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

to snap your fingers to get any woman you want, but you wouldn’t get me!’

‘I just did,’ he whispered. ‘A minute ago you were in my arms and you weren’t struggling. I could have got your clothes off and had you, don’t deny it. It was me who called a halt, not you.’

‘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 coming 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