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

a knife in her entrails. All the way here, to the school, she had been wondering what might happen in this hotel, had been trying to work out how to keep Randal at bay, make certain he didn’t try to share her bed once his son was asleep. She had been shaking with excitement and passion, too, because even while she was determined he should not make love to her she couldn’t help wanting to be in his arms. It might be contradictory, irrational, crazy, but her body ached for his, however hard she tried to convince herself he was forbidden to her.

It hadn’t even occurred to her that his ex-wife might turn up, or that Randal might have brought her along as a shield against Renata realising he still wanted her.

Because he must still want his ex-wife, or why would he have been so insistent about Pippa coming with him? She had seen his face at lunch, when he first glimpsed Renata across the room. She had seen his clenched features, the taut jawline, the glitter of his eyes. He still wanted Renata; he was jealous of the tall, tanned Australian golfer who, Pippa angrily decided, was a perfect match for the luscious blonde. They might have been made for each other, in fact, although Randal obviously wouldn’t be too pleased if she told him so.

She started unpacking, walking to and fro, sliding clothes into drawers, hanging others up in the tiny wardrobe.

‘Do you want me to unpack for Johnny, or will you?’ she said without looking at him.

‘You’re jealous,’ he said suddenly. ‘You’re jealous of Renata, aren’t you?’ He was at her elbow a second later, grabbing her by the shoulders and swinging her round to face him. ‘Ever since we met again you’ve been trying to convince me you’re indifferent, never want to see me again—but you’re jealous of Renata, which proves you’re nothing of the kind. You can’t be jealous if you’re indifferent.’

‘I am not jealous!’ she furiously snapped.

‘Oh, yes, you are. I can see it in those big green eyes.’ He held her away from him, gazing down into those eyes, his own flickering and gleaming, silvery stars.

‘Pure imagination,’ she flung back. ‘Wishful thinking!’

His voice husky, he whispered, ‘Believe me, Pippa, I never expected to see Renata here. I meant what I said—I wanted you and Johnny to get to know each other. And—’ He broke off and she watched him suspiciously, trying to probe behind his features, see inside his head, read his mind.

‘And what?’ she insisted.

He hesitated. ‘Nothing. I forget what I was going to say.’

‘I don’t believe you! Come on, you started to say something—finish it!’

He grimaced. ‘Okay, but you won’t like it! I was going to say I wanted to spend the weekend with you!’ He pulled her closer, his eyes eating her. ‘You kept saying you didn’t want to see me again, but I wasn’t giving up. I meant to keep in contact with you.’ One hand ran down her spine, over the soft silk of her dress, slowly, caressingly. When it reached the hem just above her knees, he pushed her dress upward, slid his hand up inside, between her thighs, fingertips sensuously brushing the inner secret heat, forcing a cry of excitement from her.

‘You see? You want me,’ he whispered, bending his head. His tongue-tip softly stroked her mouth. ‘Close contact, that’s what we both need.’ He groaned, pulled her hard so that their bodies collided, touched, from shoulder to thigh. ‘I need to touch you, make love to you.’

‘No, don’t! Stop that,’ she broke out, trembling violently, her mouth hot from the mere touch of his tongue. She was aware of his body touching hers everywhere, the heat between them intolerable.

‘And you need it, too, whether you’ll admit it or not,’ he muttered, one hand on her back, pressing her hard against him while he cradled her head in his spread fingers with the other, manoeuvring it into position so that he could kiss her.

She would rather die than admit anything of the kind, and she resisted his fierce, invading mouth, struggling so hard he shifted his hand from her spine to her waist and held her possessively, his hand just below her breast.

Her treacherous mouth had parted to admit him, her body clung hotly to his, but she still struggled—so furiously that the two of them swayed and toppled on to the bed, knocking her suitcase off, on to the floor, spilling her clothes in all directions.

‘Let go, let go,’ she cried, pushing at his wide shoulders.

Randal looked down at her, eyes half-open, smouldering, languorous, and her mouth went dry at the expression in those eyes.

He moved his hand to touch her breast and she drew a shaken breath. He slid an arm under her, lifting her, swiftly pulled her dress over her head, followed by her lacy white chemise and then her bra. She fought him uselessly, tried to stop him stripping her, but his deft fingers were too fast and certain. In seconds she was naked all but her brief white panties.

‘You’re so lovely,’ Randal groaned, letting her slip back on to the bed and lying next to her. His grey eyes wandered freely over her nakedness, sensuously explored her breasts, moved downwards to her hips and thighs. He leaned over to kiss the pale flesh his eyes had just discovered. ‘Beautiful,’ he whispered.

Her eyes closed helplessly as his mouth heatedly caressed her breast, his hands stroking below, over her hips. Her tiny panties slid down; alarm shot through her as that last barrier went and she recognised that if she didn’t stop him now he was going to take her and she would not be able to resist him.

She tried to struggle up, get off the bed, but he pulled her back so that her thighs fell open with him sliding between them. She wished desperately that it did not seem so natural to her to have them there, fitting with her like