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

bed, the pink carpet and the white and gilt furniture.

‘Charming. Did you say you decorated it all yourself?’

‘Go away,’ she repeated, her heart in her mouth. ‘I don’t want you here.’ He was taller than she remembered, his head towering over her in this little room, the masculine force of his physical presence disturbing.

‘Why did you come upstairs, if you didn’t want me to follow you? You knew I would.’

She gave him an icy, resentful look. ‘I was hoping you would take the hint and leave my house.’

‘You aren’t a very convincing liar, Pippa,’ he mocked, coming nearer, his grey eyes wandering possessively over her. ‘Were you going to take your clothes off? Don’t let me stop you.’ Leaning over, he picked up a filmy white slip from the cabinet. ‘I can’t wait to see you wearing this.’

‘No,’ she whispered, shuddering at the way he was looking at her.

‘Yes,’ he silkily said, dropping the slip and reaching for her at the same moment.

She couldn’t breathe, her throat painful, making a sound somewhere between a sob and a groan. She wanted him and at the same time was afraid of him. Inside her desire and fear fought, but desire was winning and she knew it.

‘Don’t,’ she begged, her legs giving way under her, and he picked her up bodily and carried her to the bed.

Her eyes closed, she arched helplessly towards him as he kissed her with sensuous insistence, his hands exploring, caressing. She lost all consciousness of what he was doing, her own instincts driving her. She needed to touch him, open his shirt and discover the power of his naked flesh and muscle, clasp his nape and stroke his hair. She had dreamt of doing this, over and over again, and now she was doing it.

Above her she felt the ragged beating of his heart, his skin on hers.

Confusion flooded her mind—how could she feel his skin on hers? Opening her eyes, she looked down and realised he had undressed her somehow; she was naked, her slip, her bra and panties all gone. While she had been preoccupied with touching him he had been stripping her.

‘Pippa,’ he moaned, burying his head between her breasts, kissing the deep cleft.

He was naked, too, she realised in shock. He must have taken off his own clothes as well as hers—how had he done that without her knowing what was happening?

Or hadn’t she wanted to know?

His mouth closed over her breast, drawing a nipple inside the warm wetness, sucking softly.

Pleasure overwhelmed her; her arms went round him, holding him closer; she stroked his long, naked back and felt his knees nudging her thighs apart, his body sliding between them.

‘I want you badly,’ Randal groaned, and at that instant she heard a muffled sound from the door.

Stiffening, she raised herself to look past Randal. He turned his head, too.

Tom stood in the open doorway, face rigid, grey, staring.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE silence seemed endless. Pippa wished she would fall through the floor; she couldn’t meet Tom’s eyes. She was icy cold, shivering and sick in spite of the warmth of Randal’s body lying on top of her, hiding much of her nakedness.

What could she say to him?

Even worse, what was Tom going to say to her?

In fact, he said nothing, simply turned on his heel and walked out without a word, although his body language was very vocal: the stiffness of his back, the way his head was carried, the way his arms were held, his hands clenched at his sides.

Randal whistled softly. ‘Oh, dear. I suppose he has a key? And let himself in? If he’d had the good manners to ring the bell first we’d have had time to get our clothes on again before he walked in here. He didn’t even call out, just came upstairs without warning, so he only has himself to blame for what he saw.’

Rage and resentment filled her. ‘Don’t you dare try to shift the blame to him! I’ve no doubt Tom was trying to be thoughtful. He’d been told I was ill—he didn’t want to force me to get out of bed and come downstairs to let him in!’

She roughly pushed him off and scrambled out of bed, pulled on her clothes with hands that trembled while Randal watched her lazily, lying on his side, the afternoon sun gleaming on his smooth, naked shoulders, his lids half lowered.

She tried to ignore him but even now her stupid body went on reacting to his, her mouth dry, her pulses hammering. Why was it that she never felt like this about Tom? Tom was physically attractive, he was a wonderful companion, she liked him—but she couldn’t pretend he made her as aware as Randal could just by being there in the same room.

‘At least you won’t have to work out how to tell him!’ he drawled.

It didn’t help that he was right. She snapped back, ‘There’s nothing to tell!’

‘Oh, come on, Pippa! It’s time to stop lying—to him or yourself. He’ll expect some sort of explanation! After all, as far as he knows you and I have never met. You hadn’t told him about me, had you? He didn’t react to my name when I gave it to him that night so I knew you hadn’t told him about me. Yet when he walked in here five minutes ago he caught us making love! How are you going to talk your way out of that?’

She had no idea. ‘I hate you!’ she whispered before hurrying out of the room and running downstairs.

She found Tom on the point of going, his back to her, the front door wide open.

‘Don’t just go, Tom,’ she said shakily. ‘We must talk. I’m very sorry. I know how angry you must be, but…’

He turned to stare at her as if he had never seen her before. ‘Angry?’ he repeated in a low voice. ‘Shattered, Pippa. I’m absolutely shattered. You, of all people, behaving like…like that.’ His mouth writhed in