Craving Her Boss's Touch Read online

  Lack of enthusiasm, lack of initiative, lack of co-ordination between the various departments, no apparent attempt to get out and get the station noticed; the list was endless.

  They were all culpable, Storm thought guiltily. His speech had opened her eyes to areas of deficiency she had hitherto been completely unaware existed.

  When he had finished he looked at them.

  ‘Right, I’ve had my say—now it’s your turn. When I called this meeting I told you we would be fighting on opposite sides. Now it’s up to you to convince me that in future I’m not going to have to wage war single-handed. We’re all in this together—a team working for one ultimate goal—the success of this station, and if we all bear that in mind we’ll get along fine.’

  ‘As long as we remember who’s the boss,’ Storm muttered, goaded into the comment by his expression.

  ‘Are you saying that you’d like to volunteer?’ he asked softly. ‘It’s tough at the top, as they say, and something tells me you haven’t got the sticking power.’

  ‘Because I’m a woman, Mr Marsh?’ Storm countered, trembling under his look. Whatever else happened he mustn’t become aware of this ability he possessed to fire her senses into awareness of his masculinity.

  She was subjected to an instant and thorough inspection that missed nothing, from her flushed cheeks right down to the clinging fit of her pale green jersey dress.

  ‘Forgive me if I’m wrong,’ Jago drawled, ‘but I thought we were discussing the success, or lack of it, or Radio Wychester—not the women’s movement.’

  She wanted to say that being a woman had nothing to do with it—but she knew that this was not true. It had everything to do with it, and was the cause of the burning resentment she experienced whenever he looked at her, as though… as though she were his for the taking whenever he chose, she thought bitterly.

  ‘Anyone else got anything more to say? Something a little more constructive this time,’ he added with a dry glance at Storm.

  His invitation broke the ice. The complaints came thicker than snow in a blizzard. The technicians started the ball rolling. Jago listened in silence as they described the under-capitalised state of their equipment.

  ‘The entire venture was under-capitalised right from the start,’ he agreed, as he made a brief note on his pad. ‘But something is going to be done about that,’ he told them crisply. ‘Any other comments?’

  One by one the others started to voice their opinions, only herself remaining silent, Storm observed unhappily as she listened to Jago questioning Pete.

  ‘We’d thought of various schemes for boosting our audience ratings,’ the younger man was saying eagerly in response to Jago’s question. ‘We did wonder about promoting a weekly disco and…’

  ‘We?’ Jago interrupted queryingly.

  ‘Well, the idea was originally Storm’s,’ Pete admitted. ‘She thought it would help to get the D.J.s known to the public, but David wasn’t too keen on the idea. In fact he put a real damper on most of your ideas, didn’t he, Storm?’ Pete asked her.

  Storm refused to look at Jago.

  ‘I expect he had his reasons,’ she said noncommittally.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Pete urged. ‘What about the Samaritans scheme you wanted to run, and the…’

  ‘I’m sure Mr Marsh doesn’t want to hear all about my harebrained schemes,’ Storm began lightly, but it was no use. Jago was watching her carefully, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he told her softly, ‘I’m interested in anything that would prove just one of you really wanted to make a go of this venture.’

  His sarcasm provoked Storm beyond caution. Pushing aside her advertising figures, she turned to face Jago.

  ‘I did think we might launch a Samaritans-type scheme,’ she admitted. ‘The other, large stations do it. I feel, and have felt for a long time, that we need to improve our scope—extend our audience. The first thing I’m asked when I try to sell advertising is how is it going to improve the clients’ sales. At the moment our audience is strictly limited…’

  ‘An obstacle that other radio stations seem to have overcome,’ Jago pointed out, obviously not intending to make things easy for her. For some reason his very opposition merely served to spur Storm on. She had a captive audience and the theme was very close to her heart. David was forgotten in her enthusiasm to prove that they could make a go of the station, and her eyes sparkled with conviction as she spoke.

  ‘Involvement is the key,’ she told him ‘We need things like the Samaritans scheme—an open line for listeners to use to discuss their problems and get help. It would have to be confidential, of course, and we might even need to bring in a team of experts, doctors, lawyers and so on, who could be persuaded to give their time and knowledge to help the community.’ She faltered a little, remembering how David had reacted to her idea. ‘Too expensive, and too risky’ had been how he had described it.

  ‘Sounds okay,’ Jago murmured noncommittally. ‘What would you call it?’

  She was a little taken aback. She had expected him to reject her idea out of hand. David had frequently told her that such a scheme was economically unviable, but she had countered by pointing out that it would give them invaluable publicity and be a declaration of their intention of participating fully in the life of the community.

  ‘Call it?’ She tried to collect her thoughts. ‘Oh, I don’t know—Communicare, but David…’

  ‘Didn’t like it?’ Jago asked with a wry smile. ‘No, he wouldn’t. A shallow water man is our David, which was why I was so surprised to find he had you,’ he added in a voice that only Storm could hear. ‘You’re a deep water girl, Storm. An all or nothing girl.’ His eyes held her captive. ‘Right now you might have opted for nothing, but I intend to change all that. Now,’ he added, addressing them all, ‘any other ideas?’

  ‘Storm has loads,’ Pete said eagerly. ‘There was that talent spotting competition you thought of, Storm, with the weekly disco, and the job-finder scheme, and the phone-in line for lonely housewives, the “adopt a granny” thing and…’

  ‘Quite a girl for ideas, aren’t you?’ Jago asked with a sideways look. ‘You’ve been doing your homework well too. These are all ideas used by the top local radio stations. There are others, of course. Wyechester has a large orphanage. How about launching an appeal to raise money for needy children? With Christmas coming up it should have instant appeal.’

  ‘Great!’ Pete enthused. ‘We could have a special kids’ slot on the Saturday morning show.’

  ‘And we could use the outside broadcasting unit to ask children what they hope to get from Father Christmas—use their answers to underline the difference between the haves and the have-nots,’ Storm added.

  Jago returned to his chair.

  ‘Now I know that you’ve got the ideas, why haven’t they been put into practice? Well, Storm?’

  He had tricked her, she thought despairingly. Her enthusiasm had betrayed her, or rather it had betrayed David, who had always been cautious about new ventures, but wild horses would not drag such an admission from her in front of Jago Marsh.

  He was looking directly at her, but she avoided his eyes, staring at the floor. The others weren’t so discreet.

  ‘David always said there wasn’t enough money for anything but the basic services,’ Pete grumbled.

  ‘Well, from now on there will be,’ Jago promised, leaving Storm to wonder resentfully where it was coming from. Did he have his own private mint? ‘All the ideas you’ve put forward are excellent in their own way,’ he told them. ‘You left out promoting local sport, and group activities, but what we’re really talking about here is commitment and caring. And these must be our guide lines from now on. For us to be a hundred per cent successful, we need to be a hundred per cent committed to the community—that’s the secret of success. Now I don’t want to overload your digestions. Go away and mull over what we’ve said this morning. We’ll get together later in the week and decide where to start
. Storm…’

  She had been closing her file preparatory to leaving, but she lifted her head, watching him warily. If only David had been here to defend himself—but David was somewhere in Oxford. The thought made her heart ache, although she did not know why. Nor did she understand why she should feel as though David had let her down and left her unprotected to face Jago Marsh.

  If Jago was aware of the reason for her hesitancy he ignored it, getting up to come and stand next to her.

  ‘I’ve had a letter from John Harmer,’ he told her unexpectedly. ‘It seems he’s been having second thoughts about that advertising campaign you were trying to sell him. He wants to see you.’

  Storm could scarcely believe it. Her eyes lit up, her expression quite unguarded for once as she stared up at Jago.

  ‘I’ll go and phone him right now,’ she began, but Jago shook his head.

  ‘No need,’ he told her. ‘It’s all been taken care of. We’re both going out there this afternoon. I just wanted to warn you so that you could prepare yourself. I want to be in on this meeting.’

  Didn’t the trust her? Storm fumed later in her own office, while she rifled through the Harmer file. Or did he suspect that she wasn’t up to securing the account? Either way it was scarcely flattering, and it was in a mood of reckless defiance that she prepared for the coming interview.

  During the lunch break—which Storm elected to take at her desk so that Jago could not accuse her of neglecting any aspect of Mr Harmer’s business—the phone rang. It was David, apologising for not being in touch with her before. ‘When are you coming back?’ she asked him, but he was evasive, his voice low and hard to hear as though he did not want to be overheard.

  ‘Don’t you want to hear about the meeting?’ she asked him, puzzled by his restraint.

  ‘The meeting? Oh, yes. How did it go?’

  But Storm had the impression that he was not really interested, and she was just about to ask him if something was wrong when he said that he had to go and hurriedly rang off.

  ‘Business or pleasure?’ Jago asked, coming into the room as she replaced the receiver.

  ‘It was David,’ she told him shortly.

  ‘Then it must have been business,’ he mocked succinctly. ‘I don’t think David knows the first thing about pleasure.’ His fingers lifted to her cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before she could prevent him, his eyes laughing at her flushed confusion. ‘Neither do you, do you, Storm?’ he asked softly. ‘But I shall soon teach you.’

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked him coldly, dismayed by feelings his touch had aroused, and further disturbed when his eyebrows rose and he asked sardonically:

  ‘Do you really need to ask me that? I thought I’d made it perfectly obvious.’ When she refused to retaliate he laughed again. ‘Ah, you’re beginning to learn. I came to see if you were ready to leave.’

  ‘Leave?’ Storm glanced at her watch. ‘But you said the appointment was for three o’clock.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he agreed urbanely, ‘but I thought we’d have lunch first. No argument,’ he said, forestalling her, and handed her her coat, making it obvious that he intended to hold it while she put it on. As she slid her arms reluctantly into it, she felt his hand lifting her hair from her neck and the light caress of his fingers against her nape was like an electric current jerking through her.

  What was the matter with her? she asked herself nervously, picking up her folder and bag. She was reacting like a teenager on her first date. He had only touched her, for God’s sake. That was exactly the trouble, she admitted wryly. For some reason he only needed to touch her. She hoped to God he never discovered how susceptible she was to him. But there was no reason why he should as long as she kept her cool and didn’t allow him to panic her into anything she could not get out of.

  ‘Blushing?’ he asked dulcetly as they stepped out into the crisp autumn afternoon. ‘I didn’t know girls still could.’

  ‘It’s the wind,’ Storm prevaricated—obviously quite ineffectually, if the look he gave her as he unlocked the car was anything to go by.

  Wyechester was not without its own very individual appeal, and today as they drove through the narrow streets, Storm was seeing it with fresh eyes. One or two Tudor buildings lingered on, rubbing shoulders with their more grandiose Georgian brethren. What was now the Town Hall and Council Offices had once been the local manor house and its gardens had been preserved for the use of the public. A modern health centre and library complex had been erected to the rear of the Queen Anne house, in such a manner that they did not detract from the charm of the original building.

  Jago’s car was as luxuriously impressive from the inside as it was from the outside. Storm had never travelled in such an expensive vehicle before, if one did not count the lift he had given her the other evening, and then she had been too preoccupied with other matters to pay much attention to her surroundings. Now as she forced herself to relax she examined the interior of the Ferrari, noticing the plushy comfort of the leather seat and the unobtrusive signs of luxury all round her.

  Pete’s voice floated out of the stereo radio—she had forgotten it was his turn to D.J. the lunch-time pop session, and she lay back, closing her eyes and listening to the music.

  ‘Calder’s got the right touch,’ Jago commented, leaning forward to adjust the volume slightly, ‘and he’s ambitious—he should go far. What did David want?’

  The question caught her off guard, bringing her upright, two spots of colour burning in her cheeks.

  ‘Nothing that has anything to do with you,’ she said with brittle emphasis, unprepared for the speed with which he stopped the car, swearing savagely as he pulled off the road and turned to face her.

  ‘Don’t try to tell me he rang up to whisper sweet nothings to you,’ he said savagely, ‘because I just won’t believe you. Winters hasn’t got the slightest conception of what it takes to turn a woman like you on, has he, Storm?’ In fact I’m willing to bet that’s something no man has ever done.’

  There was a strange, tight pain deep inside her, as though Jago was invading the deepest recesses of her privacy, bringing to the light of day things she’d thought safely hidden from everyone, including herself.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she began, but his hands cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her skin with a sensual expertise that sent shivers of awareness coursing through her.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Storm,’ he murmured. ‘I was right wasn’t I? No man has ever aroused you, least of all David.’

  ‘I’m not frigid, if that’s what you’re trying to say,’ Storm prevaricated, trembling under the intensity of his regard. They were on a deserted stretch of country road, and she was aware of him in a way that she had never been aware of anyone before. It wasn’t just him she feared, she acknowledged with painful honesty, it was herself as well. She might despise him. She might not want the desire he said he felt for her, but she was pulsatingly aware of it.

  ‘No? Then let’s prove it, shall we?’ he drawled, his arms going round her, holding her captive as his lips feathered a teasing caress against hers.

  She wanted to run and yet she wanted to stay. She was completely powerless to withstand his practised arousal, his slow, determined assault upon her senses, and the kisses that took her far, far beyond anything she’d known with anyone else.

  ‘Definitely not frigid,’ Jago agreed, lifting his mouth from hers. ‘But inexperienced, and holding back…’

  ‘Of course I’m holding back, as you put it,’ Storm said shakily, trying to fight against what he was doing to her. ‘I’m in love with David, or have you forgotten?’

  ‘Hadn’t you?’ Jago asked succinctly, his hand closing over hers as she reached frantically for the door handle. ‘I’ve locked it,’ he told her dryly when she turned a panic-stricken face towards him. ‘This is the last time you fling David Winters in my face, Storm. Before I’ve finished with you, you’re going to forget he ever existed.’


  ‘Let me out of here!’ she sobbed, her fists pounding the inflexible wall of his chest, but he caught her hands with expert ease, his eyes smoky grey as he sneered coldly:

  ’Your first mistake, Storm. Never start a fight on the opposition’s home ground.’

  ‘Fight?’ She stared at him in incredulity. ‘I don’t want to fight…’

  ‘Oh, but you do,’ he said softly, ‘otherwise you’d never have reminded me of David. Or was it yourself you were trying to remind? Was that it, Storm? Were you holding David up in front of you like a shield?’

  He was far too close to the truth, Storm admitted shakily.

  ‘I love David,’ she reiterated childishly, and was instantly punished for her folly as his mouth closed over hers, his hands exploring her body with ruthless economy, shattering all her preconceived ideas of how she would react in such circumstances, as he moulded her hips against the hardness of his thighs, and then slid his hands upwards, cupping her breasts, his fingers probing the soft flesh as he murmured unkindly, ‘No bra? Now why was that, I wonder? Were you hoping for something like this?’

  She went rigid, her eyes flaming with anger.

  ‘How dare you!’ she hissed. ‘I loathe having you touch me. You make me sick, you…’

  Her words were cut short, as his mouth ground her lips back against her teeth until she could taste the faint saltiness of her own blood, the angry raking of her fingernails against his shoulders ignored, as his mouth moved down over her throat, leaving her powerless to stop his unhurried invasion of her senses, the explosive feel of his mouth on her skin, awakening her to raw desire. She gasped, shuddering as his teeth tugged at the buttons on her blouse, his lips suddenly persuasive as they caressed her breast.

  Heat flooded through her. No one had ever touched her like this before, and she had never imagined that she could feel this… this… She moaned, unable to deny her arousal, pressing instinctively against him as his mouth moved against her skin, his tongue circling her nipple, the tormenting caress starting an ache deep inside her that obliterated all rational thought. She was beyond reason, beyond anything but what his hands and mouth were doing to her, and when his mouth returned to hers her lips parted for him on a husky groan, allowing him whatever licence he desired. She was lying underneath him, his thighs like steel where they crushed her down into the supple leather, but she didn’t care.