The Boss's Virgin(11)

       
           



       

'That's not true!' But she knew it was, and that made her even angrier,  with herself as well as him. She had briefly tried to push him away, but  once his mouth touched hers she had collapsed, shaking and in near  delirium, kissing him back with all the passion of her dreams.

She had never felt like that about Tom. She liked Tom, admired and  respected Tom, but she didn't burn with desire for him and if she was  strictly honest she knew she never would. But she wasn't telling Randal  that; it was no business of his how she felt about the man she meant to  marry. Who did he think he was?

He smiled at her, and her head swam. 'You know it's true, Pippa. After I  stopped kissing you, you just lay there with your eyes shut-what were  you doing? Waiting for me to kiss you again?'

'I was too horrified to move!'

His eyes narrowed, hardened. 'What?'

'You'd scared me stiff! I was terrified of what you might do next.'

His mouth was tense with rage. 'You little liar! You weren't scared; you loved having me kiss you!'

'I hated it!' she flung back recklessly, too angry with him now to care  what she said, beginning to get up, intending to make a dash for it,  escape from the hotel suite.

Randal's arms closed round her and dragged her back down on the couch.  'We'll see about that,' he softly murmured, and began to kiss her again,  his mouth sensually coaxing, sending waves of heat and dangerous  pleasure through her.

Afraid of losing control, she gasped out, 'You're hurting me!' and  grabbed a fistful of his black hair, yanking it violently. 'Stop it!'

His lips lifted and he grimaced down at her. 'No, you're hurting me! Let go of my hair before you pull half of it out!'

'Serves you right!' she muttered, her fingers releasing the thick strands she was gripping.

They stared at each other, faces very close, breathing thickly.

'I want to leave,' she said shakily, looking away because being so close  to him made her physically weak. 'Stop this, Randal. Let me go.'

He leaned down and gently, lightly, brushed his mouth over hers. 'Very well. I'll drive you home.'

'There's no need to! I can take a train.' The very prospect of having  him drive her made her nerves jump violently. She had to get away from  him; she couldn't take much more.

'I'm driving you,' he insisted. 'I'm curious. I want to see where you've  been living. I hope it's better than that place you had when you worked  for me. That wasn't fit for human habitation. Do you still live in one  room?'

'No, I have a cottage,' she said with pride. She loved her home. What  would he think of it? She had to admit she would rather like him to see  it.

His brows rose. 'Do you rent it?'

Her chin lifted. 'No, I'm buying it on a mortgage.'

'Really? Your salary must be good.'

'I'm earning far more money now, and the insurance company helped me buy  my cottage. It's company policy to assist staff to buy their own  property; they feel it makes us more contented, so they give us  low-interest loans.'

'And it ties you to the company?' he cynically suggested. 'So, what happens if you change jobs, move to another firm?'

'The interest goes up to the average rate and you can't blame them for  that. After all, why should they continue to help you if you've left  them? But you can continue with the mortgage, just like anyone else.'

'Where will you live, after the wedding?'

'At the cottage. Tom lives on an estate; his place isn't as nice as mine.'

He stood up. 'Well, let's go. Sure you don't want any of that fruit? You could take some with you.'

She shook her head. 'No, thanks. I ate more than enough.'

They left the suite and took the lift down to an underground car park.  She saw Randal's car immediately: sleek and red with a long bonnet and  streamlined curves. The last time she'd seen it there had been scratches  and bumps all over the front, but there were none there now.

'It looks as good as new. I hope it didn't cost too much to have it repaired.'

'It had some bumps hammered out, but it didn't cost the earth.' He  opened the passenger door and helped her into it, walked round and slid  in beside her, behind the wheel.

The journey took nearly an hour. Traffic was heavy at this time of day  through the city; they kept getting trapped in crowded streets with  lines of other vehicles. Randal didn't say much. She tried not to look  at him, but was deeply conscious of him beside her, those long slim legs  stretched out, his elegant hands moving on the wheel. Pippa had to  shrink down into her own seat to avoid any contact with him; the car was  small and he was very close.                       
       
           



       

Eventually, though, they emerged in flat Essex countryside and through  the open window beside her she felt cool, fresh air on her hot face,  blowing her chestnut hair about. She stared out at the hedges of  hawthorn, just coining into leaf, which in a month or so would be thick  with white flowers, at the green fields and trees, the villages through  which they passed, some with ancient timbered cottages or white-frame  wooden churches in tidy churchyards where old yew trees stood, bearing  testimony to the long-forgotten tradition of planting yew in churchyards  so that bows could be made from it, at old pubs with swinging signs.

Everything looked so normal and familiar. Only she was altered; she did  not know herself. Deep inside her panic surged. Her life was in  confusion, like a landscape after an earthquake, the earth blown apart,  wrecked, destroyed.

'Which road do I take now?' Randal asked and, pulling herself together, she gave him directions.

It isn't far, we should be there in ten minutes.

'Do you like living in the country?'

'I love it.'

He was driving slowly as they passed the junction where the accident had  happened the other night His sideways glance told her he remembered the  place.

'Where had you been?' she asked. 'That night?'

'I had been having dinner with a business associate. I got lost; I don't know this part of the country.'

They drove on and a few moments later were parking outside her cottage. He turned his head to stare at it.

'Well, thank you for driving me home,' she huskily said, opening the passenger door.

He got out and came round to help her, his hand firmly gripping her arm,  'It's a pretty place. Have you redecorated since you bought it?'

'Yes,' she said. Afraid her neighbours might see him, be curious about him.

'I'd love a guided tour.'

In agitation she shook her head. 'I'd rather not ask you in! I expect  Tom will call in on his way home from work; he'll be anxious about why I  came home early. I usually come home with him. He lives quite nearby.'

Randal locked his car with a remote control, still holding her arm, then  guided her towards the cottage. 'It's only half past four. He won't  arrive yet, will he? He looked the type to keep long hours at work.  You've got time to show me round.'

'Why are you so maddening?' she fumed. 'Why do you always have to turn everything into a battle, and win?'

He laughed softly. 'Why do you? What is your problem? Whatever I ask you to do; you argue!'

She unlocked her front door, choked with irritation. 'I just want you to  go away! You know that!' Samson appeared from the flowerbeds and  brushed past both of them, heading for the kitchen and, he hoped, food.

Randal smiled an amused taunt. 'Oh, I know that, but I'm not going, Pippa. I intend to save you from yourself.'

She swallowed, face disturbed. She didn't like the sound of that. What  was he plotting? There was a brightness, a mischief in his eyes, that  made her feel threatened. Did he intend to stay here, confront Tom,  perhaps tell Tom … ? Tell him what, though? They had never been lovers.  There was nothing to tell. A kiss or two, that was all. She had fled  before any affair could start.

And of course that was an admission in itself, because if she had not  been afraid of what might develop between them she would never have been  driven to flight Would Tom realise that?

He would if Randal drew him pictures, she grimly admitted, and no doubt  that was precisely what Randal intended to do. Would Tom be shocked when  he discovered she had been in love before they met?

She had never lied to him, yet she had never told him anything about Randal; she had never even mentioned his name.

He looked around at the black wood beams. 'How old is the cottage?'

'The deeds date form the eighteenth century, but there was a dwelling  here before that, judging by old maps of the area.' She looked at the  green glass clock on the mantelpiece which she had bought in a local  antiques shop. Tom will be here before long. Would you mind going? I  want to have a shower and change before Tom gets here.'

He took no notice, wandered around the room, looking at ornaments,  books, taking them out of the white-painted shelves and flipping through  them, went to the window, stared out at the back garden, then walked  through into the kitchen. Crossly she followed and found him opening  cupboards, inspecting the inside of the fridge. Samson excitedly  cavorted around him.