by Susan Napier
‘But what about your Porsche—’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll have someone pick it up for me. Right now we have more important things to worry about…’
‘Like my having you arrested for abduction?’
‘Go ahead. Bring on the cops with their sirens and flashing lights,’ he drawled sarcastically. ‘Let’s get as many people as possible involved in this sordid affair!’
She scowled. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Somewhere we won’t be interrupted…’
The place to which he had brought her was certainly secluded. It lay in the rural belt south of the city, surrounded by the flat green fields and timber-railed fences of famous racing studs and training stables. The large white aggressively modern house was well tucked back from the road, on tree-studded land enclosed by a high stone wall and guarded by a state of-the-art remote video and alarm system.
‘Not only does disarming it require a double code, but also a fingerprint ID,’ Matthew informed her now, as she stood in the bare, white-walled foyer, the intensely coloured light cascading down from the domed leaded-glass skylight high overhead turning her hair into a vibrant cap of jewel-green as she tilted her head to warily monitor his approach. He held up a splayed hand, palm towards her. ‘So, unless you’re wearing the approved loops and whorls, all hell will break loose if you open a door anywhere in the house.’
She looked at all the closed doors she could see down the wide, straight hallway which passed beneath the graceful white arch of a double staircase leading to the upper floor.
‘Then hadn’t you better turn it off?’ Even speaking softly, her voice echoed clearly in the empty space between the polished hardwood floors and the curving grained timber ceilings.
‘I’ve turned off the sub-network that controls the internal doors and sound and motion sensors; I think I might leave the rest of the bells and whistles in place until you feel a trifle more…secure with my hospitality.’
She tossed her head, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘May I at least have my car keys back?’
She fully expected him to refuse. Instead he took them out of his pocket and tossed them over.
‘The garage doors are also operated on a code system,’ he revealed as she snatched them out of the air. ‘Are you thirsty? You look hot.’ He turned on his heel and walked into the cool depths of the hallway, shedding his jacket and stripping off his tie. ‘Coming?’
Curiosity drove her to follow without further protest. Underfoot the smooth wood changed to plush oriental carpet runners, rich with glowing colours woven into complex geometric patterns. Through half-open doors Rachel glimpsed large white-walled rooms, with more jewelled carpets decorating the wooden floors and only a very occasional piece of furniture. There seemed to be plenty of furniture on the walls, however, and she guessed that the art, rather than an obsession with personal safety, was the reason for the excessive security system.
The huge room into which Matthew turned looked out over a deep blue swimming pool fed by a waterfall and surrounded by pale flagstones and boulders of white rock.
Apart from a floor-to-ceiling bookcase running the length of the back wall, the only furniture was a sinuously curved waist-high cabinet topped with a waxed slab of recycled native timber growing out of another wall, and the long, serpentine ripple of an armless couch facing the glass doors, edged in lead-lights, that opened onto the pool.
He threw his jacket and tie across the top of the cabinet and laid the envelope down on top of them. From a refrigerator concealed in the bottom half of the cabinet Matthew took a bottle of mineral water and one of lager, silently offering her a choice. He poured her requested water into a large goblet of hand-blown glass, pushing it towards her across the intricately veined slab of wood, and did the same with a beer for himself.
‘Isn’t it a bit early in the day for that?’ she attacked. ‘If you’re going to drink yourself into a stupor again I’d like to leave. In my experience you make an unpleasant drunk.’
He took a long draught of the icy liquid, watching her over the rim. ‘Really? That’s not what the pictures say.’
Her fingers clenched on her glass. ‘You think I enjoyed what I had to do that night?’ she said icily.
‘Had to do?’ he said, his narrow face hawkishly intent. ‘Did someone somehow force you to lure me into a compromising position?’
Her glass clashed with the wood as she set it down, glaring belligerently across the bar. ‘Of course not! And I didn’t lure you—’
‘But you did push me into that pool; there was never any oh-so-convenient cat, was there?’ He smiled grimly as her face reflected her guilt. ‘And I seem to remember you were the one who suggested the guest house…’
‘Merrilyn was incapable of doing anything but panic; you were bombed out of your mind and threatening to create havoc—somebody had to decide what to do.’
‘So it really was all your own idea,’ he concluded bitterly. ‘You still haven’t told me why—was it some twisted form of revenge for not getting the contracts you wanted? For money? Or just for the sake of some sick head-game?’
He was making no sense. ‘You’re the one playing the games,’ she flung at him. ‘You tell me!’
He pushed away his unfinished beer and placed his hands flat on the bar. ‘You’re saying I get to make the first move?’ he asked savagely. ‘OK. How much?’
‘How much what?’
‘For the photographs—all prints and negatives. How much?’
She felt a sharp wrench in her chest. Foolishly she had somehow thought that he would relent, that he wouldn’t let it go this far…
‘You mean…how much money?’ Her head whirled. He was asking her how much blackmail she was willing to pay?
‘What do you think they’re worth? Ten thousand?’
‘Ten thousand dollars!’ she echoed with an incredulous shrill.
‘You think it should be more?’ he asked sardonically ‘How much? Twenty? Fifty grand? A hundred?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she cried. He might as well ask for the moon. ‘You’re a millionaire, for God’s sake. You don’t need the money—’
‘But you do? Why? To prop up that ailing business of yours?’
His scathing tone made her see red. ‘It’s not ailing. It’s just a matter of smoothing out the cash flows.’
‘And the way to do this is by indulging in a spot of blackmail? Hardly a good advertisement for your professional integrity.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about—my integrity has never been in question!’ she defended herself hotly. ‘They’re your photos. You’re the blackmailer!’
‘The hell I am!’ He stared at her, feigning a thunderstruck innocence that made her blood boil.
She fished in her bag for her wallet and held up the green-inked note, now folded and angrily refolded many times. ‘Then what’s this? And don’t tell me that you didn’t write it, because—’ she took another piece of paper from her wallet and held them side by side ‘—I compared it to this—the handwriting is identical.’
He looked at the formal apology he had sent with his flowers, briefly diverted. ‘You kept this? Did you press one of my flowers, too?’
She flushed. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ She withered him with a lie. ‘The roses went straight into the bin!’
He reached for the other note and she retracted it sharply. ‘Oh, no, you don’t—this is evidence. You mailed me those photographs and threatened to release them to the tabloids. You accused me of being a prostitute! And you have the nerve to accuse me of being somehow to blame!’
Dark blood began edging along the top of his cheekbones as he began to register the extent his error. ‘But you sent them to me first—’
‘I never saw them before in my life,’ she blazed in righteous indignation. ‘Not until you sent them to me with your sleazy note attached. And that envelope I gave your mother at the hospital she had just dropped. All I did was pick it up off the floor for h
er. If you think you can force us to withdraw Westons’ bid for the KR contract without you having appeared to have interfered, you can think again! I have no idea where the photos came from, but if you have any more of them—’
‘I don’t, and I have no idea where they came from, either.’
‘You can forget about trying—’ She broke off her harangue. ‘What did you say?’
He succinctly described the arrival of the envelope, addressed to his father at KR Industries, into his hands. ‘There was no message, but I naturally assumed they were from you,’ he said, rubbing his lean cheek, as if anticipating another well-deserved slap. ‘I thought it was some kind of shakedown—’
‘You naturally assumed?’ Rachel was even more outraged. Her bosom heaved. ‘Why was I the natural culprit? What made you even think I was capable of such a despicable thing?’
‘I don’t know…maybe it was my subconscious.’
‘Your subconscious told you I was a blackmailing bitch?’ Her outraged voice bounced off the pitched ceiling.
Instead of flinching, he looked her straight in the eye and said with devastating honesty, ‘No, my subconscious was telling me that you were a gorgeous, earthy, incredibly sexy woman to whom I was dangerously attracted. I say “dangerously” because all my logical thought-processes went completely haywire whenever you were in the vicinity. In trying to hide it I guess I might have overcompensated. You may have noticed that I hardly managed to address a single coherent sentence to you whenever we were in a room together…’
Rachel felt as if she had been hit on the head, dazed by this insight—so totally at odds with her own interpretation of his dismissive behaviour.
‘If couldn’t trust my own instincts or judgement where you were concerned,’ he said, seeming satisfied by her stunned silence. ‘How could I trust you? I felt furious, betrayed…but I was excited, too. I wanted it to be you, because it would licence me to act on my passions in the cause of natural justice…’
‘I—you…I don’t know what you expect me to say…’ she stammered, intensely flustered.
‘Should I send you some more roses?’ he murmured, removing his spectacles to bare his black-eyed gaze.
‘No!’ She couldn’t help thinking of what had happened the last time he had taken off his glasses. ‘No…’
‘You were equally quick to think badly of me, so in a sense we’re even,’ he slyly pointed out.
‘I had the better reason,’ she flashed. ‘And Neville said—’
‘Ah, Neville.’ He cut her off, his expression suddenly shuttered. ‘I don’t doubt my dear cousin cast me in a rather unflattering light…’
The full implications of what he had said were only now beginning to sink in. Rachel stared sightlessly at the notes in her hand. ‘I—why are you so willing to trust me now?’
Annoyed by the husky tenor of her voice, she looked up at him, hardening her expression. He needn’t think that just because he had confessed to being dangerously attracted, she would overlook everything that he had said and done. ‘And why should I believe what you tell me?’
‘Perhaps because we both know each other a little better now,’ he said, moving around the bar. ‘Truce?’
She flushed. ‘If you think that a few kisses constitutes knowing someone better—’
He studied her blush. ‘Actually, I was talking about our mutual investigations. The man I have watching you says that you have a reputation in your neighbourhood for being a soft touch for those in trouble, but you’re scrupulous about old-fashioned principles like honesty and fair dealing.’
‘You’ve had me under surveillance?’ she bristled. She had been so busy keeping tabs on him that it had never occurred to her to look over her shoulder.
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course, if I’d known that you were going to start shadowing me, perhaps I could have saved myself the expense.’
‘You knew I was following you?’ She remembered how naively pleased she had been with herself the previous night.
‘Well, not until my detective came in with his report while I was visiting Dad—and told me that you had just accosted my mother on the ward,’ he admitted.
At least it was some consolation that he hadn’t spotted her himself! She knew it would be hypocritical to voice her fierce objection to the invasion of her privacy.
‘I hope he’s costing you an arm and a leg,’ she contented herself with snapping.
‘I get a discount—he’s with the firm that does the security work for Ayr Holdings. The same one that beat yours out of those contracts,’ he said, adding insult to injury.
‘I suppose he’s the one you’ll get to pick up your Porsche—’
‘No, actually I told him his input would no longer be necessary, that I’d handle it myself from here on…’
Rachel folded her arms over her chest. ‘Did you show him the photographs?’
Matthew’s eyes glowed with quiet understanding. ‘I haven’t shown anyone. I never even mentioned the word “blackmail”. As far as he was concerned it was simply a straightforward case of me wanting to find out more about you.’
She stiffened. ‘Are you having the bill charged to Ayr Holdings or to a private account?’ she asked.
‘Privately,’ he admitted.
‘I see. So he knows it’s something you don’t want going through the books, then. He probably thinks that you’re vetting me as a potential mistress,’ she said sourly.
‘Lover.’
The soft word caressed her senses like a fur glove. ‘What?’
‘Just being precise. You could only be my mistress if I was already married. Since I’m not, that would make you my prospective lover rather than my kept woman.’ As she scrabbled for a sufficiently devastating answer he added: ‘But why set your sights so low? Maybe he thought I was checking out your suitability as a potential wife…’
Her heart gave a sickening thump. She tossed her head. ‘What makes you think that marriage to you would be such an elevation? Anyway, men who’re contemplating a new marriage generally don’t continue to wear their old wedding rings…’
He twisted the thick gold band on his finger. ‘Is that a piece of detective school lore?’ He slid the heavy ring off his finger and rolled it in his palm. ‘I must say it’s been very useful for keeping the society she-wolves at bay. You’ve no idea the offers I was inundated with after Leigh died…’
She could imagine, and for that reason she was sour. ‘The rich never have to be lonely for long.’
He slipped the ring into his trouser pocket. ‘I never bought into the illusion that sex is an adequate substitute for love, and a love that has to be bought isn’t worth the investment. What about you?’
‘What about me?’ She looked at him wide-eyed, startled by the discovery that beneath the sophisticated shell Matthew Riordan was a romantic.
‘After David Weston died did you take up any male offers of comfort?’
‘Why are you asking? I’m sure by now you have a full list of my ex-lovers,’ she said sniffily.
‘I was interested in your present, not past, and at present there doesn’t seem to be any man in your life. Unless you and your partner have a secret thing going…’
‘Frank?’ Her jolt of incredulous laughter brought a subtle curve of satisfaction to his mouth.
He leaned on elbow on the bar. ‘You don’t find him attractive?’
‘He’s handsome enough, I suppose, but we’ve never particularly hit it off.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s hardly irresistible.’
‘Is that what you’re looking for? A man whom you find yourself totally unable to resist? That’s not very PC of you.’
‘Since when has political correctness had anything to do with it? And I’m not looking at all. I’m quite content with my life as it is!’ she lied, with a fierceness that rang slightly hollow.
‘So…what did Weston say when you told him I was blackmailing you?’
‘What makes you think
I’d automatically go running to Frank? I can handle my own problems.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You haven’t told him? I would have thought you’d value his professional opinion.’
‘I haven’t told anyone. If Frank knew about those photos there’d be nothing professional about his attitude.’ She shuddered. ‘He’d go totally ape!’
He straightened, frowning, his shoulders tensing under the tailored blue cotton. ‘You mean you’re afraid he might get violent. Has he hurt you before?’
‘No, of course not! I didn’t mean physically. But he’d probably demand I disassociate myself from Westons, and I wouldn’t blame him!’
‘I would. You were his brother’s fiancé; surely he’d stand by you?’
‘I told you, we’re not that close. He’d consider that I’d brought it on myself by being careless. And I was. Someone else followed us to that room and took those photos, and I didn’t even notice.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘Matthew, you weren’t in any condition to notice anything, or do anything about it if you had.’
Seeing that she was determined to punish herself with the full blame, he was equally determined that she should not.
‘I beg to differ. For example, I certainly noticed a great deal about you…and if I hadn’t been in a condition to do something about it you wouldn’t have had to tie me to the bed.’
He had the pleasure of seeing her wrestle with the urge to explode, her self-control only winning by the narrowest of margins as she clipped, ‘Dammit, I should have been more careful.’
It was time someone forced her to acknowledge that she sometimes needed help. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’ She raked her hand through her hair, drawing his attention to the flawless sheen of sun-kissed skin at her temples and the thickness of the lashes that fringed her frowning hazel eyes. The lips he had so recently kissed were compressed into a prim line which he knew was a lie. The lady’s disdain was only skin-deep; under that armour of tough self-sufficiency was a passion as reckless as it was strong.
‘Don’t beat yourself up over it. No one could have planned for things to turn out exactly the way they did that night,’ he told her. ‘There were too many variables involved, so it had to be a purely spur-of-the-moment thing. Someone saw an opportunity and grabbed it. You were only involved because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s been no demand for money, so this isn’t a straightforward case of financial extortion—this is a vindictive act, a smear aimed at the Riordans—specifically me.’