The Boss's Marriage Arrangement

by Penny Jordan

  Harriet was too outraged to be cautious.

  Turning around, she told him explosively, ‘Absolutely not! I haven’t any intention of saving myself for anyone! There are two reasons why I am still a virgin. One of them is Ben’s wretched dogged persistence in behaving like a moralising big brother whenever any man gets near me. And the other is—’

  ‘Yes?’ Matt prodded politely ‘The other is…?’

  Unable to look at him, Harriet muttered, ‘The other is that as yet I haven’t found anyone I want…that is, someone who I… Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she said in exasperation. ‘None of this is any business of yours. Have I quizzed you about your virginity?’

  Matt started to shake with laughter. For some reason her angry and grudging admission had made him feel extremely light-hearted. ‘No, but since you have now raised the subject I am quite happy to tell you that I lost it on my eighteenth birthday to an older woman—she was all of twenty-one, and in the throes of a break up with her partner. Somehow I don’t think I created a very good impression!’ he added drily.

  Not then, perhaps, Harriet reflected achingly, but since then she had no doubts whatsoever that there were any number of women who had some very special sensual memories of what it was like to share Matt’s bed.

  As she walked away Matt had to give his libido a severe talking to.

  * * *

  ‘Well, I think that’s the worst of the glass cleared up, and that cardboard I’ve put over the window should hold up until the glazier gets here.’

  Matt stretched and yawned whilst Harriet watched with a fixed, strained expression on her face.

  It had taken Ben three months to assemble her kitchen units and put them in place. Three months of spending hours on end in the confinement of her kitchen with him, breathing in the air of his exertions, and yet not once, not one single time, had she felt as she did right now with the scent of Matt’s working male body filling the space around her and her body reacting it as though to some kind of nuclear sexual turn-on. Bottle it and women would be aching with lust twenty-four hours a day. She certainly had been ever since she had met him!

  * * *

  ‘A king-size bed?’

  Matt had not added the words ‘for a virgin’ but he might as well have done, Harriet thought as he came to an abrupt halt just inside the door of her bedroom.

  ‘It was a present from my brother and my sister-in-law,’ she told him coldly.

  ‘Mmm… Think they might have been trying to tell you something?’ Matt asked, quirking one eyebrow.

  ‘Look, there’s no need for you to keep harping on about my…about it. I don’t know why on earth Ben had to tell you anyway,’ Harriet seethed.

  ‘I’ve already explained. He wanted to make sure I had honourable intentions towards you,’ Matt answered her.

  ‘Honourable intentions!’

  Harriet’s pretty white teeth snapped together in frustration.

  Her bedroom echoed the natural colours and fabrics of the rest of the house, Matt recognised when he managed to drag his gaze away from her long enough to glance around it. The room was dominated by the large bed, with its cream throw, and also held a faint but to him very discernible echo of Harriet’s scent—her own scent, not the pretty floral perfume she wore for work.

  He smothered a small groan! How the hell was he going to sleep, with her lying beside him and the scent of her all around him, when his body ached so damned much for the feel of her, the taste of her, the sweet, erotic moaning cry of her as he…?

  He dragged himself from the dangerous scenario he was mentally creating to hear Harriet saying in a businesslike manner, ‘I think I’ve got a spare robe you can use…’

  ‘Spare? You mean Ben’s?’ Matt challenged her brutally.

  Harriet paled, but stood her ground. ‘No, I do not mean Ben’s. Actually, I bought it for my father to use. He and my mother stayed here and looked after the house for a few days whilst I was away on holiday last year.’

  ‘Ah…’

  Matt was tempted to apologise, to tell her that he was only goading her for her own good, so that she would realise the folly of clinging to an outworn fantasy of having a relationship with Ben and see for herself how much more she would enjoy having one with him!

  But Harriet had her back to him and was pulling open a drawer to rummage inside it, muttering, ‘It’s in here somewhere…’

  Matt held his breath as a small scrap of silk and lace fell on the floor. A cream silk thong? With ribbon ties? His imagination was running riot and so was his arousal level. One tug of his teeth and those bows would be history! They would be history, but the soft female flesh they concealed would be his!

  As she found the robe Harriet gave a sigh of relief and closed the drawer, only seeing the thong as she did so.

  She was closer to it but Matt was faster, and to her outrage he dangled the small item of underwear from one finger in front of her.

  ‘A present?’ he said provocatively.

  ‘Certainly not,’ she told him primly. ‘I bought it myself!’

  Too late she recognised the trap he had set for her.

  ‘Even virgins like pretty underwear,’ she said crossly, pink-cheeked.

  ‘This is not pretty underwear,’ Matt informed her immediately. ‘This, let me tell you, in every male lexicon there is, is classified as provocative and sexy!’

  ‘Provocative and… Oh…!’

  ‘Bra to match?’ Matt questioned interestedly.

  Harriet’s bosom heaved and jiggled distractingly, causing Matt to pay it more attention than her answer.

  Out of nowhere a surge of hot, driving male possessiveness overwhelmed him and he had a primitive urge to lock Harriet and her underwear away where no other man could see them. Preferably in a bedroom… His bedroom…

  ‘Do you want to use the bathroom first?’ he heard Harriet asking him frostily.

  ‘First? You mean we aren’t going to be using it together?’ he joked. ‘It’s ages since someone scrubbed my back for me!’

  Harriet was exhausted. Her hormones didn’t know where they were. They knew where they wanted her to be, though. Lying pinned to the bed beneath the hot and aroused weight of Matt’s preferably naked body, whilst he…

  It was just as well she still had those thermal pyjamas her great aunt had so kindly given her last Christmas. She could just imagine what Matt would have to say about her normal habit of sleeping in the nude!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HARRIET huffed as she rolled over and into the bank of spare pillows she had insisted on placing down the middle of the bed between Matt and herself—after Matt had announced his intention of sleeping in the nude and had refused to change his mind.

  ‘It’s the way I always sleep,’ he had told her dismissively.

  It was also the way she always slept—but not on this occasion.

  ‘Anyway, you’re wearing enough for both of us,’ he had added drily.

  Harriet made a small sound of irritation as she tried to pull the itchy fabric away from her skin. She was too hot…too wide awake…and much, much too conscious of the man lying peacefully asleep in the bed beside her. Not that she could see him, with the pillows in between them, but if she pushed one of them down a little bit…

  Matt was lying with his back to her, his dark head a blur on the white pillow, his bare arm thrown over the duvet, the rest of his body outlined beneath it.

  Harriet made a small frustrated sound beneath her breath, released the pillow and rolled over onto her stomach.

  But the damage was done and the mental image stored inside her head would not go away.

  The trouble was that she was used to having the whole of the large bed to herself to stretch out in, instead of being hedged in with pillows; that was what was keeping her awake! But Matt was fast asleep, so there was really no harm in removing the pillow barrier now, was there?

  Stealthily Harriet removed the pillows and dropped them onto the floor at her own side of the b
ed.

  Cautiously opening one eye, Matt watched her, hastily feigning sleep when she turned back towards him.

  Now that Harriet had removed the barrier, nature could do the rest, he decided happily, and he rolled a little closer to the centre of the bed and felt it depress beneath his weight.

  Bemusedly Harriet felt her body start to move…as though she were lying on a slope, she decided vaguely. Not that it mattered. Not really. Matt was fast asleep, after all, and she was wearing her pyjamas.

  Matt wasn’t wearing anything, though. And now he had turned around in his sleep. To Harriet’s mortification, as she rolled into him he threw one bare leg over her and pinned her against the bed.

  She tried to move, discreetly and silently, so as not to wake him, but for some reason the more she tried to ease herself away the heavier and more imprisoning the weight of his leg became.

  Despairingly, she contemplated physically pushing him away, but just as she was about to touch him he muttered something in his sleep and she froze, alarmed that he might wake up.

  Instead he muttered again, then lifted his arm and wrapped it around her.

  She was trapped in the bed, imprisoned against him and unable to do a single thing about it without waking him.

  And she didn’t want to do that!

  So she might just as well succumb, then, mightn’t she?

  A fierce shudder of pleasure ran through her at the mere thought of sleeping wrapped in Matt’s arms, her body pressed against the hot satin warmth of his skin.

  If only she wasn’t wearing Great-Aunt Madge’s wretched pyjamas!

  If only she might have the courage to reach out and make a leisurely exploration of the sensual feast of naked Matt now so temptingly within her reach.

  It would be a crime to waste such an opportunity—especially when she had dreamed wantonly of it and of him virtually from the first night she had met him!

  Unfortunately the fact that she couldn’t move her arms without risking disturbing Matt meant that she had to be inventive in the way she indulged herself in her voyage of exploration. But happily she soon discovered that her lips and her tongue were avid and acutely sensitive sensory tools.

  For the first time in his whole adult life Matt truly and fully understood the meaning of the phrase ‘hoist with his own petard.’ His subtle machinations had backfired—explosively—on him! He didn’t dare so much as move a muscle. If he did…

  A low male groan bubbled in his throat. Harriet wriggled uncomfortably in the itchy fabric of her pyjamas and yawned hugely. The events of the day were catching up on her. She yawned again and nestled closer to Matt, making a soft almost purring noise in the back of her throat.

  At some point in the night she half woke up. Bewildered to find she was wrapped in something irritatingly itchy and unwanted, she pulled off her pyjamas and then curled back against Matt with a sigh of relief.

  * * *

  Matt woke up first, registered the soft silkiness of bare skin next to his own, and cursed beneath his breath as his body immediately reacted to it. His movement away from her woke Harriet, who pushed back the bedclothes sleepily.

  Unable to stop himself, Matt let his hungry gaze drink in the sight of the soft full globes of her breasts. In the coolness of the morning air her nipples were erect and tipped with rose brown against the paleness of her skin. His hands ached to cup and mould them. When she felt his mouth on them would she arch back in eagerness, to give herself freely to him, her fingers locking in his hair as she urged him to take the tight peaks deeper into his mouth and suckle pleasure from them? Would she part her legs and offer him the soft triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs, urging him to stroke the mounded flesh they covered and then move lower, parting the neatly folded lips, sliding between them, slipping between them as her body swelled and moistened for him?

  What the hell was he trying to do to himself? His erection was already so damned hard he didn’t dare move.

  ‘What have you done with my pyjamas?’ Harriet demanded wrathfully as she grabbed the duvet and hauled it up to her chin.

  ‘I haven’t done anything with them!’ Matt denied. ‘You were the one who removed them!’

  ‘What? No, I didn’t,’ Harriet protested hotly. ‘I would never—’ Abruptly she stopped suddenly as she had an unwanted flash of memory of itchy fabric and her desire to be rid of it.

  ‘Harry, is that Matt’s car outside—? Oh, whoops!’

  They had both been so engrossed that neither of them had realised there had been a brief knock and the bedroom door had been pushed open by Ben!

  As she saw him Harriet gave a small squeak and dived beneath the duvet, leaving Ben to go slightly red and look a little bit sheepish.

  Matt said calmly, but with an unmistakable edge to his voice, ‘Yes, it is my car, Ben. How did you get in, by the way?’

  ‘I’ve got a key,’ Ben told him easily, making a swift recovery as he responded to Matt’s calmness, adding hopefully, ‘I just thought I’d call ’round and see if I could use Harry’s washing machine. Mine’s broken, and I didn’t fancy the laundrette.’

  ‘Tell him he can use the machine, but I am not doing his ironing,’ Harriet muttered from beneath the duvet.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea, Ben,’ Matt announced crisply. ‘Why don’t you go and buy yourself a new washing machine—you can send me the bill. And I will change Harriet’s locks. In fact, if you give me a minute I’ll come down with you now, see you out and relieve you of your key.’

  Pleasant though Matt’s voice was, Harriet could hear the steel in it.

  The moment the two men had gone she escaped from the bed and grabbed her robe, pulling it on and making a dash for the bathroom.

  When she had showered and dressed behind the safety of the locked door Matt still hadn’t returned. It occurred to her that he might not be going to, that he might simply have decided that it would be easier and more tactful for him to leave without saying a formal goodbye!

  It was certainly a sensible means of bringing to an end an episode which she suspected neither of them would want to dwell on—although for very different reasons.

  Sensible or not, though, it was certainly having an irritatingly irrational and unwanted lowering effect on her spirits, Harriet admitted, as she tugged a brush ruthlessly through her hair and reminded herself that she had far more important things to do than languish about aching for a man who didn’t want her.

  There was the broken window to report, for a start, and then the glass to get fixed. A small shiver ran through her at the thought of her own vulnerability.

  Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she was a modern, independent woman and that it was ridiculous of her to feel sorry for herself just because Matt wasn’t here to share such tedious practical chores with her.

  Opening the bedroom door, she stepped through it and came to an abrupt halt, her eyes widening in disbelief as her gaze swivelled to the bed, where Matt was lying propped up against a bank of pillows—the same pillows she had thrown out last night. He was wearing the robe she had bought for her father, and it was so loosely tied that it was gaping open to reveal an erotic baring of body hair. She ached to ruffle it with her fingertips and…

  Hastily Harriet grabbed hold of her rebellious and far too dangerous thoughts, focusing instead on the wrath-provoking fact that Matt was not just lying back at ease on her bed but was also reading her paper, whilst next to him on the bed was a tray of tea and a plate of hot buttered toast. As she sniffed its warm, mouthwatering aroma Matt looked up from her paper to look briefly at her before raising one eyebrow.

  ‘Why the rush to get dressed?’

  ‘Why?’ Harriet gave him an incredulous look. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Ben just walked in here and found us in bed together!’

  Matt started to frown and put down the paper. ‘So how is getting dressed now going to affect that? Ben knows that we’re a couple.’

  Just hearing Matt say in that firm, totally
male voice the word ‘couple’—as matter-of-factly as though it were the truth—was having the most disturbing effect on her. But it wasn’t just Matt’s voice that was making her yearn for his calm assertion to be the truth was it?

  It wasn’t the truth! And she needed to get a grip before she became totally lost in a fantasy that could only cause her heartache and anguish, Harriet told herself fiercely.

  ‘What Ben knows is what you want him to know,’ she told Matt fiercely. ‘What I know is that this whole…mess has been created and caused by you because you will not accept that I have no romantic interest whatsoever in Ben.’

  ‘If I don’t believe it it’s because your own actions have made it obvious how you feel. And I’m not the only person to see that.’

  ‘If you’re talking about Cindi again—’ Harriet exploded.

  ‘Yes?’ Matt invited her in a dangerous voice. ‘What is it with you?’ he demanded harshly when Harriet made no response, throwing aside the paper. ‘Have you no pride, no self-respect? What will it take to make you recognise what you are doing to yourself?’

  ‘Not you!’ Harriet shot back at him furiously.

  ‘If that’s a challenge then let me tell you that I’m a man who never ever backs down from one,’ Matt warned her softly.

  There was a look in his eyes that was mesmerising her, Harriet decided. And a tightening spiral of mingled apprehension and female curiosity exploded inside her at the hint of dark warning in his voice.

  Changing tack, she told him recklessly, ‘You had no right to make Ben give you his key!’

  Matt’s mouth tightened, giving Harriet an opportunity to be both bemused and caught off guard by her own immediate desire to find out just how long it might take for someone to kiss the hardness out of his mouth and feel it soften to hungry passion. A small shudder ran through her at the thought of conducting such an experiment herself.

  The effect her own thoughts was having on her was distracting her so much that she only just managed to hear Matt’s crisp reply.