Craving Her Boss's Touch Page 12

  ‘Storm?’ Jago was watching her with a glint in his eyes that made her wonder how much she had betrayed. ‘Go home early,’ he told her abruptly. ‘I’ll take you myself. I have some business to catch up with, but I can work as well at home as I can here. Get your coat.’

  She wanted to refuse, but somehow the words would not come. She felt as though she were living in a dream—a dream, more like a nightmare! In her office she dialled David’s number again, listening to the repetitive ring and hanging up with a faint sigh. Obviously he wasn’t there.

  He couldn’t have done those dreadful things. He couldn’t be planning to ruin the station. Surely he would have given her some hint… some warning…

  Jago drove her home in silence, and as Storm stepped out of the car she mentally braced her shoulders, telling herself that she must not cast any shadows on her parents’ last evening at home.

  As she had suspected Mrs Templeton had gone to a good deal of trouble over dinner.

  ‘You’re early!’ she exclaimed when Storm walked into the kitchen. ‘Has Mr Marsh gone?’ When Storm said that he had she sighed. ‘I was going to ask him to have dinner with us. A little thank you for offering to keep an eye on you while we’re away. Men who live on their own appreciate the odd family meal.’

  Storm laughed. ‘Oh, Mum, Jago Marsh doesn’t need mothering,’ she told her. ‘I’ll bet he’s got women lining up to cook his meals.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve got against him. I thought he was charming.’

  Her parents were flying from Heathrow, and Storm went with them to wave them off. Driving her father’s car back along the empty country roads during the afternoon, she made a detour to the village where David lived. All at once she couldn’t wait until the evening to find out what had been going on.

  His car was parked outside and she gave a sigh of relief. At least he was in.

  She knocked on the door and in due course he appeared, dressed in faded baggy jeans and an old sweater.

  ‘Storm!’ He looked surprised and, Storm thought, biting her lip, not very pleased.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, stepping to one side so that she could enter the small living room. The table was covered in papers and Storm glanced at them, noticing David’s flurried tidying up.

  ‘I’ve been trying to ring you since yesterday,’ she began, looking round for an empty chair.

  ‘I’ve been busy. Couldn’t whatever it is wait until tonight?’

  ‘Busy? With work on the shop in Oxford?’

  There was a momentary hesitation, then he said evasively, ‘Yes. Well, now that you’re here I’ll make a cup of tea.’

  No welcome kiss, Storm noticed ruefully, no attempt to take her in his arms, even though it was several days since she had seen him. On an impulse she stood up, going up to him and sliding her arms round his neck.

  ’Don’t I get a kiss?’ she asked softly. David’s cottage fronted on to the main road, and as he bent his head rather awkwardly she caught a familiar dark green flash as a car drove by, and Jago’s eyes met hers for a brief second before he disappeared.

  She tried to find the familiar comfort in David’s embrace, but it wasn’t there, probably never had been there except in her imagination, and she guessed from the hurried manner in which he released her that he was aware of it too.

  ‘David, I came here this afternoon because I wanted to talk to you,’ she said quietly. ‘Jago told me yesterday that you’d tried to prevent us from getting the Harmer contract.’

  ‘And you believed him, of course,’ David said bitterly. ‘Has he managed to get you into his bed yet?’ The crudity of his words held Storm silent with shock, and her face drained of colour.

  ‘No, of course he hasn’t,’ she told him angrily. ‘Surely you don’t think I would do something like that?’

  ‘He’s made it pretty clear hat he wants from you,’ David told her sulkily, ‘and what he wants he usually gets.’

  David was jealous of Jago, Storm admitted uneasily, but the jealousy had nothing to do with her. It went far deeper than that, and a fear that could not be reasoned away rose up inside her.

  ‘David, you didn’t do all those things, did you?’ she asked shakily. ‘You didn’t tell Mr Harmer that we were going bankrupt, or.…’

  ‘What does it matter if I did?’ David asked bitterly. ‘It’s no more than Marsh deserves. The station was mine until he came along. The I.B.A. had no right to put him in over my head, and—yes, all right,’ he said fiercely, ‘I wanted to make things difficult for him, to give him a taste of the problems I’d had to face. When you told me about the Harmer campaign it seemed the ideal starting point…’

  She must not be sick, Storm thought, oppressed by the atmosphere of the small room and the man seated opposite her, who had suddenly become a stranger.

  ‘And the bookshop?’ she asked him faintly.

  He had the grace to look faintly ashamed. ‘There isn’t one, but I had to have some reason for leaving.’

  ‘So that you and Sam Townley could make a bid to take over the franchise when it comes up next year?’

  ‘Why the hell shouldn’t we?’ David asked defiantly, shattering Storm’s frail hope that there could still be some reasonable explanation of what had happened.

  ‘Oh, David!’ she exclaimed unhappily. ‘Sam Townley, of all people…’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Sam,’ David said defensively. ‘Angie’s sure she can persuade him…’

  ‘Angie?’ Storm stared at him. Had Jago been doing more than just baiting her when he said that David would prefer to take Angie to bed than her? One look at his face told her all she needed to know. Pain twisted inside her like a knife.

  ‘So even that wasn’t real,’ she said bitterly. ‘You never actually wanted me, did you, David? You didn’t love me as I thought…’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I’m fond of you, Storm, and always have been, but you can’t pretend we ever set the world alight.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I’ll admit when we first met I used to wonder what you’d be like in bed, but when I got to know you I realised it just wasn’t on.’

  ‘And does Angie set the world alight for you?’ Storm asked savagely, biting her lip when she saw the colour filling his thin face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised, ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I must go…’

  ‘You do understand, don’t you, Storm?’ he pleaded with her at the door. ‘I had no choice, I had to make Marsh see that he couldn’t walk all over me, and as for the rest—well, it’s not my fault if I can’t get excited about you. You never gave me any encouragement, and…’

  ‘It isn’t your fault, David,’ Storm said quietly as she stepped outside.

  She was grateful for the fact that she had parked the car down a side street from David’s house, because that gave her the opportunity to sit quietly in it until the shaking had gone.

  She couldn’t cry, it hurt too much for that. Even now she could hardly believe it. And the thing that hurt most, she acknowledged, was not that David didn’t love her—deep inside she had known that all along—but that he liked her so little that he could willingly have used her as a dupe. And a dupe was what she had been, there could be no mistake about that.

  She didn’t go straight home. The empty house was something she felt unable to face in her present mood, and instead she drove for a while, letting her thoughts drift and her mind exhaust itself as she tried to rationalise what she had learned.

  David had not deliberately tried to hurt her, she told herself, but the way he had talked about her had stripped away her defences.

  He might not actually have accused her of being cold and unfeminine, she thought wryly, but he had left her in no doubt that that was what he considered she was. And yet she had responded readily enough to Jago. Too readily, she thought sombrely as she drove home.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE evening stretched emptily ahead of her. She had intended to wash her hair and have a leisurely
bath before David picked her up, but now there seemed little point in going to all that trouble just to sit in front of the fire and watch television.

  She found a book that her mother had been reading, but it failed to hold her attention and after a while she went upstairs to wash her hair, thinking that the occupation would keep her hands busy if not her mind.

  Even now she was finding it hard to take it in. She had just finished rinsing her hair when she heard the doorbell, and thinking it must be David come to explain that it was all a misunderstanding she flew downstairs and opened the door.

  Jago stood on the doorstep, immaculately dressed in dress shirt and dinner suit.

  ‘So you are in.’ He was frowning and Storm was self-consciously aware of her wet hair and old jeans.

  ‘I’m just getting ready to go out,’ she lied, watching the frown deepen.

  ‘I’m surprised you bothered to come back.’ When she looked puzzled he said curtly, ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t see me this afternoon—you were at Winters’ place. I take it from the fond embrace I witnessed that you fell for whatever it was he told you.’

  She turned away, but not before he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. She was bundled unceremoniously back into the hall, Jago’s body following her as he slammed the door behind him.

  ‘Tears?’

  ’I got shampoo in my eyes,’ she lied angrily. ‘Will you please go away—I’ve got to get changed.’ She opened the front door pointedly, turning her face away as he strode through it and disappeared into his car.

  When he had gone she felt even more restless. She dried her hair, trying to concentrate on some work she had brought home, but her mind kept returning to Jago. Where had he been going? Out somewhere, that had been obvious, but who with? Her heart seemed to contract with pain as she thought of him with another woman, and on a shudder of realisation she acknowledged what she had been trying to keep at bay ever since he had swept into her life.

  She had fallen in love with Jago Marsh. Right from the start she had fought against it, but she had not been able to stamp out the feelings he aroused within her. Panic swept through her. She couldn’t have been so foolish—but she had!

  Whatever happened Jago must not discover how she felt, she told herself fiercely. If he did he would manipulate her feelings quite ruthlessly until she was compelled to give in to her desire for him. That she would find heaven in his arms she no longer tried to deny, but it would be for a very brief spell, leaving her in the depths of hell when he no longer wanted her.

  A knock on the door roused her. Frowning, she walked into the hall, glancing at the clock. It was half-past eight and she could think of no one who could call on her at this time on a Saturday evening. Despite herself a shiver ran over her as she remembered how remote the house was, and as she opened the door she reached for the safety chain, but she was too late. The person on the other side was already forcing the door back.

  ‘Jago!’ She stared up at him, unable to believe her eyes. ‘What… What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said grimly, taking in her jeans and jumper. ‘What happened? Or can I guess?’

  It seemed pointless to lie any more, so she said calmly, ‘As you so rightly said, David would rather spend his free time with Angie Townley.’

  She had turned her back to him, not trusting herself to remain cool and indifferent if she had to look at him, but the silence between them made the hair on the back of her neck prickle warningly, and she swung round suddenly, her eyes defiant.

  ‘Well, go on, tell me that you warned me! Tell me that you said all along that he didn’t want me; that no man could ever want someone like me, that…’

  Her composure broke and she tried to push past him, not wanting him to guess what had happened, but he moved forward, his body taking her full weight so that she was crushed against the muscled wall of his chest, his hands grasping her shoulders.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried, shaking herself free, her whole body trembling. For one wild moment she had wanted to place her head on his shoulder and feel his knowing hands caress her into the awareness only he could arouse.

  ‘Go and get changed,’ he told her curtly. ‘You’re coming with me. If you refuse,’ he added, anticipating her, ‘I shall stay here with you. I’m not leaving you here on your own in this state. Winters ought to be thrashed for…’

  ‘It isn’t David’s fault,’ Storm began quickly, falling back when she saw the anger burning up under his skin, his eyes almost opaquely brilliant with the force of it.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ he breathed savagely. ‘Even now, knowing what he is, you still defend him! What kind of masochist are you? What sort of woman are you, for God’s sake? Go and get changed, Storm,’ he said tiredly. ‘And if you aren’t back down here in half an hour, I’ll come up and strip you myself.’

  There was no doubting that he meant it.

  Why had he come back? Had he sensed that she had been lying about David and returned to crow over her? The thought hurt.

  She picked a dress from her wardrobe at random it was plain black crěpe, hugging her throat at the front with long tight sleeves finishing at the wrist, the pencil-slim skirt emphasising her slender hips and legs. Viewed from the front the dress was starkly plain, almost puritan, but when she turned it was slashed down to her waist at the back the neck band fastening under her hair her smooth silky skin a stark contrast to the mat black fabric.

  She had only worn the dress once before, and seeing it on now, with new eyes, she almost took it off again. Ian had gone with her to buy it, telling her appreciatively that it was sexy, a comment which she had dismissed as brotherly teasing, but now she was not so sure. Against the black fabric her hair looked more red than brown, her eyes huge and dark in the pale oval of her face.

  ‘Storm?’

  The voice warned her that she was running out of time. Picking up her fur coat, she slipped on a pair of black heelless sandals and pulled open her bedroom door.

  Jago watched her walk downstairs, his expression unreadable.

  ‘I… I hope I’m not overdressed,’ she said nervously when she reached him, her eyes on his frilled shirt.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re always overdressed, Storm,’ he told her softly, taking her jacket from nerveless fingers and sliding it on to her shoulders. As his fingers brushed her skin, she trembled and in the mirror she saw his mouth tighten.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘To see some friends of mine. Don’t worry, you’ll be quite safe,’ he told her urbanely as he opened the door. ‘They’re a very respectably and happily married couple. Tony is an old friend, I was best man at their wedding, and Valeria will be a very adequate chaperone.’

  ‘Won’t they think it strange when you turn up with me?’ Storm asked nervously.

  ‘They’re quite accustomed to me doing strange things,’ she was assured dryly, as Jago opened the car door for her. ‘But if it puts your mind at rest there’ll be such a crowd there that one more will hardly be noticed. Tony is one of the friends I was telling you about who’s going to invest in the station.’

  ‘Has he invested in your London station?’ Storm asked. The dark interior of the car was creating a subtle intimacy she would have preferred to do without.

  ‘No, I own that outright. No, Tony and I met at Cambridge.’

  Cambridge? In the darkness Storm frowned. It must have been quite an achievement for a boy with Jago’s background to win a place there.

  ‘Mary Simmonds told me that you were brought up in a children’s home,’ she said impulsively. ‘No wonder you want to help these children so much, it must have been dreadful…’

  ‘Don’t waste your pity on me,’ Jago told her in a hard voice. ‘My parents died while I was too young to remember them—a road accident—and there are worse places to grow up. Life’s what you make of it, Storm. No one gets anywhere waiting for it to come to them. I’m not one of your la
me dogs and I don’t want your pity.’

  His words hurt and she wished she had not agreed to accompany him. The evening stretched interminably ahead of her. How on earth would she cope thrown into a circle of complete strangers, who would probably all wonder what on earth a man like Jago was doing with a country mouse like her? No doubt she didn’t compare at all favourably with his usual female companions—models, actresses, Society types.

  Jago’s friends lived in Chelsea, and Storm’s eyes widened apprehensively as he stopped outside an elegant Regency terrace. Lights seemed to blaze from every window, elegant and expensive cars were parked outside, and Storm shivered as Jago escorted her up the stone steps and past the bay trees standing either side of the front door.

  ‘De rigueur in Chelsea,’ Jago told her, following her eyes.

  The door opened and a diminutive blonde flung her arms round his neck and kissed him enthusiastically.

  ‘Jago darling! We thought you weren’t going to make it. Tony,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘Jago’s here!’

  Five minutes later Storm was being taken upstairs by her hostess, who as Jago had prophesied took her appearance in her stride.

  ‘So you’re the Storm Jago has been telling Tony about,’ she said as she opened a bedroom door. ‘Just leave your jacket there and then I’ll take you downstairs and introduce you around. I’m afraid you’ll probably find you’ve already lost Jago,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘When he and Tony get together there’s no stopping them. I hope you aren’t the jealous type,’ she added as they went back downstairs. ‘Although I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about. Jago isn’t easily swayed once he’s made up his mind about something.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ Storm said anxiously. ‘There’s nothing romantic between us…’

  Valeria turned to stare at her, her pretty, intelligent brown eyes openly amazed.

  ‘My dear, you can’t be for real?’ she said breathlessly. ‘But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’

  She was in no state to argue with her kindly hostess, Storm decided. Let Jago explain the position to her, after all they were his friends.