by Penny Jordan
‘But I’m not cast in the same mould as Madeleine, for instance,’ Storm supplied comprehendingly.
Valeria grinned. ‘Would you honestly want to be? Oh, I know she looks fantastic, but once you’ve said that you’ve said the lot, and I’m not just being bitchy. I could never understand what Jago saw in those empty-headed model types he used to squire around—apart from the obvious, of course. When he brought you to our house the other week, I was astonished, at first, and then when I’d had time to think about it—the fact that he joined Radio Wyechester so quickly, without a word to anyone, buying a house down here, the whole thing—I realised that this time it must be serious…’
Storm took a deep breath.
‘I wish it was,’ she said frankly, for some reason feeling that she could trust Valeria. ‘But it isn’t. At least not as far as Jago’s concerned.’
There was a long silence, and then Valeria said briskly, ‘If that means what I think it means, I’ve really gone and put my foot in it, haven’t I? I could have sworn that Jago felt something for you, though. He looked definitely possessive the other night…’
‘He does feel something for me,’ Storm said quietly, glad of the opportunity to get it off her chest. ‘He wants me—but nothing more.’
‘I see…’ There was compassion and understanding in Valeria’s eyes. ‘And has he…?’
Storm shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘But once he discovers how you feel about him, it’s only going to be a matter of time?’
‘Unless he gets tired of the game first,’ Storm agreed with a wintry smile which she did little to disguise. ‘I was a fool to come here tonight, but Jago insisted and somehow it seemed more sensible to give in.’
‘Mm.’ Valeria’s eyes rested thoughtfully on her pale face. ‘You’re a lot braver than I would be in the same circumstances. Jago’s a fool,’ she added abruptly. ‘You would be just right for him, Storm. You’re just what he needs, and when I saw this house I felt sure he must be planning… I’m sorry,’ she apologised, ‘that was tactless of me.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Storm replied gaily. ‘It’s just that you made me sound like a particularly nasty dose of medicine! Pete and Tony are looking a bit suspicious—I think we’d better rejoin them.’
Tony was an entertaining raconteur with a fund of stories relating to the early days of independent radio which had both Storm and Pete laughing. Once or twice her eyes strayed betrayingly to Jago, and Pete, watching her, remarked enviously, ‘Who’s that with Jago? She looks just my type.’
‘Madeleine Rivers. She’s a model-cum-actress who’s been pestering the life out of Jago to use his influence to get her a T.V. part. She hosted a chat show on City Radio for a while, and she’s done some hostessing for one of the smaller regional T.V. stations.’
Jago was looking down at the blonde, his expression cynically amused, and Storm was bleakly aware that Madeleine Rivers wouldn’t hesitate to use her body, if she thought it might help advance her career. No wonder Jago was inclined to be contemptuous of her sex! No doubt if Madeleine had her way she would not be returning to London but spending the night here with Jago, preferably in his bed. Abruptly Storm turned away, unable to bear the pain knifing through her body.
‘Dance?’ Pete invited casually.
Storm nodded.
Their steps matched effortlessly. They often visited the local discos together, and Storm swayed to the music without having to think about moving, her body automatically adapting itself to the beat. Someone turned the lights down low, and the tempo changed. Pete’s thin, wiry body pressed up against hers as they gyrated slowly together in time to the music.
Out of the corner of her eye Storm caught sight of Madeleine, clinging sexily to Jago’s shoulders as her body moulded itself against him. Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach, the headache which had been threatening all day suddenly transforming into a throbbing pain, pounding in her temples.
‘Are you okay?’ Pete asked anxiously when she stumbled for the second time. ‘Look, let me get you a drink.’
Storm tried to tell him that she didn’t want one, but he insisted on her drinking the full tumbler of liquid he brought back with him. It burned her throat like fire, leaving a faint residue of taste that was vaguely familiar.
‘Vodka,’ Pete told her with a grin. ‘Guaranteed to beat any headache!’
Storm gasped as the raw spirit hit her stomach, her eyes widening, as she realised that Pete had barely diluted it.
A Dr Hook tape echoed sexily round the room, the blatant message in the words causing Storm to tremble with the longing the words evoked, and search the darkness for Jago’s dark head.
With a sick certainty she saw that he was missing, and so was Madeleine. So they hadn’t even bothered to wait until everyone else had left. No doubt she didn’t stubbornly claim to be in love with anyone else while his hands caressed her, and Storm knew that it would be Jago’s name on her lips at the ultimate moment of possession.
Sickness crept over her. The Madeleines of this world were well suited to the Jagos—a mutual exchange of passion without the unnecessary complications of love. Storm bit her lip, suddenly convinced that she was going to be sick, and stumbled out of the room on legs that suddenly refused to support her.
A dim light illuminated the square hall and she pushed open the first door, which proved to be a study. The room was in darkness and at first she thought it unoccupied, and then she heard the unmistakable slither of fabric as someone moved. Her eyes pierced the darkness to find the leather chesterfield she hadn’t noticed on entry, and, the blood stormed into her face as Madeleine’s blonde head lifted from Jago’s shoulder to eye her contemptuously, the girl’s skin gleaming like the inside of a shell in the darkness.
‘For God’s sake, darling,’ she drawled to Jago, ‘I told you we should have gone upstairs. Now we’ve shocked your little advertising controller!’
As storm stumbled through the door, she thought she heard Jago’s voice, but whatever he said was drowned by Madeleine’s tinkling laughter.
Closing the door silently behind her, Storm walked blindly into the kitchen. Sickness rose inside her, and she was unaware of Valeria calling her name, until the other woman touched her shoulder, her eyes concerned as she looked into her pale face.
‘Storm, whatever’s wrong?’
Not even to Valeria could she confide the scene she had unwittingly interrupted. Her tongue felt swollen and clumsy, her lips stiff as she tried to form words.
‘It’s only a headache,’ she managed to mumble. ‘I think I’ll go home…’
‘You can’t!’ Valeria protested. ‘It’s nearly a mile—Jago told me. Let me find him, he can drive you…’
‘No!’ The word was sharply painful, as her eyes clouded with the memory of Madeleine’s exposed shoulders, her white arms twined round Jago’s neck. ‘No, there’s no need. I’ll be all right…’
‘Well, you certainly aren’t all right at the moment,’ Valeria said roundly. ‘Look, I’ve got some headache tablets with me. They’re really good. Take a couple and go and lie down for a while. If you don’t I shall go and find Jago,’ she threatened.
Unwillingly Storm allowed herself to be persuaded upstairs to a bedroom luxuriously furnished in blues and greys, and yet somehow impersonal.
‘Lie down,’ Valeria commanded, disappearing into the en suite bathroom and returning with a glass of water and two pink capsules. ‘Migraleve,’ she explained when Storm looked at them doubtfully. ‘They really are good. Just swallow them and have a sip of water, and then try to rest.’
‘You won’t tell anyone that I’m here?’ Storm begged.
Valeria understood. ‘I shan’t tell a soul. Just stay here until you’re feeling a bit better.’
The pills enveloped her in a hazy lassitude. She felt as though she were floating, she thought dreamily, as though somehow she had escaped the confines of her pain-racked body and were hovering above it. She moved rest
lessly, turning on to her side, her cheek pillowed against her hand, and let her thoughts drift as consciousness slowly left her.
Downstairs the party continued, but Storm was oblivious. She hadn’t thought it necessary to tell Valeria about the large glass of vodka Pete had given her, and the alcohol combined with the strong tablets kept her deeply asleep.
She didn’t know what woke her. At first she didn’t realise where she was, and was confused by the odd angle of the moonlight through the window. Her headache had gone, but she was stiff. She slid off the bed, trying to find her shoes and accidentally knocking a book off the bedside cabinet. It fell to the floor with a thud and the bedroom door was suddenly thrust open, the light blinding her.
‘What the… Storm?’
Jago was standing in the oblong of light, his hair tousled, his legs bare beneath the hem of his robe.
Storm stared at him, a bitter acid taste in her mouth. Had he and Madeleine decided to move upstairs after all?
‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you,’ she said stiffly. ‘I fell asleep.’
‘That I can see,’ Jago agreed grimly. ‘Have you any idea of the time?’
Storm wasn’t wearing a watch. ‘Is it late? I’d better go. I’ll go and say goodbye to Valeria and Tony.’
Jago laughed mirthlessly. ‘You’ll have a job—they left hours ago. It’s four o’clock in the morning, and the party is well and truly over. I thought you’d gone. What the devil are you doing in here?’
His anger crackled over her like ice. Her mouth felt dry and she longed for a glass of water.
‘I had a headache,’ she whispered. ‘I was going to go home, but Valeria wouldn’t let me. She wanted to fetch you, and she gave me these tablets…’
Jago frowned suddenly and came farther into the room, inspecting her heavy eyes and wan face.
‘And you took them?’ he asked incredulously. ‘On top of God only knows what you had to drink? Oh yes, I saw Pete filling your glass…’
‘I didn’t know what it was,’ Storm protested. ‘I never thought to tell Valeria. That must have been what made me sleep so heavily.’
It was obvious from his rumpled hair and bare legs that he had been in bed himself, and she wondered bitterly if Madeleine was with him. It would be better if she never found out.
‘I’m sorry about this, but I’ll go now,’ she said hurriedly, slipping on her shoes. ‘If you just tell me where my coat is…’
‘It’s in my bedroom,’ Jago told her succinctly, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘I thought you’d gone without it, but you aren’t going anywhere now. I’m damned if I’m getting dressed to drive you half a mile down the road, when you can stay here.’
‘You don’t need to take me,’ Storm protested, ‘I can walk.’
‘At four in the morning?’ Jago’s expression was ironically incredulous. ‘Don’t be a fool!’ He switched on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow. ‘This bed isn’t made up,’ he told her, pulling back the cover in confirmation of his words. ‘You’d better sleep in mine. There’s a spare quilt somewhere, I’ll see if I can find it.’
‘There’s no need——’ Storm began stiffly, but he overrode her protests, his expression impatient, as his fingers touched her bare skin, sending frissoms of awareness surging through her.
‘You’re cold, and it will get a damned sight colder now the central heating’s gone off. This room’s only a guest room.’
‘But I can’t take your bed,’ Storm protested weakly. ‘I’ll be quite all right here…’
‘Please yourself,’ Jago said curtly. ‘I’ll go and see if I can find that quilt.’
When he had gone Storm drew a shuddering breath. She was cold, but there was no way she could face the thought of sleeping in Jago’s bed. At least Madeleine wasn’t already in it, she thought hysterically.
There was an unpleasant taste in her mouth and she went into the bathroom to get a drink of water. It was tiled in toning shades of blue, and she shivered suddenly, feeling very cold. The towel rail was still warm and when she ran the water tentatively it was quite hot. The door had a lock and making sure it was closed Storm ran a hot bath, revelling in the feel of the water against her skin, bringing her back to life.
Wrapped in a large towel, she stepped into the bedroom. It was empty, and a quilt was heaped in the middle of the bed. Refusing to admit to any disappointment, she switched off the light, pulling the cover over her. Wrapped in its comforting warmth, sleep soon claimed her, but this time it was tormented by nameless fears; the nightmares of her childhood when unseen creatures stalked the darkness of some primaeval forest while she ran terrified from their stealthy pursuit. The forest closed in around her, her fear growing with each passing second, her tortured lungs strained to bursting point as she ran faster… faster…
’Storm!’ She opened her eyes. Jago was frowning down at her, his hand on her shoulder. Her heart was racing, perspiration beading her forehead, the terrors of her nightmare still holding her in thrall. ‘You screamed.’
‘It was a nightmare—I’m sorry.’ She knew she would not be able to get back to sleep. She rarely suffered from these nightmares now, but when they came they left her exhausted and nervy, starting at every shadow and far too strung up to close her eyes in case whatever it was that lurked so menacingly in the shadows emerged to claim her.
‘You look like a child curled up there with your face all scrubbed clean and your hair ruffled. But you aren’t a child, are you, Storm?’ Jago muttered, as his arms slid round her his lips feathering soft kisses on her eyelids and nose.
‘Jago, please!’ Her voice shook and she raised her hands to hold him off, but the moment they came into contact with the firm hardness of his chest her fingers uncurled, moving convulsively over his muscles, a feverish pounding in her blood as she gave a faint moan.
‘Don’t fight it,’ Jago advised her roughly, his hands sliding beneath the quilt to caress her frail shoulder bones, his eyes glittering as they probed the shadows. ‘Kiss me, Storm,’ he muttered hoarsely, his mouth forcing hers open as he teased her lips. And then his mouth possessed hers hotly, sweeping away her resistance as she clung to him. The quilt was flung aside, her body registering the fact that Jago had discarded his robe as he pulled her against him, making no secret of his desire. Moaning softly, Storm surrendered to the demand of his hands as they coaxed her into a wildly abandoned response, all conscious thought drowned in the aching need spreading through her.
‘God, you’ve been driving me crazy!’ Jago murmured against her throat, his hands tangling in her hair as she arched convulsively beneath the sweeping sensation his lips aroused, her hands linking behind his head as he pushed the quilt aside, to study the frenzied passion of her body as it quivered softly beneath him.
Storm was beyond trying to hide how she felt. Her arms reached for him, her eyes blind with longing. As his hand moved slowly along her body, her breasts swelled and throbbed, a satisfied groan breaking from her lips as his mouth descended to their creamy fullness as he caressed first one and then the other with a slow sureness that drove her into his arms, with small, hoarse cries.
His lips returned to hers, no gentleness in their touch now, but Storm was beyond the need for gentleness, welcoming the fierce thrust of his body against her, as his thighs parted hers and the warm aroused male scent of him filled her nostrils.
Jago was breathing hard, his breath rasping against her skin, leaving her in no doubt about his own arousal.
‘Say it, Storm,’ he muttered urgently as he trembled against her. ‘Tell me you want me… only me,’ he demanded fiercely.
‘I want you, Jago,’ Storm muttered mindlessly, brutally jerked out of her dream when he grasped her wrists, holding them above her head, while he studied her flushed face.
‘Now beg me to take you,’ he said slowly, in a hard voice. ‘Beg me, Storm, the way you begged me to spare David’s feelings.’
Revulsion surged through her, her mind suddenly crystal c
lear, her body stiffening with rejection, as she tensed beneath him. Had she really forgotten all his threats? And the scene she had interrupted in the library only hours before? No wonder he found it so effortless to stem his passion—it was probably only simulated anyway, she decided on a wave of self-disgust, and her eyes darkened as she tried to pull free.
’Let me go!’
Her unsteady whisper brought a mocking smile to his lips. ‘No way. We’ve reached the point of no return, Storm, and if you won’t say it now, you will in the final moment of possession.’
His claim scorched her with shame, its arrogant certainty making her writhe helplessly as his body lowered on to hers, her flailing hands pinioned effortlessly against him as his mouth fastened on hers in hard demand, ignoring all attempts to break free. Desire shuddered through her, but she fought against it, her mind no longer blunted by passion.
The pressure of his thighs hurt, sending panic ricocheting through her as she struggled frenziedly to escape. His mouth burned where it touched, her body ice-cold with fear.
‘Don’t—please!’
She felt him stiffen, his voice incredulous and bitter. ‘Skip the frightened virgin bit. David might go for it, but it turns me off.’ When she didn’t move his weight suddenly shifted, and light almost blinded her as he switched on a bedside lamp, his hands cupping her face, forcing it into the light as he studied her. ‘The truth this time, Storm. Are you trying to tell me that you’re a virgin?’
His voice had a flat metallic ring, and Storm closed her eyes, unable to bear the expression in his.
‘You know I am,’ she said bitterly. ‘You’ve thrown it in my face often enough—telling me I’m not womanly, telling me…’
‘That was when I… Oh, God!’ he swore suddenly, rolling away from her and leaving her cold and numb. ‘Open your eyes,’ he commanded in a harsh voice, ‘and for heaven’s sake stop looking at me like that!’