“I don’t understand you, Jonathan—”
“Nor I you! That man—Montgomery—he obviously has some sort of proprietorial claim on you—”
“He’s my manager, if you really want to know!” Tory glared straight back up at Jonathan as he towered over her.
“Really?” he parried.
“Yes—really!”
“And it’s obvious in what way he ‘manages’ you!”
“Why, you—!” Tory stood up, striding furiously around the table, her arm raised, ready to swing.
Jonathan easily caught hold of it. He pushed her arm back down to her side, long fingers moving down to become entwined with her own, bringing her body up close to his in the process.
His face was very close to hers as they glared at each other. “Looking at you now, your eyes flashing, face flushed—albeit with anger—I could easily give in to the temptation to manage you myself!”
CAROLE MORTIMER says, “I was born in England, the youngest of three children—I have two older brothers. I started writing in 1978, and have now written over 100 books for Mills & Boon. I have four sons—Matthew, Joshua, Timothy and Peter—and a bearded collie called Merlyn. I’m married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live on the Isle of Man.”
Some of the characters from The Secret Virgin featured in an earlier story by Carole Mortimer, Bound by Contract (#2130).
The Secret Virgin
Carole Mortimer
My husband, Peter
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
‘JONATHAN MCGUIRE! Would Mr Jonathan McGuire, recently arrived from Heathrow, please come to the information desk?’ The message rang out clearly over the airport tannoy system.
Tory stood frowningly beside the desk as the receptionist gave out the message, waiting to see if Jonathan McGuire would respond to it.
She had stood at the door to the baggage reclaim area a few minutes ago, as it opened and closed to allow the people from the Heathrow flight to the Isle of Man to leave once they had collected their cases, a small board held up in front of her with the name of ‘Mr J McGuire’ clearly written on it. But the last passenger from that flight had gone now, with no sign of Jonathan McGuire.
Maybe he had missed the flight?
Or maybe—
‘I’m Jonathan McGuire.’
Tory blinked, and not just at the sound of that huskily attractive American drawl. This was Jonathan McGuire?
This man had been one of the first to leave the baggage reclaim area. Tory had noticed him because he was so tall, easily a foot taller than her own five feet two inches in her bare feet, and also because as he’d looked at her, and then through her, with flinty grey eyes, she hadn’t been able to help noticing he was one of the most arrogantly attractive men she had ever set eyes on!
His face was ruggedly tanned, and there were those flinty grey eyes, a straight nose, and an unsmiling mouth above a square jaw. The dark grey jacket and white shirt, teamed with the faded blue denims that he wore, emphasised the width of his shoulders, the narrow waist and long, muscular legs. She guessed his age to be somewhere around low-to-mid-thirties. Which was another surprise. Somehow she had had the impression he was Madison’s younger, not older, brother.
In fact, he looked nothing like Tory had expected blonde-haired, green-eyed Madison’s brother to look!
Which was probably the reason why she had missed him earlier.
But that didn’t explain why he hadn’t approached her; his name was written very clearly on the board she had held up…
Tory stepped forward before the receptionist could respond. ‘I was asked to meet you, Mr McGuire,’ she told him lightly, smiling welcomingly.
Those flinty grey eyes were turned on her piercingly, no answering smile on those harshly chiselled features. ‘By whom?’ he prompted guardedly.
She frowned as his reply, her smile fading; she really hadn’t thought, when she’d made the offer to come to the airport this morning, that giving Jonathan McGuire a lift to his sister’s home was going to be as difficult as it was turning out to be.
‘By your sister,’ she murmured, deciding that devastating good-looks didn’t go any further than skin deep on this man.
Which was a shame. She had always found Madison one of the easiest people to get along with, had expected her brother to be the same. But he not only didn’t look like his sister, he had none of her warm charm, either!
‘Madison?’ he repeated irritatedly. ‘And exactly what is your connection to my sister?’ He looked at her critically.
Tory tried to see herself through his eyes: a little over five feet tall, boyishly slender, her almost black hair cut in deliberate ragged layers to fall silkily onto her shoulders, her elfin features bare of make-up; she had dark blue eyes, an upturned freckle-covered nose, a wide mouth and a determined chin. The only thing she had in common with the tall, glamorously beautiful Madison McGuire at the moment was her age; they were both twenty-four!
Her frown deepened as she sensed Jonathan McGuire’s criticism of her looks. She liked Madison, was quite happy to do a favour for the other woman, but her brother was turning out to be quite another proposition!
Her second smile wasn’t as openly friendly as the first. ‘My parents own the farm next to Madison and Gideon’s house, keep an eye on things for them while they’re away.’
‘And?’
Tory was very aware of the avidly listening receptionist. Not that she could blame her. Anyone would think Tory was trying to rob the man instead of offering him a lift!
‘Madison telephoned last night and asked me to—’
He scowled. ‘Damn it, I asked Gideon not to tell anyone where I was going!’
‘Madison is his wife…’ Tory pointed out ruefully.
The other couple had fallen in love while filming together on the island a couple of years previously. Madison had been the leading lady, Gideon the director of the film, a film that had won them both Oscars the following year. Consequently the two of them had great affection for the Isle of Man and had bought a home here, which they visited often with their now six-month-old daughter, Keilly.
‘She may be,’ Jonathan McGuire grated harshly. ‘But I specifically asked Gideon—’
‘Look,’ Tory cut in quietly, aware they were still being overheard, ‘I suggest we go across to my car and continue this conversation there?’ She raised dark brows.
He shot the receptionist an irritated look before turning on his heel without another word and walking over to the trolley that contained his luggage, which he had left parked at the bottom of some stairs.
Tory gave the receptionist a rueful