Brenna nodded quickly, and hurried out the door and down the steps, conscious all the time of Donovan's amusement. Once outside, she breathed a covert sigh of relief, and, turning to Donovan, asked eagerly, “Where shall we go?”
He smiled indulgently at the glowing eagerness on her face. “I thought we'd climb the hill and watch the storm approach. It can be quite an experience. Would you like that?”
“I'd love it,” Brenna said enthusiastically, her brown eyes shining.
“You're easily pleased,” Donovan said dryly, as he took her hand once more, and they set off toward the hill he had indicated. “The last time I saw that much enthusiasm on a woman's face, she'd just been gifted with a diamond bracelet.”
“By you, no doubt,” Brenna said lightly, ignoring the twinge she experienced at the intimacy implied in Donovan's comment. She was determined to let nothing spoil this day. “How cynical you and Jake are about women. There are a few women in the world who aren't for sale, you know.”
Donovan's hand tightened painfully on hers, but his voice was even as he said carefully, “You appear to have a fairly intimate knowledge of Jake's attitudes. Could it be that Jake has been up to his usual shenanigans?”
For a moment she was tempted to lie, to see if she could break the tight control on Donovan's face, but then she discarded the impulse. She wanted no tension to destroy the harmony of the moment. She shook her head. “Nope,” she said matter-of-factly, making a face. “The only interest your charming friend has in me is purely analytical. He wants to see how hard he can push me before I collapse.”
Donovan's grip relaxed fractionally. “And I'll lay odds he'll probably be there with open arms to catch you when you do,” he said dryly.
Brenna giggled helplessly, as she suddenly had a mental picture of a villainous Dominic, complete with moustache and flowing cape, clutching her in a Valentino-style embrace.
A smile tugged at the corners of Donovan's lips at the contagious quality of her mirth.
“I'm glad you find the idea so amusing,” he said lightly. “I assure you that is not the usual feminine reaction to Jake.”
She tossed her head, tilting her nose saucily. “I've come to the conclusion that you both take yourselves far too seriously,” she said sweetly, as they started up the twisted dirt path that led to the top of the hill. “It's about time someone took you down a peg.”
Donovan cocked an eyebrow. “You're feeling brave today, aren't you, sweetheart?” he murmured softly. “That wouldn't be in the nature of a dare, would it?”
She backed down hurriedly, at the dangerous glint in his blue eyes. “You and Jake have been friends for a long time, haven't you?” she asked quickly, hoping to distract him.
There was a short silence before Donovan accused softly, “Chicken! I'll let you escape this time, but don't issue challenges unless you're prepared to follow through, Brenna.” He watched with amusement as color flooded her cheeks, before he took pity on her. “In answer to your question, Jake and I have been friends since college. We both attended UCLA.” He grimaced wryly. “Not that we moved in the same circles. I was a slum kid working my way through by doing construction work on the side, and Jake was heir to Dominic's Shipping—the original golden boy.” The look in Donovan's eyes was far away as he murmured, “We were a mismatched pair. God knows why we didn't hate each other. I was a defensive young tough with a king-sized chip on my shoulder, and Jake was a hell-raising bastard who didn't give a damn about anyone. We were at each other's throats constantly, until we found we had one thing in common that made all our differences minute in comparison. We both felt that film-making was the ultimate art form, and we were both determined to make the best damn pictures in the history of the business.”
“You had one other thing in common,” Brenna said teasingly. “What about your overwhelming modesty?”
Donovan grinned in acknowledgment of the gentle thrust. “Neither of us was ever bothered with an excess of that virtue,” he admitted simply. “We always knew what we could do.”
Yes, there would never be any doubt in Donovan's mind about his own abilities, she thought, as she stared with new eyes at the powerful body and bold features of the man. Before this she had looked upon him as some sort of super being, sprung fully grown, with the faculty to mold and disrupt her life.
He had unbuttoned his cotton shirt to the waist as they had started their climb, and her eyes were drawn in fascination to the strong shoulders and chest muscles with the dark red patch of wiry hair that narrowed to a fine line as it approached the waist-band of his slacks. Those muscles had been formed by hard physical labor on innumerable construction sites, as a young boy struggled desperately to overcome his background and get a decent education. If he was arrogant and cynical, wasn't it a natural by-product of the struggle to survive and reach the dizzy heights which he was innately conscious were his destiny?
“Do you have a family?” she asked, suddenly wanting to know more of the past that had created Michael Donovan.
He shrugged, his face closed. “My mother died when I was twelve. I guess I still have a father wandering around someplace. I really wouldn't know. I ran away from home when I was fourteen.”
They crested the hill suddenly, and Brenna drew in her breath sharply at the sight that almost physically assaulted her senses. Gone was the gentle terrain with a dramatic abruptness that was overpowering in its impact. The summit fell away to the sea far below in a sheer drop, and there was nothing before them but an endless stretch of sea and sky. At first glance it seemed that the two were one vast seething entity. The storm was moving swiftly now. The churning cobalt of the waves mirrored the ominous force of the clouds, as the quickening wind strived to bind the dichotomy into a tumultuous whole.
“It's magnificent!” Brenna breathed, awestruck, as she moved irresistibly closer to the edge of the cliff in an unconscious desire to become part of the raw, elemental savagery that was swiftly surrounding them.
“It will be on us in a few moments,” Donovan observed. “If you don't want to get half drowned, we should start back right away.”
She shook off his restraining hand and stepped closer to the edge. “I've never seen anything like this,” she murmured ecstatically. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees in the last few minutes, and the wind that stung her face and caused her hair to billow out behind her in a wild banner was almost cold.
Donovan let her go, his eyes narrowed and watchful, but not interfering with the emotional response that the storm had stirred in her.
Suddenly they were enveloped in the mysterious golden twilight that preceded the unleashing of the storm. Donovan felt compelled to issue a final warning, which he already knew would be futile by the rapt fascination on Brenna's face.
He was right. She didn't even look at him as she replied absently, “You go on ahead. I'll be along later.”
His mouth twisted in amused resignation, and leaning casually against a boulder a little distance away from the figure on the headland, he crossed his arms and prepared to wait.
He didn't have to wait long. The golden twilight faded to violet dimness and the distant growling of the thunder became a savage roar as the heavens exploded, and sheets of rain whipped at them with savage fury.
The exultant oneness with nature that Brenna was feeling was magnified rather than diminished by the pouring rain that completely drenched them in a matter of moments. A cold wind tore at her hair and clothes like a ravening animal. She opened her mouth to let the drops caress her lips, and stretched out her arms in supplication and embrace. She was conscious of the smallness and fragility of each separate limb and muscle of her body, and at the same time she felt as strong and powerful as a goddess from Olympus.
She laughed exultantly, glancing at Donovan's watchful face as she tossed back her sodden hair from her face, still holding her arms before her like a high priestess invoking the fury of the storm. “I'm going to live forever, Donovan!” she shouted triumphan
tly. “Do you hear me? I'm going to live forever!”
There was a tolerant smile on Donovan's face as he levered himself away from the boulder, and lazily crossed to stand beside her. He, too, was soaked, his shirt and trousers plastered to his muscular body like a second skin, his hair rain-darkened to almost black.
He took her elbow and propelled her firmly away from the edge of the cliff. “You're not even going to live till next week, if you catch a chill from this drenching, you crazy woman,” he said roughly. “Your skin is as cold as ice.”
“I'm not cold. I feel wonderful. I feel terrific,” she said giddily. “I've never felt so alive in my life.”
“Yes, I know. You're going to live forever,” he said dryly. “But right now you're going to jog back to the cabin to get your circulation working.”
With a hand on her elbow, he set the pace and they were soon half running, half sliding down the hill. The dirt path was now a muddy quagmire, and it was almost impossible to keep one's footing. Several times Brenna found herself sitting ingloriously in the mud, the rain pouring over her in buckets while she collapsed in helpless laughter. In this crazy exultant mood, she could take nothing seriously. It was a moment out of time, to be enjoyed and savored to the hilt.
Each time she fell, Donovan picked her up patiently, shaking his head ruefully at her giddiness and urging her on with quiet determination. Once they reached the bottom of the hill, the going was easier, and it was only a matter of minutes before they were running up the steps to the chalet. They were both breathing hard from the run, but as Brenna leaned back against the door, she felt no weariness, only happiness and a bubbling confidence in herself and the world around her. After the countless days of pressure, she was drunk on the sheer exhilaration of being joyfully alive.
She looked blithely around the chalet. It no longer intimidated, but merely amused her. Donovan himself was a far from intimidating figure, sopping wet and woefully mud splattered.
“What would everyone say if they could see the big movie tycoon now?” she giggled irrepressibly.
“They'd say he looked a great deal better than a certain fledgling actress,” he said coolly, shaking his head. Brenna's shorts and top were wet and clinging to her slim body, her long, wet hair hanging in ropy strands around her glowing face. “And you're still cold,” he went on briskly, as he touched her throat lightly. With swift strides he crossed the room to the portable bar at one side of the stone fireplace, and poured something dark and potent looking into a glass. He returned to offer it to her commandingly.
“Drink it all,” he ordered curtly. “It will warm you.”
She started to protest that she didn't need warming, but one look at his determined face convinced her that it would be useless. She drained the glass in one swallow and collapsed against the door, gasping, her face a bright scarlet.
“For God's sake, that was straight whiskey,” Donovan said impatiently. “You're supposed to sip it, not gulp it.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” she wheezed, her eyes tearing. “I've never had whiskey before.”
“Another famous first,” he said ironically. “Sit down while I see if I can scare up something for you to change into.” Not waiting for her reply, he took the spiral steps to the sleeping area two at a time.
She obediently headed toward the scarlet velvet couch, but looking ruefully down at her dripping form, she moved instead to lean against the fireplace. Now that the first violent effects of the whiskey were over, she found that the liquor did make her feel warmer, and what was more, it increased the delicious euphoria that she was experiencing. She was delighted that the whiskey seemed to have no other effect on her, and she impulsively moved to the liquor cabinet and poured herself another. This time she did sip it more cautiously, but found that it still gave her that all-pervading sensation of well-being. She was just about to refill her glass again, when Donovan returned with an armful of clothes and two fluffy white towels. He arched his brows inquiringly, as he looked pointedly at the glass in her hand.
“I've decided I like it,” she announced cheerfully, smiling at him. “I must have a good head for liquor. It has practically no effect on me at all.”
“Amazing,” he drawled mockingly, as he firmly took the glass from her, and set it on the bar. He placed the clothes and towels in her arms, and, strolling over to the ornamental screen, drew it aside and turned on the faucets full force in the sunken tub.
“Get undressed, and into that tub,” he ordered briskly. “I'll light a fire, and then put on the steaks.”
She stared at him wild-eyed, clutching the clothes to her chest protectively. Surely he didn't expect her to bathe with her privacy ensured only by that flimsy screen?
He had turned away as if he had no doubt of her obeying his injunctions, but as she stood hesitating, he barked impatiently, “Get moving!”
She found herself moving automatically toward the screened enclosure. Once behind the barricade, she found she had more privacy than she had thought. Well, she must bathe off all this mud. She could hurry and be in and out of that sinfully luxurious tub in mere minutes. She sprinkled lavender bubble bath lavishly from a crystal container that she found near the faucets. She ripped off the muddy shorts, top, and the bra and panties beneath, and stepped into the sunken bath with a feeling of utmost luxury.
She quickly scrubbed away the mud and grass stains. Then she rested her head on the ledge at the far end of the enormous tub, stretching full length, and letting the warm silky water flow over her. She closed her eyes and it seemed that the action tuned her other senses to a keener intensity. She was conscious of the sound of running water, and the movements of Donovan as he built the fire in the fireplace across the room. There was the scent of the bubble bath, and the pungent odor of burning pine cones. How deliciously sensual and relaxing it all was, she thought drowsily… so relaxing.
“Brenna!”
She opened her heavy lids to stare into blue eyes that were deep and still as mountain pools. Donovan's eyes.
“Hello,” she said drowsily. Somehow it seemed supremely natural to open her eyes and have Donovan there, looking at her with that quiet intensity. He was no more than a breath away, sitting on the edge of the tub and leaning close to cup her head in his hands, as he murmured huskily.
“Hello, sweetheart.” His lips touched hers in a kiss as gentle as the drift of apple blossoms and sweet as honey. When his lips moved away reluctantly, she gave a little sigh of disappointment, and tilted her head in a little searching movement of frustration.
“You left the bath water running,” he said hoarsely. “I called, but you didn't answer.” Then his lips were there again, offering quick tender kisses to her yearning lips, her cheeks, the lobes of her ears. She turned her face up to his like a flower to the sun, her expression blindly sensual. He caught his breath raggedly, his eyes darkening with passion and his mouth covered hers, no longer gentle but burning with hunger. A demand that she met with a matching appetite. Her lips parted and his tongue stroked hers in a sensual frenzy, as he groaned low in his throat. Her hands reached up and curved around his neck to bring him closer, her fingers playing in the thick crispness of the hair at the nape of his neck, before running exploringly over the brawny muscles of his back and shoulders. “You're still wet,” she whispered vaguely. Breathing heavily, he wrenched his mouth away to bury his face in her throat. She could feel the rapid tattoo of the pulse in his temple. Or was it her own feverish heartbeat, she wondered. He gave a low chuckle, “I'm about to get a lot wetter,” he said huskily. “Help me with my shirt, love.” He drew back and pulled his shirt from the waistband of his slacks, and then was still. “Help me,” he said urgently. “I want your hands on me.”
She wanted them on him, too. She obeyed the irresistible urge to touch the spring mahogany hair on his muscular chest, and then growing bolder, ran her hands up his shoulders in a slow, explorative caress. He tensed, and a shudder shook his body. He caught and held both of
her hands to his chest for a brief moment before he released them with a rueful sigh. “Perhaps I'd better not have your help after all, love. I'm about to go up like all the fireworks on the Fourth of July.” He stripped off the shirt, and threw it to one side, his hands swiftly going to his belt.
It was then that Brenna began to feel the first stirrings of alarm. She suddenly became conscious of the distinctly irregular situation she had become involved in. With scarlet cheeks, she looked down at herself and noticed with relief that the great quantities of bubbles cloaked everything but her shoulders in a snowy mountain of froth.
“Wait,” she said shakily, her eyes on the belt Donovan had removed and was about to toss after the shirt. “What are you doing?”
Donovan's quick appraisal took in her pink cheeks and her air of distress. He moved with lightning swiftness to reassure her in a way that had her breath coming in quick gasps, and a melting ache beginning in her loins. When he finally let her go, she was clinging helplessly to him, and barely heard him when he answered between quick, hot kisses, “I want to touch you. I want to touch every inch of you. I want your hands on my body. Don't fight me, sweetheart. I won't do anything you don't want me to. I'll stop the minute you say the word.”
This was poor comfort, she thought in confusion, when she wasn't at all sure she would want to say that word when the time came. At the moment she wanted nothing less than he did, and when he broke away to remove the rest of his clothing, she found she didn't even have the modesty to close her eyes. She watched with frank enjoyment as he quickly stripped, then joined her in the bath. How tough and virile he was, she thought dreamily. Those massive shoulders had an almost bull-like strength in comparison to the slim hips and strong muscular legs. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked with a grin. She nodded and smiled shyly.
As he lowered himself into the water beside her, he said, chuckling, “I feel cheated.” He touched the foamy covering with one finger. “You wouldn't care to stand up and take a bow, would you?”
Stormy Vows Page 9
