Surrey. An hour later.
Jackie Sutton sat astride the horse Daddy had bought her for her 21st birthday, and circled the paddock once again for effect. She sat up straight in the saddle, aware that her ample charms bounced with the horse’s every step and that the stable owner’s teenage son and his friends couldn’t take their eyes off them.
Ever since she was a child, Jackie had been able to wrap men around her little finger with her smile. At fifteen, der grossen Busen appeared and the smile became almost superfluous. The legs, the arse…physically she was perfect. The only thing that spoilt the package was that she knew it. Jackie had been spoilt rotten by her investment banker father, and her uncles, and her lovers, and the big-wigs at Conservative Party HQ. Everything she got, she wanted. And now she wanted William Broadwick.
He wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever been to bed with, nor the best endowed – no mighty oak would ever grow from the Broadwick acorn. He wasn’t even the best lover. But he had something Daddy’s money couldn’t buy: fame. Well, OK, infamy. The two were interchangeable these days. Broadwick’s stringent views had rewarded him with celebrity status, and Jackie wanted some of that – which meant that she had to wrest Willie away from wifey. Surely not a problem for a woman of her connections, beauty and persuasive powers?
Jackie glanced over. The lads were still watching her. She circled again and rose in the saddle so they got a good look at her Pippa-perfect posterior before horse and rider left the paddock. Sweet dreams, boys, she thought. And make them wet ones.