Craving Her Boss's Touch

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 crepe, 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.