The Boss's Virgin. CHARLOTTE LAMB

He was clearly in a temper; she sensed he would have gone into hyper-rage for any reason, however slight. So she concentrated hard, listening intently, her pen moving fast and fluently over the pad while he dictated several memos to staff, letters to clients.

      Miss Dalton arrived just as he finished. Pippa incredulously saw that the snow queen looked flustered, her skin flushed, apologising as she hurried into the room, still wearing her smart black raincoat.

      ‘I am so sorry, Mr Harding; I left early so that I would be here when you arrived, but there was some sort of hold-up on the buses; I had to wait for ages before I could get one.’

      He nodded impatiently. ‘Never mind, Miss Dalton. Pippa was here early and has taken dictation.’ He looked at Pippa. ‘Get those ready to sign as soon as possible, would you? Thank you.’

      Pippa retreated, still shaky, and felt Miss Dalton’s icy eyes on her all the way.

      Judy was just hanging up her coat. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, and Pippa told her in a whisper. Judy whistled. ‘She won’t forgive you for that for a long time! The boss is her property; she’ll hate you for being here when she wasn’t.’

      She was absolutely right. Miss Dalton was on Pippa’s case all day, snapping at her, complaining about her work, criticising her for wearing eye make-up, not to mention vivid red varnish on her fingernails in the office.

      ‘You look like a tart! Mr Harding doesn’t like his employees to wear that much make-up! Don’t come to work like that again!’

      Pippa mumbled an apology; the other girls discreetly averted their heads.

      Later that morning Miss Dalton struck again accusing her of gossiping to Judy when she should be working.

      ‘I’ve finished the work Mr Harding asked me to do—shall I take the letters to him to sign?’

      ‘No,’ snapped Miss Dalton. ‘I’ll do it!’ She came over to Pippa’s desk, picked up the perfectly typed letters and went out with them.

      ‘Brrr…icy weather,’ Judy whispered. ‘I told you so. She hates you now. Take another step near Mr Harding and she’ll kill you.’

      ‘It isn’t fair. He asked me to take dictation, and I did—it wasn’t my fault she wasn’t here.’

      Miss Dalton came briskly back and loaded Pippa with more work, telling her to hurry up and finish it.

      All that day, Pippa couldn’t do anything right.

      It was huge relief when Miss Dalton finally departed, leaving Pippa to finish a new pile of work she had been given to do.

      ‘I’ll be here for hours—she wants all this done by the morning,’ Pippa moaned once the door had shut on the older woman.’

      ‘That will teach you,’ Judy teased before she left. ‘In future try not to be seen with the boss! Remember, you are a lowly slave and she is the queen!’

      It was another hour before Pippa finally got to the bottom of the pile and could switch off her machine and clear her desk. Everyone else had gone; the offices were empty and silent. As she got up to leave the door opened and to her dismay there was Randal Harding again.

      Glancing at him, she felt her heart flip over—he was intensely sexy, in his three-piece dark suit, a smooth-fitting waistcoat over his white shirt. He leaned against the doorframe, re-knotting his maroon silk tie.

      ‘Still here? You work long hours, very conscientious,’ he said with a faintly teasing smile. ‘Everyone else gone?’

      She nodded dumbly, unable to speak because he made her so self-conscious.

      ‘Come on, then; the cleaners will be here in a minute.’ He switched off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, and she hurried towards the door, stumbling into him and feeling something like an electric shock at the contact.

      ‘Have you got far to go? Where do you live?’ he asked.

      ‘West Hackham. Twenty minutes by bus,’ she whispered, keeping her eyes down. She was terrified in case Miss Dalton should still be somewhere around, or heard they had left together. Her life wouldn’t be worth living if that happened.

      ‘Same direction as me. I’ll give you a lift. My car’s parked just down here; come along.’

      She hung back, ‘No, really, it doesn’t matter.’

      He gave her a wry, amused look. ‘Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite and I won’t make a pass.’

      She flushed in horror. ‘No, I didn’t mean…didn’t think…’

      He took her elbow and propelled her onwards. ‘Do you live at home, or have you got your own place?’

      Why was he asking that? she wondered, still pink and uncertain. The other girls hadn’t said anything about him making passes. Indeed, they’d said he was happily married. Maybe her imagination was working overtime.

      They left the building and turned down into the underground car park. Pippa’s eyes widened as they halted beside a long, sleek black Jaguar saloon. She had never driven in a car like that before.

      He unlocked the car and put her into the front passenger seat. Pippa stroked the cream leather upholstery, gazed at the polished walnut dashboard, equipped with all sorts of gadgets, including a CD player. It must have cost the earth; he must be very wealthy.

      As he started the engine he asked her, ‘Where did you work before you joined us, and why did you leave?’

      She told him the name of her old firm. ‘They went into liquidation. We were all made redundant.’

      He gave her a sidelong smile of sympathy. ‘Tough luck—were you out of work long before you came to us?’

      ‘No, I only left them the week before I joined you.’

      ‘That must have been a relief; no joke being unemployed. I hope you’re going to be happy with us.’

      ‘I’m sure I will be,’ she said, suppressing all memory of Miss Dalton. ‘I already feel at home in the office.’

      He flashed her that warm, sideways smile that changed his face entirely. ‘Good. The work you did for me this morning was excellent. If you keep that standard up, we’ll feel we were lucky to get you.’

      Out of the corner of her eye she watched his long-fingered hands on the wheel, his dark jacket sleeves shooting back to show his immaculate white shirt cuffs. She couldn’t blame Miss Dalton for being crazy about him; it would be easy to get that way. His hard profile had a power and masculinity that would have made a strong impact even if he had not been very good-looking, and now that he was no longer in a temper she began to see a charm and warmth that had not been visible when they’d first met.

      She hoped he would be like this most of the time, not in that stormy, brooding state. Why had he come to work in that mood today? Had he had a row with his wife?

      He drew up outside her address and shot a look up at the shabby Victorian house, the woodwork cracked and peeling, the front door needing new paint. The garden was neglected and overgrown, full of uncut grass and rambling bushes.

      ‘Is this your family home?’ he asked slowly.

      ‘No, it’s let out by the room—I rent one room here.’

      He grimaced. ‘If I were you, I’d move. It looks as if cockroaches and rats live here, too.’

      ‘No cockroaches or rats, but there is the odd mouse,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t like to kill the one in my room; like me, it has to live somewhere! But this place is cheap, and the room is quite spacious. I’m used to it.’ And she couldn’t afford anywhere better.

      ‘Where do your family live?’

      She hesitated, hating to talk about her background, then defiantly told him, ‘I haven’t got one.’

      He