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

the diamond earrings dangling from her ears swinging to and fro.

Alex added, ‘Some women are, some aren’t.’

‘We’re not all the same!’ Renata drawled, giving Pippa another of those dismissive looks.

Alex said, ‘Maybe Pippa has the sort of mother who’s a maternal role model, the type who loves kids, cooks, cleans the house—all those old-fashioned things a modern woman doesn’t want to waste her life doing.’

‘Is it a waste of life?’ queried Pippa. ‘You think so?’ Her tone made it clear she didn’t agree.

‘Well, no, I guess not, if that’s what you enjoy,’ Alex placated, smiling at her. ‘But Renata’s mother was a career woman who left her with a nanny and never bothered about her—you can understand why Renata isn’t the motherly type when you know that.’

Brusquely, Randal retorted, ‘Pippa is an orphan. She had no mother at all, and grew up in orphanages and foster homes. She had no motherly role model.’

It made her feel odd to hear him defending her, explaining her. She was touched; maybe he understood her better than she had imagined.

Alex looked at her with sympathy. ‘That must have been tough; not a fun childhood, I guess. I bet you’re dying to have a family now, to finally have all the things you never had as a child.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Pippa admitted, feeling Randal’s eyes on her profile.

Renata drawled. ‘Which explains why you’re so keen to take care of Johnny! You get a ready-made family right off.’

Their first course arrived in time to save Pippa answering that; she felt resentment burning in her throat and would have liked to slap Renata’s face. Instead, she concentrated on the food. When conversation did start again it was Randal, asking Alex about his golf success, and Pippa didn’t have to join in; she just sat there, listening. Every so often Renata leaned towards Randal and spoke softly to him, sometimes letting her red-tipped fingernails drift along his sleeve, smiling at him, her long, false lashes flicking up and down.

He watched her with an expression in his eyes that Pippa could not read. At times she felt he disliked his ex-wife; at other times she thought he was still fascinated by her, sexually responsive to her.

Renata was so beautiful. How could any man not be responsive to looks like that? She radiated sex appeal.

‘Do you like sport, Pippa?’ Alex asked her, and the other two turned to stare at her.

‘I like watching it; Wimbledon, for instance. I always enjoy that on TV. But I wouldn’t say I was the sporting type. I’ve never had the time; I’ve always had to work too hard. I’m afraid I’ve never even played golf, or watched it. And it’s an expensive sport, isn’t it? You need clubs and the right shoes, and stuff.’

‘Johnny said something about going riding this weekend,’ Renata said. ‘Are you two going with him?’

‘I shall, but Pippa probably won’t,’ Randal told her.

‘I haven’t got the right gear,’ she said, meeting Renata’s contemptuous smile with dislike.

When they were drinking their coffee after the meal people began dancing on a small parquet floor in front of the band’s dais. Renata stood up, held out her hand to Randal.

‘Shall we?’

He hesitated, but eventually rose and took her hand. They threaded their way through the tables and began to dance the waltz being played. Jealousy stung inside Pippa; she looked down, reluctant to watch them, Randal’s arm around his ex-wife’s waist, her arm around his neck, their bodies very close, moving in harmony.

‘Would you care to dance, Pippa?’ Alex asked her without real enthusiasm, and she shook her head, smiling politely.

‘Sorry, I’m too tired.’

‘It’s not a very good band,’ he grimaced.

She laughed. ‘No.’

A moment later a waiter came over to them and bent to murmur in her ear, ‘Reception has had a message from your suite, madam. Your little boy seems to be upset.’

She was on her feet immediately, relieved to have an excuse for leaving. ‘Thank you, I’ll go up to him.’ She smiled at Alex. ‘Please give my excuses to Renata and Randal. It was a pleasure to meet you. Goodnight.’

When she got upstairs and let herself into the suite she heard low sobbing from the double bedroom and hurried through there at once. Johnny was a heap in the bed, lying on his face, crying quietly. Pippa sat down on the bed and lifted him, turning him towards her.

‘What’s wrong?’

He hiccuped. ‘I had a nightmare.’

His face was damp and flushed, his eyes wet. Pippa laid him down again and went to the bathroom, ran water over a flannel, squeezed some of the water out before taking it to bathe Johnny’s hot face.

She got him orange juice from the mini fridge in the room, brushed his tangled hair back from his face, made him sit up to drink his juice.

‘What was the nightmare about?’

‘I was being chased by something. I couldn’t see what it was, it was dark, but it made horrid noises.’

‘I hate dreams like that,’ she said, and his small body fitted itself against her heavily.

‘Do you have them?’

‘Oh, yes, everyone does, even grown-ups—they’re the worst, because you don’t know what’s after you.’

He finished his juice. She took the glass from him as he yawned.

‘Tired?’ she murmured, helping him to lie down again. ‘You go back to sleep; I’ll stay here. You only have to yell and I’ll come running.’

His eyes had closed; in the lamplight she saw his lashes flutter down against his flushed cheeks. What had he been dreaming about? she wondered. What monsters haunted his sleep?

When she was sure he was breathing rhythmically, fast asleep, she tiptoed out into the sitting room, leaving one lamp burning beside the bed, in case Johnny woke again.

Going into her own bathroom, she undressed, washed, put on a white silk nightdress and matching robe, brushed her chestnut hair, then returned to the sitting room and lay down on the couch to read her book. She did not want to be out of earshot in case Johnny called her.

At some