The Boss's Virgin by Charlotte Lamb (i am malala young readers edition .TXT) 📗

and angry, she bit back, ‘Perfectly serious! You don’t know Tom. Don’t talk about him that way.’

‘I met him, remember? I have a very shrewd idea what he’s like.’

She didn’t like the way he said that; he was coldly dismissive of Tom. ‘He wasn’t himself. The accident upset him.’ She turned towards the door. ‘Look, I really must be going.’

She started to walk away, but at that second somebody knocked at the outer door of the suite, calling, ‘Room Service!’

‘Come in,’ Randal replied, and she heard a key turn then the door opened and a waiter pushed a loaded trolley into the sitting room, gave both of them a polite smile.

‘Where shall I set the table up, sir?’

‘Over by the window,’ Randal told him, and the man wheeled the trolley over there, lifted the flaps which formed a table, began moving food around on the table surface, placed two chairs.

‘Leave it. We’ll help ourselves, thanks,’ Randal said.

‘Would you sign this for me, sir?’ the waiter asked, presenting him with a pen and the bill.

Randal signed, tipped him, and the man departed. Pippa began drifting after him but didn’t get very far. Randal’s long fingers took her arm, held her firmly.

‘No, you don’t. You’re staying. We have a lot to talk about yet.’

‘We don’t have anything to talk about!’

‘I’m not married any more,’ he reminded her, still holding her arm with all the potential force of those long, sinewy fingers, reminding her that if she tried to break free he was capable of resisting any effort she made.

‘That has nothing to do with me!’ she denied, trying not to sound too disturbed by that contact. ‘Please let go of me!’

Instead, he swung her round, closer to him, his long leg touching hers. ‘You were enchanting when you were twenty,’ he managed, his grey eyes sliding over her in slow, sensual appraisal. ‘You’re gorgeous now. I just can’t imagine you with the insurance salesman—how does he handle all that fire? With tongs, at arm’s length?’

She didn’t like the intimacy of the questions, and especially she didn’t want him analysing her relationship with Tom.

To silence him she pulled free and sat down at the table. ‘This looks good, all of it. What are you going to have? Some of this beef, or some cheese?’

He laughed softly. ‘Trying to distract me, Pippa?’ Bending, he brushed his lips along the curve of her throat, sending a shiver through her whole body. ‘You’re easy to read, you know.’

Was she? The remark was alarming. She must defend herself better, refuse to let him pick up her reactions. It was dangerous to let him know… She shut her eyes in dismay, refusing to continue with that line of thought, refusing to admit what it was she did not want him to know.

He stayed there for a moment, their profiles almost touching, watching her sideways, trying to gauge her expression, then at last he straightened, walked to the chair at the other side of the table and sat down opposite her.

‘You help yourself, while I inspect what we have here.’

Eyes lowered, still trembling after the touch of his mouth on her skin, the scent of his body, she took more salad, a little cheese, a slice of chicken breast, a little mayonnaise, then a piece of the wholewheat bread. When she offered Randal the glass salad bowl, without looking at him, he took it, saying, ‘I haven’t eaten all day. All I had for breakfast was coffee and orange juice.’

‘They say you should always have breakfast. Have you been staying here long?’

‘No, I’ve been at another long conference. I seem to spend a lot of time at them.’ He helped himself to wholegrain mustard. ‘I don’t spend much time in my own home.’

‘Do you still live in the same house?’ Making polite small talk helped to pass the time and she hoped it would lighten the atmosphere, making her nerves less tense, the situation seem less threatening. After all, what threat did he pose to her. He might make a pass, but she only had to reject him; he wasn’t the type to turn dangerous.

Was he?

What did she know about him, though? She had known him for a few weeks, five years ago. How did she really know what sort of man he was?

‘No, I moved to a flat; it made life simpler. Someone comes in twice a week to clean. I eat out a lot, or have a salad, or scrambled eggs—something I can cook myself. Johnny has a room of his own in the flat, of course, but he’s only there during the school holidays. He seems to like it, though.’

‘Have you actually asked him if he minded moving home, as well as going away to school?’

He shot her a wry glance. ‘No, I haven’t—you think I should?’

Pippa shrugged. ‘It’s a bit late now; you’ve presented him with a fait accompli. But next time you take a major decision that will affect him, I’d certainly ask him first.’

He leaned back in his chair, surveying her with half-lowered lids. ‘If I wanted to get married again, for instance?’

Her eyes opened wide. ‘Well…yes…’ Her heart skipped a beat; her skin turned cold. ‘Is that on the cards? Are you thinking of marrying again?’ Not Miss Dalton? She thought, aware of a sense of shock. No, it must be someone new.

‘Maybe,’ he drawled. ‘Do you think I should consult my son before committing myself?’

‘Does he know her?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, I should make sure they get on well before you make any definite decision.’

She concentrated on her food, angrily conscious of a burning pain inside her stomach whenever she thought of Randal marrying again. It was stupid to be jealous—she had no right to care what he did. She was getting married herself. It was four years since she had worked in his office, four years since she had seen him, talked to him, been crazy enough to let him kiss her. A lot had happened to her in the years since