jack wouldn’t put active cruelty past Lady Ellen. He turned his gaze back to the woman he hated, watching her being hit by a savage reversal of fortune, wanting her to feel like a victim for once! Victor was spelling out the details of the rescue package. “In effect, all the debts would be paid, the business empire would be maintained with the work force intact. Sir Leonard would hold the position of CEO with a salary of five million dollars a year. No one need know how the situation had been resolved. On the surface, everything could continue seamlessly.” “In return for what?” Lady Ellen snapped. “A new will had to be written. This will.” Victor tapped the manila folder. “Which stipulates that one dollar be granted to his son, with the rest of Sir Leonard’s estate coming to you, Lady Ellen. However, that estate is very much diminished. Everything Mr. Jack Maguire had saved Sir Leonard from losing was legally signed over to him a year ago—every facet of the transport business, plus all personal assets, excluding only whatever Sir Leonard earned as CEO from the takeover onwards.” “All personal assets?” Lady Ellen wailed. “You can’t mean our home.” “And its contents. Everything,” the solicitor confirmed, then glanced appealingly at Jack. “You may be able to negotiate with Mr. Maguire about jewellery and other personal belongings.” Jack made no response. Let her stew, he thought, ruthlessly intent on giving her a taste of being shut out in the cold with nothing to hang on to. The look he gave her telegraphed, You turned your back on me too many times, you mean-hearted bitch! “The horses,” Sally said faintly, her face drained of colour. They were important to her. Jack filed that information away for future use. “The horses were bought by Sir Leonard,” Victor gently reminded her. “They were listed as his property. They now belong to his son. You must understand that all of these possessions would have been forcibly sold up, had Sir Leonard been declared bankrupt. You have continued to have the use of them, only because Mr. Jack Maguire stepped in and allowed that to happen during his father’s lifetime.” “It broke his heart!” Lady Ellen spat at Jack. “You killed him with your…your backstabbing takeover!” Jack answered her heat with ice. “I believe a prison term and public disgrace would have broken his heart much earlier, Lady Ellen. My rescue package gave my father…gave all of you—” he shifted his gaze to Sally, wanting to hammer the truth home “—an extra year of the life you were accustomed to.” A life that had been closed to him when he was seven years old. Sally was now twenty-four. She’d had the best of it up until now. Her eyes said she knew it. There was sadness in them, but no hatred or blame for what he’d done. Did she feel the weight of justice on his side? “And that year has provided you with an inheritance, Lady Ellen,” Victor quickly pointed out. “Sir Leonard’s investment broker has the details, but I believe it is in the vicinity of four million dollars.” “Four! But Leonard was worth billions!” The burst of outrage confirmed her mercenary interests which, to Jack’s mind, had always motivated her determination to keep him out of his father’s life. “Not at the end,” Victor stated firmly. “I’ll fight this!” she declared vehemently, jumping to her feet, slamming her hands down on the table, leaning forward to fire her fury at the solicitor. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’m going to keep my home. He made a mistake by letting us live in it.” She turned a venomous glare to Jack. “Don’t think for one minute you’re going to take it from me.” “My father paid me rent for the Yarramalong property. You’ll find you have no legal right to it,” he advised her mockingly. “In fact, you’ll be receiving an eviction notice when you return to it today.” “How dare you!” she fumed. “Eviction for eviction, Lady Ellen.” The words rolled sweetly off his tongue. She puffed herself up with futile righteousness. “You won’t get me out!” Victor rose from his chair, picked up the manila folder and walked with great dignity to the end of the table. “I understand how deeply shocked you are, Lady Ellen,” he said, presenting her with the folder. “However, I feel duty-bound to warn you that legally, the situation I have outlined to you is a fait accompli, and there are no grounds for contesting any part of it.” “We’ll see about that,” she snarled, snatching the folder from him and hurling a command at her daughters. “Girls, we’re going!” The two sisters instantly leapt to their feet, ready to obey. “Sally!” Her name whipped off Jack’s tongue, cracking its own command for her attention. Her head jerked towards him as he stood to make his formidable presence felt. Her eyes held a kind of hopeless appeal, as though she wanted to give him the time he wanted but loyalty to her own family forbade it. “I’d like to have a private word with you,” he pressed. “About what?” she asked quickly, almost breathlessly. “You are not to speak to that man!” her mother sliced in, moving forward and grabbing Sally’s arm to pull her away from any connection with him. “The horses,” Jack threw out. It was enough to stop her from following her mother’s lead. She resisted the tug of the maternal arm, glancing back at him in anxious inquiry. “I wanted to discuss the future of the horses with you,” Jack pushed, his eyes challenging her to make her own stand. “I know how committed you are to a career in showjumping.” He wasn’t sure of that but it seemed likely bait for her to stay. “Ignore him!” her mother insisted. “You can’t trust a word he says. Come on.” “No.” Boldly decisive. “I want to hear. I want to know.” “You’re doing what he wants, you stupid girl.” “I’m not going to lose my horses if I don’t have to.” Music to Jack’s ears. “You and Jane go on,” Sally urged. “I’ll catch up with you later.” “I wash my hands of you,” her mother said furiously, releasing her arm and grabbing her sister’s. “Come, Jane!” They made a swift exit from the meeting room. And Jack had what he’d aimed for…time alone with Sally Maguire…time to probe the inner workings of her mind and twist them to his advantage. Just how far would she go in order to keep her horses and the lifestyle she had always enjoyed? CHAPTER THREE SALLY’S stomach was in knots. Her mother would tear her to shreds when she got home. But it wasn’t their home anymore. It belonged to Jack Maguire. Everything did. And if she could save something from this total annihilation of all she’d known, why not give it a chance? So what if he was intent on dishing out some humiliation! He’d taken it for years, being treated as an outcast from the family. She could take it, too. At least, she would find out what was on his mind, satisfy some of the interest he’d evoked in her. “Would you like me to be present for this discussion?” the solicitor asked, jolting Sally into wheeling around to face Jack, her gaze whizzing to him for an answer. “No, thank you, Victor. If I need to formalise an arrangement with Sally, I’ll come back to you,” he said smoothly, his handsome face showing nothing of his private thoughts. He smiled at her, charmingly persuasive, causing the knots in her stomach to develop flutters. “I thought we could ride up to the Skyroom Restaurant at the top of this building and chat informally over lunch. Is that agreeable to you?” “Yes,” she said. It seemed a very civilised arrangement to her. She didn’t want this man to be an enemy, and hopefully, by spinning out lunch as long as possible, she could surely get a lot of information about him. Maybe even change his mind about the eviction order, or get it extended. Certainly being antagonistic was not going to win anything back from him. Perhaps nothing would, but at least this was a chance to try. “Good!” A satisfied nod before addressing the solicitor again. “Thank you for your services this morning, Victor. Masterly, as always.” The solicitor harrumphed and waved them to the opened door where he still stood after seeing her mother and Jane out of the meeting room. Sally thanked him, too, as she passed him by, aware that his courtesy and diplomacy had not received any appreciation from her family. Shock didn’t really excuse people behaving badly, she thought, wishing her mother had maintained some dignity instead of flying off the handle so aggressively. It didn’t help the situation. It only reinforced Jack Maguire’s inclination to be merciless. He fell into step beside her in the corridor leading to the elevators, instantly making his presence felt. He didn’t touch her, but the power of the man swept every other thought out of her mind, filling it with a whirl of speculation about what he might want with her. He couldn’t really care about the horses. Nor could he really care about her. Yet…her whole body literally tingled with nervous anticipation. They stepped into the elevator together. He pressed the button for the restaurant, then slanted a teasing little smile at her as the doors closed. “You don’t always obey your mother’s commands?” “I’m not a little girl anymore,” she said, her chin instinctively lifting in a tilt of self-determination. “No, you’re not,” he agreed, a devilish appreciation of the fact twinkling from his vivid blue eyes. Sally’s breath caught in her throat. Was this luncheon invitation more about them—an exploration of an attraction that had nothing to do with the horses? He’d called her beautiful yesterday. But he couldn’t have really meant it. Her mother’s warning rang in her ears… You can’t trust a word he says! Nevertheless, Sally’s eyes were telling her he looked absolutely fabulous in his navy pinstripe suit, and every female hormone she had was buzzing with excitement at the possibility of a sexual connection with this man. However mad and bad of her it was to be even considering such a thing with Jack Maguire, she couldn’t help what he made her feel, though a strong streak of self-respect demanded some caution about showing the impact he had on her. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/emma-darcy/bought-for-revenge-bedded-for-pleasure-39895554/?lfrom=688855901) 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.