by Penny Jordan
True to her promise Valeria took her round and introduced her to several people. A young man with fair hair and blue eyes, whom Storm vaguely recognised from television, made a big thing of fetching her a drink and getting her something to eat. Storm searched discreetly for Jago and saw him standing to one side talking to a short auburn-haired man who she guessed must be their host.
Her blond companion introduced himself as Richard Kingsley, and although the name meant nothing to Storm, she sensed that it was supposed to.
Pop music blared from a stereo in one corner of the room and several couples gyrated on the floor.
So these were the ‘beautiful people’, Storm thought wryly. A tall black-haired girl walked up to Jago, putting her hand on his arm as she whispered something in his ear, and Storm wasn’t surprised to see the two of them dancing together.
When Richard suggested that they join them she shook her head, but he grabbed her arm, tugging her towards him, and rather than make a scene she gave in.
He was an expert dancer, although a little flamboyant, and she knew they were attracting attention from the others. When the music changed tempo to a slow, dreamy number, she was pleased at first, until under cover of the darkness, Richard’s hands caressed her back, his breath whisky-flavoured as he murmured softly, ‘Mm—sexy, and you’ve got lovely skin. How about we split and go off somewhere on our own, like my place?’
Storm pushed him away.
‘Thanks, but no, thanks,’ she told him coolly.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he objected, pulling her against him. ‘Relax!’
‘She isn’t in your league, Rich,’ Jago drawled at her shoulder. ‘And besides, she’s with me. Be a good boy and go and find someone else to play with, mm?’
Storm didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry when Richard released her.
‘The mighty Jago Marsh snaps his fingers and everyone falls into line,’ she said bleakly when they were alone.
’Don’t tell me you were enjoying it,’ Jago taunted. ‘Because if you were you have a funny way of showing it.’
‘I’m surprised you noticed. You looked pretty well occupied yourself!’
‘Janice is an old friend,’ was all he said, but Storm didn’t like the way his eyes narrowed.
‘Storm, Jago, there you are,’ Valeria said breathlessly. ‘Why aren’t you dancing? Dance with her, Jago,’ she urged. ‘That’s what parties are for.’
‘I don’t want to…’ Storm began, but it was too late. Jago’s arms were sliding over her shoulders to clasp her waist her body propelled forward until it rested against his, as her hands linked behind his head.
‘Try to look as though you’re enjoying it,’ he whispered, his breath sending shivers over her exposed skin, ‘otherwise you’ll ruin my reputation!’
Beneath his jacket she could feel his muscles, the pressure of his hands keeping her against him. It would be fatally easy to relax against him and give him the victory she knew he was determined to have, but it was too dangerous.
She was glad when the music ended, and the wry smile Jago gave her told her that he was aware of her relief. His eyes lingered on the firm swell of her breasts and she knew it was deliberate punishment when he said softly to Valeria. ‘Time we weren’t here, I think. Say goodnight to Tony for me.’
‘If you wait a minute I’ll go and find him,’ Valeria began, laughing when she saw his face. ‘Ah, like that, is it?’ she asked with a knowing look at Storm. ‘I’ll go and get your coat, then, although something tells me you aren’t going to need it.’
‘Did you have to do that?’ Storm asked, close to tears, when she had gone. ‘It was obvious what she thought.’
‘Like I just said,’ Jago said lazily, ‘I’ve got my reputation to think of.’ He smiled wickedly at her as Valeria returned with her jacket, kissing the other woman on the cheek and promising to be in touch.
‘Enjoy yourself?’ he asked when they were out of the city.
‘It was better than staying at home by myself, brooding,’ Storm admitted. ‘You were right about what you said about David.’ There was a lump in her throat and it hurt to speak, but it had to be said. ‘I don’t think he ever cared for me at all.’
She felt rather than saw the sideways flick of his eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t say anything. She was tired and leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes, as she tried to blot out the sight of the man next to her.
She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew was a sudden rush of cold air and the reassuring thump of something against her ear. She struggled through the layers of tiredness and heard Jago whisper in her ear, ‘It’s okay. You fell asleep in the car. Which is your room?’
‘You’re not carrying me upstairs!’ she protested, panic feathering across her skin. ‘I can manage on my own.’
He must have taken her key from her pocket, and she cursed herself for falling asleep. The fabric of his jacket felt rough on the exposed flesh of her back, and she felt his muscles stiffen as he ignored her words.
It wasn’t difficult for him to guess which room was hers. She had left the light on. Jago dropped her gently on her bed, his hands either side of her on the coverlet, imprisoning her against it.
‘You have lovely skin,’ he told her softly, dropping down beside her, his hand feathering a caress up her spine.
Shock trembled through her, and as though in a trance she watched the slow downward descent of his head, his lips silky against her throat, teasing and tantalising until she was breathing unevenly her hands clenched desperately at her sides to prevent them sliding round him. He had removed his jacket and his shirt glimmered palely in the dark.
This gentle, almost tender assault upon her senses was far harder to withstand than any violence, and as his hands caressed the bare skin of her back desire flamed through her. Barely aware of what she was doing, she slid her hands feverishly upwards, tracing the bones of his shoulders, her neck arching as his lips tormented her heated skin. Her hands trembled over the buttons of his shirt, sliding inside to caress the warmth of his flesh.
His low groan startled her, and her eyes widened as she felt him release the top of her dress, and then before she could protest the hair-roughened warmth of his chest was crushing her breasts, his breathing quickened as she was moulded against him, her bones turning to water at the touch of his body against hers.
His mouth teased and tasted, beginning a long slow arousal, that drove her mindless with aching longing. When her dress slithered to the floor and Jago raised himself slightly to look slowly along the length of her body, she felt only quickening excitement; her arms reached for him, her mouth parting eagerly as he kissed her. His hands tangled in her hair, and when he lifted his head he was breathing heavily.
‘You’re beautiful, do you know that?’ he said softly, bending his head to find the valley between her breasts, his lips deliberately provocative as they caressed the silky swelling flesh, and Storm trembled against him as his mouth finally closed over the nipple, sensation exploding inside her as she arched instinctively, moaning softly as her body demanded his complete possession.
‘Say it, Storm,’ he urged softly before claiming her mouth. ‘Tell me you want me. Forget Winters…’
It was like an injection of ice into her veins. God, how could she be so stupid? She pulled away from him, her eyes bitter in the darkness.
‘Get out!’ she snapped at him. ‘Get out of here! I hate you!’
She turned away, closing her eyes, refusing to look at him as he stood up.
His fingers grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. ‘It’s okay, I’m going,’ he said wryly. ‘I guess my timing was at fault. You shouldn’t have worn that damned dress. The thought of how little you were wearing underneath it’s been driving me crazy damned near all night. I’m not totally without feelings, Storm. You’ve taken a hard knock over Winters, but that doesn’t make me any less determined. You’ve proved tonight that you’re not exactly indifferent
to me. And I’m one hell of a long way from being indifferent to you. I’m prepared to give you some time, so I won’t press matters to their logical conclusion tonight—although we both know that I could.’ His hands cupped her face so that it was impossible for her to look away, although she felt the heat sear her skin as his eyes lingered on her body.
‘If I don’t go now, I’ll end up spending the night with you whether you want it or not,’ he said at last. ‘I haven’t forgotten that vow I made to hear you say you want me, Storm, and it still holds good. Now kiss me and I’ll go.’
She was trembling all over, but she still raised her mouth to his, her fingers curling into the thickness of his hair as her tongue traced the outline of his lips, feeling them harden under the tentative caress.
As his mouth took possession of hers her hands slid on to his shoulders, the muscles contracting beneath her touch.
‘Forget Winters,’ he told her jerkily as he released her. ‘Forget him, Storm.’
Long after he had gone she lay wakeful and anguished. Her body throbbed with an unappeased ache and to her shame she acknowledged that if he had decided to stay with her she could not have refused him.
It was just as she feared. In love she was desperately at risk, wanting to yield her mind and her body. She closed her eyes, trying to relax into sleep.
There was no way now that she was ever going to persuade Jago that she was indifferent to him. All she could hope to do was to prevent him from discovering the depth of her love.
For a moment she let herself dwell on how it would feel to have Jago return her love, but she quickly dismissed the thought, knowing it to be impossible.
In some ways she almost wished he had stayed with her. Once he had taken what he had wanted he would surely lose interest, and already she was waiting for the pain she knew would follow their lovemaking as surely as night must follow day.
* * *
Work kept her busy for most of the following week. Because she had her father’s car she told Jago that there was no need for him to give her a lift. As it happened he was tied up in meetings during the week, and she saw very little of him. He rang her every night at eleven o’clock to check that everything was all right as he had promised her parents.
One evening before he rang off he reminded her that Saturday was the evening fixed for the housewarming-cum-business get-together he had organised.
Rather reluctantly Storm asked if there was anything she could do to help, but he told her that everything was in hand.
‘I intend to find a housekeeper after Christmas,’ he told her, reinforcing her impression that he intended to make his Cotswold house his permanent home. ‘But for Saturday I’ve organised some outside caterers. We’ve used them before in London and they’re pretty good.’
She sometimes forgot that he had another life far removed from that at Radio Wyechester, Storm reflected as she hung up. The evening he took her to visit his friends had been a sample of that life—moneyed, sophisticated, a far cry from the quiet country existence she enjoyed.
She guessed that Tony and Valeria would be among the business associates Jago had invited. As one of the backers of Radio Wyechester Tony would want to inspect the team. In her heart of hearts she didn’t want to go to the party, but she knew that to refuse would only cause comment.
There hadn’t been a whisper of David’s defection at the studio, but she knew that the others must be aware of what had happened. She herself had seen David in Wyechester with Angie Townley clinging to his arm, and she wondered if Jago had primed them to keep silent.
To her surprise he had not made any attempt to follow up the advantage David’s departure had given him. At first Storm thought this was due to pressure of business, because the week had been very hectic, but then she started to wonder if Jago now considered that without David to use as a barrier, her capitulation was only a matter of time. He knew well enough how he affected her; he was far too experienced not to appreciate her reaction to him. That episode in her bedroom had been a complete giveaway; a moment of weakness which must not be allowed to happen again. Because Storm was still determined that she would not give in.
She had had ample time to think the whole thing through. Jago did not love her, he merely wanted her, and she was honest enough to know that as far as she was concerned, desire would never be enough. In fact she suspected that to give in now and allow him to possess her completely would only increase her need for him.
The initial response to the search for foster-parents had been even better than they had hoped. With the aid of the local Social Services Department a formula had been arranged for dealing with the prospective ‘parents’, and already the Matron of the home had high hopes that some of the younger children were going to find loving homes.
’The older kids are a tough bunch,’ Pete told her as they discussed the progress of the scheme. They were sitting in the studio surrounded by all the equipment, drinking mugs of coffee, while Mike hosted the late morning show.
‘But their stories would melt perma-frost. I want to try and get a couple of them on the show so that they can put their side of things; what they’re looking for in a family, that sort of thing.’
‘Sounds a good idea, but you’ll have to get Jago’s approval,’ Storm warned him. Released from David’s carping disapproval, Pete had blossomed into a hard-working enthusiast, putting them all to shame with the work he was putting in on their various projects.
As well as offers to act as foster-parents, the appeal had brought a positive avalanche of free gifts, tickets and invitations for the children, and Sue had taken on the extra duties of sorting these out.
No one could deny that there was a far more optimistic atmosphere in the studios these days Storm admitted. One of the first things Sam Townley had done following his defection had been to put up their rent, but Jago was making plans to find them fresh accommodation.
‘He’s talking about starting right from scratch,’ Pete told her enthusiastically. ‘Brand new equipment, the whole bit. Apparently he was quite taken with Harmers’ place. That’s one of the reasons he’s gone up to London today, to have talks with some architects.’
This was news to Storm, and she bent over her coffee mug, hiding her face.
It was no use trying to convince herself that Jago’s interest could ever be anything than merely physical, and to be fair to him he had never suggested that it might. It was only her imagination that kept tormenting her with images of what might have been had he returned her feelings. Which was all so much nonsense, she told herself feelingly as she drove home, because Jago Marsh was most emphatically not the tame, domestic type.
Her father’s daily paper was lying on the mat behind the front door when Storm unlocked it. She hadn’t bothered cancelling it, and she glanced through it while she had her tea.
Jago’s familiar features stared back at her from the centre pages, sending disturbing sensations cramping through her stomach. The photograph was accompanied by an article describing his involvement with Radio Wyechester, and the reporter had obviously questioned him about his future role with the station when combined with his other business interests.
His reply was determinedly noncommittal. As he pointed out to the reporter, he had run City Radio, his London station, for five years, during which time it had crept steadily up the ratings charts until it reached the top, where it had remained for close on two years. With his management team all hand-picked the station no longer needed his constant attention, so it was plainly time to turn his sights in other directions.
The reporter had mentioned the offers he had received from the States, and Storm’s stomach lurched protestingly at the thought of the width of the Atlantic between them. Again Jago had been circumspect in his response, but there was nothing to reassure her in his claim that one must take life as it came, living each day as it happened.
A man of his drive and ambition wouldn’t be satisfied with a small station like theirs for very long, s
he admitted miserably, folding the paper. She had perhaps twelve months before he went out of her life altogether. And she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. Twelve months was a long time to hold him at bay—always supposing he didn’t lose interest and grow bored with her. But on the other hand, it was far too fleeting to allow her to gather enough memories to last through the long, love-starved years to come.
Saturday was also Storm’s birthday, and she woke up in the morning feeling rather downcast.
The postman had been by the time she was washed and dressed, but apart from a handful of cards from friends, there was nothing for her.
In the past both Ian and John had remembered her birthdays with lavish gifts, and although she could understand that her elder brother was probably far too busy to remember the date, let alone buy a present, she was disappointed that there wasn’t something from Ian. A long, newsy letter would have helped to alleviate the despondency creeping over her.
It was just as well her mother couldn’t see her, she admitted wryly, pulling a face at her own reflection as she walked through the hall.
She couldn’t stay miserable all day just because her family appeared to have forgotten her, and she was in her room changing into a clean pair of cords when the phone rang. The nearest extension was the one in her parents’ bedroom, and she hurried to answer it, pulling a soft pale grey angora sweater on as she did so.
‘Storm?’ The sound of her mother’s voice almost brought tears to her eyes. ‘Happy birthday, darling. Is David taking you somewhere nice this evening?’
‘It’s Jago’s party, Mum,’ Storm replied, glad that she had no need to explain exactly why she wasn’t going out with David. Her excuse seemed to satisfy Mrs Templeton, for she said happily, ‘Of course—I’d forgotten.’
The call was only a short one—there was barely time for Storm to do more than say ‘hello’ to everyone, including her sister-in-law-to-be—but when she hung up she was feeling considerably less lonely.