Craving Her Boss's Touch Read online

  ‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ she asked Greg in a shaky voice. She doubted if her legs would continue to hold her much longer, they felt so weak and trembly.

  ’Sure. Do you want me to get your brother?’ Greg asked solicitously, obviously concerned by her pale face and compressed lips.

  Ian was still dancing with Julia, her head curved against his shoulder, and Storm had no wish to spoil his evening.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she told Greg. ‘But it’s been a long day. Would you mind if I went home? I can get a taxi…’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Greg told her firmly. ‘And besides, something tells me that neither Julia nor Ian will really mind us deserting them. I’ll leave them a note and then we can go.’

  Storm went to get her coat, grateful for his unquestioning understanding. On her way to the cloakroom, she scrupulously avoided looking in the direction of Jago’s table, the breath almost knocked out of her body when hard hands suddenly grasped her waist, almost pulling her off balance.

  ‘Jago!’ She stared up at him, her face white and her eyes strained.

  ‘Jago!’ he mimicked savagely. ‘What are you playing at? Turn and turn about—is that the way it goes?’ The ugliness of his voice made her feel acutely sick. ‘I suppose you’ve got to find some means of enlivening the long winter nights, but I never suspected you went in for orgies. Can anyone join in, or do you have to pass some sort of endurance test first?’

  Madeleine emerged from the cloakroom, her eyes glittering coldly over Storm as Jago released her.

  ‘Honestly, darling I don’t know why you brought me here,’ she complained, linking her arm through Jago’s. ‘You know I would much rather be alone with you.’ The blatant invitation made Storm feel ill. She stumbled past them, not caring what Jago might read in her eyes, if he was ever able to remove them from his companion.

  When she and Greg got outside it was raining. There was no sign of the Ferrari in the car-park, and Storm tried not to picture Jago’s lean body embracing Madeleine.

  Much to her relief Greg made no attempt to kiss her goodnight. She didn’t think she could have borne even the lightest embrace. Much to her surprise, when she went to bed she fell asleep almost straight away, waking momentarily when a car door slamming told her that Ian had returned.

  ‘You okay?’ he called softly outside her door, coming in when she murmured a reply.

  ‘Did you get a taxi?’ she asked him sleepily, but he shook his head.

  ‘Nope, we managed to get a lift. Your friend Jago Marsh.’ Storm’s heart missed a beat, but before she could question him further, Ian had gone. So Jago had not left with Madeleine as she had thought, but what did it matter when he left, she asked herself sleepily, the result would be the same. Madeleine had made it pretty clear how she expected to finish the evening.

  * * *

  Storm woke up early, struggling through layers of sleep to the realisation that she could not continue in this fashion. Her acute awareness of Jago was making it impossible for her to function properly, and would soon begin to affect her performance at work. She would have to persuade him to release her from her contract—which shouldn’t be too difficult, she admitted numbly. By now he must be as anxious to get rid of her as she was to leave.

  It was a cold raw morning, with the sky threatening rain or even snow, and Storm shivered as she ate her breakfast. She took Ian a cup of tea, which he drank sleepily, before telling her that he had promised to take Julia out for lunch.

  ‘You can come with us, if you like,’ he offered, but Storm shook her head.

  ’And play gooseberry?’ she teased, laughing at the colour mounting in his face.

  Back downstairs a restlessness drove her and on impulse she pulled on an old anorak, scribbling Ian a note on the message pad her mother kept in the kitchen. Perhaps a walk would help to clear her brain, and at least the activity would give her something to do other than brood.

  Storm knew the countryside round her home like the back of her hand, and let her feet take her automatically along the narrow sheep trails lacing the hills behind the house.

  The old ruined monastery nestling next to the river which ran through the village was a favourite childhood haunt, and the remnants of the once proud walls offered some protection from the biting wind. Her anorak wasn’t really warm enough for this weather, Storm acknowledged as she huddled in the lee of the building watching some birds searching for food.

  As a child she had rebuilt the monastery in her imagination, pretending it was still the bustling community it had once been, trying to picture the lives of the monks who had lived here. They would have been a rich, happy band, for in the Middle Ages the wool from Cotswold sheep had been worth its weight in gold and this monastery had owned many rich acres. But with the Dissolution had come poverty, the community disbanded and the monks left to roam and scavenge a living where they could.

  Stiff and cold, Storm got to her feet. She had walked farther than she intended and already it seemed to be getting dark. The winter afternoons were so short, and as she started to walk back needle-sharp flurries of rain were driving against her body, soaking through her thin jacket within minutes.

  On her outward journey Storm had barely noticed the steep climb to the monastery, but going back the rain made the narrow path treacherous, and several times she slipped in the mud, acknowledging that her shoes were not really suitable for serious walking.

  She was shivering and cold, her hair plastered to her skull by the driving rain. She tried to walk faster, conscious that Ian must be wondering where she was. She hadn’t realised how long she had been sitting dreaming of the past.

  A bird flew out of the undergrowth in front of her, startling her, and she slipped in the mud, her hands going out to break her fall. The impact of the hard ground knocked the breath from her body, and she lay there for several seconds trying to find the strength to get to her feet. As she sat up a sharp pain lanced through her right ankle. Shivering with cold, she tried to move her foot. The pain was excruciating, but she was able to do so, so at least she hadn’t broken the bone, she told herself thankfully, but there was no way she was going to be able to walk the two or three miles home.

  Biting hard on her lip, she managed to drag herself a few yards, but it was hopelessly slow progress, draining every ounce of energy. She tried to stand up, wondering if she could limp slowly down the path, but after a few paces she knew that there was no way she could make it. She tried to remember how far it was to the nearest house. She was too far down the hills to be near a farm, and with a feeling of hopeless despair she acknowledged that she could do nothing but wait for someone to find her. Fighting down her hysteria, she refused to dwell on how long that might be. Ian knew she had gone for a walk, but he had no idea where. Even if he had already raised the alert it would be hours before anyone found her. Cursing herself for being so stupid, Storm willed herself to keep calm. It would only be a matter of time before she was found; all she had to do was to try and keep warm and as dry as possible. She managed to crawl to an outcrop of rocks which provided some shelter from the wind and rain, but her teeth were chattering fiercely by the time she had done so, and she acknowledged that if the temperature dropped much further she had scant chance of retaining much body heat.

  After what seemed like an eternity a hazy sleepiness started to engulf her, and although she knew she ought to fight against it, it seemed much easier and pleasanter to give in and close her eyes. She slept, tormented by images of Jago, some so real that she cried out despairingly, begging him to leave her in peace. At one point she even thought she heard his voice calling her name, and she croaked an instinctive response.

  Someone was shaking her roughly, rubbing her arms and legs until needle-sharp pains lanced through them. She tried to escape the briskly impersonal hands, but they would not set her free.

  ‘Open your, eyes Storm,’ someone commanded.

  It was too much of an effort to disobey. Storm opened them relu
ctantly, and looked straight into the icy grey depths of Jago’s. She shivered violently and was pulled against him, something warm and soft sliding over her cold body. She fingered it absently, smothering hysteria. Wool! It was something woolly off the sheep whose paths had led to her downfall!

  She started to laugh helplessly, shocked into abrupt silence as Jago hit her with his open palm.

  ‘No hysterics,’ he told her curtly. ‘What happened?’

  The sharp stinging pain brought her back to reality. ‘I fell,’ she told him, ‘and I think I’ve sprained my ankle, but how…’

  ‘No questions now,’ he told her, swinging her up against him. ‘Lie still.’

  It seemed easier to give in than to argue, and besides, her mind was too tired to battle with the problem of how Jago of all people had found her on this isolated path. His heart beneath her cheek made a soothing sound and she felt herself relaxing into his warmth.

  ‘Wake up, Storm,’ he told her roughly, shaking her, and she thought she heard him add, ‘I’m not going to lose you now,’ but she knew that she must be mistaken.

  It was a relief to see the welcoming lights ahead of them, and she made no demur when a door opened and warmth seeped through her. She was lying on something and it was far too much effort to open her eyes again. She could hear Jago moving about and caught the faint, distant ‘ping’ as he lifted a telephone receiver. Odd words impinged upon her consciousness, but without form or meaning, and then Jago was back, squatting on his haunches at her side, forcing her to open her eyes and listen to him.

  ‘I’ve rung the doctor, and your brother. The doctor’s going to come round later and check you over, but I don’t think you’ve broken anything.’ His eyes narrowed as Storm shivered convulsively. ‘We’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes…’

  ‘Ian…’ Storm murmured, wanting him to take her home, but her plea was ignored as Jago lifted her in his arms, the sleeves of the jumper he had wrapped round her covering her hands.

  ‘Keep still,’ he told her roughly as she twisted in his arms.

  Despite her cold, despite everything, the moment he touched her a yearning ache sprang to life. Her hands linked behind his neck, an overwhelming urge rising inside her to bury them in the thick darkness of his hair. She trembled suddenly, her aching ankle forgotten, wondering at the sudden compression of Jago’s mouth as he felt her involuntary response.

  He didn’t take her to the blue and grey bedroom and for that she was thankful, until she realised that the bed he was placing her on was his own, the cream and brown decor undeniably masculine, his leather jacket thrown carelessly over a chair.

  ‘If I hadn’t found you when I did, do you realise what would have happened to you?’ he asked mercilessly, watching her. ‘When Ian came over here and told me what you’d done I could barely credit it.’

  ‘Ian came here?’ Her attention was riveted on him, despite the terrible cold in her body. She licked her lips warily.

  ‘You little fool!’ he said roughly. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me he was your brother instead of letting me think…’ He broke off as she turned away to hide the weak tears filling her eyes. ‘Get those wet clothes off. There’s a bathroom through there,’ he told her nodding towards a closed door. ‘You’ll have to make do with one of my sweaters until Ian gets here with your clothes.’

  ‘You should have taken me straight home,’ Storm protested, but he ignored her, and strode to the door, where he turned to eye her critically. ‘There wouldn’t have been much point. Ian’s over at Harmers. He came over to see me before he went to pick up Julia. He told me you’d gone out—I wouldn’t have been in myself, but I’d been to London and wanted to collect some papers I left here. When it got dark and there were no signs of life from your place I rang Ian at Harmers to find out if he had any idea where you might have gone.’ His voice was exceedingly grim. ‘He told me that particular path used to be one of your favourites. It’s lucky for you he’s got such a good memory.’

  Storm wasn’t listening. A terrible cold had invaded her body. As she struggled to remove his sweater, her fingers refused to obey her, and fumbled clumsily with the welt. She tried to sit up, smothering a cry as she jarred her ankle.

  Jago was beside her immediately.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried bitterly, shrinking away from him, terrified that her body would betray her to him. Even feeling as she did at the moment, she was still nerve-shatteringly aware of him.

  His face closed up, his eyes hard and cold. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he told her abruptly. ‘You’ve nothing to fear from me now, Storm. Now let me help you. Don’t you know how near you are to hypothermia?’ he asked bleakly when she continued to shrink away.

  When she didn’t answer, he leaned forward, grasping her shoulders and pulling the jumper over her head, before turning back to unzip her anorak. It was soaked right through, the thin blouse she was wearing underneath plastered to her skin. She froze as Jago started to unfasten the buttons, but she needn’t have worried, his touch was totally impersonal.

  What had he meant when he said she had nothing to fear from him now? Had the fact that she was still a virgin turned him off completely? Did he no longer even want her? She couldn’t stop the dismay the thought brought, and went limp in his arms as he removed her blouse. She heard him curse as her teeth chattered betrayingly, and as a terrible tiredness reached out to claim her she saw him disappear in the direction of the bathroom.

  When he came back he shook her roughly. In the distance she could hear the sound of water, and for a moment she thought she was still lying outside in the rain.

  ‘I’m so cold,’ she complained wretchedly, shivering under his hands.

  She thought he said something, but she didn’t catch it, and his voice was so grim she thought it was probably just as well.

  As he tugged off her wet jeans she was too exhausted to protest, moaning softly as he touched her ankle. Dimly she was aware of him removing her briefs and bra, then he was picking her up—taking her where? she wondered stupidly, struggling feebly in his arms.

  At first when she felt the stinging spray of the shower, she didn’t realise what was happening. The water was deliciously warm and she sighed softly, her body limp as she gave herself up to the reviving heat. She wanted to lie down, to bask in the comforting warmth, to close her eyes and sleep for ever on a hot sandy beach with the sun pouring its heat over her body.

  ‘Stand up!’ Jago commanded her tersely, and her eyes flew open, the hazy dream dispelled, as she realised what was happening. Jago’s shirt was plastered to his body, his jeans soaking wet as he held her under the spray.

  ‘Let me go,’ she mumbled, trying to stand. Pain shot through her ankle and she sobbed out loud, her fists pounding the dampness of his chest.

  ‘Leave me alone… I hate you… I hate you!’

  ‘If I leave you now, you’ll probably drown,’ his cool voice jeered. ‘Now be a good girl and let’s get you warm and dry. Think of it as nasty but necessary medicine,’ he drawled, ‘and when it’s all over, we’ll get you tucked up safely with your teddy bear and some warm milk.’

  ‘I don’t have a teddy bear,’ Storm protested hazily.

  ‘No? Well, you certainly aren’t up to the only other thing you can cuddle up to to keep warm, are you?’

  The derisive words stung. She tried to push him away, but was far too weak. Despite the warmth of the water, she was still cold, with a deep inner coldness that warned her of the truth of Jago’s assertion that she had been close to succumbing to hypothermia.

  She shivered again, and this time wasn’t given the chance to protest as he forced her back under the shower, its spray hotter this time, her body suddenly moltenly alive with sensation as Jago reached behind her squirting some tangy, masculine body shampoo into his hand and massaging it into her skin.

  ‘Not precisely what the doctor ordered,’ he said dryly, ’but it’s one way of getting your circulation back to normal.’


  ‘I thought brandy was the time-honoured method,’ Storm managed to mutter through chattering teeth, but Jago shook his head, his mouth compressing.

  ‘Not for hypothermia; the one thing you mustn’t do is fall asleep, and that’s exactly what you would have done if I’d given you brandy…’

  ‘I can manage myself,’ she protested thickly as his hand touched her thigh. All at once heat flooded through her, her body suddenly surging to life beneath his hands, her trembling no longer caused by cold but by a desire so intense she could barely contain it. Smothering a groan, she pulled away from him, caught off balance as he jerked her back, clamping her against him.

  With a fevered moan she arched convulsively against him, his name on her lips as she thrust her hands into the thick darkness of his hair, her mouth opening eagerly beneath his, the feel of his body against her intensely pleasurable. Nothing existed except the way he was making her feel. With small moans of pleasure she kissed the hard warmth of his throat, his hoarse protest only inciting her to strain closer to him, her fingers impatient with his shirt buttons. In the end he helped her, tugging his shirt off and supporting them both against the tiled wall of the shower as her hands moved feverishly over his chest, her lips nuzzling his throat as his mouth caressed her shoulders.

  Beneath her touch she could feel the perspiration dampening his skin, and the knowledge excited her. Her hands dropped to his waist and as though reading her thoughts, Jago muttered harshly, ‘God, Storm, don’t make me do this,’ but she was beyond caution or reason. Her fingers fumbled with his belt, and with a groan Jago pushed her away.

  ‘Please…’ she begged huskily, her eyes dark with passion, and swayed towards him.

  ‘Oh God, Storm, don’t you know what you’re doing to me?’ Jago protested hoarsely, removing the offending jeans.