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As Rachel looked down in shock he pressed a gentle, exploratory finger against one springy mound and watched in fascination as it sank deep into the creamy, resilient flesh. She sagged onto one arm, her biceps bulging with the effort of supporting her whole weight, and caught hold of his wrist in her strong fingers. ‘Don’t—’
‘Why not? Don’t you like me playing with them?’ he asked huskily. ‘I’ll be very gentle…’
She felt a hot flush sweep over her body. ‘Just keep your hands to yourself.’
The fingers of his other hand curled over the top of her gown. ‘But I can prove that you like it…’ He yanked down strongly and Rachel let out a little screech as a warm wash of air flowed across her freed breasts.
‘I knew it was too low-cut for you to wear a bra,’ he crowed smugly, shoving the tight bodice clear down to her tapered waist. ‘See…your nipples are already excited.’ He touched one ruffled raspberry peak. ‘Would you like me to suck them?’ he offered dreamily. ‘I think I’d like to do that more than anything…’
Gasping at his audacity, and appalled by the sizzling temptation of his touch, Rachel reared up and gathered both his wrists in one hand, slamming them forcefully up over his head.
He laughed feverishly, treating it as a teasing new game, kicking his legs and bucking and twisting his body so that her breasts bounced against his sweaty chest. Desperate to control both him and the wayward desires still pulsing through her veins, Rachel snatched the cummerbund hanging from the shiny top rail of the bedhead and looped it tightly around his straining wrists, threading the free ends through one of the wrought-iron bars and securing it with a rough knot. As she did so her flushed breast brushed his cheek, and she felt his head turn and the hot, wet lash of his tongue…
Rachel’s hands were shaking when she rolled off his body and dragged her bodice up to cover her sensitised breasts, shielding them from his regretful gaze. To her relief their final bout seemed to have left him weak and lethargic, and he made no attempt to escape from the bond which he could have quite easily pulled free with a little concentrated effort. Instead he lay quietly beneath the sheet that she tucked over him, following her around with his dark, brooding eyes until she agreed to release him on a vow of good behaviour.
He was still shivery, still feverish and disorientated, and Rachel managed to extract the name of his doctor from him and looked up the medical listings in the phone book by the bed.
Fortunately his physician was at home, and not so overcautious or fee-conscious to think that a house-call to his wealthy patient was essential. He listened to Rachel describe the symptoms and cheerfully informed her that a short dousing was not going to turn a slight case of flu into galloping pneumonia.
‘It’s probably more the excess of alcohol he’s suffering from than anything else,’ he said. ‘Just make sure there’s plenty of fluids on hand to counteract the dehydrating effects and let Matt sleep it off. He’ll probably have a king-sized headache in the morning, but you can tell him from me that from the sound of it he deserves the hangover!’
Rachel had no intention of doing anything of the kind. Having always been the type to learn well from her mistakes, she waited only until he slipped into a restless doze before sneaking out to order one of the security guards to patrol his door. Then she breezed back to the party, bearing the convenient news of Matthew’s medically confirmed illness with which to disarm the gossips.
She had basked in Merrilyn’s profitable gratitude and had privately congratulated herself on her handling of an extremely tricky situation.
Until now.
CHAPTER FIVE
RACHEL flipped down the sun visor at the top of her windscreen and scrunched down behind the steering wheel as Matthew Riordan came down the steps from the restaurant, his lean body already at an impatient angle as he stepped onto the footpath.
She stuffed the remainder of her sandwich in her mouth and looked at her watch, noting the time in the spiral notebook lying open on the passenger’s seat. Only half an hour for lunch, and a business lunch at that, she thought as she watched him briskly shake hands with the two business suits who were with him before striding off in the direction of his car.
For the past two days, ever since she had received his torrid threat, Rachel had been investigating her blackmailer, and amongst other things she had learned that he was not a man who liked to waste his time or energy on inessentials.
She watched him circle to the driver’s side of his gleaming black Porsche, pausing to shrug off the jacket of his lightweight grey suit before sliding behind the wheel. She had been surprised when she had discovered the kind of car he drove. Somehow she had assumed that he would travel as his father did, in a chauffeur-driven limousine with a fax and a phone so that he could work while he travelled. But then, as she had already learnt to her cost, Matt Riordan was full of surprises.
In retrospect Rachel was extremely glad that she hadn’t given in to her first impulse yesterday morning, which had been to storm straight over to his office and
confront him with his moral depravity. As she had left the house and slammed her way angrily into her car she had been mentally composing a blistering lecture on his disgusting lack of ethics, vile cowardice and base ingratitude!
Then it had struck her that that was probably what he was expecting her to do…that he might be banking on provoking her into a panic reaction rather than a carefully considered response, and if she didn’t go in extremely well armed for a fight then she could be setting herself up for another lesson in humiliation.
She had forced herself to calm down as she’d driven to work. She needed hard facts rather than wild theories before she decided what action it was safe to take. Whatever happened she had to keep a lid on things until Robyn and Bethany were safely gone.
She had still been debating whether to come clean with Frank as she’d parked her car and walked into the low-rise commercial building which Weston Security Services shared with a fax bureau and a firm of accountants.
‘You’re late,’ had been his blunt words of welcome as she’d walked through the door, and she was instantly on the defensive.
‘Things were a bit hectic at home,’ she told him, regretting the unproductive half-hour she had spent simmering over the photographs, now stashed in her briefcase. She paused to greet Lannie, their receptionist, and accept a small pile of mail.
Frank frowned. With his stocky build, wheat-blond hair and blue eyes he sometimes reminded her joltingly of David, but he possessed little of David’s personal warmth. Frank was an abrasive type A personality, who was driven, rather than inspired, to succeed.
‘When you rang you said you’d be in by eight-thirty, so I arranged a debriefing on the Johnson insurance case. Everyone else was on a tight schedule so we had to go ahead without you. I know your sister’s leaving in a few days but we still have a business to run here,’ he grunted.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that something came up after I rang…’
She knew how much she owed Frank. He could have made it impossible for her to work alongside him, but although he had been originally reluctant, and had constantly tried to fob her off with make-work tasks, she felt he had grudgingly come around to accepting her right to the partnership.
