The Boss's Virgin

by Charlotte Lamb

  She found Tom on the point of going, his back to her, the front door wide open.

  ‘Don’t just go, Tom,’ she said shakily. ‘We must talk. I’m very sorry. I know how angry you must be, but…’

  He turned to stare at her as if he had never seen her before. ‘Angry?’ he repeated in a low voice. ‘Shattered, Pippa. I’m absolutely shattered. You, of all people, behaving like…like that.’ His mouth writhed in distaste. ‘I’d have taken an oath on it that you weren’t capable of being promiscuous. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I’d never have believed it.’

  She bit down on her lower lip, said in a smothered sob, ‘I know, I’m sorry.’

  Tom looked down at the floor, face tense, then walked past her into the sitting room. Pippa closed the front door and followed him. As she appeared he turned on her and grated, ‘Who is he?’

  She was startled—hadn’t he recognised Randal? She had been certain he must have done, but of course Tom had only seen him briefly, in the dark, and he had been in shock, himself, after the accident.

  ‘Randal Harding,’ she prompted, but Tom’s face remained blank.

  Then he said slowly, ‘I’ve heard that name before somewhere. Does he work at the office?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. The car crash the other night, remember?’

  Tom stared, eyes widening. ‘The car crash? My God, yes, you’re right—that was the name of the fellow whose car hit ours.’ He brushed his pale hair back, forehead creased, visibly thinking back. ‘But…I don’t understand… You didn’t even speak to him that night; you stayed in the car. Don’t tell me he came here today and talked his way in?’ His voice deepened. ‘Did he attack you? Is that what was happening just now? Was he trying to…? Pippa, what did he do to you?’

  She shook her head, close to hysterical tears as it dawned on her that he was handing her the perfect alibi, making up a story for her to use. But she couldn’t lie to him or put all the blame on Randal, even though he might deserve it.

  She had asked him to go away and leave her alone but he wouldn’t go. Briefly she was tempted to tell Tom what he clearly wanted to hear—that she was innocent, that Randal had been forcing her. But, no, she had to tell Tom the truth, however painful and embarrassing. She had lied to him by omission for the past four years, hiding a very important piece of her life from him. She had to tell the whole truth now.

  ‘No, Tom. I know him. I knew him before the accident. I worked for him before I came to work with you.’ She swallowed, very pale, holding herself rigid. ‘I…we…’ What should she tell him? How should she explain? She and Randal had not been lovers, but they might have been, if she hadn’t left.

  Tom leapt to the obvious conclusion, face grim. She had always thought of him as boyish. That young, cheerful look had gone now. ‘He was your lover?’

  ‘No!’ She hesitated, making herself expound on the flat denial, because he had to understand how it had been. ‘Well…no, but…he might have been. That was why I left. He was married with a child. I couldn’t break that up, but I wasn’t prepared to be his mistress, so I resigned and left the firm. I haven’t seen him since.’

  Tom ran a hand over his face, as if to expunge all trace of emotion from it before he spoke. When he did, he sounded almost calm, his voice flat, toneless. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the other night? You must have recognised him.’

  ‘Yes, of course, at once.’

  It had been a blinding trauma, the instant when Randal had got out of his car and she’d seen those long legs, the windblown black hair, the strong, sardonic face. Time had rushed backwards at an alarming pace. She had felt like a girl again, trembling and breathless.

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell me you knew him?’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to. I didn’t know what to say. And I thought it wasn’t necessary. After all, nothing had really happened. We were attracted to each other, and might have become lovers, but I went away, so it didn’t happen. There was nothing to tell. And I didn’t think I’d ever see him again after that night.’

  ‘But today you did.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She knew what he must be thinking—and she couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t set eyes on Randal for four years until the accident, and today they had ended up naked in bed together within hours. Tom was justified in being shocked. She was shocked herself. She had thought she knew herself pretty well, could predict how she would behave in any given situation. She had had to learn that there were depths of her nature she hadn’t had any idea about. But, after all, how well did anyone know themselves?

  ‘I really am sorry, Tom. I never guessed what would happen,’ she stammered, very flushed.

  ‘Are you saying he did force you?’

  She wished she could say yes, but shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t use force—he’s devious and scheming, but never violent.’

  Randal had had no need to use force. He had used her own feelings and desires against her and had a walk-over because she was too weak to defend herself. Whatever she might say to him, however fiercely she rejected him, Randal had some way of seeing past all that and realising his power over her.

  Tom took a long, rough breath. ‘What exactly are you telling me, Pippa? That you’re in love with him?’

  She bit her lip, staring back in helpless silence.

  Tom slowly nodded. ‘And not with me. You’ve always said so and that’s the truth, isn’t it? You’ll never be in love with me.’

  Pippa still couldn’t find the words to answer him. She could not lie, and yet how could she tell the honest to God truth without hurting him even more?

  ‘Well, say something!’ Tom shouted, his face white. ‘Surely you can say something! Aren’t I entitled to that, at least?’

  Moistening her lip with the tip of her tongue, she took a deep breath, whispered, ‘Tom…I’m so sorry…I don’t know what to say. But it isn’t love, that isn’t what I feel for him, I don’t even know what it is I do feel. Only that I don’t seem able to control it.’

  He laughed mirthlessly. ‘And all this time I’ve been putting you on a pedestal. I was waiting until we were married before I laid a finger on you, because I thought you were a virgin, pure as driven snow. And now, less than a week before our wedding, I find you in bed with a stranger!’

  ‘I’m s…’ she began, and Tom suddenly shouted at her.

  ‘Don’t keep saying that!’

  For a second she felt danger in him, a rage surging under his pale skin, making his body tense. She even thought he was going to hit her, and as their eyes met she knew she was thinking that too, but in the end Tom’s basic decency won out and his shoulders sagged. He turned away from her to stare out of the window.

  After a minute’s silence that felt more like hours, he said, ‘So what now? The wedding’s off, I presume? Do you want me to deal with all the cancellations and phone calls? It would be better coming from me.’

  ‘What…what will you say?’

  ‘I’ll tell the truth. We’ve changed our minds at the eleventh hour.’ There was another pause, then he said abruptly, ‘Will you be okay?’

  She was touched by his concern. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘Goodbye, then.’

  Spinning on his heel, he walked out of the room. She stood there, listening to him going, feeling limp and exhausted. The front door quietly closed.

  It was so sudden, this ending—a week ago they had been busy planning the last details of their wedding, yet now there would be no wedding.

  Her brows knit. What about her job? Tom had said goodbye—had he meant she no longer had a job? His words had sounded so final and she wouldn’t be surprised if he had been firing her by implication.

  How could they work together after this? The office gossip was going to be horrendous. Humiliating for Tom. The girls were going to be sorry for him, and, worst of all, show it, which he would hate. And if she went back, it would be embarrassing for her, too. People would whisper behind their backs, stare wheneve
r they met them; some would drop hints, even have the cheek to ask direct questions.

  Why? Why call the wedding off? Is there someone else? Have you met another guy? Or has Tom found another woman?

  She shuddered, imagining it. No, she couldn’t bear to go back and face Tom’s hurt eyes, his wounded bride, or one of those curious, insolent interrogations.

  Tomorrow she would have to write, resigning, and then she would put her cottage on the market and move again. A sigh wrenched her. Last time there had been no problem moving home, that shabby little room hadn’t mattered to her, but this time she was bitterly reluctant to leave her home, the cottage she had spent so much time and energy and money on improving. It had been the very first real home she had ever had. She did not want to leave it. But she knew she couldn’t stay here, not now.

  Standing at the window into the back garden, she watched sunlight sparkling on spring flowers: the few last white narcissi, pale, frail flowers, purple hyacinth, whose fragrance made them hypnotic for insects which buzzed between them, making deep splashes of colour against the green of the lawn, newly budding bluebells under the apple tree not yet in blossom. She would probably never see another spring here.

  Tears filled her eyes. She leaned on the window frame, put her hands over her eyes, weeping.

  The first she knew of Randal’s arrival was when he took hold of her shoulders and turned her towards him, one hand behind her head, pushing her face into his chest. She was too miserable to protest or struggle; she desperately needed comfort. Weakly, she lay against him, sobbing.

  His fingers stroked her hair, rubbing her scalp in a sensuous rhythm she found hypnotic. ‘Was he very unpleasant?’

  She drew breath, said shakily, ‘Not at all. I almost wish he had been. He was hurt, which was far worse. I feel so guilty.’

  Randal put a finger under her chin and lifted her head, stared down into her tear-wet green eyes. ‘You didn’t love him and he’d have realised it eventually, after you married him, and then he’d have been a damn sight more hurt. Surely you see that?’

  She didn’t answer, her mouth trembling. Randal put his thumb on it and traced the weak curve, caressed her upper lip, watching her like a cat watching a mouse. To her, his grey eyes seemed cruel, predatory.

  ‘I think you’d better go now,’ she said, eyes flaring with hostility.

  His arms tightened round her and he bent his head to take her mouth fiercely. The heat of the kiss melted her anger, made her knees give way under her, but she didn’t mean to let him do this to her again. She had to get control of herself—and him.

  She grabbed his shoulders to push him away but couldn’t move him. It was like trying to push over a rock.

  Abandoning the attempt, she meant to let her hands fall, but his kiss deepened, invading her parted mouth. A groan broke from her. Her fingers curled instinctively and she found herself holding on as if she was clinging to the only thing that would stop her collapsing on the floor.

  Randal murmured thickly, pulling her even closer, and lifted her off her feet. A second later she was lying on the couch, still held in his arms, her body on top of his, his hand grasping her head, holding it still, while he went on kissing her with a devouring passion that turned her blood to fire.

  When he lifted his head she couldn’t move, her green eyes drowsy and half closed, breathing thickly as she stared down at him, her body aching with pleasure.

  ‘You see? You’re mine,’ he whispered. ‘It would have been a crime if you had married that poor fellow. He deserves a wife who loves him. It was kinder for him to find out, even if the shock did hurt him. He’ll get over it and find somebody else, and be happier with her than he could ever have been with you.’

  She closed her eyes and let her head fall on to his chest, feeling the deep reverberations of his heart under her face, the rise and fall of his breathing.

  ‘I take it the wedding is definitely off?’ he quietly asked, and she nodded.

  ‘Yes, Tom said he would see to the cancellation of all the arrangements.’ A wry, painful smile twisted her lips. ‘He’s a bit of a control freak; he doesn’t trust me to take care of it myself.’

  ‘Why were you crying?’

  She sighed. ‘For Tom…’

  ‘You never loved him! Admit it!’

  ‘No, but he loved me and I’ve hurt him. Also, I’ve realised I have to sell this cottage, and I love it so much. But I’ll have to resign from the firm, I couldn’t go on working with Tom after this, and I can’t stay here once I’ve given up my job. I’d have to rearrange the mortgage, and I might not be able to afford a much higher mortgage.’

  ‘You worry too much; that’s your problem.’

  She looked at him angrily. ‘That’s typical. You just brush my worries aside with a shrug. The fact is my whole life is being torn apart, for the second time, and it’s all your fault again. Last time I was only living in that room, but this time I’m going to lose the first real home I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Come and live with me.’

  She started, drew a long, sharp breath. ‘I’d rather die!’

  Maddeningly, he laughed. ‘I don’t think you would, when it came to the moment of choice. Think about it. Die, or live with me? Now, which do you think you’d choose?’

  ‘Oh, you think you’re so funny!’ She struggled, fuming. ‘Will you let me up, please? I think you should be going.’

  He sat up, brushing back his tousled black hair. ‘Is there anywhere around here to have dinner?’

  ‘Drive back into London,’ she curtly said, getting up and tidying her clothes, her hair.

  ‘I want to have dinner with you.’

  She turned on him, eyes blazing. ‘Haven’t you done enough to me today? I got up this morning feeling fine, with my wedding a week away and my life arranged in front of me. Then you came along and blew it all to pieces. And now you want me to have dinner with you? The answer is no! I won’t have dinner. I never want to see you again. Is that clear enough?’

  He looked into her eyes and her bones turned to water inside her. ‘You don’t mean it. You want me as much as I want you. Why pretend you don’t? We’re both free now.’

  She hesitated, looking down. He wasn’t going to give up and go away, but she wasn’t giving up, either. He had walked back into her life and broken her world apart, without caring if he hurt her, or Tom, only interested in getting his own way. He kept saying he wanted her. He hadn’t said he loved her. If he loved her he wouldn’t have pursued her ruthlessly when he knew she was getting married in a few days.

  He hadn’t even seen her for four years. He could have had no idea whether she loved Tom or not. No idea, either, what she felt, or wanted, or thought.

  That didn’t matter to him. He had no respect for her, no interest in what went on inside her head, or her heart. All he cared about was her body. He was determined to have it.

  That wasn’t love, was it?

  And she wasn’t going to let him have his own way.

  ‘Pippa,’ he softly said. ‘What do I have to do? Beg? Have dinner with me. We have a lot to talk about.’

  They seemed to have been talking all day, getting nowhere. How could they when they weren’t talking about the same thing? She had to persuade him to go away, but how? There was only one way. She must let him think he had won, must pretend to give in, then he would leave the cottage and she could escape.

  ‘There is a country club a couple of miles away,’ she murmured, and felt him smiling to himself. He thought he had won; she was going to be easy.

  ‘Do they have a good restaurant?’

  ‘It’s quite good. English and French cooking.’

  ‘Should I book a table? Or can we just turn up?’

  ‘I should book.’ Out of the corner of her eye she shot a look at the clock on her mantelpiece. It was half past six.

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Little Whitstall Country Club. You’ll find it in the telephone book by the telephone. Or would
you like me to book it?’

  ‘No, I will.’ He walked over to the phone and began flicking through the pages. She was thinking feverishly. How was she going to persuade him to leave for a while?

  He made the call, put down the phone and turned to her, his gaze wandering down over her.

  ‘I suppose you’ll want to change into something more formal?’

  She pretended surprise, looked down at her clothes. ‘Oh…if you like…’

  ‘There isn’t time for me to go back to London to change; what I’m wearing will have to do. But I must buy some petrol. I’m not sure I’ll have enough to get back to town later tonight, and all the garages will be shut by then, I suppose. Where’s the nearest garage?’

  ‘I don’t know one on the way to the country club, but there is one a mile away, in the first village back from here. While you get your petrol I’ll change into something more suitable.’

  He smiled at her and she ached with a strange mixture of pleasure and anger. He was charming, far too charming. She didn’t trust him. He meant to sleep with her tonight, after dinner. No doubt he would get her to drink a lot of wine, then he would bring her back here and talk his way into the cottage, upstairs into her bedroom, then into her bed.

  Pippa wasn’t even sure she had the strength of will to resist him, but if she did surrender tonight she was going to despise herself tomorrow.

  ‘Okay, I won’t be long.’

  She stood there, listening to his departing footsteps, the front door closing, his car door opening and slamming again, the engine firing and then the sound of his car moving away, before she moved herself.

  First she ran upstairs, found a suitcase and packed in a hurry, then she changed into jeans and sweater, carried her suitcase downstairs and put on a warm sheepskin jacket hanging in the hall. She had no idea where she was going, but she had to rush, to get away before he got back.

  She knew a small hotel in Maldon, on the Thomas estuary; she had been there before. She looked up the number, rang them, booked a single room, then after hanging up she put down water and a saucer full of dried food for Samson, who had vanished again, through his catflap in the kitchen door. He could come and go as he chose, so he would be okay for a couple of days. In any case, she knew he visited several other houses nearby, where he got fed and cosseted. Cats were self-sufficient and independent.