The Boss's Virgin

His mouth closed over her breast, drawing a nipple inside the warm wetness, sucking softly.

Pleasure overwhelmed her; her arms went round him, holding him closer; she stroked his long, naked back and felt his knees nudging her thighs apart, his body sliding between them.

‘I want you badly,’ Randal groaned, and at that instant she heard a muffled sound from the door.

Stiffening, she raised herself to look past Randal. He turned his head, too.

Tom stood in the open doorway, face rigid, grey, staring.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE silence seemed endless. Pippa wished she would fall through the floor; she couldn’t meet Tom’s eyes. She was icy cold, shivering and sick in spite of the warmth of Randal’s body lying on top

of her, hiding much of her nakedness.

What could she say to him?

Even worse, what was Tom going to say to her?

In fact, he said nothing, simply turned on his heel and walked out without a word, although his body language was very vocal: the stiffness of his back, the way his head was carried, the way his arms were held, his hands clenched at his sides.

Randal whistled softly. ‘Oh, dear. I suppose he has a key? And let himself in? If he’d had the good manners to ring the bell first we’d have had time to get our clothes on again before he walked in here. He didn’t even call out, just came upstairs without warning, so he only has himself to blame for what he saw.’

Rage and resentment filled her. ‘Don’t you dare try to shift the blame to him! I’ve no doubt Tom was trying to be thoughtful. He’d been told I was ill—he didn’t want to force me to get out of bed and come downstairs to let him in!’

She roughly pushed him off and scrambled out of bed, pulled on her clothes with hands that trembled while Randal watched her lazily, lying on his side, the afternoon sun gleaming on his smooth, naked shoulders, his lids half lowered.

She tried to ignore him but even now her stupid body went on reacting to his, her mouth dry, her pulses hammering. Why was it that she never felt like this about Tom? Tom was physically attractive, he was a wonderful companion, she liked him—but she couldn’t pretend he made her as aware as Randal could just by being there in the same room.

‘At least you won’t have to work out how to tell him!’ he drawled.

It didn’t help that he was right. She snapped back, ‘There’s nothing to tell!’

‘Oh, come on, Pippa! It’s time to stop lying—to him or yourself. He’ll expect some sort of explanation! After all, as far as he knows you and I have never met. You hadn’t told him about me, had you? He didn’t react to my name when I gave it to him that night so I knew you hadn’t told him about me. Yet when he walked in here five minutes ago he caught us making love! How are you going to talk your way out of that?’

She had no idea. ‘I hate you!’ she whispered before hurrying out of the room and running downstairs.

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.