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

find somebody else, and be happier with her than he could ever have been with you.’

She closed her eyes and let her head fall on to his chest, feeling the deep reverberations of his heart under her face, the rise and fall of his breathing.

‘I take it the wedding is definitely off?’ he quietly asked, and she nodded.

‘Yes, Tom said he would see to the cancellation of all the arrangements.’ A wry, painful smile twisted her lips. ‘He’s a bit of a control freak; he doesn’t trust me to take care of it myself.’

‘Why were you crying?’

She sighed. ‘For Tom…’

‘You never loved him! Admit it!’

‘No, but he loved me and I’ve hurt him. Also, I’ve realised I have to sell this cottage, and I love it so much. But I’ll have to resign from the firm, I couldn’t go on working with Tom after this, and I can’t stay here once I’ve given up my job. I’d have to rearrange the mortgage, and I might not be able to afford a much higher mortgage.’

‘You worry too much; that’s your problem.’

She looked at him angrily. ‘That’s typical. You just brush my worries aside with a shrug. The fact is my whole life is being torn apart, for the second time, and it’s all your fault again. Last time I was only living in that room, but this time I’m going to lose the first real home I’ve ever had.’

‘Come and live with me.’

She started, drew a long, sharp breath. ‘I’d rather die!’

Maddeningly, he laughed. ‘I don’t think you would, when it came to the moment of choice. Think about it. Die, or live with me? Now, which do you think you’d choose?’

‘Oh, you think you’re so funny!’ She struggled, fuming. ‘Will you let me up, please? I think you should be going.’

He sat up, brushing back his tousled black hair. ‘Is there anywhere around here to have dinner?’

‘Drive back into London,’ she curtly said, getting up and tidying her clothes, her hair.

‘I want to have dinner with you.’

She turned on him, eyes blazing. ‘Haven’t you done enough to me today? I got up this morning feeling fine, with my wedding a week away and my life arranged in front of me. Then you came along and blew it all to pieces. And now you want me to have dinner with you? The answer is no! I won’t have dinner. I never want to see you again. Is that clear enough?’

He looked into her eyes and her bones turned to water inside her. ‘You don’t mean it. You want me as much as I want you. Why pretend you don’t? We’re both free now.’

She hesitated, looking down. He wasn’t going to give up and go away, but she wasn’t giving up, either. He had walked back into her life and broken her world apart, without caring if he hurt her, or Tom, only interested in getting his own way. He kept saying he wanted her. He hadn’t said he loved her. If he loved her he wouldn’t have pursued her ruthlessly when he knew she was getting married in a few days.

He hadn’t even seen her for four years. He could have had no idea whether she loved Tom or not. No idea, either, what she felt, or wanted, or thought.

That didn’t matter to him. He had no respect for her, no interest in what went on inside her head, or her heart. All he cared about was her body. He was determined to have it.

That wasn’t love, was it?

And she wasn’t going to let him have his own way.

‘Pippa,’ he softly said. ‘What do I have to do? Beg? Have dinner with me. We have a lot to talk about.’

They seemed to have been talking all day, getting nowhere. How could they when they weren’t talking about the same thing? She had to persuade him to go away, but how? There was only one way. She must let him think he had won, must pretend to give in, then he would leave the cottage and she could escape.

‘There is a country club a couple of miles away,’ she murmured, and felt him smiling to himself. He thought he had won; she was going to be easy.

‘Do they have a good restaurant?’

‘It’s quite good. English and French cooking.’

‘Should I book a table? Or can we just turn up?’

‘I should book.’ Out of the corner of her eye she shot a look at the clock on her mantelpiece. It was half past six.

‘What’s it called?’

‘Little Whitstall Country Club. You’ll find it in the telephone book by the telephone. Or would you like me to book it?’

‘No, I will.’ He walked over to the phone and began flicking through the pages. She was thinking feverishly. How was she going to persuade him to leave for a while?

He made the call, put down the phone and turned to her, his gaze wandering down over her.

‘I suppose you’ll want to change into something more formal?’

She pretended surprise, looked down at her clothes. ‘Oh…if you like…’

‘There isn’t time for me to go back to London to change; what I’m wearing will have to do. But I must buy some petrol. I’m not sure I’ll have enough to get back to town later tonight, and all the garages will be shut by then, I suppose. Where’s the nearest garage?’

‘I don’t know one on the way to the country club, but there is one a mile away, in the first village back from here. While you get your petrol I’ll change into something more suitable.’

He smiled at her and she ached with a strange mixture of pleasure and anger. He was charming, far too charming. She didn’t trust him. He meant to sleep with her tonight, after dinner. No doubt he would get her to drink a lot of wine, then he would bring her back here and talk his way into the cottage, upstairs into her bedroom, then into her bed.

Pippa wasn’t even sure she had the strength