The Mistress Deception. Susan Napier

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 yet?’

      Rachel went hot all over.

      ‘Beth-a-ny!’

      Thank God those other photos were safely out of sight!

      ‘Oops, I forgot—personality is more important than looks, right?’ The girl giggled. ‘At least, that’s what you and Mum are always telling me. So—how sexy is his personality?’

      ‘Somewhat less than a slug’s,’ Rachel blurted out through her gritted teeth.

      Bethany laughed in disbelief. ‘Oh, yeah? Then why are you looking at him as if you’d like to take a bite out of him?’

      ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ she warned. ‘For instance, you look like an innocent fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, when we both know you’re actually the devil incarnate.’

      Bethany raised and lowered her eyebrows. ‘Sounds kinky. Does that have anything to do with being carnal?’

      Rachel bit back a reluctant smile. ‘You know it doesn’t, you evil child.’

      Not only was Bethany highly intelligent, but thanks to her frank upbringing she also had a lively understanding of the world around her. Although Rachel sometimes found her sophistication unnerving, in her heart she thanked God that Bethany wasn’t as naive and wretchedly vulnerable as Rachel had been at her age.

      ‘So, are you going to tell me all about your pin-up boy?’ asked Bethany, finally handing the photograph back and clattering from cupboard to fridge to fix herself a large bowl of cereal and milk.

      ‘He’s no pin-up, believe me,’ Rachel said darkly, ramming the resealed bubble-pack deep into her capacious shoulder-bag, hoping the contents would be creased into oblivion. ‘He’s a slimy, spiteful, scum-sucking, foul-minded, flatulent, male chauvinistic swine with a brain the size of a quark and an ego the size of Mount Everest.’

      Bethany’s mouth fell open and Rachel flushed as she realised that she had let herself get carried away by her inner rage. But how good it had felt to snarl it out loud! She hastily summoned a weak grin to show that she had only been joking.

      ‘Of course—that’s on his good days.’

      ‘Uh, sure…’ In spite of her evident curiosity Bethany wisely decided not to tease for an answer as to what the mystery man was like on his bad days. She crunched on her cereal, sending sidelong looks at Rachel as she got up and absently washed out her coffee cup, her mind still shell-shocked by Matthew Riordan’s underhanded attack.

      ‘Um, Rachel…I—we get on really well together, you and I…don’t we?’

      ‘Mmm?’ She couldn’t just ignore his vicious threat and expect it to go away. He had the potential to make her life a misery. ‘Oh—yes, of course we do,’ she said warmly.

      ‘And you know how you always say how much you like having me around—you know, when Mum and Dad go away on holiday and I come and stay here with you…?’

      Rachel shook out a teatowel. She knew what it was like to be a helpless victim and she had no intention of ever letting it happen again. ‘What?’ She struggled to make sense of what Bethany was saying. ‘Oh, yes, I do—you’re great company.’

      ‘Well…how would you feel if I was—you know—around a lot more. Like…maybe…all the time…’

      Rachel’s attention snapped fully back to the young girl at the table.

      ‘All the time?’ Her voice sharpened as she realised what her niece was asking. ‘You mean, you living here…with me? Permanently?’ Her heart