Private Scandals

  each side gets at least a dozen tickets, so they can seed the audience. I want to blow the roof off.”

  She stabbed a finger at her head researcher. “We’ve got some statistics here in New York. Get me some of the relatives.”

  “Some of them might not be easy to persuade.”

  “Then pay them,” she snapped. “Money always turns the tide. And I want some tape, as graphic as possible, from rallies. Some witnesses to racially motivated crimes, perpetrators would be better. Promise that we’ll protect their identities. Promise them anything, just get them.”

  When she fell into silence, Dan gave a nod that signaled the end of the meeting. He waited until the door was closed again.

  “You know, Angela, you could be walking on thin ice here.”

  Her head snapped up. “You sound like Lew.”

  “I’m not advising you against doing it. I’m just suggesting that you watch out for the cross fire.”

  “I know what I’m doing.” She’d seen Finn’s report, as had nearly every other American with a television set. Now she was going to outdo him as well as Deanna. “We need something hot, and the timing couldn’t be better. The country’s in an uproar about race, and the city’s a mess.”

  “You’re not worried about Deanna Reynolds.” He smiled, knowing he had to defuse the tantrum he saw building in her eyes.

  “She’s climbing up my back, isn’t she?”

  “She’ll slip off.” He took her rigid hands in his. “What you need now is a boost in publicity. Something that will focus the public’s attention on you.” He lifted her hand, admiring the way the sun dashed off the diamonds in her watch. “And I’ve got an idea how to do it.”

  “It better be good.”

  “It’s more than good, it’s inspired.” He kissed her hand, watching her over her knuckles. “The American public loves one thing more than they love hearing about graft and sex and violence. Weddings,” he said as he drew her gently to her feet. “Big, splashy weddings—private weddings dotted with celebrities. Marry me, Angela.” His eyes were soft. “I’ll not only make you happy, I’ll see to it that your picture’s on every major newspaper and magazine in the country.”

  The flutter of her heart was quick. “And what would you get out of it, Dan?”

  “You.” Reading her clearly, he lowered his head to kiss her. “All I want is you.”

  On the second Saturday in June, Angela donned a Vera Wang shell-pink gown of silk, encrusted with tiny pearls. Its sweetheart neckline framed a flattering hint of her rounded breasts, its full, elaborate skirt accented her tiny waist. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a fingertip veil and carried a bouquet of white orchids.

  The ceremony took place in the country home she’d purchased in Connecticut, and was attended by a stellar guest list. Some were pleased to be there, drawn either by sentiment or the notion of having their name and photo included in the press releases. Others came because it was easier to accept than to face Angela’s fury later.

  Elaborate gifts crowded the large parlor and, under uniformed guard, were on display for the select members of the press. No one seeing all this, Angela thought, would doubt how much she was loved.

  The reception spilled out into the rose garden, where a champagne fountain bubbled and white doves cooed.

  When the event was buzzed incessantly by helicopters crammed with paparazzi, she knew it was a success.

  Like any new bride, she glowed. The sun glinted off the five-carat diamond gracing her left hand as she posed with Dan for photos.

  She told the reporters, regretfully, that her mother, her only living relative, was too ill to attend. In reality she was tucked in a private clinic, drying out.

  Kate Lowell, looking young and fresh in a billowing sundress, kissed Angela’s cheek for the benefit of the cameras. Her long red-gold hair flowed down her bare back, melted copper over sun-kissed peaches. She had a face the camera worshiped, ice-edged cheekbones, full lips, huge gold eyes. The image was completed by a sinuous body, killer legs and a rich infectious giggle.

  Kate Lowell could have become a star on the sole basis of her glorious physical attributes. She certainly had done her share of commercial endorsements. But she had something more: talent and charm that burned every bit as hot as her box-office appeal. And ambition that seared through both.

  She enchanted the photographer by shooting him a dazzling smile, then turned the other cheek for Angela. “I hate your guts,” she said softly.

  “I know, darling.” Beaming, Angela slipped her arm around Kate’s waist, fingers digging ruthlessly into flesh as she turned her best side to the camera. “Smile pretty now, show why you’re the number-one female box-office draw.”

  Kate did, with a smile that could have melted steel at five paces. “I wish you were dead.”

  “You and so many others.” She hooked her arm through Kate’s and strolled off, two bosom friends stealing a private moment. “Now, is it true that you and Rob Winters are considering scripts for a TV movie?”

  “No comment.”

  “Now, now, darling.” Angela’s voice was a purr, deadly feline. “Didn’t we agree to scratch each other’s backs?”

  “I’d like to scratch your eyes.” But she knew she couldn’t. There was much too much at stake for her to indulge herself quite that blatantly. Still, there were other weapons. Tilting her head, Kate studied Angela’s face. “That’s an excellent tuck, by the way. Barely noticeable.” Her smile was quick and sincere when Angela bristled. “Don’t worry, darling, it’ll be our secret. After all, a girl’s got to do everything necessary to maintain the illusion of youth. Especially when she’s married to a younger man.”

  Behind the flirty little veil, Angela’s eyes were as hard as marbles. It was her day, by God. Hers. And nothing and no one would spoil it. “A script’s come my way, Katie dear. I think you’ll find it fascinating. And I think you’ll be able to pique Rob’s interest as well. The two of you have been pals for years, and it would be a friendly boost if you persuaded him to do it. After all, he doesn’t have a great deal of time left to pick and choose, does he?”

  “You bitch.”

  Angela gave a trilling laugh. Nothing could have pleased her more than seeing Kate’s smug smile fade. “The trouble with actors is they need someone to write that clever dialogue. You’ll have the script by Monday, darling. I really would consider it a favor if you’d read it quickly.”

  “I’m getting tired of your favors, Angela. Other people might call it blackmail.”

  “I’m not other people. It’s simply a matter of my having certain information that I’m more than happy to keep to myself. A favor to you, dear. In return, you do one for me. That’s called cooperation.”

  “One day you’re going to cooperate yourself right into hell.”

  “It’s just business.” With a sigh, Angela patted Kate’s flushed cheeks. “You’ve been around long enough to know better than to take everything so personally. We’ll discuss terms when I get back from my honeymoon. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I can’t ignore my guests.”

  Although Kate’s imagination didn’t run to dialogue, she had no trouble with visuals. As Angela glided away, Kate saw the frothy silk splattered with blood.

  “One day,” she whispered, yanking a rose from a bush and crushing it in her hand. “One day, someone’s finally going to get the guts and do it.”

  “She looks wonderful.” Lolling on the couch in the cabin, Deanna studied the front cover of People. “Radiant.”

  Finn drummed up the energy to glance over. They had finally been able to synchronize a full three days off, together. If the phone didn’t ring, the fax didn’t shrill and the world didn’t collapse within the next twenty-four hours, they would have made it through.

  “She looks like one of those prop wedding cakes. All fancy fake icing over the inedible.”

  “Your vision’s skewed by malice.”

  “Yours should be, too.”

  She only si
ghed and flipped through to the cover story. “I don’t have to like her to admit she’s lovely. And she looks happy, really happy. Maybe marriage will mellow her.”

  He only snorted. “Since this is her third time at bat, that’s doubtful.”

  “Not if this is the right one. I don’t wish her bad luck, personally or professionally.” She peered over the top of the magazine. “I want to whip her butt on merit.”

  “You are whipping her butt.”

  “In Chicago, and a few other markets. But this wedding’s bound to shift the tide at least for a time.”

  He stretched his arms over his head, muscles rippling. Deanna could see the faint scar where the bullet had sliced through.

  “Why do you think she did it?”

  “Oh come on, Finn, give her some credit. A woman doesn’t get married so that she can get her picture on a few covers.”

  “Kansas.” Amazed that she could still be so naive, he took the magazine from her. “When you’re slipping down the ladder, you grab hold of any handy rope.”

  “I think that’s a mixed metaphor.”

  “You think this is for love?” Laughing, he sent the magazine sailing. Angela, the happy bride, landed facedown. “She’s had six weeks of free publicity since the day her secret engagement mysteriously leaked.”

  “It could have leaked.” She gave him a friendly shove with her stockinged foot. “And even if she planted it, it doesn’t change the bottom line. She’s a beautiful, vibrant woman who fell for a gorgeous, magnetic man.”

  “Gorgeous?” Finn snagged her foot by the ankle. “You think he’s gorgeous?”

  “Yes, he’s—” She shrieked, twisting as he tickled her foot. “Stop that.”

  “And magnetic?”

  “Sexy.” Giggling helplessly, she reared up to try to free herself. “Sinfully attractive.” She tried biting when he wrestled her down.

  “You fight like a girl.”

  She blew her hair out of her eyes and tried to buck him off. “So what?”

  “I like it. And I’m now honor-bound to erase Dan What’s-his-name from your mind.”

  “Dan Gardner,” she said primly. “And I don’t know if you can. I mean, he’s so elegant, so polished, so . . .” She gave a mock shiver. “So romantic.”

  “We’ll shoot for a contrast.”

  With one swipe, he dragged his hand down her breezy cotton blouse and sent buttons flying.

  “Finn!” Caught between shock and amusement, she started to shove him back. The laughing protest ended on a strangled gasp as he fastened his mouth to her breast.

  Instant heat. Instant need. It burst through her like light, blindingly bright. The hands that had playfully pressed against his shoulders tightened like vises, short, neat nails digging crescents into his flesh. Her heart stuttered beneath his greedy mouth, losing its pace, then racing ahead in a wild sprint.

  His hands were already tugging aside the remains of her blouse, then streaking over bared skin to arouse and demand. The strong summer sun streamed through the windows, fell over her in hot white light. Her skin was moist from it, from his rough, impatient touch. With his mouth still feasting on her, he slid his hand under the baggy leg of her shorts and drove her ruthlessly to a fast, violent climax.

  “Again.” Driven himself, he fixed his mouth on hers, swallowing her cry as he pushed her higher.

  He wanted her like this. So often he was content to let them take each other slowly, savoring each touch, each taste on the long, lazy journey toward fulfillment. He loved the way her body grew sinuous and soft, the way his own pleasures built layer by layer.

  But now he wanted only the fast, molten ride, the mindlessness of hurried, urgent sex. He wanted to possess her, to brand her, to feel her body rock fitfully under his, until he was sunk deep.

  He tore at her clothes even as she tugged and yanked at his. Her breath was hot on his flesh, her mouth streaking hungrily over him, sounds of desperate excitement humming in her throat.

  He shifted, gripping her hips and lifting her up so that the muscles in his arms quivered. Then he was sheathed in her. Their twin cries of triumph shivered on the sultry air.

  With her head thrown back, her long, slim body glistening with sweat, she took him deeper, drove him as he had driven her. Ruthlessly, relentlessly. She gripped his hands, guiding them over her damp body, urging him to claim more while her heart galloped in a mad race of its own.

  The orgasm struck, a sweaty fist that pummeled and pummeled and left her body a mass of indescribably exquisite aches. The air was clogged and burning in her lungs. She sobbed to release it, sobbed to gulp it back in.

  She felt his body lunge, vaulting her over that final, keen edge. Like wax melted in the sun, she slid down to him and lay limp.

  His own mind cleared gradually, the static from the storm dying to a steady quiet that was her breathing. The dark haze that had covered his vision lifted so that he closed his eyes against the hard sunlight.

  “I guess I protected my honor,” he murmured. She gave a strangled laugh.

  “I didn’t know—God, I can’t breathe.” She tried again. “I didn’t know tweaking your ego would be so . . . rewarding.”

  “Relaxed?”

  She sighed. “Very.”

  “Happy?”

  “Completely.”

  “Then this is probably a good time to ask you to think about something.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t think I can think just now.”

  “Put this in the back of your mind.” His hand gently massaged her back. “Let it stew there for a while.”

  “What am I supposed to stew about?”

  “Marrying me.”

  She jerked back. “Marrying you?”

  “Is looking shocked another way to tweak my ego?”

  “No.” Staggered, she pressed a hand to her cheek. “God, Finn, you know how to toss one in from left field.”

  “We’ll talk baseball later—since the Cubs are in the basement.” Goddamn nerves, he thought, while his stomach clenched. It was ridiculous for him to feel these tugs of panic, but all he could imagine was her saying no. Absolutely not.

  For the first time in his life he wanted something and someone he wasn’t sure he could have.

  He levered himself up so that they sat, naked, facing each other, both still achy and sated with sex. The plan was, he reminded himself, to keep it light, natural.

  “It shouldn’t be such a surprise, Deanna. We’ve been lovers for more than a year.”

  “Yes, but . . . we haven’t even resolved living together yet—”

  “One of my points. My strategy in getting you to live with me; then easing you into marriage just isn’t panning out.”

  “Your strategy?”

  He didn’t mind the edge in her voice. It matched the one in his own. “Kansas, the only way to handle you is like a chess game. A man has to think a half dozen moves ahead and outflank you.”

  “I don’t think I care for that analogy.”

  “It’s an accurate one.” He pinched her chin lightly between his fingers. “You spend so much time thinking things through, trying to avoid making the wrong move. I have to give you a shove.”

  “Is that what this proposal is?” She batted his hand away. “A shove?”

  “We’ll call it more of a nudge, since I’m willing to let you think it over.”

  “That’s generous of you,” she said between her clenched teeth.

  “Actually,” he continued, “I’m giving us both time. I can’t say I’m completely sold on the idea myself.”

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  It was inspired, he realized. Absolutely inspired. Two could play tweak-the-ego. “We’re coming from opposite fields here on this subject. You from a big, happy family, all those traditional trappings, where ‘till death do us part’ means something. For me, marriage has always meant ‘till divorce do us part.’ ”

  Incensed, she snatched up her blouse, swore, then tossed it aside. “For some
one so cynical, I’m surprised you’d consider it.”