Whirlwind

by Jennifer Mikels

  Whirlwind

  By

  Jennifer Mikels

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  "No More Talk," he said with a husky laugh.

  His lips parted hers with a kiss that invaded not just her mouth but her soul with the depth of desire it sparked. It demanded a response, insisting she yield to her aching emotions. She was breathless when the pressure ceased and he released her.

  His mouth moved in a smile and Dayna realized that he was as breathless as she was, but his voice was steady when he said, "When you're through playing games, let me know."

  "I'm not playing a game."

  "Yes, you are," Brand answered. "With yourself."

  Then he turned away and began to climb the long hill towards the house.

  JENNIFER MIKELS lives in Arizona with her husband and two sons. The fanaticism over sports runs high among the men in the family and Jennifer caught their fever. Whirlwind is her second Silhouette Special Edition.

  Dear Reader,

  We introduced Silhouette Special Edition last year for our readers who wanted a story with greater romantic detail. Since then many of you have written in, telling us how much you like Silhouette Special Edition.

  Special Editions have all the elements you enjoy in Silhouette Romances and more. These stories concentrate on romance in a longer, more realistic and sophisticated way, and they feature greater sensual detail.

  I hope you enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette.

  We welcome any suggestions or comments, and invite you to write to me at this address:

  Jane Nicholls

  Silhouette Books

  PO Box 177

  Dunton Green

  Sevenoaks

  Kent

  TN13 2YE

  Copyright© 1983 by Jennifer Mikels

  Map by Ray Lundgren

  First printing 1984

  ISBN 0 340 35141 1

  Chapter One

  Brand Renfrew's cobalt-blue eyes narrowed as he contemplated what he had just seen and continued his caressing study of the woman's slender back and hips and the length of her shapely limbs.

  The elevator doors opened and Brand stepped in, but as he turned, he decisively pushed the button that held the doors open. His eyes took in the woman's feather-cut tresses appreciatively. The burnt orange of the paisley-patterned dress she wore enhanced her coppery hair, bringing out striking red highlights. He couldn't bring himself to close the doors, for he had the vague feeling he had met her somewhere before, but then he rejected the thought—he wouldn't have forgotten this woman. The same thought had nagged him earlier that day when he had seen her for the first time by the hotel pool. A masculine quickening within his body made claim on his actions now. He was supposed to have met some friends five minutes ago in the lounge near the hotel's convention center, yet he stood spellbound.

  That inner sense that told her she was being watched sent a sensation down Dayna's back. She turned away from the elderly gentleman she had met two days ago and raised her head, wondering how long the man in the elevator had been staring at her. The most disarming blue eyes she'd ever seen flickered appraisingly over her delicate patrician features, her bare shoulders, her low-cut dress. It wasn't a casual perusal. There wasn't a hint of politeness in his regard and a hidden spirit within her made her return his stare.

  She regarded him with a boldness that matched his. He appeared to be in his thirties, though the faint lines at the corners of his eyes added character to his rugged magnetic good looks. The firm planes of his face were strongly chiseled and suntanned. Though dressed for a business meeting in a three-piece gray suit and powder-blue shirt, he had the demeanor of a sun worshipper, his tawny hair sun bleached to a silver color around his face. She sensed his virility, and his firm, authoritative stance conveyed that he was used to commanding respect and issuing orders. Yet his smile suggested a strong sense of humor. Dayna watched in fascination as his lips formed a half-smile, that lifted one corner of his mouth to reveal white, even teeth and a hint of dimples. It was a mischievously boyish smile but so sensuously devastating that she sensed she wasn't the only woman who'd ever felt her heart skip a beat from that grin. And the blue eyes sparkling at her with a devilish glint as the elevator doors closed certainly didn't help. With a puzzled frown over her own reaction, she turned her attention back to the stout, elderly man with the balding head.

  Andrew Moran had an affable grin that broadened his round face. The smile became more pronounced now, indicating that he had noticed Dayna's visual exchange with the stranger. Moran and his wife, owners of a travel agency in Florida, had sat at Dayna's table for dinner the previous night. Together they had listened to the promotional speeches given by airlines representatives and various tour consultants about trips to the Caribbean, the Mediterranean, Alaska, Europe, and even one about a safari in Africa.

  As co-owner with her father of the Palmer Travel Agency in Chicago, Dayna had been delegated long ago to do all the necessary traveling. In the last four months she had been away from Chicago more than ever before. Familiarization trips could hardly be considered relaxing, since she not only traveled the exact tour her clients would follow, but she also had to inspect the accommodations and dining establishments they would use on the way. This convention in Phoenix was the closest she'd come to a vacation in the last two years. She had enjoyed the camaraderie of others in the same profession who faced similar problems.

  The Morans were two of those people. It was ironic. At twenty-seven, she was past the age of needing parental guidance, and her own father had stopped offering fatherly advice years ago. Yet the Morans seemed to look on anyone under thirty in a parental manner, and, good-naturedly, Dayna had accepted their constant stream of well-meaning words.

  Not really wanting to hear a comment from Andrew Moran about the stranger, Dayna veiled the distinct tenseness she felt. Unconsciously, her hand tightened around the money Andrew had handed her before the stranger's presence distracted her as she stood outside the Morans' hotel room. She responded with a smile to his grateful words.

  "Thank you, Dayna, for being our messenger girl."

  "It's no problem," Dayna answered easily. She had agreed to bring the Morans milk later when she returned to her room.

  "The hotel is so crowded tonight. I suppose the staff is probably just unable to get to all the requests for room service with a convention and a rodeo going on at the same time. I wouldn't bother you," he continued apologetically, "but we had an early dinner and unless Martha has her glass of milk before bed it takes her hours to get to sleep. With the plane flight back tomorrow, I thought she could use a good night's rest."

  Dayna responded sympathetically. "I tried earlier to get room service. I couldn't get through, so I do understand. If I was settled for the night, I wouldn't go out again, either. I'll take care of it," she assured him in an accommodating tone acquired through years of making every effort to please clients. "I'll see you later."

  She tucked the money into the side pocket of her shoulder bag and hurried down the hall toward her room to freshen up before meeting her companions for dinner.

  As she reached the door, a masculine voice behind her caused her to jump. "Are you busy?"

  Dayna whirled around, tensing for no real reason as she stared at the man who had been in the elevator just minutes ago. She realized she should have expected some form of pursuit—the set of his jaw was definitely that of an obstinate, determined man.

  He flashed
a smile, apparently quite aware of the disarming effect it had on the feminine sex. Dayna faced him with a quizzical expression. "We could," he said, reaching around her for the doorknob, "have room service bring up a bottle of champagne. Would that help you make a decision?"

  Dayna's green eyes darkened. He was too fast even for her contemporary way of thinking, and she answered with a particular purpose in mind. "A bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild would be nice."

  His fair brow arched in response to her request for a wine that far exceeded the ordinary man's pocketbook. "Is everything where you're concerned that expensive?"

  "Okay, this has gone far enough," Dayna said, trying to keep her tone light, deciding it was the best action. "You're a little too fast," she said firmly. "I think the drink might be a bad idea. In fact, I think even talking to you might not be in my best interest."

  He took a step closer, backing her against the door as he flashed a wicked grin. "What if I promised to make it worth your time and effort?"

  "Wait a minute," she said with a nervous laugh. "First of all I don't know you. And second of all, I don't think we're on the same mental wavelength."

  "You know as much about me as I know about you. For now, it's enough. I believe we were meant to meet," he said with a soft laugh. "You believe in destiny, don't you?"

  "I believe we control our own destinies," Dayna answered firmly. "And you're not a part of mine."

  He released an impatient sigh, a frown forming between his fair-colored brows. "What's the problem?"

  Indignant, she fired a glare at him. "You seem to be the problem."

  His eyes narrowed slightly and he leaned back against the wall beside the door to her room. He folded his arms across his chest in an arrogant stance, his blue eyes mocking her. "Come on, let's quit playing games. Doesn't your job at this convention include providing affectionate after-hours activity?"

  "It does not!" Dayna retorted hotly. Her previous effort to be pleasant and remain polite waned. She felt slightly foolish standing in the hall having to explain herself to him, but now more than ever she sensed a commanding aura about him. He wasn't going to accept a simple no for an answer. "I'm a travel agent, here for the convention," she said emphatically. "And you have one of the most evil minds I've ever encountered. You're presumptuous and arrogant and…"

  "Careful," he interjected. Hard chips of blue ice were staring at her, searching her face with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment, but there was no unsureness in his voice. "If we start name-calling, I'll win," he said with soft control. "For now, you do."

  Dayna opened her mouth to hurl a retort, but it was never uttered. Instead, she stood fuming silently, glaring at his broad back as he walked away. Her head was throbbing, thinking of suitably derogatory adjectives for the most ill-mannered man she'd ever met. Whatever had given him the silly misconception that she was available for a price escaped her.

  A frown remained on her face as she entered the room and tossed her shoulder bag on a nearby chair. Maybe she had indirectly caused the scene. Earlier today she had seen his smile for the first time. She had felt the same warm sensation coursing through her then, as she sat by poolside with her feet dangling in the water.

  It had been the first time In the busy schedule of the convention she had had time just to sit and relax and work on acquiring a healthy suntan to take back home to a wintry Chicago.

  Then those blue eyes had been hidden behind the green hue of sunglasses. She had felt them though, moving with the same denuding gaze, appraising every inch of soft flesh that her yellow bikini revealed.

  Her womanly instincts had begun to stir and she had drunk in the virile bareness of his taut flesh, his body bronzed beneath the light-brown-colored mat of hair that covered his strong, sinewy chest. He had caught her staring, flashed that smile at her, and then with one agile motion dived into the water.

  Good sense had dictated her immediate departure. But maybe her lazy stare had made the wrong impression. She gave her head a shake. She refused to accept any guilt because of a stranger's evil thoughts. It was a trap many women allowed themselves to fall into. They ended up feeling responsible, taking the blame for some man's advances when the fault clearly fell on his shoulders.

  She had simply acted unwisely, staring at him too long. By nature she was cautious with men. Since she traveled so much, she had to be careful not to allow her attraction to the opposite sex to overpower her sound judgment. She'd held firmly to that principle, even during encounters with dashing Frenchmen or romantic Italians. It wasn't difficult. It seemed to her that most men were interested only in a cursory dalliance. They had one ultimate goal with a woman—getting her into the bedroom. Dayna knew that fly-by-night relationships wouldn't have time to develop into anything meaningful. If an attraction existed she knew it wasn't love. Love didn't come with such whirlwind velocity—at least not the lasting kind.

  The phone rang, jarring her slightly. She took a few deep breaths to keep anger she felt toward the stranger out of her voice. Unexpectedly her hello was answered by her father's voice.

  "Hi, yourself," she said, indicating her surprise. "How come you called? I'll be home tomorrow evening."

  "How's the convention going?" Edward Palmer asked with a smile in his voice.

  "A lot of the same cruises are being offered. The weather is beautiful, warm, and sunny. Karen and Shelly are at a special seminar," she informed him in regard to the two associates from their agency who were also attending the convention. They were good friends of hers, her friendship with Karen going back to college days. "Mostly, I think they're being treated to the old routine that's been drummed into everyone for years: first and foremost, please the client."

  Though he said it lightly, Dayna detected the serious concern that accompanied her father's next question. "You haven't met a Prince Charming by chance, have you?"

  Dayna swallowed a sharp retort. It was an old argument between them. Her father was from the era of Gable and Lombard, Bogart and Bacall, Hepburn and Tracy—romantic couples who cherished the love of the other above all else. He really didn't understand today's society. A true romantic, he believed that romantic love actually existed. He just didn't understand why his beautiful twenty-seven-year-old daughter was still unattached. Dayna didn't really want to disillusion him but had hinted that finding a wife was the very last thing on the minds of today's men. Edward had tried to reason with Dayna about it. Personally he had liked some of the men she had dated, and though he guessed that a woman as beautiful as Dayna had probably fought off her share of Casanovas, he knew that if she continued to move at a snail's pace and insist on long courtships the right man might come along and then just give up in frustration.

  Dayna had been adamant, though. Her parents' eighteen years together had instilled a strong feeling in her about marriage. She planned to marry once, for always. The men she had met either bored her after only months together or left her in a state of disillusionment about love and romance, coming on so fast with their maneuvers toward the bedroom that her head practically whirled. She had reached a point in her life where work had become all-important. For her, men's promises of love meant only one thing—sex. Though she knew the depths of passion she could reach With the right man, she didn't think a woman could know if he was the right man after only a few weeks. Since most men considered a learning period about a woman a sacrifice of their time, Dayna had nearly obliterated dating from her life. She knew that had disturbed her father more than anything else. He wanted her to be as happy as he had become in the last few months. Dayna did her best to veil the annoyance in her voice. "Father, is that what you called about?"

  He chuckled lightly. "No, of course not. I think we have a problem, Dayna, that we've never encountered before. I just received a call from Harold Minter."

  "Minter?" Dayna contemplated the name for only a second. "Minter shiplines, exports, et cetera?"

  "That's the one," he answered. "It seems a few problems cropped up during hi
s wife's stay at the dude ranch we recommended."

  "I did the booking on that one," Dayna offered. "She was there during the time you were in Dallas. It's the Double R. We've booked reservations there many times," Dayna said with a slight frown, "and nothing ever happened before."

  "I know we have," Edward agreed. "But this time we've got a problem. Minter's upset. It seems, Alexandria, his wife, complained about her treatment while she was there. Whether it's valid or just the anger of a woman scorned is something only she knows. She's claiming someone made improper advances."

  One reddish-brown brow arched as Dayna had a dubious thought of her own, remembering a photograph she'd seen of Alexandria Minter on the society pages. "She's quite a bit younger than her husband, isn't she?"

  "A good thirty years his junior. Since the Double R is in Arizona and you're there for the convention, I thought maybe you'd be willing to check on it. I don't think Melissa would appreciate another separation. And," he added, sensing what his daughter's next teasing remark would be, "I can't imagine Melissa Devereau spending a week with me in the desert riding horses while I tried to investigate."

  Edward Palmer, though nearly sixty, was trim for his age. He had the flair and debonair demeanor of an international charmer. Since his wife's death nearly ten years ago, he had become quite a man-about-town, enjoying recently the appealing attributes of the owner of a world-famous cosmetics company, Melissa Devereau, who was only fifteen years older than his daughter. It seemed he was destined for marriage before Dayna.

  Dayna couldn't help but laugh. Just the image of Melissa—always chic, always sophisticated, not a hair out of place—in such surroundings did seem ridiculous. She smiled as she agreed, "Melissa does look more the type to ride gondolas in Venice. But Dad, I just got back from a familiarization trip to Hawaii. I'm really not looking forward to living out of a suitcase again for a while."