Craving Her Boss's Touch Page 5

‘David isn’t old!’ Storm expostulated, but Mr Templeton just grinned.

  ‘Some people are born old, my girl, and some are always young. Your David is one of the former, and you, my love, are most definitely one of the latter.’

  Irreverently Storm wondered into which category Jago Marsh fell, squashing the admission that he was a man it would be virtually impossible to define or put into a precast mould, and then dismissed him firmly from her mind and gave her attention exclusively to her father.

  ‘Going out with David tonight?’ he asked quizzically.

  Storm shook her head. ‘He’s in Oxford.’ No need to tell her father that David had neglected to inform her of his intentions. ‘I’m going out with Pete and the usual crowd, just for a drink.’

  ‘Do you good,’ Mr Templeton approved. ‘You’ve been rather preoccupied lately. Care to talk about it?’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Storm replied rather huskily. That was the beauty of her parents, although they never interfered they were always ready and willing to listen to her problems and suggest a solution.

  She smiled a little wryly at her father’s reaction to the information that Jago Marsh wanted to make her his mistress. If one could apply such an outdated word to the undoubtedly ephemeral relationship he had in mind. Knowing her father’s love of logic he would probably have some perfectly rational explanation for the other man’s behaviour, Storm reflected with a sigh. This was one problem she could not share with her parents, although she admitted that perhaps some self-analysis was called for.

  Her mind shied away from the admission. Just because Jago Marsh made her feel nervous… threatened. It was a perfectly natural reaction and one that any girl would have felt faced with his coolly stated intentions. She had no desire to become involved in any purely sexual relationship. Mutual respect; shared interests—these were the things on which durable relationships were formed.

  * * *

  She heard the familiar toot of Pete’s car horn while she was putting on her make-up. The crowd Pete mixed with were essentially a casual lot, so Storm had donned tight-fitting black cord jeans, topped with a silky white blouse with a yoke that emphasised the fullness of her breasts and full sleeves gathered into a tight cuff. A brief matching cord waistcoat drew attention to her slim waist, giving her an almost mediaeval air, and as she applied her eyeshadow with a practised hand she heard Pete cheerfully returning her mother’s greeting.

  Peach blusher highlighted her cheekbones, and a shiny lip gloss emphasised the sensuous curve of her mouth. She brushed her hair quickly, then slipped on her knee-length suede boots, zipping them closed.

  ‘Fancy dress, is it?’ her father asked teasingly when she opened the door, while Mrs Templeton enquired plaintively, ‘Oh, Storm, why don’t you wear one of your pretty dresses? You look like a boy!’

  ‘Not from where I’m standing she doesn’t,’ Pete announced with so much relish that Storm’s parents laughed. ‘Ready?’

  Storm nodded.

  ’Something sure smells nice,’ Pete commented as he opened the passenger door of his small sports car for her.

  ‘Last birthday’s Chanel Number Five. A present from John,’ Storm told him. ‘Thank heavens for big brothers!’

  ‘As long as they don’t loom too protectively,’ Pete grinned as he slid behind the steering wheel.

  It wasn’t very far to the pub favoured by Pete’s cronies, and although he drove his small car at a speed that some might have thought a little excessive, Storm knew that he was a reliable driver.

  The car-park was full, and Pete let her out by the pub door while he found somewhere to leave the car when he joined her and ushered her inside they were greeted with cheers and cries of delight by their friends.

  ‘Long time no see,’ one of the girls commented to Storm. ‘Is it all over with you and David?’

  Storm didn’t have time to reply. Pete was asking what she wanted to drink and she asked for a dry Martini. She wasn’t particularly fond of strong alcohol, and usually found one drink lasted her all evening.

  ‘What’s up, Storm?’ one of the others asked when they had all got their drinks and were seated round one of the tables. ‘You’re unusually quiet.’

  ‘It’s a case of an immovable object meeting an irresistible force,’ Pete joked.

  Everyone laughed, and one of the boys said admiringly:

  ‘I’d like to meet the immovable object, then!’

  Storm ignored their banter.

  The pub originated from Tudor times and had recently been tastefully modernised by the brewery. During the renovations the builders had uncovered some of the original oak beams and a huge stone fireplace, which had now been incorporated into the decor. The result was extremely effective. Horse brasses glinted in the crackling flames from the fire, giving the room an air of cosy intimacy, and Storm stretched out her hands, revelling in its warmth. A movement by the door caught her eye and she heard Pete murmur softly;

  ‘I think your wish is about to be granted, Rick. Unless I’m mistaken here’s our immovable object.’ He rose, thrusting his glass into Storm’s hand. ‘Hang on to this, lovely. Our august boss has just walked in. I’ll go over and ask him to join us. Give the girls a thrill anyway.’

  He winked and was gone before Storm had the chance to protest. The bar was filling up quickly and when Pete returned with Jago Marsh at his side, the only spare seat was a tapestry-covered stool at Storm’s side.

  She acknowledged Jago’s general greeting with a tight smile. If she’d known there was the slightest chance that he might appear she would never have come. He was wearing close-fitting dark trousers and an open-necked shirt. His pants moulded the narrow outline of his hips, emphasising the muscled tautness of his thighs. Storm looked away, more shaken by his presence than she wanted to admit. He sat down next to her and she ignored him, engaging the girl on her right in conversation. When Pete called her name she looked up, thinking he was going, to ask her if she wanted another drink.

  ‘Bob and Sheila have just come in,’ he said instead. ‘How about perching on my knee so that they’ll have somewhere to sit?’

  Some of the girls were already sitting with their boyfriends and, not wanting to be thought awkward, Storm got up. Pete was sitting on the opposite side of the glass-cluttered table and as she started to edge gingerly past the empty glasses, Jago’s fingers clamped determinedly round her wrist.

  ‘Use my knee, Storm,’ he said in a deceptively mild voice. ‘I’d hate you to have to pay for all those glasses.’

  The others laughed. Storm looked at Pete, willing him to come to her rescue, but all his attention was on a particularly attractive blonde standing by the bar.

  ‘Give in gracefully,’ Jago murmured against Storm’s ear. ‘Pete isn’t going to help.’

  ‘Why did you have to come here?’ she began angrily, silenced by the sudden glint in Jago’s eyes, as his grip tightened and he pulled her against him, forcing her to accede to his wishes and perch herself, rather gingerly, on his lap.

  She could feel the hard muscles of his thighs even through her own jeans and edged furtively away, alarm licking through her veins. There had been dozens of occasions when she had sat like this with a boy, but never, ever had she felt as vulnerable as she did right now.

  ‘If the mountain won’t come to Mahomet,’ Jago murmured, responding to her earlier question, laughing a little as her eyes widened in comprehension.

  ‘You mean you deliberately came here?’ she breathed, trying to catch Pete’s eye. Had he known all along what would happen? Her anger boiled up inside her. ‘You planned this deliberately, didn’t you?’ she accused, her tension mounting. ‘When I refused to have dinner with you. And David…’

  ‘I didn’t plan for David to go and leave you unprotected, if that’s what you mean,’ Jago announced in a hard voice. ‘But since he has, I didn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t take advantage of the fact.’

  ‘You’re despicable!’ Storm hissed fu
riously. ‘Why are you doing this? Isn’t it enough that you’ve taken the station from him?’

  ‘Don’t be a little fool,’ Jago replied harshly. ‘I haven’t taken the station away from him, as you put it, and as far as you’re concerned, the fact that you claim you’re in love with David has no bearing at all upon my actions, unless it’s to prove to you that you don’t begin to understand the meaning of the word.’

  As he spoke his arm tightened, propelling her inexorably backwards until she was leaning against him, her head inches from his shoulder.

  ‘Relax,’ he breathed mockingly in her ear. ‘I’m not an exhibitionist, Storm—I don’t need an audience! You look as though you’re perching on the edge of a particularly sabre-toothed precipice.’

  ‘Because you’ve got bony knees,’ Storm protested untruthfully.

  She was unnerved by his soft laughter, stirring her hair.

  ‘In that case sit a bit farther backwards,’ he suggested. ‘I’ve no objection to feeling your body against mine—unless it’s the restrictive presence of our clothes and your friends.’

  For a moment she was too shaken to speak. An inner tension seemed to be building up inside her, making her immediately aware of everything about him, conscious of his body with every shocked nerve ending.

  Beneath the silky shirt she could see the beginnings of the dark tangle of hairs on his chest, and she was disturbingly aware of the warm male scent of his body. She had never felt like this with David!

  She wetted her lips nervously, freezing as his hand curved possessively against her waist. She tried to wriggle away unobtrusively, but he refused to let her.

  One by one the others started to leave. Pete was deep in conversation with the blonde girl he had been admiring earlier. Storm sighed under her breath. It looked as though Pete had completely forgotten her. She would have to phone her father and ask him to pick her up.

  Jago shot back the cuff of his shirt and glanced at his watch. ‘My antennae tell me that you’re going to need a lift, Storm.’

  ‘Not from you,’ she replied dangerously.

  His eyebrows rose. She could see the dark shadowing along his jaw where his beard grew. His eyes, she realised with a start, were two completely different shades of grey, the outer ring much darker than the inner.

  ‘Frightened?’ he asked dulcetly.

  Storm summoned a brittle smile. ‘No. I just wouldn’t like to take you out of your way.’

  His smile was mocking. ‘You won’t,’ he promised, leaning forward to catch Pete’s attention. ‘I’ll take Storm home,’ he told the younger man crisply before she could protest. Any hopes Storm had had that Pete would take her himself died when she saw his face. Pete was far too engrossed in his blonde to worry about her!

  ‘Ready?’ Jago asked coolly.

  Storm tried to control her inner tension. If only the pub was in walking distance of home—but it wasn’t, and if she insisted on ringing her father Jago would know that he had broken through her guard.

  In the car park Jago took her arm, directing her to a large, dark car, parked near the door. When he bent his head to unlock it, Storm realised that the car was not black as she had thought, but dark green and ominously familiar. It wasn’t until they were both inside that she remembered from where.

  ‘It was you!’ she accused hotly. ‘You were the madman who nearly drove me into the ditch the other morning!’

  ‘If I had done it would have been your own fault,’ Jago replied equably. ‘You were driving on the wrong side of the road. Or had you forgotten?’

  Storm stared mutinously out of the window. She wouldn’t dignify the taunt with a response. But then another unnerving thought struck her. ‘If this is your car, then you’re the man who’s bought the empty house next to ours.’

  ‘Full marks for deduction,’ he applauded lazily, without taking his eyes off the road.

  Despite the luxurious comfort of her padded leather seat, Storm shivered with apprehension. To buy a house, Jago Marsh must be contemplating a lengthy stay in Wyechester. But David had told her that he was merely joining them in an advisory capacity, for three months!

  Jago flicked a switch and the relaxing strains of Country and Western music filled the car. Storm could not relax, though, her muscles were bunched in mute protest, aching as she fought against the trembling that had begun the moment they left the pub. The moment Jago brought the powerful car to a halt outside her parents’ house she was reaching for the door handle.

  Jago’s hand closed over hers with petrifying swiftness, his face disturbingly close. Storm froze, panic coursing through her body. She could feel the hardness of his arm against her breasts and knew from the way he had tensed that he had guessed she was wearing nothing beneath the silk blouse.

  His cool voice broke through her panic. ‘You’ve locked the door—an accident, I take it?’

  Unlike her he seemed in complete control of the situation. He pressed a button and pushed the door open.

  Storm scrambled out with undignified haste, her mouth going dry with fear when Jago’s lean form uncoiled itself from the driver’s seat. All at once she experienced the most ridiculous sensation of anticlimax.

  As though he guessed what she was feeling, Jago took her arm. ‘Disappointed?’ he drawled infuriatingly, his lips teasing a tendril of her hair as his hands slid down to hold her hips. Reaction shuddered through her, but she fought not to betray it, saying lightly;

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘Oh, no reason. I just got the impression that you were waiting for something. Like this, perhaps.’

  He feathered a kiss across her cheek, teasing her lips slightly with a moist tongue before releasing her to say quietly. ‘Well?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like less,’ Storm told him acidly.

  ’No?’ Iron-hard fingers gripped her chin, an unresisting wall of solid muscle meeting her trembling fingers. ‘I don’t make love in cars, Storm. I’m too old for that sort of adolescent escapade now. I prefer privacy and comfort for my lovemaking…’

  It was uncanny how he managed to send her nervous system into chaos with nothing more than a handful of words.

  ‘I don’t care what you prefer, Jago,’ she told him coldly. ‘And you’ll never get the opportunity to make love to me!’

  ‘Is that so? Be careful, Storm. Some men might take that as an implicit invitation to prove to you just how wrong you are.’

  A light went on in her parents’ bedroom and to Storm’s relief Jago stepped back, raising his hand in a brief salute before he strode round to the driver’s door and slid into the car. The powerful engine made hardly any noise at all as it moved away, and Storm did not stop to watch him go.

  Only later, when she was lying in bed, sleep evading her, did she give way to frightened tears. She felt like some small animal faced with a trap which was slowly but inexorably closing on her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TO Storm’s dismay she was nearly late for Jago’s meeting, and this time through no fault of her own.

  Her mother’s Mini, obviously remembering Storm’s less than respectful treatment the last time she had driven it, completely refused to start, and Mr Templeton had had to make a detour to drop Storm off.

  She hurried into the office in Sue’s wake just in time to hear the other girl saying apologetically that David had phoned from Oxford to say he had decided to stay on with his friends for a few days and would not be back until later in the week.

  Jago received this news in silence, his eyes resting fleetingly on Storm’s face as she stared at Sue.

  ‘Did David ask for me?’ she asked the other girl, sitting down next to Pete. Sue shook her head.

  David hadn’t been in touch with her at all over the weekend, and Storm wondered why not. They had never been the sort of couple who lived in one another’s pockets, but all the same she had expected him to phone her at the very least.

  ‘Any ideas what David’s up to?’ Pete whispered while Jago�
�s attention was elsewhere.

  Storm shook her head. ‘Why should he be “up to” anything?’ she whispered back. ‘You know David. He’s as straight as a die.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Pete drawled, but before she could take him up on the comment, Jago was enquiring coldly;

  ‘Have you two quite finished?’

  On her lap lay the folder containing her financial projections and her outlines for several publicity schemes she wanted to put forward. She had spent all weekend working on the projects, painstakingly typing out columns of figures, and she was forced to admit that the situation was even worse than she had envisaged. If Mr Beton cancelled his commercial—as he had threatened—it would be catastrophic. She sighed and tried to marshal her thoughts.

  Jago was getting up. Today he was wearing an immaculate navy suit, looking every inch the invincible businessman, his eyes glittering over her as though he was aware of the response she fought hard to control. What was the matter with her? she asked herself in dismay as awareness flooded through her, but she already knew. Hard though she had tried to deny the truth, she could not deny her response to Jago’s dynamic sexual magnetism. The knowledge shocked and frightened her, making her hands tremble as she straightened her papers.

  ‘Right, if everyone’s ready?’

  No one dissented. Jago glanced round the room, then leaned forward, resting his palms on top of the desk.

  As far as Storm could see he had not prepared any notes—certainly he wasn’t reading from anything, but the verbal castigation he gave them came with all the decimating impact of a hail of machinegun fire.

  His criticisms were not biased against any particular member of the staff—Storm had to give him that, and he was scrupulous in avoiding any reference to David’s part in their present plight. Again this was something she had not expected, but instead of relieving her, it sent further frissons of dismay along her already taut nerves. Somehow or other she had imagined Jago would make use of David’s absence to turn him into a scapegoat, and if the truth were known had been girding herself to leap to David’s defence. Now he had robbed her of the protection that defence would have brought. Dragging her eyes from his face, she forced herself to examine his criticisms. They were valid, she was forced to admit, listening to him ticking off on long fingers a list of faults and shortcomings, all the more effective for being delivered in that dry, telling voice.