Best Man To Wed?. Penny Jordan
was well aware how strenuously he had opposed her appointment to the post of interpreter and translator within the company, sneering that it was nepotism and that it would be cheaper to send such work out to tender.
She shouldn’t have been listening outside the office door when he and her mother had argued about her appointment, Poppy knew, and she really hadn’t intended to do so but had simply been on her way to see her mother.
However, what she had heard him say about her had made her all the more determined to prove just how wrong he was and just how valuable she could be to the company, and she had immediately put aside her own initial doubts about the wisdom of going to work for the family electronics business.
When her mother had first suggested that she did so, Poppy had been reluctant to agree, wanting instead to establish her independence, but the knowledge of how difficult it was proving for her to find a job by herself, coupled with the fact that she’d known she would be working closely with Chris, had overcome her scruples and she now firmly believed that in the short time she had been with the company she had proved her worth.
‘I know I’m going to Italy to work,’ Poppy added pointedly now. ‘After all, I’m not the one who...’
She paused, alarmed by the look in James’s eyes which told her that she had gone too far.
‘Go on,’ he invited silkily, his voice suddenly softly dangerous.
‘Well, I’m not the one with the family in Italy,’ Poppy blustered, shrugging.
‘Are you trying to say that I’m using the company to finance my own personal plans?’ James suggested ominously.
‘Well, you aren’t exactly involved in the sales side of things, are you?’ Poppy demanded aggressively. ‘The sales team—’
‘As managing director and chairman of the company, I am involved in everything,’ James told her softly. ‘Everything... Not so much as a paperclip disappears without my knowing about it, Poppy, you may be sure of that,’ he told her with a wintry look that made her colour up hotly as she remembered the occasions on which she had ‘borrowed’ company stationery.
‘And as for the sales team... On this occasion,’ he told her smoothly, ‘they won’t be coming with us.’
‘With us?’ Poppy stared at him in disbelief. ‘You mean it will be just you and me...?’ She couldn’t keep the horror out of her voice.
‘Just you and me,’ James confirmed.
‘I’m not... I won’t...’ Poppy began, and then stopped as James suddenly smiled at her gently...too gently, her instincts warned her as she wondered edgily if refusing to accompany him would be grounds for dismissal from her job. James was clever like that... sneaky enough too, and she knew how much he had always resented the fact that she was working for the company.
‘You’re the boss,’ she told him, attempting a careless shrug but suspecting from the narrow-eyed, glinting look of mockery that he was giving her that she hadn’t really deceived him.
Four days in Italy with James... She tried not to shudder. She couldn’t think of anything that came closer to her idea of purgatory.
She winced as a cloud of acrid smoke from her bonfire was suddenly blown into her face, making her cough and choke. As she stumbled clear of it, she saw that James was studying the photograph that he had snatched from the wind, and she could feel the hot tide of embarrassed colour starting to burn her face.
It was not the fact that the photograph was of Chris that bothered her; it was an old one taken when she had been fourteen and he seventeen. She had taken it herself, snatching it with her new camera at a family party, and had later, with great daring, had the original print blown up.
No, what was causing her whole body to burn with humiliated embarrassment was the fact that virtually the whole of Chris’s face, but most especially his mouth, was covered in tell-tale lipstick kisses where she had deliberately—oh, shaming to remember now—pressed her open lips with passionate intensity against Chris’s.
A wave of toe-curling, excruciatingly horrible embarrassment, more intense than any self-consciousness she had ever suffered before, poured through her with scalding heat. Her body tensed in readiness for James’s taunting laughter as she resisted the desire to compound her humiliation by reaching out to try to snatch the betraying photograph from him.
But, instead of laughing, James was simply looking from the photograph to her... to her mouth, she recognised with searing misery...and then back again...
Unable to bear the nerve-stretching silence of James’s clinical study of her any longer, Poppy gave in to temptation and did what she had promised herself she was now mature enough not to do—she darted quickly towards him, reaching out her hand to snatch the photograph from him. But as she reached him he realised what she was trying to do and grabbed hold of her with one hand, whilst retaining possession of her photograph with the other.
‘Let me go,’ Poppy demanded, all sense of restraint and dignity overwhelmed by the humiliation-fuelled anger that gripped her, her hands pummelling furiously against James’s chest as she writhed impotently against him, struggling to break free.
She had no chance of doing so, of course; her brain knew that even if her emotions and her body refused to accept it.
James was a good six feet two to her five-four and at least five stone heavier; add to that the fact that she knew perfectly well that he swam and ran regularly as well as practising the art of aikido and it was no wonder that her furious attempts to break free were doing more to exhaust her strength than his.
Even so, she still persisted, demanding through gritted teeth, ‘Let go of me... James... and give me back my photograph...’
‘Your photograph.’ Now he did laugh—a harsh, contemptuous sound that made her long to clap her hands over her ears to protect herself. ‘I suppose this is the nearest you’ve ever come to kissing a man with passion, isn’t it, Poppy? After all—’
‘No, of course it isn’t,’ Poppy denied untruthfully. She was damned if she was going to let James make her feel even worse than she already did.
‘No?’ James queried silkily, his eyes narrowing cynically as Poppy inadvertently looked up at him. ‘So who was he, then? It certainly wasn’t Chris, and yet, according to you, he’s the only man you’ve ever loved... the only man you could ever love...’
Poppy’s face flushed scarlet with fury as she realised that James was quoting back at her the impassioned words that her sixteen-year-old self had declared to him when he had asked her tauntingly if she had grown out of her crush on his younger brother yet.
‘No one you know,’ Poppy shot back at him furiously. ‘In fact...’
‘No one anyone knows, including you, is more like it,’ James contradicted her drily.
‘That’s not true,’ Poppy lied hotly.
‘No?’ James taunted her. ‘Well, let’s just put it to the test, shall we...?’
Before she knew what he intended to do, somehow he had shifted his weight and hers, so that she was momentarily off balance and forced instinctively to reach out and cling to him for support, whilst he took advantage of her vulnerability to tighten his hold on her, using not just one but both arms this time to imprison her against him, holding her so close that she could actually feel the hard, firmly muscled length of his thigh against her and the equally firm thud of his heart. ‘James,’ she began, automatically tilting her head back so that she could look at him and show him how angry she was, but her complaint died away in her throat as she saw the way he was looking at her... at her mouth... and her own heart began to trip frantically in a series of far too fast, shallow little beats that made her breathing quicken and her muscles tense, her lips parting as she tried to draw extra air into her suddenly oxygen-deprived lungs.
A small sound—a protest, a soft moan; even she wasn’t quite sure