The Boss's Virgin(14)

       
           



       

Abandoning the attempt, she meant to let her hands fall, but his kiss  deepened, invading her parted mouth. A groan broke from her. Her fingers  curled instinctively and she found herself holding on as if she was  clinging to the only thing that would stop her colon the floor.

Randal murmured thickly, pulling her even closer, and lifted her off her  feet. A second later she was lying on the couch, still held in his  arms, her body on top of his, his hand grasping her head, holding it  still, while he went on kissing her with a devouring passion that turned  her blood to fire.

When he lifted his head she couldn't move, her green eyes drowsy and  half closed, breathing thickly as she stared down at him, her body  aching with pleasure.

'You see? You're mine,' he whispered. 'It would have been a crime if you  had married that poor fellow. He deserves a wife who loves him. It was  kinder for him to find out, even if the shock did hurt him. He'll get  over it and find somebody else, and be happier with her than he could  ever have been with you.'

She closed her eyes and let her head fall on to his chest, feeling the  deep reverberations of his heart under her face, the rise and fall of  his breathing.

'I take it the wedding is definitely off?' he quietly asked, and she nodded.

'Yes, Tom said he would see to the cancellation of all the  arrangements.' A wry, painful smile twisted her lips. 'He's a bit of a  control freak; he doesn't trust me to take care of it myself.'

'Why were you crying?'

She sighed. 'For Tom … '

'You never loved him! Admit it!'

'No, but he loved me and I've hurt him. Also, I've realised I have to  sell this cottage, and I love it so much. But I'll have to resign from  the firm, I couldn't go on working with Tom after this, and I can't stay  here once I've given up my job. I'd have to rearrange the mortgage, and  I might not be able to afford a much higher mortgage.'

'You worry too much; that's your problem.'

She looked at him angrily. 'That's typical. You just brush my worries  aside with a shrug. The fact is my whole life is being torn apart, for  the second time, and it's all your fault again. Last time I was only  living in that room, but this time I'm going to lose the first teal home  I've ever had.'

'Come and live with me.'

She started, drew a long, sharp breath. 'I'd rather die!'

Maddeningly, he laughed. 'I don't think you would, when it came to the  moment of choice. Think about it. Die, or live with me? Now, which do  you think you'd choose?'

'Oh, you think you're so funny!' She straggled, fuming. 'Will you let me up, please? I think you should be going.'

He sat up, brushing back his tousled black hair. 'Is there anywhere around here to have dinner?'

'Drive back into London,' she curtly said, getting up and tidying her clothes, her hair.

'I want to have dinner with you.'

She turned on him, eyes blazing. 'Haven't you done enough to me today? I  got up this morning feeling fine, with my wedding a week away and my  life arranged in front of me. Then you came along and blew it all to  pieces. And now you want me to have dinner with you? The answer is no! I  won't have dinner. I never want to see you again. Is that clear  enough?'

He looked into her eyes and her bones turned to water inside her. 'You  don't mean it. You want me as much as I want you. Why pretend you don't?  We're both free now.'

She hesitated, looking down. He wasn't going to give up and go away, but  she wasn't giving up, either. He had walked back into her life and  broken her world apart, without caring if he hurt her, or Tom, only  interested in getting his own way. He kept saying he wanted her. He  hadn't said he loved her. If he loved her he wouldn't have pursued her  ruthlessly when he knew she was getting married in a few days.

He hadn't even seen her for four years. He could have had no idea  whether she loved Tom or not. No idea, either, what she felt, or wanted,  or thought.

That didn't matter to him. He had no respect for her, no interest in  what went on inside her head, or her heart. All he cared about was her  body. He was determined to have it.

That wasn't love, was it?

And she wasn't going to let him have his own way.

'Pippa,' he softly said. 'What do I have to do? Beg? Have dinner with me. We have a lot to talk about.'

They seemed to have been talking all day, getting nowhere. How could  they when they weren't talking about the same thing? She had to persuade  him to go away, but how? There was only one way. She must let him think  he had won, must pretend to give in, then he would leave the cottage  and she could escape.                       
       
           



       

'There is a country club a couple of miles away,' she murmured, and felt  him smiling to himself. He thought he had won; she was going to be  easy.

'Do they have a good restaurant?'

'It's quite good. English and French cooking.'

'Should I book a table? Or can we just turn up?'

'I should book.' Out of the corner of her eye she shot a look at the clock on her mantelpiece. It was half past six.

'What's it called?'

'Little Whitstall Country Club. You'll find it in the telephone book by the telephone. Or would you like me to book it?'

'No, I will.' He walked over to the phone and began flicking through the  pages. She was thinking feverishly. How was she going to persuade him  to leave for a while?

He made the call, put down the phone and turned to her, his gaze wandering down over her.

'I suppose you'll want to change into something more formal?

She pretended surprise, looked down at her clothes. 'Oh … if you like … '

'There isn't time for me to go back to London to change; what I'm  wearing will have to do. But I must buy some petrol. I'm not sure I'll  have enough to get back to town later tonight, and all the garages will  be shut by then, I suppose. Where's the nearest garage?'

'I don't know one on the way to the country club, but there is one a  mile away, in the first village back from here. While you get your  petrol I'll change into something more suitable.'

He smiled at her and she ached with a strange mixture of pleasure and  anger. He was charming, far too charming. She didn't trust him. He meant  to sleep with her tonight, after dinner. No doubt he would get her to  drink a lot of wine, then he would bring her back here and talk his way  into the cottage, upstairs into her bedroom, then into her bed.

Pippa wasn't even sure she had the strength of will to resist him, but  if she did surrender tonight she was going to despise herself tomorrow.

'Okay, I won't be long.'

She stood there, listening to his departing footsteps, the front door  closing, his car door opening and slamming again, the engine firing and  then the sound of his car moving away, before she moved herself.

First she ran upstairs, found a suitcase and packed in a hurry, then she  changed into jeans and sweater, carried her suitcase downstairs and put  on a warm sheepskin jacket hanging in the hall. She had no idea where  she was going, but she had to rush, to get away before he got back.

She knew a small hotel in Maldon, on the Thomas estuary; she had been  there before. She looked up the number, rang them, booked a single room,  then after hanging up she put down water and a saucer full of dried  food for Samson, who had vanished again, through his catflap in the  kitchen door. He could come and go as he chose, so he would be okay for a  couple of days. In any case, she knew he visited several other houses  nearby, where he got fed and cosseted. Cats were self-sufficient and  independent.

Before leaving she carefully turned off all the lights, checked she had  her credit cards and chequebook, everything she might need. Fifteen  minutes later she was in her car, driving away, being careful to take a  route which would make sure she did not pass Randal's car returning.





CHAPTER FIVE





The weather had turned chill and misty by the time she reached the  little estuary town of Maldon. The weather rolled in from the sea and  was funnelled up the river. She parked in the car park behind the hotel  and carried her case through the bar to check in. There were a few  people drinking in the bar; they mostly seemed to know each other, which  meant they were either local residents who drank here or they kept a  yacht at Maldon, as many people did from London and the south of the  country. As Pippa passed they all turned their heads to inspect her,  some murmuring comment to companions. In the summer Maldon had many  visitors, but at this time of year there were far fewer.

While she was filling in the card handed to her by the small, trim  receptionist, she was asked, 'Will you be having dinner tonight, madam?

'Yes, please,' Pippa said, handing the woman the registration card.

'What time?'

Pippa glanced at her watch and was surprised by how quickly she had  driven there, but then she knew the way through the winding marsh roads.  She hadn't had to consult a map or slow down to check signposts.

'Eight-thirty?'