Stormy Vows

by Iris Johansen

  She shook her head with a bright blush, and he sighed. “I didn't think so. Well, as I am to be deprived of one sensual pleasure, I'll just have to make do with the others.” He stretched out beside her, their bodies facing each other but not touching. “Now let me see,” he said thoughtfully. “First, there's scent.”

  He took a strand of her hair in one hand, raised it to his nose and sniffed delicately. “You smell of fresh rainwater and the sea.” He rubbed his nose against the satin skin of her temple. “Lavender,” he announced hoarsely. “And woman.” He drew a deep breath and murmured, “You also have a fragrance that's just you, Brenna.” He closed his eyes, and said carefully, “I missed you during these past few weeks. I've been sheer hell to work with, and I didn't even know what was wrong with me. I'd never missed anyone before.” He opened his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze came as a fresh shock. “I'm never going away without you again.”

  She knew a moment of panic at the implacable sureness of the statement. Suddenly she felt as if she were caught, caged by the sure determination of this man, who held her transfixed without even touching her.

  He must have seen the flash of fear in her eyes because his intensity was instantly masked and he smiled gently. “Where were we?” he said lightly. “Oh, yes, I was about to go on to taste.” His mouth touched hers gently, his tongue probing her mouth in a long dizzying exploration that left her shuddering with desire. “Honey and a dash of spice.” Donovan, too, was shaking, and she could see that the muscles of his body were taut with tension. “Though your voice is music to my ears, I think we'll skip sound,” he said with an effort. “I'd much prefer you silent when we go on to the next and most important step. I've got to touch you, love.”

  With a boldness that caused her to flinch away, she felt his hand first cradle her waist beneath the water, then draw her slowly into his arms, branding her soft nude body with his iron-hard frame.

  “No,” she whispered weakly, even as she felt herself melt against him, the tips of her nipples hard and sensitive as they were pressed against the rough hair of his chest. The erotic contact was sending burning messages to every nerve in her body, bidding her to respond in the ancient, primitive way of woman.

  “Yes,” he groaned, as his mouth took hers in savage hunger. “God! I want you. Let me love you, sweetheart.”

  His hands were everywhere. Stroking, probing, pressing the secret silky curves, lifting and cupping her swollen breasts to his eager mouth. She made a sound, part gasp, part moan as he nibbled and sucked at the rosy tips. He raised his head, his eyes dark and glazed. “Do you like that, love? I'll remember.”

  He rolled her over with one swift movement, so that he was on his back entirely supporting her slight weight, one muscular leg parting her thighs, his hands still cupping her breasts lovingly. She was now intimately conscious of his shocking arousal, as his lower body began a rhythmic thrusting motion.

  She was shaking and trembling like a leaf, as he played upon her body as a master musician would on his beloved instrument. Every nerve was exquisitely sensitized to the touch of his body, and she knew that she was wildly desperate for the completion he could give her.

  “I'm going to take you now, love.” He breathed against her breast. “Tell me you want me to take you!”

  The passionate injunction sent a spiraling shock through her, that did much to revive the thinking process which had been suspended at the command of her aching body. She knew he would keep his word and let her go, if she insisted. But, God, how could she insist, when he had tuned her body to this feverish pitch of need? Yet she knew she must refuse him, if she was to salvage any portion of her independence. Donovan was still almost a stranger to her. He had never mentioned love, only desire, and even if she did feel the same desire, it was still not enough.

  “Brenna!” Donovan's voice was roughly impatient, as he waited for the acquiescence that he fully expected.

  It was the hardest thing she ever did to look into Donovan's eyes and say huskily, “Let me go, Michael.”

  His face echoed his shocked disbelief, and his hands tightened on her possessively. Then his eyes flamed with anger. “You don't mean that,” he said roughly. “You want it as much as I do.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “I want you to let me go,” she said shakily. “I want you to keep your promise, Michael Donovan.”

  His eyes narrowed and there was a ruthless curve to his mouth as he said coolly, “You know I could force you to say yes.”

  She said honestly, “Yes, you probably could. I seem to have little resistance where you're concerned.” She looked fearlessly into his eyes. “But I don't think you will. You value your integrity, and that wouldn't really be keeping your word, would it?”

  There was a flash of anger in the hot blue eyes as he pushed her away with a violent shove.

  “Damn you!” he said harshly. With rapid, jerky movements, he was out of the tub, wrapping one of the towels around his waist. As he looked down at her, there was a fierce savagery about his tautly held body that caused her to shrink back against the side of the tub.

  “Get out of there and get dressed. I'll give you exactly three minutes!”

  He strode from the enclosure, pushing aside the screen with a violence that threatened to topple it. She heard the soft thud of his bare feet on the spiral staircase, before she scrambled out of the tub and dried hurriedly. He hadn't said what would happen in three minutes, but if his expression was any harbinger, she didn't want to find out. She grabbed frantically at the clothes on the floor at the edge of the tub and donned a pair of green swimming trunks that came almost to her knees and a white short-sleeved shirt that was equally voluminous. Looking down at herself ruefully, she knew she looked a complete sketch. If any outfit was designed to turn a man off, this one was. She refused to ask herself why she felt a niggling sense of dissatisfaction with her appearance. After all, that was what she wanted, wasn't it? Even a Marilyn Monroe would have been safe in a costume like this.

  She stepped hesitantly from behind the screen just as Donovan came down the stairs. Dressed in faded jeans and a pale blue workman's shirt he looked devastatingly virile and attractive. He finished rolling up the sleeves as he came toward her. His face was expressionless, but there was an undeniable tenseness about him that made her look away involuntarily. A caustic smile curving his mouth, he walked past her to the bar and poured himself a drink.

  “You'll find a comb and brush upstairs on the bedside table,” he said coolly. “I'll put the steaks on.”

  Her eyes widened. “We aren't leaving?”

  “It's still raining,” he pointed out. “You'd be drenched again before we got halfway to the 'copter.”

  “I wouldn't mind,” she said hesitantly.

  “Well, I would,” he said decisively. “We have two more days of shooting before the picture is finished. I can't afford to have you ill.” He took a long swallow of his drink.

  “I see,” she said shakily, her doe eyes wide with pain.

  “Damn!” Donovan slammed his glass down on the bar. “What do you expect of me, Brenna? You tease me until I'm almost insane with wanting you, then turn me off cool as a cucumber. And when I display a little bad temper, you look at me as if I'd slapped you!”

  “I never meant to tease you,” she whispered huskily, tears brimming.

  “No, I don't think you did,” he said moodily. “That's why we're having this discussion down here, instead of upstairs on that king-sized bed.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I can't figure you out.”

  She shrugged wearily. “I'm not very complicated, Michael.”

  “The hell you're not,” he said bluntly. “You want me, I know you do. Yet you're behaving like a frightened virgin instead of the experienced woman you are. I don't know what kind of bastard it was who messed you up like this, but if I ever meet this ex-lover of yours, I'll probably kill him.”

  She almost smiled at how close he had come to the truth. She was indeed a frighte
ned virgin. But she wasn't frightened of sex, as he surmised. She would have welcomed her first experience with delight, if she could have been assured that the joy would not turn to ashes after the first flames faded.

  Donovan picked up his drink and drained it. He looked directly into her eyes, and said quietly, “Someday you're going to belong to me in all the ways there are, Brenna, and you're going to enjoy it completely!” He put the glass down on the bar and looked down at it thoughtfully. “I've been very patient for me, but I've reached the end of the road.” He looked up, and said coolly, “What I'm saying is, that after I take you home today, the gloves are off.”

  She smiled uncertainly. “You pounce!” she said jokingly.

  “I pounce,” he affirmed softly. He turned away, his long strides carrying him to the kitchen. “As for now, you can enjoy your temporary reprieve. The steaks should be done in about ten minutes.”

  She was too tense to obey this injunction in the hours that followed. Donovan was the perfect host. He conducted an urbane and noncommital conversation that was designed to put her at ease, but only succeeded in increasing her nervousness. Despite his self-control, there was an undercurrent of restrained violence about him that was reminiscent of the rumble that preceded the eruption of a volcano.

  After they had eaten the really excellent steak and salad Donovan had prepared, they had coffee before the fire. Even the glowing intimacy induced by these cozy surroundings brought no change in Donovan's demeanor, and Brenna began to relax. She should have known that Donovan always meant exactly what he said. She was safe for today.

  The rain stopped late in the afternoon, and Donovan made immediate preparations to leave, indicating that he was just as eager as she to end this strained situation.

  They arrived back at the residence hall well before sunset. As Donovan drew the Mercedes to a halt at the front entrance, she turned to face him, her hand on the door handle. “You don't have to come with me,” she said quickly. “I have to stop at reception to make sure Randy's all right.”

  His mouth tightened. “I'll come with you,” he said decisively. “I promised to deliver you back to the cottage, and I'm going to do just that,” he added bitterly. “We both know how I value my promises.”

  As she got out of the car, she realized what a ludicrous sight she must present in Donovan's outsized clothes, her long hair in two thick braids down her back. She must look about ten years old, she thought wryly.

  There was no censure on the receptionist's face, as they entered the lobby. Paula Drummond's manner was almost obsequiously servile, when she noticed Donovan following closely behind Brenna.

  When Brenna asked if there had been any messages from Doris Charles, the girl checked her box, and then said brightly. “She left word that they will be at the pool till seven. The shower this afternoon prevented Randy from having his afternoon swim, so she brought him down about half an hour ago.”

  Brenna nodded. “Then I'll go down to the cottage and change,” she said. “Will you tell Doris that I'll be up to see Randy before he goes to bed?”

  Paula nodded, still shooting curious glances at Donovan's expressionless face. “I sure will,” she said cheerfully. “Oh! I almost forgot. There was a message for you.” She shuffled the cards efficiently. “Mr. Paul Chadeaux,” she announced. “He phoned about ten this morning and then again about an hour ago. The last time he called he left a message.” She turned the card over. “He wants to see you, and he will call on you about eight tonight.”

  Brenna turned away from the desk, her face suddenly white. She moved numbly, her limbs working automatically to carry her out the far door and down the path to the cottage. She was hardly conscious of Donovan following her till she was almost halfway to the cottage. Then he grasped her elbow with an iron hand.

  “Who is Paul Chadeaux?” Donovan asked harshly.

  Who was Paul Chadeaux? What should she answer, she thought almost hysterically. The man who was responsible for her sister's death. The father of Janine's baby. The devil incarnate. My God, what did he want with her? She hadn't even seen him for almost three years, and he'd never even seemed to notice Janine's kid sister. The answer was heartstoppingly obvious: Randy.

  Donovan's hand tightened, and he spun her around to face him. “Answer me, Brenna,” Donovan ordered fiercely. “Who is this Chadeaux?” His face was set, his blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “If he's some boyfriend who has followed you from Los Angeles, you can just get rid of him. I won't have you seeing any other man. Do you hear me?”

  She broke away from him, hardly knowing what she was doing, her stride automatically lengthening as she neared the cottage. “I'll have to see him,” she murmured. She had to be alone, she thought desperately. She had to think what to do. She had to be prepared when she saw Chadeaux again. Oh, God! It was almost seven!

  She could vaguely feel the anger emanating from Donovan, as he silently escorted her to the cottage and waited while she unlocked the door.

  “I'm not leaving until you tell me who this man is, Brenna,” he said tightly. “He must be damned important to upset you like this.”

  “You have to go,” she said distractedly. She knew she couldn't cope with a jealous Michael Donovan right now.

  “Who is he, Brenna?” Donovan asked inexorably.

  “He's Randy's father,” Brenna answered desperately. “Now will you leave?”

  Donovan muttered a curse beneath his breath, before he said harshly, “You don't have to see the bastard. I'll notify security that he's not to get within a mile of you.”

  “No!” Brenna said sharply. “Don't do that. I have to see what he wants.”

  “You want to see him?” Donovan's voice had a dangerous softness.

  “I have to see him,” Brenna said wearily. “Now will you please go, Michael?”

  There was a muttered imprecation, and then Donovan turned on his heel and strode angrily away.

  seven

  BRENNA ENTERED THE COTTAGE AND CLOSED the door with a sigh of relief. Until this minute, she hadn't been sure that Donovan would really leave. She felt a trace of surprise that he had left without an argument, and she knew she had not seen the last of him this evening. But he was at least giving her the breathing space she needed badly. There was so little time before she had to meet Chadeaux.

  Why did he want to see her after all this time, she wondered frantically. In the first wild bitterness after Janine's tragic death, Brenna had wanted to confront Chadeaux with his guilt, but she had refrained for Janine's sake. Janine had been so fanatically opposed to Randy having anything to do with his father, that Brenna had felt any contact with Chadeaux would be a betrayal of trust.

  She cynically discarded the idea that Chadeaux may have discovered paternal feelings at this late date. He had been too eager in his insistence that Janine have an abortion, and too brutal in his rejection of both her and the baby, when he had thought that there might be repercussions from their affair.

  Her mind raced wildly in circles, trying to find an answer and finally giving up in despair. She would have to wait for the meeting with Chadeaux. But whatever he wanted, he would not find her as easy to deal with as Janine, she resolved with unaccustomed hardness.

  Brenna marched decisively into the bedroom, and threw open the closet door. The first order of business was to convince Chadeaux that he was not dealing with a naïve youngster but a sophisticated adult.

  Forty-five minutes later she looked with approval at the reflection in the mirror. The pink, sleeveless cheongsam with it's high mandarin collar and the stylish slits on each side of the skirt gave her just the air of worldliness she desired. She had brushed out the childish braids and piled her hair on top of her head, leaving several wispy strands to curl around her face alluringly, and the dashing gold earrings were definitely not for the nursery set. She had used more makeup than usual, and her doe eyes appeared enormous in the perfect oval of her face. She slipped on bone high-heeled sandals, with a hurried look at the clo
ck on the bedside table. It was almost eight, she noticed with panic. Not that time had ever meant anything to Paul Chadeaux. One of the things that had most annoyed her about Chadeaux, when he was dating her sister, was his constant and discourteous tardiness. He clearly had not reformed in that respect, for it was almost eight-fifteen before there was a knock at the door.

  When Brenna opened the door, she experienced a small shock. Her hatred and disgust for Paul Chadeaux were such that she had expected the marks of guilt and weakness to be reflected on his face. Instead, he looked the same as on that first day Janine had introduced her to him. The same carefully styled blond hair and rather expressionless gray eyes, the same aristocratic features and full sensual lips curved now in a mocking smile. He had always dressed rather formally, and that, too, had not changed. The steel gray business suit was faultlessly tailored to flatter his tall, lean frame.

  His gray eyes roved over her with insulting intimacy. “Well, well,” he drawled softly. “Little sister has grown up, and very nicely, too. I'd hardly recognize you as the skinny kid that used to stare at me so antagonistically with those big brown eyes.”

  Her mouth twisted bitterly. “You'll find I'm still antagonistic, Paul,” she said coolly. “And I hardly think you're here to reminisce about old times. Perhaps you'd better come in.” She closed the door, and preceded him into the living room. She was amazed that she could present such a composed facade, when inwardly she was shaking with fear and revulsion. She was a better actress than she thought.

  Chadeaux gave a low whistle, as he looked around appreciatively at the luxurious appointments of the cottage. “Very nice,” he said. “You're obviously doing very well for yourself. So little Brenna is going to be a big movie star.”

  “Nonsense!” she said sharply. “I have a small supporting role in my first film. How did you know where to find me, Paul?”

  He shrugged. “Your landlady was very cooperative when I told her the kid was mine,” he said casually. “She seemed to think you were his mother. Maybe she thought I was going to make an honest woman of you at last.” He seemed to find the idea very amusing, and Brenna had to clench her fists to keep from slapping the smug smile off his face.