There was an uncomfortable silence and Storm realised that her voice had carried farther than she had intended. She was just about to mumble an apology for interrupting the meeting when a voice far cooler and crisper than David’s mild tones drawled sapiently from the other side of the room,
‘Ah, I see our missing Advertising Controller has condescended to join us. Perhaps if you took the trouble to listen occasionally, Miss Templeton, instead of commandeering the conversation you might learn something. Marvels, as you call them, aren’t achieved simply by waving a magic wand. They take time and hard work—something that appears to be conspicuously lacking in this set-up.’
Her cheeks burned.
‘Naughty, naughty!’ Pete whispered in her ear. ‘You’ve pulled the tiger’s tail with a vengeance, my lovely. I do believe he’s about to make an example of you!’
As though by magic a path had cleared to David’s desk, and for the first time Storm had an uninterrupted view of the man lounging there.
She recognised him immediately. There was no mistaking that tall well-muscled body encased in an immaculate charcoal-grey suit, nor the hard-boned masculine profile, icy-grey eyes sweeping her from head to foot.
Jago Marsh! Here already! She could hardly believe it.
He flicked back a crisp white shirt cuff to glance meaningfully at the gold Rollex watch strapped to his wrist, and Storm stifled her resentment. If he was trying to imply that she was late for work, he would soon learn different. He came out from behind his desk, the suggestion of restrained power very evident in his lithe movements, his black hair slightly longer than she had remembered,
brushing the collar of his jacket. He gestured to the chair in front of David’s desk and said in a deceptively calm voice:
‘Sit down, Storm.’
Every instinct warned her that here was a man who was dangerous. She tried to keep calm, forcing herself to meet his eyes. They were dark grey and right at this moment looked uncommonly like the North Sea when an east wind was blowing over it. She was half way towards the chair before she realised what she was doing, and straightened abruptly. ‘I’ll stand, thank you,’ she said clearly. ‘I’m no different from the other members of this team. Just because I’m female I don’t expect to be treated any differently.’
And he could take that whichever way he chose, she decided triumphantly.
For several unnerving seconds she was forced to endure the diamond brilliance of ice-cold scrutiny and then he was smiling derisively.
‘Well, you’re right about one thing,’ he drawled coolly. ‘You’re feminine all right.’
To her chagrin the others, including David, laughed. Her whole body was quivering with indignation, but even so she was completely unprepared for the hard hands descending on her shoulders as she was propelled backwards and forced gently into the chair.
‘There,’ Jago said gently. ‘Now you can both see and hear what’s going on and everyone else can see over you.’
Storm’s cheeks burned anew. He made her sound like a spoiled, fractious child! Beneath her blouse her skin felt as though it were on fire where he had touched her, her emotions in chaos.
‘Now,’ he drawled, ‘I’ll continue, and if it makes it any easier for you, I promise you I’m not here to dwell on past glories—mine or anyone else’s.’ His eyes swept the room. ‘There’s one thing for sure, if we were relying on relating the successes of your venture we’d have precious little to talk about.’
Here it came, Storm thought numbly. How he must be gloating! Barging in among them, wearing clothes more suitable to a boardroom than David’s shabby office. All that she was feeling showed in her eyes, as she lifted them to his unreadable face. He returned the look, his eyes dropping to the soft curves so lightly masked by the lavender silk blouse. Without a trace of embarrassment they lingered for a while before making a full and appreciative study of the rest of her body, and when his eyes eventually returned to her face, they were no longer cold but warmly sensual with a meaning that was distinctly plain.
Storm went hot and then cold, trying to appear unaffected by the blatantly sensual inspection. No one had ever looked at her like that before, and she shivered a little without knowing why.
‘Well, Storm?’ he queried in the silence which followed. ‘You seemed to have plenty to say for yourself earlier on, suppose you tell me why after nearly twelve months’ operation you’re still floundering about like a bunch of amateurs, playing at operating a radio station.’
That disturbing sexually aware look might never have been, his voice and eyes probed mercilessly, driving her to murmur defiantly under her breath,
‘Perhaps it’s because we can’t all aspire to the dizzy heights surmounted by the Jago Marshes of this world.’
She hadn’t intended him to hear, but when his mouth tightened comprehendingly she knew that he had.
She quaked inwardly as he advanced on her with a lithe cat-like tread, but she had come too far to back down now. She was not susceptible enough to be reduced to jelly by a mere look, she reminded herself, her chin lifting proudly as she waited for his acid denunciation.
However, it seemed he had more control of his temper than she had of hers, for he merely looked at her rather thoughtfully before commenting softly,
‘Since you appear so keen on airing you views, Storm, perhaps you’d care to favour us with an explanation of these advertising figures.’
She’d been wrong about his temper, Storm thought, as he thrust a file under her nose. It was there all right; smouldering in the look he gave her, reminding her of what he thought of women in the media. An unpleasant thought struck her. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to goad her into handing in her notice. Well, she wouldn’t fall for that one, she decided grimly as he dropped the file on David’s desk, his eyes never leaving her face.
‘Barely a thousand pounds a week in revenues. In London we turn over fifty thousand in exactly the same time span, and that’s allowing only six minutes of commercials to the hour. It turns the listeners off if they’re swamped by commercial breaks. Those aren’t what they tune in for, but I’m sure all this is merely coals to Newcastle as far as you’re concerned, Storm. What,’ his eyebrows arched in unconcealed contempt, ‘nothing to say for yourself?’
As she fought for self-control she heard David interrupt placatingly, ‘Storm is highly qualified and very experienced, Jago. She was with an excellent advertising agency in Oxford before she joined us…’