she would have cheerfully used to castrate him! If he had gained any pleasure from what she had been doing, then it was purely his own warped mind that had created it.
And the other one—God!…that didn’t look anything like the way it had actually happened, either. Why—these pictures made her look as if she had been a willing participant in some kind of disgusting sexual perversion, rather than the good Samaritan which she had been dragooned into playing.
But good Samaritans didn’t roll around naked on a bed with those they rescued, the devil whispered in her ear.
Rachel shook her head, still dazed by the shock of seeing herself portrayed in the role of sexual predator. It was so fundamentally at odds with her character that it would almost be funny if it wasn’t so humiliating. The photographs were slanderously misleading. The circumstantial evidence might trumpet otherwise, but the situation had actually been completely innocent.
Well, perhaps not completely, she forced herself to admit as her mind replayed the images of that night. It had definitely not been her finest hour, but Matthew Riordan was to blame for everything that had happened. The whole un-savoury incident had been entirely his own fault!
So how dared he? How dared he now turn around and threaten to slander her with the evidence of his indiscretion! She had never said a word to anyone—not even Frank or Merrilyn—about what had happened that night after they had left the party. In spite of the pressure to gossip she had uttered not a single, solitary syllable. For his sake!
And this was how he repaid her for her kindness! One feeble bunch of flowers and this…this outrage!
The blood boiled in her veins as she looked at the note and one word suddenly jumped out at her. Blowsy. Blowsy?
Her hazel eyes turned a ferocious green. She could shrug off his groundless accusation that she belonged in a brothel as sheer malice, but how dared he call her blowsy? He hadn’t had any objections to her over-blown ‘centrefold’ of a body when he’d been begging her to make love to him, had he?
She was infuriated to feel her breasts tighten at the memory of his words, of the uninhibited way that he had expressed his desire as they had wrestled on the bed. As drunk as he’d been she had thought that he would be incapable of physical arousal, and hadn’t he taken great delight in proving her wrong! But then, maybe he hadn’t been quite so drunk as he had made out. Maybe it had all been a big act in order to lure her into just such a compromising position while some sleazy photographer snapped away from the closet.
Her eyes went unwillingly back to the most explicit photograph and hot chills fizzled in her belly. It was her body which was flaunted centre-stage, but no one could deny that Matthew Riordan made a pretty impressive supporting act. He wasn’t quite as tall as Rachel, but with his clothes off he had been larger than she had expected, in all ways…His lean body had a ripped quality, all muscle with little softening body fat, and the raw strength in the muscle-dense arms and thighs had taken her by surprise. At Westons she was used to seeing security guards shaped like weightlifters, but Matthew Riordan’s smooth, sleek body had an understated elegance that merely hinted at the power that lay sheathed beneath his skin.
The dirty rat! What a hypocrite he was—the cool, cultivated, highly respectable Matthew Riordan, scion of his wealthy family and controller of a substantial chunk of the New Zealand economy…
Well, the arrogant pig needn’t think he could control her. She mentally tossed her head. Let everyone find out that the real Matthew Riordan was a sleazy manipulator, without a scrap of moral conscience or a shred of human decency.
She looked at the photo of them lying on the bed and groaned, covering her hot face with her hands. In the end, would it matter which one of them was exposed as the liar? Any mud she threw was going to stick to both of them, and, while he had unlimited resources with which to whitewash himself clean, she had virtually none.
He had already proved as cunning as a snake and as lucky as the devil, she thought, peeking through her fingers again. He couldn’t have arranged that pose better if he had employed a Hollywood director to choreograph the sexy scene. The way they were posed made the most of her abundant breasts, her jutting nipples almost brushing his parted lips as she stretched above him to tighten his bindings. He needed only to lift his head slightly and…
Oh, no! She clamped down on the unruly urge to wander down that tortuous memory lane. She wasn’t going to be made to feel more of a sexual deviant than she did already. She struggled to fix her mind on more important matters. The most threatening implication in the note as far as she was concerned was that there were even more explicit photographs in existence.
Her eyes fell on the whip and she gave a little hiccup of hysteria. Admittedly she hadn’t been exactly alert to her wider surroundings while their tussle had been going on, but how could she have missed noticing that? The whole tenor of the scene implied that she was about to use it once she had rendered her victim helpless. As if she would ever use a whip against another human being! she thought hotly.
Although, come to think of it, at the moment the idea did have a certain sadistic appeal. Her pale pink lips pulled unconsciously back from her white teeth as she savoured the vengeful notion. Oh, yes, she mused—if Matthew Riordan and a handy whip should present themselves to her right now she might well take a great deal of pleasure in lashing the gloating smirk off his face.
So he thought he had won this dirty little game of one-upmanship, did he…?
‘Hi, Rachel, whatcha looking at?’
Rachel gave a frightened little yelp as Bethany bounced into the kitchen, her freckled face scrubbed squeaky clean, her budding breasts thrusting against her dark green school tunic as she leaned over the table.
‘Mum said you were opening the courier’s package. What was in it? Photos? Can I see?’
As Rachel frantically tried to push the prints back into the bag Bethany hooked one away. Fortunately for Rachel’s madly thundering heart it was the innocuous shot from the party.
‘Hey. Wow!’ Bethany’s green-gold eyes rounded in admiration. ‘What a babe! Who is he?’
‘No one.’ Rachel tried to grab the photograph back, but Bethany danced out of reach with a chuckle.
‘You look pretty hot, too. Nothing like your usual maiden-aunt get-ups. You look as if you’re about to explode out of that dress! Were you trying to vamp him? He looks pretty vamped to me.’
‘Bethany—’ Rachel’s protest held a breathless note of desperation that only egged her tormentor on.
‘So, who is he?’ Bethany teased, her face splitting on a grin, her long blonde ponytail dancing across her slender shoulders as she tilted her head. ‘A new boyfriend?’
Rachel fired up. ‘Definitely not!’
Bethany evidently thought her violent rejection a bit overdone. ‘He looks a bit younger than you,’ she said slyly. ‘Is he your secret toyboy…?’
Rachel bristled with all the dignity of her thirty years. ‘Hardly. I believe he’s about twenty-six!’ she snapped. Certainly old enough to have learned more respect for women. Perhaps she would be the one to teach him some manners!
‘Mmm. A pity he wears glasses, but I guess you can’t have everything, huh? At least his bod is nice, and he has that eat-you-up smile. And I don’t suppose he wears his glasses in bed…or haven’t you got him that far
