The Millionaire's Virgin (Mills & Boon By Request)

by Susan Stephens

  That had been when she said to herself, No more. Everyone had been talking about their shiny new resolutions. Well, that was hers. Tell Suze first. Then the rest of the world. The truth. Then she could wave goodbye to Performance Zoe for ever. And get on with the rest of her life.

  Hello world, I’m a virgin.

  Only she never seemed to find the opportunity. The trouble was that there was such a huge difference between what she was and what everyone—all her friends, even her brother and sister—thought she was. Even a nice man like David thought she could be persuaded to get back into bed— back into bed—without too much difficulty. And then, just today, here was her best friend telling her ‘there’s more to relationships than sex’.

  Some of it was her own fault, Zoe knew. New Year was six months ago. There must have been chances to tell Suze. She had just run away from them. And, most damning of all, she had just unloaded her third escort of the year.

  She said slowly, ‘Okay. The truth it is. Simon’s a great guy. It wasn’t anything he did—’

  Suze laughed wickedly. ‘Okay. What was it that he didn’t do?’ And she leered with mock lasciviousness.

  At once Zoe was wincing internally. But outside she was laughing back.

  ‘Nothing to complain about. He made all the right moves. It wasn’t him, honestly. It was me.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me that. It’s always you.’ Suze pursed her lips. ‘A complete split personality, that’s what you are.’

  ‘What?’ said Zoe, arrested.

  ‘If you ask me, you don’t know what you want. You unload a swinger like Alastair because he doesn’t want to play house with your barmy family. Then you hitch up with Simon who’s so domestic he comes with a matching Labrador. And he can’t keep you interested, either.’

  Zoe shifted. ‘It isn’t quite like that.’

  Suze was too intrigued by her own analysis to take any notice of Zoe’s uncomfortable murmur.

  ‘Don’t you see a pattern? You only want what you haven’t got at the moment.’

  Zoe’s heart sank. ‘Suze, listen to me—’ she began urgently.

  But there was ring from the little telephone clipped to Suze’s belt. She pressed a button and raised her eyebrows at the number displayed.

  ‘Jay Christopher? What does he want?’ She pressed another button and put the thing to her ear. ‘Hi, Jay. What can I do for you?’

  Zoe looked away across the garden. She could have kicked herself. Another ideal opportunity wasted. Again.

  What is wrong with me? thought Zoe, despairing.

  Meanwhile Suze had gone into crisp business mode. She even stood up to talk, prowling around the lawn as if she were patrolling her office. She snapped out questions like an interrogator, but most of the time she listened attentively.

  ‘So that’s more than a filing clerk,’ she was saying when Zoe tuned in again. ‘You need someone who can handle research. And work on their own initiative. And you want them by Monday. You don’t ask much, do you?’

  The telephone said something flattering.

  Suze laughed, undeceived. ‘And you know that nobody else would even think of trying. Okay, Jay, I’ll do what I can. But I need the paperwork tonight and I’m not in the office. If you’re serious about this, you’ll have to drop it off here.’ She spelled out Zoe’s address.

  The telephone said something else.

  ‘Am I an online map service?’ asked Suze sweetly. ‘Look in the A to Z. The good news is it doesn’t matter how late you get here. We’re having a party.’

  It was all the reminder that Zoe needed. She jumped to her feet. ‘Time to get on,’ she mouthed at Suze, and ran down the last set of steps to the patio and into the kitchen, command centre of Operation Party.

  She began to attack the remaining two thirds of the big refectory table with energy.

  Eventually Suze finished her phone call and followed. ‘Interesting,’ she said. She stood in the doorway, sucking her teeth. ‘Er—Zo? About your jobs next week…’

  ‘What?’ said Zoe, scrubbing hard.

  ‘I know you don’t want to sign on with me permanently. But—what about a one-off? Two weeks, maybe four. A really stimulating job, too. Lots of initiative required, and you get to use your brain, too.’

  Zoe knew her best friend well. Suze had not got to be a twenty-four-year-old phenomenon by focusing on the disadvantages of the employers who used her agency. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Nothing. Honest. It’s a brilliant job.’

  ‘Then why haven’t you already got someone on your books who can do it?’

  Suze sighed. ‘I have. Well, a couple. But they’ve already got jobs for next week. And this is not a job that just anyone can do. They have to have that little bit extra.’ She came and stood beside Zoe, nudging her companionably. ‘Well, a lot extra, actually. You’d have been my first choice anyway.’

  ‘You’re wheedling,’ said Zoe dispassionately. ‘You always wheedle when there’s something wrong. ‘Fess up. What’s the downside?’

  ‘Well, it’s in the West End,’ admitted Suze.

  ‘Uh-oh. You mean I’d have to leave the house before Harry goes to school.’ She shook her head. ‘No way. His exams are coming up.’

  ‘If I can persuade them to let you arrive later? Say ten- thirty? That would mean you missed the rush hour on the tube as well.’ Suze slipped an arm round her. ‘Oh, come on, Zo. You know you need the money. And it’d be fun. We could have lunch together.’

  Zoe hesitated. It was true; they needed the money. The plumbing had more leaks than she was able to keep up with, and a damp patch that she kept trying not to think about had appeared in the top bedroom ceiling. To have enough in her bank account to be able to call a plumber and hang the consequences sounded like heaven.

  ‘If I could leave the house after I’ve seen Harry off…’ she mused aloud.

  ‘You’re a sweetheart,’ said Suze. She put on rubber gloves and took the scouring pad away from Zoe. ‘I’ll finish that.’

  ‘I didn’t say I would do it,’ Zoe said hurriedly. ‘I’ll think about it. That’s all.’

  ‘You’re a mate,’ said Suze. ‘That’s all I ask. Thanks.’

  Zoe did a rapid assessment of the contents of the fridge and shifted food around to make room for bottles of white wine.

  Suze considered her thoughtfully. ‘It is okay, me asking this guy tonight?’

  Zoe was surprised. ‘It’s half your party. You ask anyone you want.’

  ‘He’s a client, but he’s cool,’ Suze assured her. ‘In fact he’s gorgeous.’

  Zoe shrugged. ‘Even if he isn’t I can live with it. Lauren’s bringing Boring Accountant Man, after all.’

  They both groaned.

  Suze said delicately, ‘Speaking of cool—is your mum coming?’

  The big house was theoretically the Brown family home. But Zoe’s mother had lived a sort of semi-detached existence from her three children ever since her husband left. These days the house ran like a shared tenancy between four adults. And if anyone cooked family meals or did a major shop for the house it was Zoe, not Deborah Brown.

  Zoe said without any delicacy at all, ‘Not a chance. Any sign of a party and she heads for the hills.’

  They were both silent, remembering. Philip Brown had walked out during Zoe’s sixteenth birthday party. All the neighbours knew it. Suze’s mother had been there with hot meals and a shoulder to lean on until Deborah had finally repelled her. Zoe and her siblings had been grateful for the hot meals, though. They’d stayed grateful until Zoe had taken charge and made sure that the house ran properly again.

  ‘Shame.’ Suze had gone through school envying Zoe her anti-authoritarian mother. She still had a lot of time for Deborah, though she thought the woman’s withdrawal into her own world was hard on Zoe. ‘She’s still on Planet Potty, then?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Zoe briefly.

  The doorbell rang. It was the drink for the party. Zoe and Suze helped c
arry in the cases. There was wine and bottled water and vodka and mixers and beer. And then four dozen wine glasses in their divided cardboard boxes.

  ‘Sign here,’ said the friendly delivery man. ‘Glasses back clean by Monday. You pay for breakages. Have a good one!’

  After that they were too busy for more confidences. Zoe did not know whether she was frustrated or relieved. Either way, it didn’t matter.

  ‘Help,’ Zoe said as she and Suze formed themselves into a production line to unpack glasses. ‘In less than three hours the house will be full of people expecting to be fed and entertained. So far only the garden is ready for them.’

  But she and Suze worked well together. They were both practical and unflappable, and they had done this before. The food was set out, the drawing room disco was operational, and a bedroom full of the valuable and fragile was locked, with half an hour to spare.

  Zoe showered and washed her hair quickly. She dried it fast, watching it spring into its corkscrew curls with resignation. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing I can do about it. Curls are my curse.’

  ‘Some curse.’ Suze had extracted the tiniest possible slip of a dress from her briefcase. She climbed into it, then occupied Zoe’s dressing table. She was peering in the mirror, outlining her eyelids carefully.

  Zoe pinned her hair carelessly on top of her head and began to scrabble in her wardrobe.

  ‘Why do I always forget how much effort it takes to organise a big party?’ said Suze between clenched teeth.

  ‘Because we’re good at it.’ Zoe debated between a white crop top and a black net shirt that was perfectly plain except that you could see through it. She opted for advice. ‘Which do you think?’

  Suze put her eye make up on hold for moment, swivelled round and considered gravely.

  ‘Not white,’ she decided. ‘No tan yet.’

  Zoe nodded, flung the white top back in the wardrobe and dug black satin underwear out of a drawer. Having decided, she dressed quickly, teaming the chiffon top with deep purple leather trousers, soft and clingy as gloves. Leaving Suze at the dressing table, she went into her en suite shower room and attacked the still damp curls with a comb. Soon they were falling into turbulent waves of gold and brown and chestnut, and even a hint of auburn.

  She came out. ‘What do you think?’

  Suze had finished her eyes. She turned. ‘Very Pre- Raphaelite,’ she approved.

  ‘Not as if I’ve just got out of bed?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So men aren’t going to think I’m willing to jump right back if they ask nicely?’

  Suze chuckled. ‘Well, you know men. They live in hope.’

  Zoe clutched her temples in mock despair.

  ‘Never mind,’ Suze consoled her. ‘You can always dance with Boring Accountant Man. He doesn’t back women into bed. Lauren told me he’s holding out for a virgin.’

  Her tone said it all, thought Zoe. He might just as well have been holding out for a tyrannosaurus rex as far as Suze was concerned.

  ‘Really?’ she said in a constrained voice.

  ‘I don’t know what Lauren sees in her weirdos. She must be on a mission to bring the twenty-first century to the unenlightened.’ Zoe bent and fluffed up her hair unnecessarily. ‘I suppose so.’ She sounded depressed.

  Suze put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her quickly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I know you’re the saviour of the world’s party outcasts, but Boring Accountant Man isn’t going to be looking in your direction. Never seen anyone less virginal in my life.’

  Zoe gave a hollow laugh. ‘I’m glad about that.’

  Suze chuckled. ‘I don’t believe there’s a twenty-three- year-old virgin left in the northern hemisphere.’

  Zoe winced. Only Suze did not see it, and the mask clicked into place, as it always did, without fail.

  But bright, deceptive, popular Performance Zoe said naughtily, ‘Definitely dead as a dodo.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  JAY CHRISTOPHER drove into the tree-lined street at half past midnight. The party house was not difficult to identify. Someone had tied balloons all along the iron railings and it blazed with lights.

  He inserted the Jaguar into the tightest possible parking place with one smooth movement and switched off the engine. For a moment he sat there in the friendly dark, savouring the solitude. It had been a heavy week in every way.

  ‘People!’ he said aloud, with fierce self-mockery. ‘Doncha just love them?’

  He looked at the balloon-fringed house with reluctance bordering on dislike. But this was work, he reminded himself. He could deal with people when it was work.

  He flicked open the slim briefcase on the passenger seat and found the big white envelope he was looking for. Then he flung the briefcase on the floor, out of sight of any potential car breaker. There was no point in bothering with a jacket. The night was too warm and he didn’t think Suze Manoir’s friends would welcome a fellow in a City suit. Anyway, he had already left his tie at Carla’s.

  At the thought of Carla his slim dark brows locked together. She had not contributed to the emotional horrors of this week. But he knew that she was not happy. It would have to end soon, Jay thought. It could not go on, not if he was making her unhappy. No matter how bravely she denied it.

  He shook his head. It was so easy to know when women were getting in too deep. They stopped asking questions in case they couldn’t deal with the answers.

  Take tonight, for example. He had said, without thinking, that he was going to have to drive through a part of London he did not know. That he was going to a party. Carla could so easily have asked, Whose party? Where? Could she come, too…? But she hadn’t. Jay even knew why. In case he wouldn’t take her. In case the party-giver was her successor.

  So she had just sat opposite him in the restaurant and smiled and asked intelligent questions about his business and looked forward to seeing him on Sunday. And all the time there had been that terrible fear at the back of her eyes. And her voice had been calm and even. And she hadn’t asked questions.

  Yes, he was definitely going to have to end it. She was too nice a woman to do anything else. He could not let her start to hope that there might be any future for them. It would be completely false. He had made that plain when they started. Carla had said she understood that. But women had that habit of forgetting the rules when they fell in love.

  Especially when they fell in love with men who did not understand love.

  I might not understand love, thought Jay. But I’ve seen the harm it does. Oh, Carla, why can’t you settle for honest sex and friendship?

  But he knew she would not. His heart twisted with pity for her. Yet even as he winced at the thought of her distress he could not wait to get away. It suffocated him, all this terrible, exhausting emotion. It made him want to go out on the moors and run and run and run until he couldn’t think, could barely breathe—and still keep on running.

  Well, at least there would be no emotion at Suze Manoir’s party. Jay laughed aloud at the thought. He got out of the car, stuffed the envelope under his arm and crossed the street.

  It took him time to get into the house. Once in, though, it was relatively easy to find Suze. He tracked her down to a room with rotating disco lights and loud seventies music. She was dancing energetically to Abba, but as soon as he arrived she dropped her partner’s hand and rushed across to him.

  ‘Jay! You got here.’

  ‘I even got in,’ he said dryly. ‘Who on earth have you got on the door? Murder Incorporated?’

  ‘Oh that’s Harry Brown and his friends. He’s Zoe’s brother.’

  ‘Zoe?’

  ‘She lives here. It’s half her party.’

  ‘Well, she certainly gives a great bouncer service,’ he said. ‘The guys out there have a technique that makes your average killer shark look like Miss Hospitality.’

  ‘She’s very efficient,’ said Suze demurely. ‘In fact—well,
never mind. Have you got my contract?’

  ‘Have you got my research assistant?’ he countered.

  ‘Maybe.’

  She was looking naughty, he thought. Or it could be a trick of the whirling light.

  He said, ‘This isn’t a game, Susan. I’ve got a major speech to give at the Communications Conference in Venice next month. And there isn’t a single note or reference to build on.’

  ‘Come and let me find you a drink,’ Suze said soothingly. ‘And you can tell me how you let it get away from you.’

  ‘Something soft. I’m driving,’ he said absently. ‘It happened because I delegated, and the wretched girl hasn’t done a thing.’

  Suze opened the fridge. ‘Juice or water?’

  ‘Water, please.’

  He wandered round the kitchen. The lighting was better than in the drawing room disco, but it was still clearly a room decked out for a party. There were candles and trailing greenery everywhere, and someone had sprayed ‘Sixteen Again’ on the mirror in gold paint.

  ‘How old is your friend?’ Jay asked, recoiling.

  Suze poured water into a big wine glass for him.

  ‘Twenty-three. But she says everyone should be sixteen at a party.’

  ‘Original!’

  Suze laughed and gave him the glass.

  ‘She’s not as daft as she sounds. She has her reasons. Now, let me have a look at that contract.’

  He gave her the envelope.

  ‘It’s a long shot, I know. If you can’t help, then I’ll call the bigger agencies on Monday.’

  Suze was running her eyes down the job description. ‘Hmm? You know the other agencies aren’t as creative as I am.’

  ‘No, but they have more people on their books.’

  She looked up. ‘You don’t want more, Jay. You want the right one. And I may just have her for you.’

  He was intrigued. ‘May just? That doesn’t sound like you.’