Private Scandals

satisfying scent she equated with success. At the head of the giltwood bed was a mountain of pillows, all slick silks and frothy lace. She tapped her pink-tipped toes against them, and gloated.
    Near the bed was a fauteuil, where she had carelessly tossed one of her many negligees.
    Once, long ago, she had envied others their beautiful possessions. She had, as a child, as a young woman, stared through shop windows and wished. Now she owned, or could own, whatever she desired.
    Whomever.
    Naked, his subtle muscles gleaming, Dan Gardner straddled her hips and rubbed fragrant oil into her back and shoulders.
    “It’s been over a week,” she reminded him, “and she hasn’t made a peep.”
    “Do you want me to contact Jamie Thomas?”
    “Hmmm.” Angela stretched luxuriously under his hands. She was feeling pampered and victorious. And calm, beautifully calm. “Go ahead, and tell him to keep talking to reporters, maybe expand on the story a bit. Remind him that if he doesn’t make enough trouble for our little Dee, we’ll have to leak the story about his love affair with China White.”
    “That should do it.” Dan admired the body under his as much, or nearly as much, as he admired Angela’s mind. “If it comes out he’s earmarking business funds for cocaine, his career will bottom out. Even if it is in Daddy’s firm.”
    “Remind him of that if he balks. Rich boy’s going to pay,” she murmured. She would have hated him for being born into wealth and privilege and squandering it all on a weaknesslike drugs. But the pathetic way he’d folded after her first threat made her despise him.
    “Oh, and send a case of Dom Perignon to Beeker.” Angela examined her nails, scowling at a minute flaw in the candy-pink polish. “He did a good job. But keep him on the case. If we find enough of the dirt our little Dee’s brushed under the rug, we can bury her in it.”
    “I love your mind, Angela.” And aroused by it, he bit her sharply on the shoulder. “It’s so beautifully twisted.”
    “I don’t give a damn what you think of my mind.” With a low chuckle, she levered herself so that he could slip his oil-slicked hands over her breasts. “And in this case it’s focused straight and true. However it happened, she’s sneaking up in the ratings. I’m not going to allow that, Dan, not after she betrayed my friendship. So you just keep—” She scrambled suddenly to her knees, letting out a howl of protest as a clip of Deanna and Finn rolled over the screen.
    “In other entertainment news,” the announcer continued, “talk-show star Deanna Reynolds accompanied CBC foreign correspondent Finn Riley to a National Press Club banquet in Chicago, where Riley was honored for his work during the Gulf War. The inside word is that Riley, America’s Desert Hunk, is considering an offer to head a weekly news magazine for CBC. Riley had no comment about the project, or his personal relationship with Chicago’s darling Deanna.”
    “No!” Angela exploded from the bed, a compact, golden missile detonating. “I took her in. I offered her opportunities, gave her my affection. And she moves in on me.”
    She stalked naked to an open bottle of champagne and poured lavishly. There were tears, as genuine and as painful as her bitterness, stinging her eyes.
    “And that son of a bitch turned on me, too.” In one violent gesture, she tossed the sparkling wine back. Its heat burst into her stomach like love. “He turned on me, and he turned to her. To her. Because she’s younger.” Enraged, and suddenly frightened when she saw the glass was empty, she hurled it toward the television. It slapped the corner of thecabinet and sliced delicately in two. “She’s nothing. Less than nothing. A pretty face and a tight body. Anybody can have those. She won’t keep Finn. He’ll shake her off, and so will the viewers.” She dashed the tears aside with a vicious hand, but her mouth continued to tremble. “They’ll want me. They always want me.”
    “She can’t come close to you, Angela.” Dan approached her slowly, making sure his eyes were filled with understanding and desire. “You’re the best there is. In public.” Gently, he turned her so that they faced the full-length mirror. “In private,” he murmured, watching her watching his hands caress. “You’re so beautiful. She’s built like a boy, but you . . . You’re a woman.”
    Desperate for reassurance, she clasped her hands over his, tightening