Billionaire Bosses Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

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Название Billionaire Bosses Collection
Автор произведения Кэрол Мортимер
Жанр Короткие любовные романы
Серия Mills & Boon e-Book Collections
Издательство Короткие любовные романы
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781474048286



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computer and various accessories, all of which were the very latest, he noted with approval. It seemed to tell a different story to the rest of her. Ditzy dolly-bird on the one hand, technology expert on the other.

      But probably the computer had been installed by her employers. That explained it.

      She came whizzing back into the room, dressed in sweater and jeans. They were sturdy and workaday, unglamorous except that they answered all questions about her figure.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

      ‘Certainly I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?’ She sounded a tad defiant.

      ‘Just that he seemed rather overwrought—’

      ‘And he called me Jezebel, implying that I’m a floozie, that’s what you meant.’

      ‘That’s not what I meant at all.’

      Even to herself, Pippa couldn’t have explained why she was on edge, except that she liked to stay in control, and being discovered as she had been was definitely not being in control.

      ‘Look, I just came back to return your papers,’ he said hastily. ‘Don’t blame me for finding…well…what I found.’ Too late, he saw the quagmire stretching before him.

      ‘And just what do you think you found? ‘ she demanded, folding her arms and looking up into his face. It was hard because he had a good six inches over her but what she lacked in height she made up in fury.

      His own temper rose. After all, he’d done her a favour.

      ‘Well, I found a girl who’d been a bit careless, didn’t I?’

      ‘Careless?’

      ‘Careless with her own safety. What on earth possessed you to get undressed if you were going to knock him back?’

      ‘Oh, I see. You think I’m a vulgar tease?’

      ‘No, just that you weren’t thinking straight—’

      ‘Or maybe you’re the one not thinking straight,’ she snapped. ‘You jump to the conclusion that I stripped off to allure him, and the true explanation never occurs to you. Too simple, I suppose. He arrived after I had come out of the shower.’

      ‘Oh, heavens, I should have thought of that. I’m sorry, I—’

      ‘I didn’t get undressed for him,’ she raged on, barely hearing him. ‘I’m not interested in him and so I’ve told him again and again, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Just like a man. You’re all the same. You all think you’re so madly attractive that a woman’s no never really means no.’

      ‘I didn’t—’

      ‘Conceited, arrogant, bullying, faithless, treacherous—’

      ‘If you’d only—’

      ‘Leave, now!’

      ‘If I could just—’

      ‘No, you can’t “just” Leave!’

      ‘I understand that—’

      ‘Listen, the last man who came in here wouldn’t go when I told him to, and you saw what happened to him.’

      ‘All right,’ Roscoe said hastily. ‘I really only came to return your property.’

      ‘Thank you, sir, for your consideration,’ Pippa responded in a formal voice that was like ice, ‘but if you don’t leave of your free will you’ll do so at my will and that—’

      ‘I’m going, I’m going.’

      He departed quickly. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, this was no time to argue. For some reason, she was ready to do murder. It was unfair, but there was no understanding women.

      From Pippa’s window, a curve in the building made the front door visible. She stood there watching until she saw him get into his car. Then she turned and glared at the photograph of her grandparents on the sideboard.

      ‘All right, all right. I behaved terribly. He came to return my things and I was rude to him. I didn’t even thank him. Why? Why? I don’t know why, but I was suddenly furious with him. How dare he see me naked! Yes, I know it wasn’t his fault; you don’t have to say it. But you should have seen the look on his face when he saw me on display. He didn’t know whether to fancy me or despise me, and I could strangle him for it. Grandpa, stop laughing! It’s not funny. Well, all right. Maybe just a bit. Oh, to blazes with him!’

      Down below, Roscoe took a quick glance up, just in time to see her at the window before she backed off. He sat in his car for a moment, pondering.

      He’d gained only a brief glimpse inside her bedroom, just enough to see a double bed and observe that it was neatly made and unused. He’d barely registered this but now it came back to him with all its implications.

      So she really had refused him, which meant she was a lady of discrimination and taste as well as beauty and glowering temper. Excellent.

      Later that night, before going to bed, he went online and looked up Mata Hari:

      Dutch, 1876-1917, exotic dancer, artist’s model, circus rider, courtesan, double agent in World War One, executed by firing squad.

      Hmm! he thought.

      It was a word that occurred to him often in connection with Pippa. With every passing moment he became more convinced that she would fit his plans perfectly.

      The two men regarded each other over the desk.

      ‘Not again!’ David Farley said in exasperation. ‘Didn’t he promise to reform last time?’

      ‘And the time before,’ Roscoe sighed. ‘Charlie’s not really a criminal, he just gets carried away by youthful high spirits.’

      ‘That’s your mother talking.’

      ‘I’m afraid so.’

      ‘Why can’t she face the truth about Charlie?’

      ‘Because she doesn’t want to,’ Roscoe said bluntly. ‘He looks exactly like our father, and since Dad died fifteen years ago she’s built everything on Charlie.’

      The door opened and Roscoe tensed, but it was only a young woman with a tea tray.

      ‘Thanks,’ David Farley said gratefully.

      He was a burly man in his late forties with a pleasant face and a kindly, slightly dull manner. He cultivated that dullness, knowing how useful it could be to conceal his powerful mind until the last moment. Now he poured tea with the casual skill of a waiter.

      ‘Has your mother ever come to terms with the fact that your father committed suicide?’ he asked carefully.

      Roscoe shook his head. ‘She won’t admit it. The official story was that the car crash was an accident, and we stuck to that to discourage gossip. Now I think she’s convinced herself that it really was an accident. A suicide would have been a rejection of her, you see.’

      ‘Of all of you,’ David ventured to say. He’d known Roscoe for years, right back to the time he’d been a young man who admired and loved his father. He too had suffered, but David doubted anyone had ever considered this.

      Now, much as he’d expected, Roscoe shrugged aside the suggestion that he actually had feelings and hurried to say, ‘If I can pull Charlie through this without a disaster I can get him onto the straight and narrow and stop her being hurt.’

      ‘Do you know how often I’ve heard you say that?’ David demanded. ‘And it never works because Charlie knows he can always rely on you to rescue him from trouble. Just for once, don’t save him. Then he’ll learn his lesson.’

      ‘He’ll also end up with a criminal record, and my mother will have a broken heart,’ Roscoe said harshly. ‘Forget it. There