Best of Virgins Bundle

by Cathy Williams

  Which was the signal for the tears she had so determinedly held in check to fall hotly down her cheeks.

  She had never felt so humiliated in all her life—and, added to that, she didn’t know which man she was the most angry with. Max or Gary.

  Ten minutes later, her tears all cried out, the comforting Monty purring as he lay curled up on her lap, she had decided that on reflection Gary was the one who most deserved her wrath.

  And he was going to get it!

  ‘You have to understand, darling,’ Dorothy soothed patiently. ‘As Paul has just told you, what you’ve asked for simply can’t be done.’

  ‘Why can’t it?’ Abby snapped, eyes flashing deeply blue. ‘I’m the presenter of the show; Gary is the director. And I’m no longer happy for him to direct me across a road!’

  The last twenty-four hours had done nothing to lessen Abby’s anger. In fact she had barely slept the night before, for thinking about what had happened with Max and Gary. The weekend with her parents had been as lovely as usual, their company calming, but it hadn’t deterred her from her purpose in the slightest; she no longer wanted to work with Gary Holmes.

  The first thing she had done after travelling back into London was call and see Paul and Dorothy, with the sole intent of asking Paul to support the demand she planned to make on Monday to have Gary removed as her director. A request he had just turned down.

  Not that she had told Paul all the personal reasons why she no longer felt she could work with Gary—only that personal dislike on both sides, meant that even a professional relationship between them couldn’t work.

  Paul had listened, nodding his head in all the right places, murmuring understandingly about ‘professional differences’, but finally had informed her, before leaving the two women alone together, that he didn’t have the necessary reasons to support removing the highly experienced Gary from his position.

  Dorothy smiled at her now. ‘He has a binding contract, Abby—’

  ‘So do I.’ She paced the room restlessly, having already refused Dorothy’s request for her to sit down. ‘And nowhere in that contract does it say I have to work with a man so obnoxious you’ve told me you won’t have him in your home!’ She was breathing hard in her agitation.

  ‘I somehow doubt there’s anything in that contract that says you don’t have to either,’ her godmother said ruefully, at the same time giving her a considering look. ‘What’s happened since yesterday to make you so vehemently opposed to him? He hasn’t been sexually harassing you, too, has he?’ Dorothy looked suddenly alarmed. ‘Because I’m sure under those circumstances Paul would act.’

  Abby gave her a humourless smile. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Dorothy, but no sexual harassment to report.’

  ‘I’m not in the least disappointed.’ The older woman gave her a reproving look. ‘Just trying to understand this sudden aversion to the man. I thought you had spent the rest of the weekend with Elizabeth and Jeremy?’

  She had, having left for her parents’ house almost immediately after Max left—as soon as her tears had dried and she’d realised she couldn’t just simply sit around in her apartment all weekend brooding. She’d had to get out of there, away from the memories of being in Max’s arms and the awful scene that had followed.

  And so she had bundled Monty into his travelling basket—one where he could see and be seen, of course; Monty only tolerated those train journeys to her parents’ on the understanding that he would be duly admired by fellow travellers on the journey, with the added knowledge that he would get to roam freely around the big, rambling vicarage that was the family home.

  Wouldn’t Max have fun with that little piece of information? She was the daughter of a vicar—and an ex-actress…

  It had all the makings of one of those awful jokes, but Abby knew that her parents’ marriage was far from a joke. The unlikely pair had been happily married for the last thirty years, and as their only child she had always been surrounded by their love and cosseting.

  Which was exactly what she had needed these last twenty-four hours, away from London and all its complications.

  Thoughts of Max she had put completely from her mind—they were just too complicated for her to deal with!—giving her time and distance to decide what she had to do about Gary Holmes. Unfortunately, Paul didn’t seem to be willing to help her with the decision she had made.

  ‘I did,’ she answered Dorothy now. ‘But Gary Holmes came to my apartment before I left for Hampshire. No, not for anything like that!’ she snapped as Dorothy raised interested brows. ‘He’s so smug. So superior. As if he knows something that I don’t. Oh, I’m sure that he knows a lot of things that I don’t,’ she went on ruefully as the older woman gave her a teasing look, ‘and I’m well aware of what an experienced director he is, that he’s been in the business almost twenty years—but, Dorothy, don’t you find it strange that no men, and only silly women, seem to actually like the man?’

  The other woman shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it’s essential to being brilliant at his job.’

  ‘No, but—Dorothy, he wanted my show to be a disaster on Friday night!’

  ‘Now, that is silly, darling,’ her godmother reasoned. ‘As the director, there could be absolutely no personal benefit to him if that had happened.’

  Abby knew that—didn’t understand the reasoning herself. She only knew that Gary had seemed disappointed the show hadn’t failed on Friday night, that he had wanted her to fall flat on her face. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t known of the Brad/Natalie reconciliation! His taunt in the bistro yesterday, about her lunch being a celebration or a commiseration, had seemed to confirm his malevolence. Only the fact that Max had jumped to her defence, and Gary had obviously been not at all pleased to see him there, seemed to have stopped Gary from saying something even more scathing.

  She had thought all this through over the weekend and knew that she was right—she just had no idea why.

  And, without any reason, she realised that her request to Paul must have sounded slightly ridiculous.

  ‘You’re right, Dorothy,’ she accepted with a sigh. ‘No personal benefit at all.’

  Except…As a relative newcomer, if her show should fail she would simply fade away into obscurity. As a seasoned director, and a brilliant one at that—Abby would allow him that!—Gary Holmes would simply move on to directing something else, with no detriment to his career at all.

  But was that enough reason for what she suspected…?

  Dorothy moved with her as Abby walked to the door. ‘Don’t be angry with Paul, Abby,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m sure that if you can come up with something concrete against the man, Paul would be only too happy to help. It’s just that, as things stand, if he were to do anything now Ajax Television is likely to be slapped with an unfair dismissal charge. I suppose they could always ask him to resign and see what—No, I wouldn’t advise that, either.’ She winced. ‘The man is just horrible enough to enjoy the fact that you obviously don’t like working with him.’

  Abby knew her godmother was right. She just wished that she wasn’t. She also wished she had some answer to the dilemma herself.

  But she didn’t.

  The telephone was ringing as she let herself into her apartment half an hour later, pausing briefly to open Monty’s basket and let him out before hurrying to answer it.

  The dial tone buzzed in her ear as she held up the receiver. And yet the ringing sound continued.

  Because it wasn’t her telephone ringing, she realised after a couple of confused seconds.

  She put the receiver slowly back on its cradle, frowning her confusion as she looked around the sitting room for the source of the ringing. Her search becoming physical as the noise persisted, seeming to become more urgent by the second as she lifted cushions and newspapers in an effort to locate it.

  A mobile phone! Lying half under her sofa, its ringing becoming louder as Abby brought it out fully.

  Yes, it was a m
obile—but whose? Because it certainly wasn’t hers. That was switched off, in her shoulder bag. And she had vacuumed the sitting room yesterday morning; she was sure it hadn’t been there then. Only Max had been in her apartment since that time…

  She stared down at the silver-coloured mobile with rapidly widening eyes. Max’s jacket had been thrown over the back of the sofa; it must have fallen out onto the floor then.

  But what did she do now? Take the call and utterly confuse the caller when it was a woman rather than a man answering? Or did she just wait for it to stop ringing and hope they didn’t call back?

  Of course it could be Max himself, ringing in order to tell her he had dropped his mobile phone. In fact, he could have tried to reach her in the same way several times during her absence over the last twenty-four hours.

  She didn’t really have any choice but to answer the call, did she?

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted hesitantly, after pressing the call button.

  ‘Max?’ a female voice came back, almost as tentatively.

  Well, hardly, Abby thought with a disgusted raising of her dark brows. ‘Actually, no,’ she answered more assuredly; she was obviously speaking to one of Max’s women-friends—possibly the woman-friend of the moment. Of course, it could be his mother—but somehow she doubted that very much!

  ‘Is this Max’s phone?’

  ‘Probably,’ Abby answered dryly.

  ‘Could I speak to Max, then?’ the other woman asked coolly.

  Abby drew in a deep breath. This was the tricky bit. The last person she wanted to talk to was the possibly current woman in Max’s life, but at the same time she knew that he wouldn’t thank her if she said anything to alienate this woman—something like, No, you can’t talk to Max because he isn’t here. He just happened to drop his mobile phone when he came to my apartment yesterday and made love to me!

  No, Max wouldn’t like that at all…

  ‘I’m afraid he isn’t here to take your call at the moment,’ she answered evasively.

  ‘Oh.’ The other woman sounded disconcerted.

  ‘But I’ll be happy to tell him that you called,’ she added untruthfully.

  Max shouldn’t even have been making love to her yesterday if he was already involved with someone else!

  ‘I see. Right.’ The other woman sounded slightly flustered. ‘Okay. Perhaps you could just tell him that Kate called?’

  ‘Just Kate?’

  ‘Just Kate,’ the other woman confirmed unhelpfully.

  ‘Shall I tell him you’d like him to call you back?’ Abby persisted.

  ‘I think he’ll know that when you give him my message,’ she retorted.

  There was nothing worse than someone cleverer than yourself!

  Especially a female someone. ‘Okay, I’ll do that,’ Abby managed to assure her through gritted teeth, before the other woman abruptly ended the call.

  Kate.

  Max was involved with someone called Kate.

  She should have known. Should have guessed that a man like Max would already have someone in his life.

  But she hadn’t. In truth, it wasn’t something she had given any thought to.

  If she had she might not have allowed herself to become so attracted to him. If it was possible to control something like that, that was…

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘YOU appear to have my mobile phone.’

  She had been expecting this call, of course; Max was intelligent enough to realise that the easiest and quickest way to locate his missing mobile was to ring the number and hope someone answered it. In this case, Abby.

  Oh, yes, she had been expecting this call the whole time she’d prepared her own and Monty’s evening meal—chicken salad for her, chicken with rice for Monty—and as she’d cleared away the dishes and sat down to go through her notes and research on this week’s guest. Mostly in the hope it would distract her from just sitting and waiting for the mobile to ring again. It hadn’t succeeded, of course, but it really didn’t matter; her research on the writer Barnaby Hamilton was complete, with no hidden surprises.

  So, yes, she had known that Max would telephone his mobile at some point during the evening—had expected it—but she could tell by Max’s derisive tone that he had already worked out that she would be the one who answered it!

  ‘So I do,’ she returned with a calm that matched his own, her hand tightly gripping the silver-coloured mobile.

  ‘Can I come over and collect it now, or are you busy?’

  She knew exactly what he meant by that last remark; he still thought, despite her denials yesterday, that Gary Holmes might be at her apartment with her this evening!

  ‘No, I’m not busy,’ she came back waspishly. ‘But wouldn’t it just be easier for me to post it back to you tomorrow?’

  She had already given this some thought after ‘Kate’ had called, and, no matter how she might feel towards Max, she had decided she really wasn’t up to another series of his cutting remarks. Her newly realised attraction to him, and the knowledge of Kate’s presence in his life, had left her rawly exposed—so much so that she wasn’t sure she could bear to see him again just yet.

  ‘Easier for you, maybe,’ he agreed dryly. ‘But not as immediate. I need the mobile now, Abby. Not in two days’ time,’ he added firmly.

  Of course he did. He was probably expecting Kate to call—probably had no idea that she had already done so!

  ‘That sounds reasonable,’ Abby returned coolly—it was the way she had decided she had to be with him if she should ever see him again—prior to finding the mobile, of course, and to Kate’s call! But in these circumstances that decision applied even more.

  ‘Oh, I’m glad about that.’ He made no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’ He rang off abruptly.

  ‘Damn him, Monty!’ Abby’s eyes blazed as she threw the mobile down onto her sofa, glaring at it as if it were the man himself. ‘First he kisses me, then he insults me, and now he’s talking to me as if I’m slightly simpleminded. Which,’ she bit out self-disgustedly, ‘considering I’m having a one-sided conversation with my cat, I probably am!’

  Not surprising either, considering the battering her emotions had taken during the last forty-eight hours. Gary, she just wanted to strangle with her bare hands. Max…she still didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him or hit him—and at the same time knew she would do neither!

  ‘Damn the man,’ she muttered again, even as she hurried through to her bedroom to do something about her appearance.

  If she had to see Max again so soon—and it appeared that she did!—then she didn’t have to do it looking travel-worn and frankly less than her best. Besides, she needed an extra boost to her confidence if she was to get through this meeting with any degree of dignity at all.

  She changed into stone-coloured linen trousers and a fitted brown T-shirt, freshening her make-up before brushing her shoulder-length hair until it gleamed like ebony. Slim, elegant, but not overly so, and self-possessed, she decided as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. Not bad at all. She nodded her satisfaction.

  Now all she had to do was maintain that confidence in the face of Max’s sarcasm—

  She dropped the hairbrush she had been using on the bedroom carpet as her buzzer rang, announcing his arrival. So much for self-confidence!

  She didn’t even bother with the intercom, just pressing the button to let him into the building and moving to open the door seconds later as she heard the ascent of the lift.

  ‘So much for security,’ he rasped, totally ignoring the mobile she held out to him as he strode past her into the apartment. ‘You could have been letting in a serial rapist for all you knew!’ he added harshly.

  Abby closed the door gently behind him. ‘Or worse—one of those religious fanatics,’ she returned, dark brows raised mockingly.

  He looked—wonderful, she thought, aching. Black denims, black T-shirt beneath a brown
leather jacket, his dark hair windswept.

  His expression, as usual, was guarded as his gaze swept over her own appearance with the same nonchalance. ‘Or a religious fanatic,’ he agreed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. ‘Not that I have anything against religion. I just don’t like it appearing uninvited on my doorstep.’

  Abby, in the circumstances of her father actually being a vicar, had no intention of commenting on the subject. ‘Yours, I believe.’ She held out the mobile to him once again.

  He took it, his fingers lightly brushing hers, before slipping the mobile into his jacket pocket. ‘Where did you find it?’

  She shrugged, moving away from the intensity of his gaze. ‘It must have fallen out of your jacket pocket yesterday, when you threw it on the sofa.’

  ‘When I threw it on the sofa?’ Max repeated huskily.

  She had been hoping he wouldn’t bring up the subject of that time in his arms yesterday—or the fact that she had been the one to remove his jacket in order to be closer to the warmth of his chest and arms.

  She should have known he wasn’t the sort of man to avoid any subject. As long as it wasn’t one he wanted to avoid, of course!

  Her chin rose challengingly as she met his gaze. ‘You had a phone call earlier.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded, unmoving, his gaze as steady and unyielding as hers.

  He knew Kate had called!

  And the only way he could know that was if the other woman also had the number of his land-line—or had actually gone to his apartment to see him in person. In order to ask him who the woman was who had answered his mobile? Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

  But that wasn’t Abby’s problem, was it? Okay, so she had been the one to throw off his jacket, and consequently cause his mobile to fall out of the pocket, but if Max hadn’t been kissing her at the time, touching her so that she needed to touch him in return—

  ‘From a woman called Kate,’ she went on—she was sure unnecessarily.

  Max’s mouth tightened grimly, his gaze once again guarded. ‘She told me.’