The Boss's Virgin

by Charlotte Lamb

  ‘No, I believe you wouldn’t, but Renata does, always has. There’s no room in her life for a child. The less Johnny sees of her, the better. He won’t get so badly hurt if he doesn’t see her too often. But I don’t want him blaming me, telling himself I kept her away. I have to let her visit him if she ever feels like it, although I wish I could stop her seeing him.’

  They kept their voices very low, neither of them wanting the boy to hear what they were saying.

  ‘I made a terrible mistake when I married her,’ Randal dryly said. ‘If I’d known what she was really like I wouldn’t have got involved, but I was a lot younger, and she was really lovely.

  ‘Still is.’ Pippa shrugged. ‘Don’t deny you couldn’t stop looking at her; I saw you staring.’

  His mouth quirked sideways in amusement. ‘Well, she is quite a knock-out! In fact, I’d say she’s lovelier now than ever. She knows how to dress and use make-up.’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘I knew you were jealous, little green eyes!’

  ‘I was not!’ she flared immediately, and he laughed.

  ‘Oh, yes, you were. But you didn’t need to be! I told you that yesterday. Yes, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, but I’m not a romantic boy any more. I want a woman to have a lot of other qualities. Beauty isn’t everything. In fact, beauty isn’t very much at all. It’s just a façade. To be a real woman you need a heart, warmth, caring. And I want a woman with a sense of humour, brains…all Renata offers is what she looks like, and that isn’t enough for me now.’

  His grey eyes were deadly serious; she had doubted him yesterday but now she was ready to believe him. She had seen the cynicism in his face as he watched his ex-wife. Renata didn’t take him in.

  Johnny ran into the room a moment later and his father got up to greet him, raking back his slightly dishevelled black hair.

  ‘Hello, enjoyed your cartoons?’

  ‘Yeah. When are we having lunch?’ the boy demanded.

  Randal looked at his watch, made a surprised face. ‘It’s half past twelve. Do you want to go down now?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘You’ve got ice cream round your mouth,’ Pippa gently reminded him. ‘Maybe we should all go to the bathroom before we leave?’

  ‘Okay.’ Johnny streaked away and his father shuddered.

  ‘I wish I had his energy! Not to mention his stomach. He’s hardly digested that ice cream but already he’s thinking about more food!’

  ‘He’s a growing boy!’ Pippa grinned; she found Johnny’s unashamed delight in food amusing. But then she liked the boy a lot; in some ways he reminded her of his father, in other ways he was very much himself. She had grown very fond of him.

  After lunch Johnny and Randal changed into their riding clothes to go to the stables. Pippa curled up on a couch in the sitting room and watched a TV programme.

  While Johnny was putting on his boots, Randal said quietly to her, ‘You’re sure you won’t come?’

  She shook her head, keeping her face blank. ‘I’d rather stay here and rest.’

  He hesitated, eyeing her shrewdly. ‘I hope you aren’t planning to bolt again? You will be here when we get back?’

  She tossed her hair back, making a face. ‘Oh, don’t be tiresome! Just go, will you?’

  Johnny appeared before Randal had the chance to say anything else, and the two of them left.

  As soon as they had gone Pippa hurried into her bedroom and packed everything. She could not stay here; she had a sense of impending disaster. It was blindingly obvious that if she didn’t get away she would find herself being stampeded into marrying Randal, and every time she thought about that violent alarm bells went off inside her head and heart.

  She took her case down to Reception and asked them to get her a taxi to the nearest railway station.

  ‘Will the other members of your party be staying on, or are they leaving too?’ the receptionist asked, looking at her suspiciously, obviously wondering if she was bolting without paying the bill.

  ‘Yes, they’re staying tonight, but they’ve gone riding at the local stables. They should be back in a couple of hours. Their luggage is all upstairs.’

  The receptionist rang a taxi firm, then told her, ‘The cab should be here in ten minutes.’

  She sat down and waited, gazing out into the hotel grounds. The trees tossed restlessly in the brisk wind but the sun was shining and wallflowers in a large raised bed sent waves of strong scent into the hotel foyer.

  The taxi arrived and drove her to the railway station. She was lucky; there was a train to London only a quarter of an hour later. She got to town in time to catch her connecting train into Essex and was back at her cottage by six.

  Her nerves were on edge, wondering if Randal would ring, but the evening passed without hearing from him.

  She made herself scrambled egg on toast for supper and went to bed quite early, feeling absolutely exhausted. She woke up in the night crying, tears pouring down her face after a dream she couldn’t remember at all except that it had left her with a sense of terrible loss and loneliness.

  She got up and went downstairs, made herself hot chocolate and took it back to bed, sat up against banked pillows sipping it, trying to remember what her dream had been about. She couldn’t track it down, though, just remember the feelings.

  The trouble was, her mind was in confusion: torn, divided, constantly swinging between dread of seeing Randal again, of having to face his insistence that she must marry him, and a yearning to be with him, to be in his arms, in his bed.

  He was right, of course; now that she had got to know Johnny she liked him, was already fond of him. Randal had shrewdly guessed that that would happen. By introducing her to his son he had hoped to disarm her and he had done it. She knew she no longer resented Johnny’s place in his father’s affections, no longer wanted Randal to put her first at his son’s expense. How could she want to supplant that poor, sad little boy, whose mother couldn’t be bothered with him, who had been starved of Renata’s affection all his short life?

  Johnny was a lively, intelligent child who mostly hid his emotional problems, but Pippa had learnt that they existed, had seen the boy’s hurt response to his mother’s rejection.

  No, she no longer wanted to come first with Randal. Johnny needed his father’s love as much as she did.

  But she still couldn’t marry Randal. She had been puzzled at first, hadn’t been able to work out why she was so scared, but in the silence of that spring night she faced up to the reasons. She couldn’t take the risk. It was that simple. She was scared. Marrying Randal would be like bungee jumping off a cliff, afraid the rope would break, afraid she would hit the ground and be killed or horribly maimed.

  She had been emotionally maimed last time. Four years ago she had had the guts to walk away from him, but she had been damaged by doing it. When they’d met again she had rationalised her instinctive need for flight, for getting away from him, had told herself it was because he had chosen his wife and child over her before and she needed a man who would put her first every time, but now she knew it hadn’t been that at all.

  She was simply afraid of getting hurt again. It was a case of the burnt child fearing the fire. She couldn’t take the risk.

  Finishing her hot chocolate, she switched off the lamp and lay down in the dark. She must clear her mind of Randal, mustn’t let herself think about him, must not keep turning over thoughts of him. She had to get some sleep. She was so tired. And no more dreams!

  The answer was to think of something else. A holiday! That would keep her mind busy. Where should she go? Spain? Italy? At this time of year anywhere in the Mediterranean would be wonderful—not too hot, not too crowded. She must go to a travel agent and book herself two weeks in some lovely place.

  She would probably go to a seaside resort, but one which could offer fascinating places to visit too. Somehow Italy seemed to her at this moment to offer more. She would get a brochure and choose somewhere. Anywhere, it didn’t matter whe
re, because she knew nothing much about Italy. Wherever she went it would be new and exciting.

  She must have fallen asleep quite quickly because the next time she woke up it was morning and the room was full of golden light.

  It was a lovely morning; spring was slowly turning into summer, the lilacs were out in clusters of white and purple, the roses were budding and the air was rich with the scent of blossom.

  Pippa got up, showered, put on jeans and a white T-shirt, blow-dried her chestnut hair, then went downstairs for breakfast.

  She had bran cereal with fresh fruit, which she sliced into her bowl: apple, banana, grapes. With it she drank a small glass of orange juice and then a cup of black coffee. After that she did some housework and then went out into the garden to mow the lawn.

  While she was doing that Tom arrived, came round the side of the house to find her.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded.

  Switching off the mower, she smiled at him, pushing back her hair from her sun-flushed face.

  ‘Hello, Tom. I was visiting a friend.’

  ‘What friend?’ He had that belligerent look she was coming to recognise. ‘I suppose you mean Harding?’

  ‘Tom, don’t start on one of those inquisitions. I don’t have to tell you who I see, or where I go. So don’t bark at me.’

  He made a growling noise in his throat like an angry dog and showed his teeth. ‘We may not be getting married, but I still worry about you. The man’s pure poison. Stay away from him!’

  ‘I’m not discussing him with you, any more than I’d discuss you with him!’

  ‘What does he say about me?’ he broke out, very red in the face.

  She groaned. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tom! Why are you here and what do you want?’

  After a seething pause, he said, ‘I wanted to work out a timetable for the sale of the house. I can put down a deposit whenever you like, but when, exactly, do you want to exchange contracts?’

  She took off her gardening gloves. ‘Come in and have a coffee and we’ll work something out.’

  They sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and writing out a proposed timetable for the sale.

  ‘I don’t want you to feel you’re being forced out,’ Tom assured her. ‘You suggest a date when it would be convenient for you to move out, then if you need to stay on for a while we can adjust the date later.’

  ‘You’re very thoughtful, Tom,’ she said, smiling at him. He was a kind man, too; she appreciated the way he tried to make things easier for her. If only he would stop trying to interfere in her life!

  ‘Have you decided where to go on holiday?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll check that out tomorrow. What about you? I thought you would be going away today; that was the plan originally, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I had to change the flights. I rang to explain that I’d only need one seat, so they suggested I went tomorrow. It’s easier to sell two seats than one, they said. More couples go on these holiday flights. So I’m off early tomorrow. That’s why I had to see you today, before I went.’

  ‘Well, I hope you have a lovely time, Tom.’

  ‘I intend to!’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, come and have lunch at the pub—you’ve always liked their roast Sunday lunch.’

  It seemed a good idea, it would save her having to cook a meal for herself, so she agreed and they left ten minutes later. The pub was only half full when they arrived, but as time wore on more and more people crowded into the timbered room, with its shining horse brasses and silver tankards hanging on the wall behind the bar counter.

  They both chose carrot soup followed by roast beef with light, crispy Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, carrots and Brussels sprouts.

  ‘Their gravy’s terrific, too,’ Tom said, as he finished. ‘Not to mention the horseradish sauce.’

  They knew a few of the other customers and got into a game of billiards after the meal. It was nearly four o’clock before Tom drove Pippa home.

  ‘Thank you for lunch; it was great,’ she said. ‘Do you want to come in for tea or coffee?’

  ‘I have to pack, yet,’ he said. ‘I’d better scoot home now.’

  ‘Have a wonderful holiday!’ she said, and stood waving as he drove away.

  She was grateful to him for having taken up the whole afternoon. If Randal had pursued her here he would have found her not at home, so she would have avoided a difficult confrontation.

  If only she could fix a holiday at once! Then she would be able to put off seeing Randal for weeks. For the rest of the day she was on tenterhooks, and was very relieved when night fell and she could lock up the cottage and go to bed to read and listen to music.

  There were no bad dreams that night and she slept well. When she got up it was raining, a light, thin rain which came in sudden showers. She showered, dressed, had breakfast, then did some housework.

  Mid-morning, she drove to the nearest travel agent, was given a brochure of Italian holidays and took it across the road to a café, where she read it, drinking another cup of coffee.

  Tom would be in the air by now, en route for what would have been their honeymoon. Lucky Tom.

  She was attracted by the idea of a fortnight on the Adriatic coast; there she could combine a beach holiday with a visit to the Byzantine church at Ravenna and a trip to Venice, which she had always longed to see. So she went back to the travel agent and booked two weeks at a hotel right on the beach road, with full board, starting in a week’s time. She would fly there, of course, from Gatwick Airport, and would be taken by coach to her hotel.

  A trouble-free holiday, she decided. She couldn’t wait.

  After doing some shopping she drove home to find Randal’s car parked outside the cottage, with him sitting in the driving seat.

  While he watched her sardonically, she sat in her own car, paralysed, drumming her fingers restlessly on the wheel, feeling like driving off again and staying out until she could be sure he would have gone. But what was the point? She could put it off, but sooner or later Randal would catch up with her; she knew how persistent he could be.

  So she drove on to her forecourt and parked. As she got out of her car, Randal got out of his, but she ignored him, hurrying to open her front door. Before she could shut it in his face he was beside her, pushing his way inside on her heels.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded, as Tom had done yesterday.

  ‘Shopping and booking a Mediterranean holiday,’ she defiantly told him, walking into the kitchen with her shopping basket and beginning to unpack what she had bought.

  ‘You’ll have to cancel that,’ he said with calm arrogance. ‘We’ll go abroad for our honeymoon!’

  ‘There isn’t going to be one!’ she snapped.

  He coolly put the kettle on and got out the instant coffee, just as if he lived here too, set out two mugs, got milk from the fridge, then leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ she said with irritation. Who did he think he was?

  ‘I’ve just been to Tom’s place,’ he drawled. ‘But there was no sign of him. His next door neighbour told me he was away, on his honeymoon!’

  She finished unpacking and put her shopping basket away, not commenting. Randal’s grey eyes had a dangerous glitter.

  ‘I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and married him after all!’

  ‘No,’ she calmly answered, and his eyes flashed like lightning.

  Moving with pantherish grace and speed, he caught hold of her, pushed her up against the wall, holding her there with his own body, forcing her to confront him.

  ‘Don’t try to be funny!’

  ‘I wasn’t. You asked if I’d married Tom, I said no; that’s all!’

  ‘I was out of my mind,’ Randal grated. Inches away, his face was white with rage. ‘I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t do anything so stupid! I just don’t understand you. But I was terrified you might have done it just to get away from me.’r />
  Her heart crashed like a burning plane. She couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t meet his probing, furious eyes.

  ‘You promised me you’d be at the hotel when Johnny and I got back from the riding stables,’ he accused. ‘But the minute we’d left you packed and went. They told me at Reception. Why? Why did you run away again? You said you liked Johnny, and I know you want me…’

  ‘No,’ she denied. ‘That’s the point. I don’t.’

  ‘Liar.’ He caught her face between his hands and kissed her hotly, sensuously, making her legs give way under her. ‘Do I have to show you all over again? I’ll make love to you in here, on the floor, if I have to. You want me. Admit it.’

  ‘That’s just sex,’ she huskily conceded.

  ‘Call it what you like. You want me. I can have you any time I feel like it.’

  ‘How dare you?’ she angrily broke out. ‘I’m not some bimbo you can just…’ She stopped, so insulted she couldn’t get another word out.

  ‘I didn’t say you were! You may call it sex, but we both know it’s love. That’s what we feel for each other. So why do you keep running away?’

  She closed her eyes, a sob forming in her throat, salty tears welling behind her lids.

  ‘I can’t take the risk!’

  ‘What risk?’ he impatiently insisted.

  ‘Of getting hurt. Last time I nearly died of misery; it was months before I got over losing you. Now I’m afraid of…oh, of everything. How I feel, what might happen if I do marry you, getting hurt again if it doesn’t work out between us, the future—everything!’

  He put his warm mouth on her wet eyes, kissed them gently, slid his mouth down her cheeks, whispering between kisses, ‘I didn’t realise you were such a coward. Pippa, darling, I love you and I want to be with you for ever. Do you want to be with me? And don’t lie this time. Tell the truth. Do you want to be with me for the rest of our lives?’

  She made a wailing noise, keeping her eyes shut. ‘Don’t ask…’

  His mouth touched hers gently. ‘I am asking. Tell me the truth. Do you love me? Do you want to be with me for ever?’

  She drew breath, shuddering, then took the final terrifying leap into the truth. ‘Yes. Yes.’