The Boss's Virgin(30)

She took off her gardening gloves. 'Come in and have a coffee and we'll work something out.'

They sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and writing out a proposed timetable for the sale.

'I don't want you to feel you're being forced out,'

Tom assured her. 'You suggest a date when it would be convenient for you  to move out, then if you need to stay on for a while we can adjust the  date later.

'You're very thoughtful, Tom,' she said, smiling at him. He was a kind  man, too; she appreciated the way he tried to make things easier for  her. If only he would stop trying to interfere in her life!

'Have you decided where to go on holiday?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'I'll check that out tomorrow. What about you? I  thought you would be going away today; that was the plan originally,  wasn't it?'

'I had to change the flights. I rang to explain that I'd only need one  seat, so they suggested I went tomorrow. It's easier to sell two seats  than one, they said. More couples go on these holiday flights. So I'm  off early tomorrow. That's why I had to see you today, before I went.'

'Well, I hope you have a lovely time, Tom.'

'I intend to!' He looked at his watch. 'Look, come and have lunch at the pub-you've always liked their roast Sunday lunch.'

It seemed a good idea, it would save her having to cook a meal for  herself, so she agreed and they left ten minutes later. The pub was only  half full when they arrived, but as time wore on more and more people  crowded into the timbered room, with its shining horse brasses and  silver tankards hanging on the wall behind the bar counter.

They both chose carrot soup followed by roast beef with light, crispy  Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, carrots and Brussels sprouts.

'Their gravy's terrific, too,' Tom said, as he finished. 'Not to mention the horseradish sauce.'

They knew a few of the other customers and got into a game of billiards  after the meal. It was nearly four o'clock before Tom drove Pippa home.

'Thank you for lunch; it was great,' she said. 'Do you want to come in for tea or coffee?'

'I have to pack, yet,' he said. 'I'd better scoot home now.'

'Have a wonderful holiday!' she said, and stood waving as he drove away.

She was grateful to him for having taken up the whole afternoon. If  Randal had pursued her here he would have found her not at home, so she  would have avoided a difficult confrontation.

If only she could fix a holiday at once! Then she would be able to put  off seeing Randal for weeks. For the rest of the day she was on  tenterhooks, and was very relieved when night fell and she could lock up  the cottage and go to bed to read and listen to music.                       
       
           



       

There were no bad dreams that night and she slept well. When she got up  it was raining, a light, thin rain which came in sudden showers. She  showered, dressed, had breakfast, then did some housework.

Mid-morning, she drove to the nearest travel agent, was given a brochure  of Italian holidays and took it across the road to a cafe, where she  read it, drinking another cup of coffee.

Tom would be in the air by now, en route for what would have been their honeymoon. Lucky Tom.

She was attracted by the idea of a fortnight on the Adriatic coast;  there she could combine a beach holiday with a visit to the Byzantine  church at Ravenna and a trip to Venice, which she had always longed to  see. So she went back to the travel agent and booked two weeks at a  hotel right on the beach road, with full board, starting in a week's  time. She would fly there, of course, from Gatwick Airport, and would be  taken by coach to her hotel.

A trouble-free holiday, she decided. She couldn't wait.

After doing some shopping she drove home to find Randal's car parked outside the cottage, with him sitting in the driving seat.

While he watched her sardonically, she sat in her own car, paralysed,  drumming her fingers restlessly on the wheel, feeling like driving off  again and staying out until she could be sure he would have gone. But  what was the point? She could put it off, but sooner or later Randal  would catch up with her, she knew how persistent he could be.

So she drove on to her forecourt and parked. As she got out of her car,  Randal got out of his, but she ignored him, hurrying to open her front  door. Before she could shut it in his face he was beside her, pushing  his way inside on her heels.

'Where have you been?' he demanded, as Tom had done yesterday.

'Shopping and booking a Mediterranean holiday,' she defiantly told him,  walking into the kitchen with her shopping basket and beginning to  unpack what she had bought.

'You'll have to cancel that,' he said with calm arogance. 'We'll go abroad for our honeymoon!'

'There isn't going to be one!' she snapped.

He coolly put the kettle on and got out the instant coffee, just as if  he lived here too, set out two mugs, got milk from the fridge, then  leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her.

'Make yourself at home,' she said with irritation. Who did he think he was?

'I've just been to Tom's place,' he drawled. 'But there was no sign of  him. His next door neighbour told me he was away, on his honeymoon!'

She finished unpacking and put her shopping basket away, not commenting. Randal's grey eyes had a dangerous glitter.

'I thought maybe you'd changed your mind and married him after all!'

'No,' she calmly answered, and his eyes flashed like lightning.

Moving with pantherish grace and speed, he caught hold of her, pushed  her up against the wall, holding her there with his own body, forcing  her to confront him.

'Don't try to be fanny!'

'I wasn't. You asked if I'd married Tom, I said no; that's all!'

'I was out of my mind,' Randal grated. Inches away, his face was white  with rage. 'I couldn't be sure you wouldn't do anything so stupid! I  just don't understand you. But I was terrified you might have done it  just to get away from me.'

Her heart crashed like a burning plane. She couldn't breathe properly, couldn't meet his probing, furious eyes.

'You promised me you'd be at the hotel when Johnny and I got back from  the riding stables,' he accused. 'But the minute we'd left you packed  and went. They told me at Reception. Why? Why did you run away again?  You said you liked Johnny, and I know you want me … '

'No,' she denied. 'That's the point I don't.'

'Liar.' He caught her face between his hands and kissed her hotly,  sensuously, making her legs give way under her. 'Do I have to show you  all over again? I'll make love to you in here, on the floor, if I have  to. You want me. Admit it.'

'That's just sex,' she huskily conceded.

'Call it what you like. You want me. I can have you any time I feel like it.'

'How dare you?' she angrily broke out. 'I'm not some bimbo you can  just … ' She stopped, so insulted she couldn't get another word out.

'I didn't say you were! You may call it sex, but we both know it's love.  That's what we feel for each other. So why do you keep running away?'

She closed her eyes, a sob forming in her throat, salty tears welling behind her lids.

'I can't take the risk!'                       
       
           



       

'What risk?' he impatiently insisted.

'Of getting hurt. Last time I nearly died of misery; it was months  before I got over losing you. Now I'm afraid of … oh, of everything. How I  feel, what might happen if I do marry you, getting hurt again if it  doesn't work out between us, the future-everything!'

He put his warm mouth on her wet eyes, kissed them gently, slid his  mouth down her cheeks, whispering between kisses, 'I didn't realise you  were such a coward. Pippa, darling, I love you and I want to be with you  for ever. Do you want to be with me? And don't lie this time. Tell the  truth. Do you want to be with me for the rest of our lives?'

She made a wailing noise, keeping her eyes shut 'Don't ask … '

His mouth touched hers gently. 'I am asking. Tell me the truth. Do you love me? Do you want to be with me for ever?'

She drew breath, shuddering, then took the final terrifying leap into the truth. 'Yes. Yes.'

He drew her even closer, held her, his mouth against her hair, rocking her as if she was a baby.

'I love you. Say it too.'

'Yes,' she groaned. 'I love you. I love you.'

And felt the fear and tension draining out of her body. She had been  afraid of love all this time, afraid of giving herself, of getting hurt,  afraid of life itself.

Now she wasn't; she never would be again. She wound her arms around his  neck and gave herself up to him, kissing him passionately, with  unleashed desire.