Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea (21 page)

“You didn't trust me,” Donovan said sharply. “What the hell did you think I'd do, turn the child over to that bastard?”

“You didn't like Randy,” Brenna said reluctantly, not looking at him. “I couldn't take the chance.”

Donovan began to swear fluently under his breath. “I never said I had a personal dislike for the child,” he said between his teeth. “Of all the muddle, addle-brained, completely asinine bit of reasoning, you take the prize.”

Brenna tilted her head defiantly. “He was my responsibility,”
she said defensively. “How could I be sure what you would do? I hardly knew you.”

“You knew me well enough to be willing to jump in bed with me,” he said caustically, levering himself up into a sitting position. Even in the dimness of the firelit room, she could see the flicker of anger in his eyes. “But you didn't know me well enough to trust me to protect a helpless child!”

“I wasn't willing to jump into bed with you,” Brenna said stung. “You gave me no choice.”

Donovan's smile was coolly cynical. “You didn't want a choice,” he drawled. “You wanted it as much as I did. I just gave you the excuse you needed.” His eyes were strangely brooding, as he smiled mirthlessly, his gaze raking over the tempting beauty of her bared breasts and slim waist. He shrugged as his hands came out to clasp her slender shoulders. “Why should I care if I have your confidence?” he asked bitterly. “I have what I bargained for.”

As his hands tightened on her shoulders to pull her into his arms, Brenna flinched and gave a cry of pain.

“What the hell?” Michael ejaculated, startled. He fumbled with the bedside lamp, and suddenly the room was filled with light.

“My God!” he brushed her hair gently away from her shoulders, revealing the livid, purple bruise marks on the satin skin. Michael's face was white and set, his eyes sick, as he asked hoarsely, “Did I do that?”

She looked up at him startled, her eyes wide. “No, of course you didn't,” she assured him quickly. “It was Paul Chadeaux,” she said ruefully. “He wasn't overly gentle in his attempts to get me to sign that affidavit.”

Donovan muttered an obscene imprecation, and reached out to touch a bruise with gentle fingers. “I should have killed him,” he said grimly. “What other damage did the bastard do to you?”

Brenna was suddenly frightened by the deadly anger mirrored in Donovan's eyes. “Nothing, really,” she said deprecatingly. “I hit my head on the headboard when we fell on the bed, but it only hurt for a moment.” She touched the side of her head gingerly.

Donovan brushed her hair aside until he found a sizable lump. She flinched as he touched the swelling, and Michael's mouth tightened ominously. “It must have hurt like hell. You're lucky you don't have a concussion.” His electric blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “God! I wish I had him here now.”

“It's over now. Let's forget it,” Brenna said nervously.

“Yes, you forget it,” Donovan said absently, his eyes thoughtful. “You've suffered enough. I'll take care of it.”

“Michael, no,” she protested firmly. “I'm the one who suffered injury, and if any redress is to be exacted, it would be up to me to do so. This isn't the Middle Ages, dammit. I won't have you rushing around fighting my battles as if I was some idiotic, simpering damsel in distress.”

Donovan's lips quirked, and there was a flicker of amusement on his taut face. “Sorry, darling. Women's lib is out in this case,” he said mockingly. “I warned you that I take care of my own.” His hand slid down her shoulder to cup her breast, his eyes noting her suddenly indrawn breath with a gleam of satisfaction.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to take Chadeaux apart with my bare hands, as much as I'd enjoy it. I'll find another and more permanent way of dealing with him. You can be sure he won't ever bother you again.” There was absolute assurance in Donovan's voice and Brenna shivered at the ruthless glint in his eyes.

His expression became moody as he stared into her apprehensive face. “Poor Brenna; you're a frightened lamb in a world of ravening wolves,” he said soberly. “We men haven't treated you very well in your young life, have we, love? A father who deserted you. Chadeaux causing the death of your sister, and
saddling you with a child to raise.” His face clouded. “Even I ended up by practically raping you. How can anyone condemn you for hating the lot of us?”

Brenna looked at him helplessly. How could she tell him it wasn't hate she felt for him, but love. Even in the throes of passion he had never indicated that he felt anything for her but a wild, obsessive desire of the flesh. To confess her own feelings, when she knew he did not share them, would leave her open and vulnerable to the most agonizing of rejections. Perhaps he was right, and she had been hurt too much in the past to put much faith in lady luck handing her the prize of Donovan's love.

Donovan's expression hardened, and his mouth curved cynically. “No answer?” he queried mockingly. “Or is that the silence of assent?”

He shifted his hand and pulled her forcefully into his arms, kissing her with a rough passion that caused the familiar melting sensation to begin in her lower body. When their lips parted, he murmured huskily, “You'll just have to continue hating and distrusting me, Brenna, because I'm not going to let you go. I'm holding you to our bargain till hell freezes over.”

“Or until you tell me to go.” she said with a catch in her voice, remembering the words of their original bargain.

He bore her down on the bed, his hands and lips beginning their passionate ritual. “Yes, until I tell you to go.”

ten

“YOU'RE LATE, BRENNA,” MARCIA OWENS SAID
with mock severity, her dark eyes twinkling. “That's the second time this week. Better watch it or you'll be getting a pink slip in your pay envelope.” Donovan's secretary was an attractive, dark-haired paragon of efficiency. She was in her middle thirties with a wry sense of humor, and this wasn't the first time she'd teased Brenna about her dual position as Donovan's wife and unpaid help in the office.

Brenna made a face at her. “Sorry, Marcia. I wasn't feeling well this morning. I must be coming down with something. I told Michael to go on without me, but I felt better later so I came on in.”

She shrugged out of her tailored peach pantsuit jacket, and hung it in the closet, placing her brown handbag on the hook beside it. “I know how much you depend on me,” she added teasingly, as she strolled back over to the desk.

They exchanged smiles of complete understanding. They both knew that Brenna's presence was completely superfluous in the executive offices at Twin Pines. Marcia Owens handled Donovan's affairs with the exceptional efficiency that he demanded of all his employees. Brenna's contribution consisted of typing a few letters, occasional filing, and relieving Marcia for
her coffee breaks. Nevertheless, Brenna enjoyed her mornings working in the office with Marcia. They had formed a great friendship in the last three weeks, and she had discovered a rapport with the older woman that she had found with few of her contemporaries.

The secretary shook her head ruefully. “You must be a glutton for punishment,” she said lightly. “Why don't you stay home and pamper yourself? It isn't as if Mr. Donovan is cracking the whip over
your
head.” Marcia Owens studied her boss's wife with envy-free admiration, thinking idly how truly lovely the girl was in the simple cream silk blouse and the peach slacks. It was true that Brenna had been of negligible help since she had volunteered her assistance, but she sincerely liked Brenna Donovan and enjoyed having her quiet, cheerful presence in the office.

It was obvious to her that Donovan felt the same way. Brenna seemed to exert a subtle, soothing influence on her employer on the mornings she was there. Though it was not in any way obvious to anyone that did not know Donovan extremely well, Marcia had worked closely with the man for some six years, and she could read the signs. She remembered how he had come out of his office yesterday, a stack of contracts in his hand. While he explained to her what he wanted done with them, his eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, to the unobtrusive figure of his wife across the room at the filing cabinet, where she was quietly filing some papers. He had not interrupted his instructions, he had not even spoken to Brenna, but his absent gaze had not left her until he had turned to return to his office.

Brenna shrugged. “I get bored. I'm not used to being a lady of leisure. I spend the afternoons with Randy, but he doesn't really need me now that he's got Doris. And if I didn't have something constructive to do, I'd be climbing the walls.”

Marcia Owens smiled sympathetically. “After the premiere of
Forgotten Moment
I don't think you'll have that problem. You'll
have more offers than you can handle,” she said comfortably. “I hear you're absolutely super in it.”

Brenna tapped the desk lightly. “Knock on wood,” she returned. “In the meantime, I'm a mere dogsbody. What challenging task do you have for me today?”

As Brenna painstakingly began to file the stack of contracts Marcia had handed her, a wry smile curved her lips at the half-truth with which she had evaded Marcia's question. How could she confess that, after three months of marriage, she was still so besottedly in love with her husband that she couldn't stand to be separated from him for an entire day? It was a phenomenon that even the most understanding modern would look upon with un-abashed skepticism. As the premiere date approached, Michael had found it necessary to spend more and more time at the executive office working with publicity and distribution.

After a week of such separations, Brenna had complained of boredom, and asked with careful casualness if she could drive in with him mornings and help in the office. Donovan had accepted just as casually, and she had become a fixture in the past three weeks. It wasn't entirely satisfactory, but at least she was close to him. She could see him, exchange a quiet word, and occasionally go out to lunch if his schedule permitted. It was for this reason she had been outraged by the bout of nausea that had plagued her this morning. There was no way some pesky virus was going to cheat her out of another morning with Michael. She had stayed home two days ago, and hadn't seen Michael until he came home for dinner that night. She had been right to fight it, Brenna thought happily, for she felt quite all right now. Sheer mind over matter, she thought cheerfully. The problem was, she had grown spoiled during the past three months, she admitted sadly to herself. Though she had not had Michael entirely to herself while he continued to work at home, she had seen much more of him than was the case now.

They had spent two heavenly days on the island, and during
that time Brenna had learned a great deal about herself and Michael. She had found that she had a capacity for physical passion that shocked and amazed her. In Donovan's arms, she became a pupil so eager for her lessons, that on occasion Michael would laugh with amusement and triumph, before giving her what she entreated him for. That he was pleased with her passionate nature, she knew for a certainty. He whispered it in her ear in the wild throes of lovemaking. She saw it in his eyes when she moaned with need as he brought her to the final ecstasy. As she had guessed, Donovan was an extraordinarily demanding and sensual lover, who frankly enjoyed the act of making love. He was inventive, surprising, and so skillful that she knew before she'd been in his bed a week that he had so attuned her body and sexual responses to his demands that he could arouse her body from across the room with just a look. Her face grew dreamy, as she remembered a morning last month when he had done just that.

She had been sitting in the editing room, curled up in her favorite chair in the corner of the room, when Donovan had looked up. His eyes had gone dark, as they had wandered intimately over her slim curves, lingering over the high curve of her breasts that suddenly became firm and swollen under the tailored blouse. A hot flush dyed her cheeks, and she could see the pulsebeat in Michael's temple in that moment of almost painful awareness. She never remembered what excuse Donovan had given to the two technicians he had been talking to, nor how they had gotten from the editing room to the upstairs bedroom. It had been a wild rapturous lovemaking that had left them panting and exhausted in each others arms.

Donovan had raised his head from her breast to kiss her lips with infinite tenderness. “Remind me to declare the editing room off limits to you, love,” he said huskily. “How do you expect me to get any work done, if you persist in seducing me?” Then he had yelped as she'd bitten his ear in retaliation.

In reality, no seduction was needed to tempt Donovan into her bed. He was a man who needed physical assuagement more frequently than most, and there wasn't a night that he didn't reach for her with a hunger that seemed to grow rather than diminish with the passing of time. It had filled her with relief when she realized that Donovan did not appear to be tiring of her. It had been her most persistent fear in the past months. Inexperienced though she was, she realized that men often grew bored with sexual affairs once the novelty had worn off, and Donovan's reputation for discarding mistresses frequently seemed to indicate that he grew bored more easily than most. What was sheer heaven to her, might become repetitive and dull to a man of his experience. When he had shown no signs of lessening passion, she had breathed a profound sigh of relief. She lived with the sad knowledge that Donovan did not love her, indeed, might never love her, but as long as he wanted her physically, she had a hold on his emotions and that was better than nothing. It was much better than that, Brenna thought wistfully, Donovan might not give her love, but he did give her profound physical ecstasy.