The Boss's Virgin

CHAPTER TWO

SHE recovered consciousness slowly, not quite sure what had happened, her lids flickering, then rising; she looked up, her green eyes dazed, not focusing properly.

Two faces bent over her. The assistant looked anxious, upset. The other…

Pippa took one look at him and promptly shut her eyes again. She did not want to believe he was real. Surely she wasn’t imagining things, dreaming him up in the oddest places, at the oddest times? Her head buzzed with distressed questions. What was he doing here? Come to that, what had he been doing outside the bridal shop? What was going on? First the accident; now he’d turned up while she was trying on her bridal coronet. What was Fate up to?

‘She’s fainted again,’ the assistant said. ‘Oh, dear. Do you think she’s really ill? She’s very pale. Should I ring for an ambulance? Or a doctor?’

‘No, I don’t think she’s ill; she’s just playing dead,’ said the deep, cool voice she remembered so well.

How dared he? What right did he have to read her so accurately? Angrily she opened her eyes once more and glared at him, beginning to get up.

It didn’t make her any less furious that he helped, as effortlessly as if she weighed no more than a child, lifting her with one arm around her waist, his warm hand just below her breast, the intimacy of the contact making her heart thud painfully.

‘Oh…perhaps we shouldn’t move her yet,’ the assistant nervously murmured. ‘She may still be groggy.’

‘Oh, she’ll be okay. Would you run out and stop that taxi going past? Thanks.’

Pippa was still being held close to that long, lean body; the proximity was doing drastic things to her, especially when she looked up and sideways at the hard-edged, smooth-skinned, masculine face.

She heard the other girl’s high heels clipping across the shop and knew she was alone with him. Panic streaked through her; she pushed him away and his arm dropped.

Those bright eyes gleamed with what she grimly recognised as mockery. So he was finding the situation funny, was he? Her teeth met.

‘Feeling better now?’ he enquired softly.

‘Yes, thank you.’ Her voice was cold and remote, hiding the rage she felt although she suspected he wasn’t missing it; his argument was open, unhidden.

The shop assistant rushed back, breathlessly said, ‘The taxi’s waiting.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked at Pippa. ‘Maybe you should take the veil off before we go?’

‘We’ go? she thought. She wasn’t going anywhere with him.

But the assistant came to help her. ‘So, did you want the coronet?’

‘Yes, please.’ Pippa fumbled in her bag, found her credit card and held it out.

The assistant offered her the payment slip a moment later and she signed it, then took back her card and put it away, very slowly and carefully, deliberately delaying in the hope that he might go outside to talk to the taxi driver.

She might then have a chance to escape, run off down the road, but he waited beside her, perhaps anticipating her intention. Finally she had to leave the shop, as they walked out on to the pavement he held her elbow lightly, propelled her towards the taxi.

‘I don’t want to…’ she breathed.

‘You might faint again; we can’t have that.’ He smiled, lifting her into the back of the taxi.

She couldn’t quite catch what he said to the driver before climbing in beside her, but before she could ask him the taxi set off with a jerk which almost made her tumble forward on to the floor.

‘Do up your seat belt,’ she was ordered, and her companion leaned over to drag the belt across her shoulder and down to her waist, clip it into place, his long fingers brushing her thigh. He had a fresh, outdoor scent: pine, she decided, inhaling it. She wished he would stop invading her body space. It was far too disturbing.

‘Where did you tell the driver to go?’ she asked huskily as he sat back, not meeting the eyes that watched her as if he could read her every thought.

‘I feel it’s time we had a private chat. I told him to take us to my hotel. Have you had lunch?’

Agitated, she protested, ‘I’m not going to your hotel! I have to get back to work.’

‘You can ring and tell them you’ve been taken ill,’ he dismissed. ‘Have you had lunch?’

‘Yes,’ she lied, and received one of his dry, mocking glances.

‘Where? You came out of your office, caught a bus and went straight to that shop. Where could you have had lunch?’

‘You’ve been following me? Spying on me? How dare you? You had no right,’ she spluttered, very flushed now. ‘Were you on the bus? I didn’t see you.’

‘No, I followed in a taxi, then walked behind you along Bond Street.’

She thought harder, forehead wrinkled. ‘How did you know where I worked?’

‘Your fiancé told me where he worked, so I rang up and asked the switchboard if you worked there, too.’

Simple when you know how, she thought; she should have guessed he would track her down if he wanted to, but she hadn’t thought he would want to.

‘They tried to put me through, but someone in your office said you had just left, were going shopping in your lunch hour. I was ringing on my mobile from the foyer of the building. A minute later I saw you come out of the lift so I followed.’

She was speechless. He made it sound perfectly normal to follow people around, spy on them—nothing to get excited about. But she was so furious she couldn’t even get a word out.

He gave her a wry grin, eyes teasing. ‘Stop glaring at me. I had to see you. You knew that, from the minute his car crashed into mine. You knew we had to meet again, that we have a lot to talk about.’

‘We have nothing to talk about! I don’t want to talk to you at all. I just want to get back to my office and forget you exist.’

But she was so nervous that she put up a shaky hand to brush stray strands of bright hair away from her cheek, aware that he watched the tiny movement with those intent, glittering eyes.

‘And you think you can do that, Pippa?’ he drawled, moving even closer so that their bodies touched.

She couldn’t bear the contact, shifted away into the corner, body tense and shuddering.

‘Yes.’ But her eyes didn’t meet his and she felt him staring at the telltale pulse beating hard in her throat.

He reached out a hand; one long finger slid down her cheek then down her neck, awaking pulses everywhere it rested, until it pressed down into that pulse in her throat. ‘What’s the point of lying? You’re not convincing me; you’re only lying to yourself.’

‘Don’t touch me!’ she muttered, knocking his hand away.

The taxi turned into a hotel entrance, set back from the road. She looked up at the grand façade, ornate and baroque, with ironwork balconies outside every other widow, flags flying on the steep roof. She had heard of the hotel but never been inside it; it was far too expensive. Normally she would have loved to go there for lunch, but not with him.

‘You get out here; I’ll go on to my office!’ she insisted, holding on to the seat with both hands.

To her relief and surprise, he got out without replying and paid the driver. Only then did he turn back towards Pippa. ‘Out you get!’ He reached over and undid her seat belt before she had notice of his intention.

She wanted to yell, scream, hit him, but the hotel doorman had appeared behind him, magnificent in livery dripping with gold braid, smiling an obsequious welcome, and she was too embarrassed to make a scene in front of such an audience.

‘I can’t. Let me go,’ she said instead, very quietly, still hanging on to the seat.

‘Let me help you,’ he blandly murmured, and the next second he had taken her by the waist and was lifting her out of the taxi. Keeping his arm around her, he guided her up the steps into the hotel foyer while the doorman closed the taxi door and followed them. A moment later Pippa found herself being propelled into a lift; the door shut and the lift began to rise.

There was nobody else in the lift with them; she felt free to break away from him, using every ounce of her strength, looking at him with angry hostility as she reeled against the lift wall.

‘How dare you manhandle me like this? And if you think you can get me up to your bedroom…’

‘Suite,’ he coolly corrected. ‘There’s a sitting room; we can have lunch there.’

‘I am not going with you! Bedroom or suite, I am not going anywhere alone with you!’

‘You’re alone with me now,’ he pointed out in silky tones, leaning over her in what she interpreted as menace, despite the laughter gleaming in his eyes. His proximity was threat enough, even when he didn’t touch her.

‘Stop it! Keep away from me!’ she whispered, trembling.

His face was inches away from her own. ‘What are you so afraid of, Pippa? Me? Or yourself?’

Confused, she muttered, ‘Don’t be stupid. How can I be afraid of myself?’

‘Of what you really want,’ he enlarged, eyes watching her intently. ‘Of your own instinct and desires. You’re so terrified of how you feel that you need to shelter behind a pretence of hating me. You can’t risk so much as a look at me, can you?’

Face burning, eyes flickering nervously, she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do I have to remind you that I’m getting married in a week’s time?’

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Nobody was waiting on that floor; there was no one in view at all. He stepped out, grabbed her hand and jerked her out after him.

‘I am not going with you! Let go of me!’ She struggled to get away, flailing at him with one hand, managed to land a blow on his cheek, and gave a little cry of pain as she hurt herself on the hard edge of his bone structure.

‘Serves you right! You shouldn’t be so violent!’ He ran an exploring hand over his cheek where a red mark burnt. ‘That hurt me almost as much as it probably hurt you.’

‘Good!’

A room door nearby opened and an old lady in a pink linen suit, wearing a small black hat with a black lace veil which fell over her eyes, came out, gave them a startled, uneasy look.

‘Is anything wrong?’ she quavered.

Pippa hesitated fatally; he answered before she could. ‘She’s shy, that’s all. Honeymoon nerves! You know how women get on these occasions.’

The old lady blushed and then smiled; Pippa glared at him. He was maddening; he always had been.

‘I should carry you over the threshold, darling,’ he said, and suddenly grabbed Pippa off her feet before she could stop him, lifted her up into his arms and strode off with her while the old lady gazed after them with a romantic smile.

Pippa knew she should call his bluff, struggle, hit him again, but with that happy, wide-eyed audience she simply couldn’t. In any case a moment later he paused in front of double doors, produced a key and unlocked the suite, carried Pippa inside, into a small hallway, and closed the door behind them with his elbow.

‘Put me down!’ she hoarsely demanded. ‘Put me down at once!’

He carried her into a bedroom and dropped her on the large, white-and silver-draped bed.

Her heart beat wildly in her throat. Surely he didn’t intend… She rolled over to the far edge of the bed and shakily stood up, looking around for a weapon to use if he tried to come anywhere near her. The table lamp looked heavy; it had a bronze cast base and could probably kill someone.

But he was turning back towards the door. Over his shoulder he casually said, ‘Use the bathroom, if you wish. Your hair could certainly do with some attention.’

The door closed behind him. She was alone and safe, for the moment. Her gaze wandered round the room, absorbing the luxury of the furnishings: high French windows covered with lace and floor-length curtains that matched the white and silver satin bed-cover, the bronze-based lamps with their wide silver satin shades, walnut-veneered furniture that was probably reproduction, not genuinely antique, a chest, a wardrobe whose doors were set with mirrors, a dressing table on which stood a vase of white carnations and roses.

She began to walk towards the door of the en-suite bathroom, paused to bend over the flowers, inhaling their faint scent then hurried on, in case he came back.

The bathroom was entirely white, with nineteen-twenties-style fittings, elegant fluted chrome taps. In a cupboard above the vanity unit she found his toiletries: aftershave, an electric razor, shower gel, shampoo. Somehow it was too intimate to stare at them. She quickly shut the door on them and opened her bag.

She found a comb and ran it through her hair, renewed her make-up, considered her reflection, disturbed by the feverish brightness of her eyes, the faint tremble of her mouth, the fast beating of that pulse in her neck.

It was crazy to let him do this to her. She had to pull herself together and somehow talk her way out of this suite. She had given him time to calm down, to think—maybe now he would realise he had to let her leave?

Turning away, she picked up her bag and left the bathroom, quietly opened the door of the bedroom. If he wasn’t in earshot she might be able to get away now.

She couldn’t hear a sound so she began tiptoeing back along the little hall towards the outer door. Before she reached it, however, a voice spoke softly behind her.

‘Don’t even think about it.’

She froze, looking round.

He was leaning on the open doorway into what she glimpsed to be a sitting room, his arms crossed, his body lounging with casual grace, those long legs relaxed, making her forcibly aware of his intense sexual allure, the gleaming display of the peacock. And he knew it, too; he was watching her with that infuriating mockery, knowing what she was feeling, amused and sure of himself.

She probably still had time to make a run for it, but he would only take a few seconds to catch up with her and her self-respect wouldn’t allow her to make a fight of this. In any case, she knew she would only lose. She had to use other weapons against him.

‘I have to get back to work.’

‘I’ve already rung your office and told them you fainted and would be going home to rest instead of going to work.’

She furiously broke out, ‘You had no business to do that!’

He ignored her angry splutter. ‘I’ve ordered lunch, too—something simple. I thought you wouldn’t want anything elaborate. Salad, some cheese, cold beef and chicken, some wholemeal bread, pickles, some fruit, yogurt, and a pot of coffee.’

‘I’m not hungry. You eat lunch; I’ll get back to my office.’ She turned towards the door of the suite.

‘Do I have to carry you in here?’ his voice silkily enquired, and she froze.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she burst out. ‘What’s the point? You’re married; I’m getting married—we have nothing to say to each other.’

Four years ago she had joined his firm after the company she had been working for had gone into liquidation. Pippa had been shocked by the news that everyone was being made redundant, but by sheer good luck she had got a new job the same day. During her lunch hour she had gone into an employment agency to register and had been given an immediate interview with a nearby office.

She had walked down the road, very nervous, a little shaky, and been shown up to the personnel officer, who had tested her various secretarial skills and spent half an hour questioning her.

Pippa hadn’t expected to be given a job there and then, but the personnel officer had leaned back at last and said, ‘When can you start?’

Heart lifting, Pippa whispered, ‘Do you mean I’ve got a job here? You’re taking me on?’

The woman smiled, eyes amused. ‘That’s what I mean. So when can you start?’

She didn’t need to think about it; she knew she would be out of a job by the end of that week and would need to be earning again as soon as possible. She had no one to help her with her rent and the cost of living. She only had herself to rely on.

‘On Monday?’ Relief and delight were filling her.

‘Wonderful. Report to me at nine o’clock and I’ll have someone show you to your desk. You’ll be working in the managing director’s office. His private assistant will be in charge; she’ll tell you what she wants you to do. It isn’t a difficult job, but it’s vital that everything runs smoothly in that office and Miss Dalton is a tough organiser. Be careful not to annoy her. The MD insists on a smooth-running office.’

It sounded rather nerve-racking to Pippa, but the salary was good and the work not too onerous. She left there walking on air, and got back to find everyone else in her office gloomily contemplating living on social security until they found work elsewhere.

‘What about you, Pippa?’ asked the girl whose desk was opposite hers. ‘What will you do?’

‘Oh, I’ve got a new job. I start there next Monday,’ Pippa airily told her, and everyone else stared in disbelief.

‘How on earth did you manage that?’

‘Just luck.’ She told them what had happened and they were envious and incredulous.

‘I’m going there as soon as I’ve finished work,’ one of them said, and others nodded their heads.

By the end of the week at least half of them had managed to find new jobs—some just about adequate, although one of them had got a much better job. There was a much more cheerful atmosphere in the office. They had a big party in a local Chinese restaurant on the Friday evening, knowing that they would probably not see each other again, although some close friends would keep in touch. Working together was a matter of propinquity. Once they all split up their friendships would begin to fade.

It had been Pippa’s first job. She had only been sixteen when she started work there and now she was twenty but felt older because ever since she’d left her last foster home she had been living alone, in one room, managing a tight budget, always struggling to make ends meet. That had made her grow up fast, had taught her a discipline she relied on to help her through each day. She couldn’t allow herself to buy anything she could do without; thrift was essential on such a small amount of money.