The Boss's Virgin, Charlotte Lamb [reader novel .txt] 📗

mist dewed his hair and brow and he was wearing a leather jacket zipped up to the neck.

‘What are you doing here?’ she burst out. There was something of black magic about his appearance out of the mist when she had thought him safely miles away.

Randal stood up, pulled her up beside him, his strong hands clasped around her waist. ‘Thought you’d given me the slip, did you?’ Dry mockery in his smile made her bristle.

‘How did you know where I’d gone?’ She was still having difficulty believing he was here. She tried to work out how he had followed her. ‘Did you see me leaving when you came back from getting petrol?’

‘I didn’t go to get petrol,’ he wryly admitted. ‘I was a bit suspicious about your sudden agreement to have dinner with me. I had the feeling you were planning something so I parked just down the road, behind some trees, where I could watch your cottage without you seeing me. I had a suspicion you would try to cheat, and I was right, wasn’t I? I saw you come out of your cottage and get into your car. When you drove out I followed at a discreet distance.’

It was the same trick he had played when he waited for her to come out of her office and followed her to the bridal shop. She might have guessed he wouldn’t just go off to get petrol, leaving her the opportunity to escape before he returned.

It dawned on her that he was still holding on to her. She slapped his hands down and took a step back.

‘Careful! You don’t want to end up in the water, do you?’ he said as she toppled on the edge. He took her wrists and pulled her towards him to safety.

She broke free again. ‘Who do you think you are? James Bond? Why can’t you leave me alone?’ she broke out, trembling with rage. ‘The fact that I left like that should tell you I don’t want to see you. Ever again. Why don’t you take the hint, and stop harassing me!’

‘I’m not harassing you,’ he smoothly said. ‘I was worried about you, driving off in that state. You were upset over your ex-fiancé. And it was misty. You might have had a crash.’

‘But I didn’t!’

He shrugged his wide shoulders gracefully. ‘No, you didn’t. But what on earth made you chose to come to a dead and alive hole like this?’

‘I like it. It’s peaceful.’ Shooting him a resentful look, she added pointedly, ‘Normally.’

He smiled. ‘Have you booked into your hotel for dinner?’

‘Yes, and I must get back for it at once,’ she said curtly, and began to walk fast.

Randal kept pace with her. ‘I’m staying there too.’

Her heart sank, although she should have guessed. Where else?

‘We can have dinner together, after all,’ he triumphantly added.

She considered refusing, for a moment, but knew he would somehow make sure he won the argument and felt too tired to fight him any more. He was the most maddening man she had ever met. He wouldn’t listen to her. If she ran he pursued her. He had ruined her life twice, and she had fled, but here he was again. She had a terrible suspicion that she was never going to be able to shake him off. Was she going to spend the rest of her life running away from him and being pursued?

Inside the cosy warmth of the old hotel she hurried upstairs to take off her jacket and do something about her appearance, brushed her hair, renewed her makeup, staring at her reflection and horrified at the feverish brightness of her green eyes, the tremor in her mouth.

He always had this effect on her. Could he see that? How could he fail to notice the way she was shaking?

She turned away, shivering, then went downstairs again and found the dining-room.

Randal was already seated at a table by the window overlooking the quay, a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket beside him. He had shed his leather jacket and was wearing a dark jacket, a crisp white shirt and a blue silk tie. Her breath caught. Did he have to be so good-looking, so distinguished?

He rose as she joined him. ‘There you are! I was beginning to think you had run off again.’

She sat down opposite him and glanced through the menu, which was not extensive but sounded good; she decided to have melon followed by grilled sole with a salad. The waiter came to take their order, wrote down what she wanted first, then turned to Randal, who chose melon, steak and chips.

When the waiter had gone Randal poured wine into her glass. ‘How long do you plan to stay here?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’ She sipped the golden wine and felt a little warmth come back into her veins. ‘Not long. I must go back soon and start planning. I have to write to the insurance firm, resigning, put my cottage on the market and start looking for another job.’

‘I’ll give you one.’

She gave him a dry look. ‘No, thank you. I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

Flushed, she looked down into her wine glass, playing with the stem. ‘Don’t they say, “Never go back”?’ She wished he would stop asking her these pointed questions; she didn’t want to think about the reasons for the way she felt. She didn’t know herself why she had these strong impulses, this desire to run from him and keep running.

‘Who’s they, anyway?’ he asked, watching her across the table with narrowed, searching eyes.

She shrugged, looking up briefly, then down again, because she could not meet his lance-like gaze. ‘Oh…people.’

‘People with minds like train tracks. You should never make rules for life. Life is for living, spontaneously, on instinct. You don’t need rules. You’re not a machine, you’re a human being, a living organism.’

She sipped more wine. ‘Talking about living spontaneously, I’ve been thinking I might get a job aboard—Paris, say.’

There was