Tiger Man. Penny Jordan

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…’

      ‘Really?’ The cool reply came dubiously, the hard eyes probing. ‘She looks very young to be… experienced.’

      Damn the man! Storm thought savagely, reacting instinctively to the deliberate taunt.

      ‘I know you don’t approve of women in the media, Mr Marsh,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘And please don’t bother to deny it, I’ve heard you lecture on the subject. But there’s such a thing as equal opportunities these days, and I intend to prove that I can do this job as well as any man. Now, about these figures.’ Not daring to look at him or to allow herself to dwell on the silence which had fallen on the room, she picked up the advertising file, shuffling the papers to conceal how nervous she felt. Reaction was beginning to set in, but she could not back down now. She had taken her stand and must prove to Jago Marsh once and for all that while she might be a woman as far as her work went she expected to be treated in the same manner as he would treat a male colleague, and not be subjected to the covert sexual warfare he had been indulging in before.

      ‘Firstly,’ she told him, striving to keep her voice even and calm, ‘Wyechester isn’t London and people—life moves at a much slower pace. It takes time to convince local businessmen to make use of our services and…’

      ‘I’ll say it does!’ Jago cut in contemptuously, without letting her finish. ‘But how much time do you need? Time is something you’re running out of here,’ he reminded them curtly. ‘That’s why I’m here, to try and put things right before the I.B.A. are left with no option but to blow the whistle on the entire venture.’

      ‘How vey generous of you!’ Storm interrupted sarcastically, before she could stop herself.

      Jago inclined his head, and the look he gave her held an implicit promise of retribution to come. Storm couldn’t help herself, her eyes dropped, her cheeks flushing with mortification. In the silence that followed it would have been possible to hear the proverbial pin drop.

      ‘I was warned that you were something of a firebrand, Storm,’ Jago said smoothly. ‘Well, let me tell you here and now if there are going to be any fireworks in this outfit, they’re going to originate from me, and they’re more likely to take the form of a rocket under your backside unless I see a drastic improvement.’

      ‘Doesn’t mince matters, does he?’ Pete murmured with an appreciative chuckle, but Storm did not bother to reply. All her attention was focused on the man facing her across David’s desk.

      ‘Is that understood?’ Jago asked. ‘Good.’ The cool grey eyes summed up their reaction, resting momentarily on Storm’s openly rebellious face. ‘A word of warning, Storm, before you get any idiotic ideas into your head—I have ways of turning firecrackers into damp squibs.’

      ‘I’ll just bet you have!’ Pete grinned appreciatively, while to Storm’s fury all the men with the exception of David laughed out loud. Closing ranks against the female in their midst, she thought resentfully, only her clenched hands betraying her feelings as she tried to appear both cool and unmoved.

      ‘I thought you’d come here to show us how to run the station at a profit, not reform my character,’ she riposted lightly, when the laughter had died down. Let him see how it felt to be the object of everyone’s amusement!

      He was watching her with a thoughtful narrowed gaze that made her heart thump uncomfortably and warned her that she had gone too far, then his expression lightened, amusement glinting in his eyes.

      ‘I’m perfectly capable of doing both,’ he assured her smoothly, an inflection in the words that sent a frisson of awareness shivering over her skin.

      The others laughed again, but in Storm’s mind there was no doubt that the gage had been most definitely thrown down. But did she dare to pick it up? Some instinct more deep-rooted than any ordinary emotion warned her that to do so would be dangerous. And yet what had she to lose? Her job and her pride were surely more important to her than that.

      ‘In fact,’ Jago mused, his eyes on her slender curves, ‘I’m not sure if I won’t anyway. Taming shrews can sometimes have the most unexpected fringe benefits.’

      This time there was no laughter. She caught David’s eye in a mute plea for help, willing him to tell Jago Marsh that if there was any taming to be done he was the one who would be doing it. But of course David would do no such thing, she acknowledged, and wasn’t it precisely because he would not that she loved him?

      ‘Perhaps if you could tear yourself away from your daydream, Storm?’

      Engrossed in her thoughts, she had missed part of the conversation. The others were all looking expectantly at her, and she ran her tongue nervously round her dry lips.

      ‘Well?’ Jago prompted softly. ‘We’re all waiting. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to exactly why Radio Wyechester is such a resounding failure?’

      How could David endure to stand there and listen to him? Storm wondered resentfully.

      ‘I agree that we have a long way to go,’ she began, intending to mention the decrepit state of some of their equipment, but Jago stopped her, saying dryly.

      ‘I’m glad we agree on something, but you certainly believe in the understatement, don’t you? For “a long way”, I would substitute “all the way”. You haven’t even taken the first