Ryan's Revenge

In the old days, alone in his Fifth Avenue penthouse, they had enjoyed showering together…

While the scented steam rose and billowed, her own hands stilled as she recalled how his hands had roamed over her slick body, caressing her slender curves, cupping her buttocks, stroking her thighs, finding the nest of wet brown curls, while his tongue licked drops of water from her nipples…

Shuddering at the erotic memory she turned off the water and, winding a towel turban-fashion around her head, began to dry herself with unnecessary vigour, rubbing the pale gold skin until it glowed pink.

Having decided not to bother and get dressed again, she found the Christmas present Charles had given her, a chenille robe-cum-housecoat in moss green and, pulling it on, belted it.

Her feet bare, her naturally curly hair still damp and loose around her shoulders, she was descending the stairs when the phone in the hall began to chirrup.

Reaching out a hand she was about to pick up the receiver when it occurred to her that it might be Ryan, and she hesitated.

Who else was likely to be calling? Who else would know she was home before her usual time?

It kept chirruping, and its sheer persistence tearing at her nerves, she snatched it up.

‘Virginia?’ It was Charles. His well-modulated voice sounded a shade anxious.

‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘Is anything wrong?’

She took a deep breath. ‘No, of course not.’

‘You didn’t seem to be answering.’

‘I’ve just got out of the shower.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie.

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.

‘No. Not at all… I was just ringing to make sure you were all right.’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘Certain?’ With his usual sensitivity he had picked up her jumpiness.

Resisting the impulse to tell him about Ryan and beg him to come home, she said with what cheerfulness she could muster, ‘Absolutely. Any idea what time you’ll be back?’

‘I should be home somewhere around eight-thirty. Don’t forget to save me some prawn crackers.’

‘I won’t,’ she promised. ‘Bye for now.’

As she replaced the handset, the grandmother clock whirred and began to chime six-thirty.

Might as well ring for her takeaway now, she decided. It usually took between thirty and forty minutes for an order to be delivered, and she’d only had part of a roll for lunch, the remainder having been fed to a family of sparrows who, nesting in the eaves above her office window, had learnt to line up along the sill, bright-eyed and expectant.

Not that she was hungry.

But something to eat might help to get rid of the hollow, stomach-churning feeling that had persisted since Ryan had said, ‘Guess who?’ in the park.

The number of the restaurant was written in Charles’s neat numerals in the book by the phone, but it was Ryan’s face that swam before her eyes as she tapped in the digits.

‘The Jade Garden. Good evening…’ a singsong voice responded.

Her mind still obsessed by Ryan, Virginia, who was usually clear and precise, made a mess of her order and was forced to stumble through it a second time.

Returning to the living-room, she prowled about plumping cushions and tidying magazines, far too restless to sit still.

What would Ryan do next? she wondered anxiously. There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t let matters rest. He wanted her, and his sense of purpose was terrifying…

Though she had lied through her teeth about her relationship with Charles, it hadn’t had the desired effect. Ryan either hadn’t believed her, or hadn’t wanted to.

Either way, her assertions had failed to provide the anchor, the safeguard, she had been so desperate to put in place.

But even if he had believed her, would that have stopped him? Remembering the look on his face when he’d said, ‘I’ve no intention of letting anyone else have you’, she felt her skin goose-flesh.

Just seeing him again, feeling the force of his will, had made her doubt her ability to hold out against him if he kept up the seige.

No! she mustn’t think like that. If necessary she would tell Charles the whole truth, and beg for his forgiveness and support.

He was far from being the wimp that Ryan had so contemptuously called him. In fact, in a different and less obvious way he was as strong as Ryan, with a quiet determination and a tensile strength.

But how could she ask Charles for help, ask him to pretend to be her lover, when she had denied him that privilege by refusing his proposal of marriage?

All at once she was filled with a burning shame that she’d even considered involving him any further. Somehow she must manage without his help.

There was one thing in her favour. Usually a brilliant strategist, this time Ryan had made a bad mistake. He had admitted that he was out to make her pay for leaving him, and forewarned was forearmed.

Though his attraction was as powerful as ever, knowing his intentions would enable her to hold out against him, to freeze him off…

The peal of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.

Her takeaway had come a lot quicker than usual. But of course it was still quite early. They wouldn’t yet have had a build-up of customers…

She fumbled in her bag and purse in hand, went to open the door.

Taken completely by surprise, her reactions were a trifle slow and, before she could slam the door in his face, Ryan had slipped inside.

Over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he seemed to fill the small hall.

Closing the door behind him he stood leaning with his back to the panels. Wearing stone-coloured trousers and a two-tone, smart-casual jacket, he looked tanned and fit and dangerous.

‘Get out!’ she cried in a panic. ‘You have no right to force your way in here.’

‘I didn’t exactly force my way in,’ he objected, adding coolly, ‘Though I might well have done had it proved necessary.’

Surveying the robe, her shiny face and the wealth of ash-brown hair curling loosely around her shoulders, he remarked, ‘You look about ready for bed. But of course Raynor doesn’t take you to bed, does he? He has more…shall we say…inventive ideas.’