The Boss's Virgin Page 5

  ‘Randal,’ she moaned, shuddering. ‘But we can’t…shouldn’t… You’re married.’ A pang of jealousy wrenched her. ‘And your wife is beautiful.’

  His face hardened, darkened. ‘Oh, yes, she’s beautiful. But our marriage is a sham. We rarely even see each other. She has been having an affair for a year; she’s often away—why do you think I asked you to buy the present for Johnny? My wife isn’t at home; she has probably forgotten his birthday.’

  Startled and distressed, Pippa said, ‘Oh…I’m sorry. Really, very sorry. That’s very sad. I thought you were happily married; everyone said so.’ Then she bit her lip, frowning, as a new idea came to her. ‘But I don’t want you to use me to get your own back on your wife, or to boost your ego. I’m not a consolation prize, Mr Harding.’

  His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘I wasn’t using you that way, Pippa. Believe me. I kissed you because the temptation was irresistible, that’s all. The minute I saw you I wanted to kiss you. It has nothing to do with my wife. I fell out of love with her long ago. Our marriage is over in everything but name. Her current affair is about the third. They never last long, but while they last they’re all she cares about. I haven’t divorced her yet because of Johnny. I don’t care a damn if I never see her again, but I love my son and I don’t want him made unhappy.’

  ‘No, poor little boy. He must miss his mother when she’s away,’ Pippa said, sighing. ‘My childhood was pretty grim. I’d have given anything to have a family, even just one parent, anyone who cared about me. I’m sure Johnny loves you very much. He needs you.’

  ‘I’m the only parent he has, most of the time. He’s used to his mother vanishing for weeks on end.’

  ‘But she does come back, surely?’ Pippa took a deep breath, ‘And it won’t help if you start having affairs too.’

  Randal Harding gave her a wry smile. ‘You’re older than you look, aren’t you? Wiser, too. Of course you’re right. I don’t want to do anything that might hurt my boy.’ He smoothed back a tousled strand of hair from her face, his fingers caressing. ‘Or you, Pippa, I don’t want to hurt you, either. But I think I’m falling in love with you.’

  He knew she was in love with him, and felt a quiver of warning.

  ‘You’re so sweet and gentle,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t help wanting you.’ He leant his head to kiss her again, but she drew back sharply, shaking her head.

  ‘No! You mustn’t,’ she hoarsely said, and he looked at her with a new possessiveness.

  ‘You want me, too, don’t you, Pippa?’

  There was a passionate curve to his mouth that made her afraid—afraid she wouldn’t be able to go on rejecting him for long. She wanted him too much. The beat of desire in her blood warned her that sooner or later, if he kept kissing her, she would give in to him. She couldn’t bear the idea of becoming his secret mistress; it would make her so ashamed.

  She gave her notice to Miss Dalton the following Friday. It was accepted with a triumphant smile. Miss Dalton thought she had won. Her hostile tactics had scored a victory. Pippa allowed her to think whatever she chose. She didn’t care. All that mattered now was to get away from Randal before it was too late.

  He had left the day before, to spend a week at a business conference in the States. By the time he returned Pippa had left the firm. She had left the area, too—given up her room, moved into central London, got a job in the insurance company for which she now worked, and had found another one-room flat in Islington, where she’d stayed until she had saved enough to buy her own home in Whitstall with the company’s help. She hadn’t kept in touch with anyone at Randal’s firm; she didn’t want him to know where she had gone, so she had had no news of him.

  Until now…

  Four years had made few changes in him, although his face seemed harder, more sardonic. That brooding look she remembered seemed darker, more stormy. Was his wife still having affairs? Maybe Randal had had some too, now. He couldn’t have been without a woman for four years.

  She felt much older, much more in control of herself as she told him, ‘You’re married and I’m getting married next week!’

  ‘I’m not married any more,’ he said, and her stomach seemed to drop out of her in shock.

  CHAPTER THREE

  EYES open wide, she stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re not married any more? What do you mean?’

  He smiled dryly. ‘Renata left me two years ago, ran off with a golf champion she met in Scotland. She’s always had an obsession with golf. Having landed a champion at the peak of his earning capacity, she wanted to hang on to him for good. She didn’t just want to have an affair; she was determined to marry him. She asked me for a divorce, I gave her one, and she married him the minute it was final.’

  She absorbed that, watching him intently. How had he really felt when his wife asked for a divorce? He hadn’t wanted to divorce her, she remembered. That had never been in his mind. Had it been a shock to him when Renata asked him to let her go?

  ‘I didn’t hear about it,’ she said. ‘I suppose it was mentioned in the newspapers, but I rarely read gossip columns. What about your son?’

  ‘She left him with me.’

  That shocked Pippa. What sort of mother could abandon her child without a backward glance? Of course, Mrs Harding had spent very little time with her son, according to Randal—had she preferred to leave the boy behind, or had Randal made that a condition of agreeing to the divorce?

  He added a little contemptuously, ‘Renata told me her new husband didn’t want a child around, cramping his style. They lead a very busy social life off the gold course; children aren’t part of their scene. But then Renata was never a devoted mother, anyway.’

  That, too, she remembered. ‘So he lives with you now,’ she thought aloud.

  Randal grimaced. ‘That would be difficult to manage unless I hired someone to take care of him. I have to go away so much. No, he’s at boarding school in Buckinghamshire, and he likes it, thank heavens.’

  ‘Poor little boy, he must have been upset.’ The trauma of divorce always hurt the children most, didn’t it?

  Randal shook his head. ‘I don’t think he was that bothered, as far as his mother was concerned. It didn’t mean he saw her less—how could he? She was rarely at home anyway. He had the stability of knowing I’d always be there for him. If he had preferred to be at home I’d have got him a full-time nanny, but he wanted to go to boarding school. One of his friends had been at his place for a year and Johnny thought it sounded great. He has lots of friends around day and night, all the things kids love—computers, sport, a swimming pool—and he’s doing well in class. Oddly enough, his new stepfather has a sort of cachet, too. Sports heroes in the family are assets. The other boys envy him. Renata and her new husband visited the school and Johnny was thrilled. I’m going to visit him, myself, this weekend. I’m allowed to take him out of school at weekends; I try to do that at least once a month.’

  ‘Well, give him my love.’ She went pink. ‘Not that he’ll remember me, of course.’ She had often thought about Johnny; strange to think that he had never even met her.

  ‘No, you never saw him, did you? It’s time you did. You must come with me at the weekend.’

  She stiffened, eyes hurriedly moving away from him. ‘Well, I would have loved to, he sounds a lovely little boy, but this Saturday is my wedding day, you know.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he drawled. ‘Your wedding day. I’d forgotten that. And you’re going to marry that insurance man? You can’t be serious!’

  She resented the ironic note in his voice, the mocking smile curling his lip. Flushed 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 star
ted 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 then. She had grown up, learnt a lot more about the world. She had been a romantic, wide-eyed, innocent child four years ago. Now she was a woman and Randal Harding was nothing to her.

  ‘How long have you known your insurance salesman?’ he asked, and she looked up, her heart crashing like an exploding plane as she met those brilliant grey eyes.

  How could she keep telling herself he was nothing to her if her body kept betraying her every time she met his eyes? The minute she’d seen him again, the night of the accident, she had been instantly overwhelmed by those old feelings. She had tried to convince herself she had forgotten him, but she had been lying.

  ‘Four years,’ she said curtly.

  ‘Since you ran away from me, in other words?’

  ‘I didn’t run away!’ she crossly denied, resenting the way he put it.

  ‘You walked?’ he dryly mocked.

  ‘I just decided to get another job,’ she corrected, her green eyes defying him. How dared he talk to her like that when he was planning to get married again himself? ‘And I found this job with the insurance company, and started working for Tom.’

  ‘How long before you went out with him?’

  She bristled, her face hot, her nerves jumping. ‘Why do you keep on at me like the Inquisition? My private life is nothing to do with you at all.’ It had, in fact, been a very long time before she accepted a date with Tom, but she knew what Randal would make of that confession, so she was not going to admit it.

  ‘Are you in love with him?’

  ‘I’m not answering any more questions!’ She leaned over and picked up the coffee pot. ‘I’m going to have some coffee—would you like some?’

  ‘Please. Black, no sugar.’

  She poured the coffee and gave him his cup, took her own cup over to the couch. As she sat down and put her cup on the coffee table in front of her she realised she should have sat down in a chair, but it was too late. Randal had followed her and was sitting down beside her, his long legs stretched out, one thigh touching hers. She would have felt stupid if she had got up and moved to a chair; it would have been some sort of betrayal.

  ‘If you aren’t in love with him, why are you marrying him?’ he murmured.

  ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t in love with him!’

  ‘Ah, but you didn’t say you were! And that was as good as an admission.’

  ‘I didn’t answer because you had no right to ask the question!’

  ‘If you were in love, why wouldn’t you want to admit it?’

  Conversation with him w
as like trying to make your way through a minefield. She was terrified of every step. Furiously, she looked round at him, glaring. ‘Will you stop asking me questions?’ But that was a mistake, too, because he was closer than she had realised. She found herself looking into grey eyes which were just inches away, and swallowed convulsively.

  ‘What’s the matter, Pippa?’ he silkily asked.

  ‘Nothing! I don’t know what you mean!’ she blustered.

  ‘Oh, yes, you do,’ he whispered, and before she could back away his head swooped down; his mouth took hers with fierce demand.

  She struggled in a desperate effort to get away, but his body shifted to hold her back against the couch, his wide shoulders pinning her down. She pushed him away without making any impact on him at all. He was far too powerful and she was shaking too much to be able to make him shift.

  The heat of his mouth was burning her up. Her lips parted, her eyes closed, her pulses beating wildly.

  It was like rushing back through time to the day when he last kissed her; she couldn’t think, could only feel, given up entirely to the pleasure and intense sweetness of his mouth on hers, his body lying across her. Her hands went round his neck and closed in his thick, dark hair. The pressure of his chest, his thighs, deepened; his fingers caressed and stroked, moving from her shoulders to her breasts, awakening her body to sensations she had never felt before. She wanted to be naked in his arms, to feel his touch with even more intensity.

  From time to time in the last four years she had had dreams like this, woken from deep sleep drowsily, still trembling from the passion of his kiss, lain there crying, aching. She had suppressed the memory of those dreams, refused to think about them, or him, and gradually they had come less often—but they had not stopped entirely, and now they were visiting her again, but this time the dream was reality. This time she was in his arms, giving in to the temptation to kiss him back, to yield.