The Boss's Virgin(21)

'I alerted him to the prospect. He didn't seem to foresee any problems.'

'Good. I expect you want to finalise the deal as soon as possible. I've  put my own place on the market, but if it doesn't sell at once the firm  will help me with a temporary mortgage on the cottage.'

'That will be helpful and should speed the deal.'

The surveyor finished his coffee and got up. 'I'll get on with measuring  the garden and the rest of the area on which the cottage stands, then I  can draw up a map to go with the deeds.'

As he walked away Tom looked at his watch. 'Half past eleven. Nearly lunchtime. Will you have lunch with me, Pippa?'

'Sorry, I'm too busy,' she quickly said. The sooner she stopped seeing  Tom the better, for both of them. There was no point whatever in  continuing to see him. His restless impatience with the surveyor just  now made it obvious that he did not see her in any simply friendly  light. He hadn't yet cut the strings that had bound them together. If he  didn't set eyes on her for months, he would finally forget they had  ever been about to marry, especially as she was quite certain he was not  in love with her. Theirs had been an affair of proximity. Tom had  wanted to marry her because she was the sort of wife he had always meant  to pick. She was competent, sensible, good with money and a  home-maker-he had felt he could trust her.                       
       
           



       

Now they both knew he had been wrong. She hadn't been the wife for him,  any more than he was the man for her. Tom was possessive, but he was not  passionate; that was why he had been happy to wait to sleep with her.  Pippa had been forced to realise that she was very definitely  passionate-she burned with desire whenever Randal touched her. She  wanted to feel that way about the man she did eventually marry.

But it would not be Randal himself. He didn't love her enough. He loved  his child more, and although she admired him for his fidelity to the  little boy it still hurt her feelings.

The truth was, Randal didn't love her the way she needed to be loved.  That was the root reason why she would not marry him. She wanted a man  who would love her more than anyone else in his life, always put her  first. The emptiness and loneliness of her childhood had left her  aching. How often she had envied friends their homes, their parents,  brothers and sisters-the affection and caring of those they lived with.

How often she had wished she had those things, too. She had always  yearned for love, to be the centre of somebody's world, to know she was  beloved and cherished. She would never have that with Randal. Oh, she  believed him when he said he loved her, she knew he desired her, but the  strong, protective love she had hungered for as a child would never  come to her from Randal. He gave that to his son, which was only  natural.

When Tom and the surveyor had left she sat on in the sunshine, facing  facts about herself. It was childish and immature, no doubt, to want to  come first with Randal-she knew people would see it that way, and maybe  they were right, but she couldn't help her own instinctive reactions.  She had dreamt for too long of finding someone who would love her the  way she needed to be loved. She couldn't abandon her dream now.

The following morning she was up early, having slept badly. First, she  packed a light weekend case, taking the bare minimum of clothes.

Then she had a shower before getting dressed in a simple green silk  tunic which cut off just above her knee. With it she wore white  high-heeled sandals and carried a white shoulder bag. The impression  left by her reflection in her dressing table was one of cool elegance.  She was satisfied by that. The last thing she wanted was to encourage  Randal to think she might be an easy target.

She forced herself to eat some fruit and a slice of toast, then filled  in the time before Randal arrived by checking that the cottage was  scrupulously tidy, locking all the windows and doors apart from the  front door. As she finished Randal drove up in his gleaming sports car.

Pippa's heart missed a beat, she suddenly couldn't breathe, but somehow  she managed to pick up her weekend case and go out to meet him, locking  the cottage door behind her. Randal got out of his car and took her  case, put it in the boot, while, legs weak under her, she walked round  to the passenger door and got into the front seat.

Randal slid in beside her, stretched those long, long legs of his, and  started the engine again. She glanced sidelong at his lightweight pale  blue linen jacket, the even paler trousers, exquisitely tailored, the  smooth dark blue leather shoes which shrieked money. Randal was a luxury  item from head to foot; he looked gorgeous. She looked at the supple,  powerful hands on the wheel and had a heart-stopping flash of memory;  those hands touching her as they had on the couch in the cottage,  stroking her breasts while his mouth moved possessively on her bare  skin.

She wrenched her gaze away and stared fixedly out of the window, shuddering.

She mustn't let herself remember. She had to get over him, stop wanting him, stop loving him.

But how did she do that when every bone in her body melted at the thought of being in his arms?

She had to make herself think about something else.

'How long will it take to reach this school?' She tried to sound calm  and relaxed, hard though it was when she was so deeply conscious of  being alone with him in this tiny space, their shoulders, their legs  only inches apart.

'An hour and a half. I've said we'll pick up Johnny for lunch. I booked a  table at the hotel; it isn't far from the school, and the cooking is  extremely good. They have a top-class chef.'

'Does Johnny know I'm coming with you?'

'Yes, I talked to him on the phone last night. He was very excited about  spending the weekend out of school-although he loves the school, going  away is a stimulating experience for him. There's a riding stable near  the hotel; he wants to spend a couple of hours there tomorrow. Would you  like to ride?'                       
       
           



       

'Well, I have ridden a horse a few times, Tom thought it would be fun to  go-but I'm strictly a beginner and I haven't brought any suitable  clothes. I don't have any jodhpurs or boots or a hard hat, and it's  dangerous to ride without a hat, at least.'

'Maybe they hire the gear out?'

'You know the place, I suppose. You've been there before with your son? Do they?'

'I've no idea, I've never asked, but if we can hire what you need do you want to ride?'

'It could be fun-are you going to ride?'

'I will, if you will. There's a qualified riding instructor who can look  after Johnny, if we don't ride, but I'd like to go just to keep an eye  on him.'

'And you have got the right gear with you?'

He nodded. 'After Johnny said he wanted to ride, I looked out some boots  and jodhpurs, and I found a rather old hat which will do. There was no  point in ringing you though, because the shops were shut by then, and I  thought the stable might be able to find you some gear.'

'Well, if they don't hire clothes I'll watch. Don't worry about me.' She  leaned back in her seat, watching the green English countryside flash  past.

As they turned a corner another car tore towards them at a dangerous  speed and Randal braked to avoid a crash, skewing his car closer to the  hedge, as he had that night he and Tom crashed.

The other car screeched past. Randal came to a full stop, the bonnet of  the sports car mere inches from the hedge. Silence fell on them like the  dust of this quiet, narrow country lane.

Pippa only then realised that she had screamed. The echo of her cry of  fear went on and on inside her head, and beside her she heard Randal  angrily swearing.

After a minute, he turned towards her, releasing his seat belt, his face full of concern.

Are you okay? I'm sorry about that. He was doing about eighty miles an  hour-we're lucky I wasn't driving fast myself and we came out of it  unscathed.'

She laughed unsteadily, tears of fear and wild humour in her green eyes.  'Déjà vu. That was pure déjà vu. Just like the night you and Tom  crashed into each other.'

He smiled wryly. 'I suppose it was. My heart is going like a steamhammer. Feel it.'

He took her hand and carried it to his chest, laid in on his shirt above  where his heart beat violently. The warmth of his body lay under her  palm; she pressed down on it, wanting desperately to undo his blue shirt  and feel his skin against hers.

Randal watched her face closely and must have lead the leap of hunger in  her eyes because he suddenly leant over, his body above hers, coming  down on her, holding her down. She knew she should push him away, refuse  to let him kiss her, but the shock of the near accident was still  inside her; she felt reckless, abandoned. She met his mouth with  passion, her lips parting. His hands caressed her, and she felt desire  tear through her like a hurricane, destroying everything in its path.