Stormy Vows

by Iris Johansen

  A little smile curved Brenna's lips. “That's what Jake said,” she said, her brown eyes twinkling.

  He paid no attention. His jaw was set belligerently as he continued harshly. “You're going to shut up and listen to what I have to say, dammit. I had a damn good reason for taking Melanie to lunch, and if you weren't so stubborn, I would have told you what it was when I called.”

  “Have you had anything to eat?” she asked quietly, her eyes running lovingly over the blunt, rough features.

  “What?” he asked, caught off balance for once, blue eyes surprised.

  “Did you have any dinner?” she asked.

  “No, I didn't take the time,” he said impatiently. “Look, Brenna, we've got to get this straightened out.”

  “I'll fix you an omelet,” she interrupted, smiling. “You can tell me all about it while I'm cooking. The coffee is already prepared.”

  She wriggled out of his grasp and preceded him down the hall and into the kitchen. He followed her closely, almost as if he suspected her of trying to escape him. She gestured to the breakfast bar. “It won't be a minute,” she said serenely. She poured him a cup of coffee, added the small dollop of cream he used, and stirred it briskly. She carried it carefully to the bar and set it before him.

  His hand closed on hers as she released the cup, and she looked up to meet eyes that were bright with suspicion. “What game is this you're playing, Brenna?” he asked. “Jake said you were more upset than he'd ever seen you this afternoon. Yet now you're as cool as a cucumber. Don't you want to hear about Melanie?”

  She returned his gaze steadily. “If you want to tell me,” she said quietly, “but it's not really necessary. Jake was right; I over-reacted.”

  She could feel the tension gradually leaving Donovan's body. “I'm glad you realize that,” he said lightly. “I had visions of having to chase after you and drag you back by your hair.”

  Brenna's gaze dropped to their interlocked hands. “I'm still here,” she said evasively. “Now, if you'll release me, I'll make that omelet.”

  His grip reluctantly relaxed, and he leaned back on the stool and idly watched her as she bustled around the kitchen, beating the eggs, adding the milk, and heating the omelet pan, before pouring in the mixture. He didn't attempt to speak until she set the savory omelet before him, poured herself a cup of coffee and perched on the stool opposite him.

  He took a bite of the omelet and looked up at her. “I needed Melanie to do a favor for me,” he said abruptly. His mouth twisted cynically. “Not that Melanie ever did anything for anyone without suitable compensation. This was no exception. I had to write her a very hefty check for her trouble.” He was eating steadily, his eyes watching Brenna's serene face alertly for signs of distress or suspicion. “I persuaded her to try to charm someone I want to join my organization. The old man is a great fan of hers, and I thought introducing her to him might conceivably tip the scales my way.”

  “Daniel Thomas?” Brenna guessed.

  Donovan nodded. “That's right. He joined us for lunch today.”

  “Did it work?” Brenna asked, sipping her coffee slowly, and idly studying the way his thick, crisp hair clung to his head like a molten cap.

  Donovan shrugged. “It's too early to tell. If it doesn't, I'll try something else.”

  He had finished, and he pushed his plate away. He took a swallow of coffee, and his hand reached out once more to clasp hers.

  “You scared the hell out of me, you know,” he said quietly. “I even called Phillips and told him to report to me if you left the house.”

  “Poor Bob. What a skittery female he must think me,” she said lightly. She returned the pressure of his hand affectionately, and then rose and reached for his plate and utensils. “I'll just rinse these and put them in the drain.”

  “No, leave them,” he said thickly. He drew her gently around the bar, to stand before him, his eyes running over her with a look that was a long embrace. “You grow more beautiful every day, do you know that?” he said hoarsely. He reached beneath the misty robe to pull the elasticized neckline down to bare her shoulders, before putting his lips to the pulse beat in the hollow of her throat. It leapt, as it always did, at the light touch of his tongue. Her breath almost stopped, as his hands closed on her breasts and thumbed the nipples through the light silk of her gown. He, too, was breathing quickly as his lips closed on hers in a long kiss that left them both languid and hot with need.

  “You'd better be upstairs and in bed in two minutes,” he said raggedly, as their lips parted. “Unless you want to explore how erotic making love in a kitchen can be.”

  She grinned and kissed him gently. “Some other time,” she promised lightly. She turned away quickly, as a swift jolt of pain went through her. There would be no other time after tonight.

  She was waiting for him when he came into their bedroom a few minutes later, sitting quietly on the bed, her feet tucked beneath her. She had removed the robe and slippers, and had an air of childlike docility as he approached her.

  His eyes were warm and intent on her as he started to un-button his shirt.

  “No!” she reached up and stopped him. She knelt on the bed, and her fingers replaced him at the task. “Please, I want to do it,” she whispered, her doe eyes wide and pleading. “I want to do everything for you tonight. Show me how to make you happy.”

  She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and slipped it from his massive shoulders, placing little gentle kisses on his chest and throat as she did so. She had spoken only the truth when she said she wanted to make him happy. Not only did she want to capture a very special memory for herself, but she wanted to give Michael the same joyous gift. Her arms slipped around his strong throat, and she kissed him gently, tenderly, with all the love she possessed for this difficult, exciting man. “Show me,” she entreated quietly.

  In the hours that followed he did show her what she desired. She memorized every muscle of his body as he had once done to her. She learned with lips and hands how to raise him to the height of desire and satisfaction, and in doing so, reached her own rapture. They came together not once, but many times that night. Donovan was as indefatigable and insatiable as she, as if half comprehending the desperation that drove her to pour forth her love in this the only way Michael would accept. It was shortly before dawn when Donovan fell asleep, his arm still cradling the warmth of her body.

  But Brenna remained wide awake, her strained desperate eyes on the gradually lightening sky seen through the bedroom window. She knew, with a wrench that threatened to tear her soul apart, that it was time for her to go.

  eleven

  IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER NOON WHEN THE taxi pulled up before the Rialto theater, and the driver politely came around to open the passenger door. Brenna got out, payed the amount on the meter, and headed for the stage door with a hurried stride. It was her last step in her flight from Donovan, this meeting with Charles Wilkes, and she was anxious to get it over with.

  It seemed incredible that less than eight hours ago she had been in Michael's arms, and now she was seeking Charles' help in removing her from his world permanently. The silent, almost furtive escape from Twin Pines with only an overnight case and a sleeping Randy, and the long drive to the airport in Portland seemed years, not hours ago., She had been in luck. After parking the Mercedes, and leaving the keys in an envelope addressed to Michael at the ticket counter, she had been able to get a flight down to Los Angeles within thirty minutes. She only had time to phone a very concerned and puzzled Charles Wilkes, and arrange to meet him at the theater at noon, before the flight was called.

  Brenna was reluctant to ask for Wilkes' help, but she saw no other alternative. She had frighteningly little money after she had paid for the plane tickets and the taxi to Vivian Barlow's apartment to drop Randy off. She desperately needed a job and a place to stay, and it could not be in Los Angeles. She had broken her commitment to Michael, and she knew how determined and ruthless he would be in claiming what was due
him. Charles had contacts with repertory troupes throughout California, as well as ties with several universities and academic establishments. If anyone could get her to a safe haven, it was her former mentor.

  The stage door was open, as she expected, and she stopped a moment to smooth her hair, and tuck the melon silk blouse into her camel slacks. There was no sense in looking more disheveled and desperate than necessary. Charles was going to be concerned enough, when she asked for his help to escape from Michael. He had been almost childishly pleased when he had learned of their marriage.

  She walked quickly down the shabby, dimly lit hall to Wilkes' small office. The door was slightly ajar, and she could see a small pool of light from the metallic desk lamp on the ancient pine desk. She pushed open the door.

  “Come in, Brenna.”

  The blood drained from her face, as she stared transfixed at the red-haired man, who rose lazily to his feet at her entrance. Donovan was casually dressed, as always, in rust corduroy jeans and a cream cotton shirt that was left carelessly unbuttoned almost to his waist. He had rolled his sleeves up to the elbow.

  “Michael!” Brenna said, stunned. She took an instinctive step backward, as panic urged her to flee.

  “Don't even think about it,” Donovan said, his voice hard as steel. “I'd catch you before you reached the stage door.” His blue eyes were cold and razor sharp. “You're going to come in, and we are going to have a few words before we go on to my apartment. Do you understand?”

  Brenna shook her head sadly, as the shock of his appearance dissipated. “No, Michael, I'm not coming back to you,” she said quietly.

  “You will,” he said arrogantly. “I don't know what this is all about, but I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

  Brenna came a few steps into the room, her brown eyes pleading. “All the discussion in the world won't change my mind. Let me go, Michael.”

  A muscle twisted in Michael's jaw. “The hell I will.” Brenna sighed tiredly. After all the pain and agony of leaving him, she would have to do it all again. “Where is Charles?” she asked despondently. “Did he call you?”

  Donovan shook his head. “I called him about thirty minutes after you did. When I discovered you were gone, I knew you'd run to either him or Vivian Barlow. I told him we'd had a little marital spat, and that I'd meet you in his place.” His mouth twisted cynically. “He was delighted to oblige. Charles loves a happy ending.”

  “I'm sorry you've gone to such trouble,” she said, not looking at him. “I'm afraid it was a waste of your time. Good-bye, Michael.” She turned to go, but he was around the desk in seconds and grasping her arm in a clasp of steel.

  “No way, Brenna,” he said silkily. “You're coming with me, and we're going to talk. Because if you walk out of my life, you're going to do it alone. You're not taking Randy with you.”

  Her eyes flew to him incredulously. “What are you talking about? Randy's mine!”

  “Possession is nine tenths of the law,” he quoted ruthlessly. “And I have possession. He's on board the Lear jet right now en-route to Twin Pines with Doris Charles. Monty picked him up from Vivian's apartment five minutes after your taxi pulled away from the curb.”

  Brenna shook her head dazedly. “No,” she said desperately. “You're lying. Vivian wouldn't give Randy to a stranger.”

  “You've forgotten how persuasive Monty can be,” he said coolly. “And after all, he was your husband's representative.” He reached behind him, and lifting the phone receiver punched a number rapidly. “Speak to her yourself,” he said mockingly, offering her the receiver. Two minutes later Brenna handed the receiver back to him, her face white. “It's virtually kidnapping, you know,” she said numbly. “You're as bad as Paul Chadeaux.”

  His face was rigid with anger, and the blue eyes flickered dangerously. “I'll let that pass for now,” he said coldly. “But don't push your luck, Brenna. I'm not feeling particularly tame at the moment.”

  Neither was she. The shock and numbness was melting rapidly under mounting rage and indignation. How dare even Donovan pull something this arrogant and cruel?

  “So what's the next move, Michael?” she said bitterly, her brown eyes flashing angrily. “What ransom are you asking to give me back my son?”

  “At the moment, only that you accompany me to my apartment,” he said. “As I said, we have some talking to do.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we go?”

  The taxi ride to the high-rise apartment complex was made in complete silence. Brenna's anger rose steadily as she had time to dwell on the sheer audacity of Donovan's move. It was not enough that he had all but wrecked her life and the chance of happiness with any other man, but he had to take from her the only other person she loved as well. By the time they had ridden the elevator up to the penthouse apartment, and Donovan had unlocked the door, she was almost fuming.

  She swept angrily into the apartment and stomped down the thickly carpeted stairs to the sunken living room. She threw her purse on the rust modular couch, and looked around distastefully, noting the air of lush affluence. Cream carpet, expensive contemporary furnishings, and a beveled mirrored bar, all bespoke unlimited luxury and power.

  “Very impressive!” she said scornfully, whirling to face him. “Rather like a set—‘movie mogul's penthouse apartment.’”

  “I'll give my decorator your compliments,” Donovan said, strolling toward her, narrowed blue eyes on her defiant face. “Those were my instructions exactly. I use this apartment chiefly for business meetings. I find a little healthy intimidation very beneficial.”

  “Is that why you brought me here?” Brenna asked bitterly. “Am I to be intimidated by the great Michael Donovan?”

  Donovan's mouth tightened. “I brought you here so that you can explain why you broke your word to me and ran away. If I have to intimidate you to get an answer, then so be it.” His eyes darkened broodingly. “We shared something pretty special last night, and I woke up this morning to find you'd left me, presumably for good. I want to know why? Was it Melanie St. James?”

  Brenna shook her head impatiently. Her anger was inexplicably seeping away, replaced by the treacherous yearning that always beset her in Donovan's presence. “No, it wasn't Melanie,” she said wearily. “I just couldn't stay any longer. Please try to understand.”

  Donovan's hands closed on her shoulders, his face white and set. “I don't understand, and I won't accept it! I know damn well you haven't been unhappy these last few months. Tell me why!”

  Suddenly she couldn't stand it any longer. It was sheer torture being so catechized when her emotions were raw and bleeding. “What difference does it make whether it's now or later,” she cried. “It was only a matter of time, anyway.”

  “It was time that I needed,” he said grimly. “I think I know what happened. With your background, I realize how difficult it must be for you to trust yourself to a commitment to any man. I thought I was making progress, but this little incident with Melanie blew the whole thing up in my face.” His mouth firmed determinedly. “Well, we'll just have to start again.”

  His words only added to her distress and confusion. “By holding my son hostage for my good behavior? How long do you think you can get away with that?”

  His blue eyes met hers with implacable determination. “I can use it today and perhaps tomorrow. The next day I'll find another lever to keep you with me. And the next day I'll find another. I'll keep on until there are no more tomorrows.”

  “Why?” she whispered, her gaze clinging to his, while an impossible hope stirred to life.

  “Because I love you, you stupid woman,” he grated between his teeth. “Because I damn well can't live without you.”

  Her mouth flew open, and her eyes grew round. For a moment she was unable to respond due to the sheer stunning impact of what he had said.

  “I know you don't want any permanent relationship with me,” he said raggedly, shaking her a little. “But dammit, I know I can make you love me in time, and I'm go
ing to buy that time any way I can!”

  She shook her head dazedly. “This doesn't make any sense,” she said, bewildered. “You made it very plain that our marriage was only temporary.”

  “I was afraid I'd scare you off,” he said bluntly. “I knew damn well what I wanted from the moment I saw you, but after I found out about your distrust of men, I knew I'd have to play down any hint of commitment.” He shrugged, his expression belligerent. “Well, it's too late for that now. I intend that this particular commitment will last the rest of our lives. So get used to it, Brenna!”

  Her eyes dropped, as a wave of unbelievable joy rushed through her. Michael loved her. Michael Donovan loved and wanted her, not for just the present but forever.

  He must have misunderstood her silence for that of despondency, for his hands moved to cradle her face tenderly. “God! Give me a chance, sweetheart,” he pleaded hoarsely. “I can make you happy. Just give me a chance.”

  Her eyes lifted to his, and all the radiance in the universe was shining from her eyes. “And you call me stupid, Michael Donovan,” she said, trembling. “You're the one who is supposed to be experienced with women. Can't you tell when one green girl is mad about you?”

  She flowed into his arms, and pulled his face down to hers. Michael's eyes were blank with shock, and his body was stiff and still as he looked down at her. Then her lips touched his, and he crushed her to him in a convulsive embrace that left them both glowing and breathless. Her hands moved down from his shoulders to caress the hair-roughened muscles of his chest as she spread a multitude of joyous little kisses over his jaw and chin. “Oh, Michael, I do love you so much!” she breathed. “I'll love you forever and ever, do you know that?”