Storm was powerless to prevent the revulsion from showing in her face.
‘Quite,’ Jago agreed dryly. ‘Sam’s no David, and I gained the impression that the afternoon could well end with Mr Townley giving you a prolonged and thorough inspection of his bedroom—and bed.’
He was watching her like a hawk and Storm knew that he was right. Sam was a widower and had been for a good many years. Perhaps another girl might not have quibbled at the thought of an affair with the town’s wealthiest citizen, but everything about him repulsed Storm. He made her flesh crawl, and she knew she ought to thank Jago. David had not always been quite as thoughtful and Storm had had to endure several agonising lunches with a view to getting Sam to hold a little less tightly to the purse strings.
‘Thank you,’ she managed as Jago opened the door for her.
‘Did it hurt very much?’ he mocked, guessing the effort it had cost her to acknowledge her gratitude.
It had hurt, Storm acknowledged wryly when he had gone, but nowhere near as much as what had happened earlier. What was it about him that got under her skin?
‘Lunch?’ Pete invited, putting his head round her office door.
Storm shook her head. Pete saw too much and there was no telling what she might reveal to him in her present mood. She wished she had had the forethought to ask David for his friend’s phone number. She could have rung him and perhaps the contact might have made their love seem more real.
‘I’m going shopping,’ she told Pete, trying to banish the disturbing memories of Jago’s taunts. ‘I want to buy a new dress.’
CHAPTER SIX
PERHAPS it was her preoccupation with her own thoughts, Storm thought wearily as she went from shop to shop, but for some reason there was nothing that really appealed, and after nearly an hour’s fruitless examinations of all her favourite boutiques she emerged from the last with nothing to show for her pains apart from aching feet and an empty stomach. A blonde head on the other side of the road caught her eye and her head swivelled automatically, a feeling in the pit of her stomach like a kick from a mule.
What had she been expecting? she asked herself as the girl turned out to be a complete stranger. Jago and Angie? She dismissed the thought, and headed for a small coffee shop she knew in the older part of the town. As she opened the door the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans tormented her taste buds and as she stepped back to allow someone to pass, the window display of a small boutique across the street caught her eye.
Tempted, Storm hovered indecisively on the pavement. She knew the boutique by reputation. It was select and expensive, specialising in the sort of understated clothes that shrieked elegance—and certainly not the place to shop if one was budget-conscious.
There was only one dress in the tiny window, and it made her mouth water. Almost before she knew it she was across the road, opening the door.
The dress, when it was removed from the window, proved to be even more alluring on that it had been off. It was made of chiffon, layers of it, shading from palest grey to smoky violet, a low square neck supported by shoestring straps studded with diamanté, the satin underskirt split down one side from thigh to knee. As Storm moved the chiffon drifted round her like mist, the colours as soft and hazy as a winter sky and a perfect foil for her colouring.
‘It’s the only one we’ve got,’ the saleswoman told her. ‘Mrs Thompson who owns the boutique bought it for herself for an important function, but then she discovered she was pregnant and by the time the dinner dance comes round she’ll well and truly be bulging!’
Storm laughed. ‘Well, her loss is certainly my gain!’ She was steeling herself to ask the price, because she knew that she had to have the dress. In it she knew that she was most definitely all woman, and although she told herself that it was highly unlikely that Jago would ever see her in it, the merest offchance that he might was enough to make her reckless enough to buy it. And even then the truth eluded her.
As it happened the price was quite reasonable, mainly because the dress was only a size eight and had been reduced because Mrs Thompson had not thought she would be able to sell it very easily.
It was half past two when Storm finally got back to the studio. Sue raised her eyebrows queryingly when she saw the box, but Storm shook her head.
‘No time to chat now,’ she mouthed. ‘I’m late enough as it is.’
‘Yes, you are, aren’t you?’ Do you make a habit of taking one and a half hour lunch breaks?’
/> Jago! Storm’s pulses leapt. She had thought he would still be at lunch himself, and the intense pleasure that flooded her at the sound of his voice caught her off guard.
‘Sorry,’ she apologised huskily, ignoring the surprise in Sue’s eyes. ‘I was shopping and…’
Was that amusement she saw quirking Jago’s mouth?
‘Of course,’ he agreed dryly, ‘I should have known. I hope it’s something sexy. I’m giving a small party shortly, a sort of housewarming-cum-business affair, and I want everyone from here there. And before you ask me,’ he added harshly, ‘no, I’m not inviting David.’
Sue was busy with the switchboard and he used the opportunity to remind Storm of the warning he had given her earlier. ‘I meant every word I said, Storm,’ he told her. ‘I mean to have you, and I will.’
Why did she let him affect her? Storm asked herself as she leaned her trembling body against the door of her office. She was a fool for letting him provoke a reaction from her. Her skin was prickling with awareness, and she felt cold and shivery as though she was about to come down with a chill.
Her phone rang and she picked it up, covering the receiver as Jago walked in. He was carrying the advertising figures, and dropped purposefully into a chair as she spoke into the receiver.
‘David?’ he mouthed sardonically at her.
Her eyes flashed as she glared angrily at him. ‘No, my father.’