Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea (22 page)

An added bonus of Donovan's knowledge of Janine's tragic story, had been a complete change in his attitude toward Randy. As he had told her, he sincerely liked children, and had a way with them that was fast making Randy his willing slave. He now often joined her in the afternoon to play with Randy and just laze by the pool in an aura of domestic contentment that filled her with a poignant wistfulness. Carefully, she did not let herself linger too long on these bittersweet memories. She must take one day at a time in a relationship such as hers with Michael, and savor each one to the utmost. Who knew how many days she had remaining? Passion without love was a reputedly unstable and ephemeral commodity.

She had finished the filing, and had turned to Marcia to request something else to do when the door to Donovan's office
opened, and her husband came out accompanied by a short, gray-haired man in a rumpled brown business suit. Michael was being uncharacteristically charming for a man of his blunt, abrasive personality as he ushered the man to the front door, and Brenna wondered idly who the rather anemic-looking individual could be.

The smooth charm was gone in an instant, when he turned around and spied Brenna standing by the filing cabinet. He did not respond to her smile, as he crossed to stand before her, a frown making his roughhewn features even more intimidating. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked bluntly. “I told you to stay in bed.”

His roughness no longer phased her. “I'm much better now,” she said serenely. “It's just a bug.”

“I wish you'd called me,” he said. “I have a date for lunch that I just can't get out of.”

Brenna felt a twinge of disappointment, which she valiantly strove to hide with a smile. “No problem,” she said quietly. “I'll find someone else to have lunch with.” She made a face at him. “You're not irreplaceable you know, Mr. Donovan.”

His eyes took on a strange stillness. “Aren't I?” he asked lightly, with a thread of underlying seriousness. “I'm beginning to think you may be, Mrs. Donovan.”

He touched her lightly on the tip of her nose before turning briskly and returning to his office, leaving Brenna with a radiant face and eyes that reflected the sudden hope his light remark had given her. She firmly chastised herself for making too much of the teasing statement. He probably hadn't meant anything by it, but it was the closest he had come to admitting that there might be a future for them beyond the boundaries of a marital affair.

Her dazed eyes met the amused stare of Marcia, and she flushed with embarrassment. “Who was that funny little man with Michael?” she asked quickly, hoping to avert one of Marcia's teasing wisecracks.

Marcia raised a knowing eyebrow at the rather obvious diversion, but she answered obligingly. “Daniel Thomas; he is some sort of genius in the research department of Cinetron films. Mr. Donovan thinks he might be on the right track in developing cinematic videotape. He's been trying to persuade him to quit his job with Cinetron, and come here and concentrate his efforts solely on developing the videotape. He's having a few problems convincing him. Evidently Mr. Thomas is nearing the retirement age and has built up quite a bit of seniority with Cinetron. So far, the large monetary settlement hasn't been the persuasion that your husband thought it might be.” She shrugged. “It's only a matter of time. Mr. Donovan always gets what he wants.”

Brenna nodded, smiling. “That's for sure!” she said vehemently and then blushed again as Marcia broke into an irrepressible chuckle.

Brenna had no doubt that Michael would find a way to obtain the services of Daniel Thomas. She had become aware that Michael had a violent antipathy for the whole Hollywood system, where more often than not films were initiated purely on their box office potential and not on artistic merit. He, too, believed a brilliant picture deserved an equally brilliant monetary reward. But in his eyes an expertly crafted motion picture was the goal, not the tinkle of the box office cash register. Though he still had to deal with the Hollywood money men occasionally, he was gradually attempting to cut himself and Twin Pines entirely free from the system. Evidently, this little man held one of the keys that Donovan had been searching for.

At present all theatrical films had to be processed by the film laboratories in Hollywood, but Donovan was convinced that it was just a matter of time before theatrical films could be transferred to tape. Time, and research geniuses of the calibre of Daniel Thomas, Brenna corrected herself. Once such a film was developed, it would break one of the major chains that still
bound Twin Pines to Hollywood. Donovan most certainly would bend every effort to winning Thomas to this purpose.

The rest of the morning passed fairly quickly, with the usual stream of visitors in and out of Donovan's office, and the light clerical duties that Marcia gave her. She had just finished typing the last page of a contract when she looked up to see Jake Dominic standing before her, looking tan and fit and incredibly handsome in white pants and a navy blue sports shirt.

“Jake!” she said delighted, jumping up and giving him both her hands in greeting. She hadn't seen him since about a week after the picture was completed. Michael had told her that immediately after a picture was finished, Dominic always set sail in his luxurious yacht,
Sea Breeze
, and was gone for an unspecified time, until he was rid of the tension of directing and grew unutterably bored and eager to return to work. That the cruise always included the presence of a beautiful and willing woman went without saying. This time Brenna had heard it rumored that his companion had been the wife of the head of state of a small South American country, and that the State Department had been biting its collective fingernails with fear that, this time, Dominic's affair would cause an international incident.

Yet here he was, looking as casual and arrogant as ever, as he smiled down at her with that wickedly arched eyebrow. “My God, Brenna,” he said teasingly. “What other uses is Michael going to find for you? Wife, mistress, actress, and now secretary. I'm going to have to whisk you away on my next cruise, just to see that you get a rest.”

“From what I hear, the women you take on your cruises get considerably less rest than I do,” Brenna said dryly, her eyes twinkling. “You look in reasonably good health for a man who has been reputedly dodging machetes, or is it
bolos?
”

“Neither,” Dominic said lazily. “It was all much ado about nothing. The lady's husband is quite complacent as long as she handles her affairs discreetly.”

Brenna giggled at the thought of a cruise with Jake Dominic being considered discreet, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “I missed that laugh of yours,” he said softly, and his dark eyes were suddenly tinged with a touch of loneliness. “It was a bore,” he said wearily. “More so than usual.”

Again Brenna felt that poignant tug of sympathy for this brilliant man who had everything a man could want, and was still jaded and even curiously lonely.

“Perhaps next time you should try a Swede,” she said lightly, trying to gently nudge him out of his depression.

It worked. Dominic's mercurial temperament responded, and the black eyes gleamed mischievously. “I've already gone that route,” he said with a shudder. “They're much too aggressive. I was totally exhausted by the time I got back to port.”

“What about her?” Brenna asked grinning.

“Oh, Helga immediately took off for Switzerland with her ski instructor. I hear he was a candidate for the Olympics before she got her hands on him.” He sighed morosely, his eyes twinkling. “He's never been heard of since!”

Brenna chuckled irrepressibly. “What are you doing back in Twin Pines?” she asked. “Michael didn't mention you were doing a picture?”

He shrugged. “I'm ready to go to work. If I have too much time on my hands, I get restless, and
voilà
—trouble.”

“It seems I've heard rumors to that effect,” Brenna agreed demurely. “Are you the important lunch date my husband can't break to escort his own wife?”

“Not me, sweet, but I'll act as a substitute, if you'll wait until I see that unchivalrous husband of yours,” he said. “I want to pick up a script Michael told me about. Some thriller about a nuclear power plant. Michael says it has possibilities.”

“Done,” Brenna said cheerfully. “I'll be ready to leave when you're finished with Michael.”

With a wave of his hand, Dominic entered Donovan's office without knocking, and Brenna went to the closet to get her jacket and purse. When she returned to her desk to extract the contract from her typewriter and hand it to Marcia, she was amazed to see the older woman convulsed in laughter. As Brenna stared at her blankly, the secretary wiped tears from her eyes and gasped penitently. “Sorry, Brenna, I was just eavesdropping, and it struck me as funny.”

“What did?” Brenna asked, puzzled.

Marcia's eyes danced. “The calm way you accepted the foremost rake of the western world as a second-best substitute for your husband. No one would believe it.”

Brenna grinned. It did seem funny when she looked at it from Marcia's point of view, and if one didn't know that the husband in question was Michael Donovan.

“If you'll forgive me for interrupting your chat, I'd like to see Mr. Donovan.” The husky voice was dripping sarcasm, and they both looked up, startled, at the woman who had entered the office unnoticed. Brenna's eyes widened as she recognized the woman standing there. The large violet eyes, wild riotous ash-blond hair, and curvaceous figure were as famous as the throaty voice. Melanie St. James, who had rocketed to stardom in her first picture, a Michael Donovan production. With a pang, Brenna recalled that the gossip columns had also been filled with speculations regarding Donovan's torrid affair with his gorgeous protégée.

Marcia Owens recovered her aplomb swiftly. “Is Mr. Donovan expecting you?”

The pouting lips tightened. “Of course, he's expecting me,” she said arrogantly. “We have a luncheon date.”

Brenna felt a cold pain somewhere in her midriff, as she heard the woman's words. So this was Donovan's inviolate, unbreakable luncheon date, she thought numbly.

Marcia Owens shrugged, and picked up the phone. “I'll tell him you're here,” she said coolly. “At the moment he's with Mr. Dominic.”

“Jake Dominic?” Melanie St. James inquired, her eyes taking on an almost greedy glitter. “I've never met him. Is he working with Donovan now?”

“Occasionally,” Marcia answered remotely, and spoke into the receiver. “Mr. Donovan will see you now. Miss St. James,” she said as she replaced the receiver. “Go right in.”

A smile of triumph lit Melanie St. James' face. “I told you he'd see me,” she said with smug satisfaction. “After all, he called
me
.” She swept by them and into Donovan's office, leaving Marcia Owens in an agony of sympathetic embarrassment as she carefully avoided Brenna's eyes.

Brenna said nothing as she moved toward the restroom like a sleepwalker. Refusing to think of anything at all, keeping her mind carefully blank, she washed her face and put on fresh lipstick. She tidied her hair carefully, taking as much time as possible, so that she wouldn't have to return and be present when her husband swept the voluptuous actress out of the office. She was not consciously thinking, but her instinct for self-preservation prevented her from exposing herself to that degree of torture.

When Brenna returned, Dominic was standing by Marcia Owens' desk and they stopped speaking abruptly when she entered the room. Dominic took one look at her set white face, muttered an imprecation beneath his breath, and crossed to take her by the elbow. “Dammit all, what fools you women are,” he said roughly. “Come on, we're going to lunch and I'm going to try to talk some sense into you.”

He half led, half propelled her from the room, and any protests she might have made were quelled by the grim stormy look on Dominic's face. This was not the same Dominic she had joked and teased with such a short time ago. She obeyed meekly
as he settled her in his black Ferrari and whisked her to a small restaurant on the edge of town. It looked more like a small brick residence than a restaurant, and there was only a small sign quietly advertising quality cuisine in discreet letters.

It was only after they had been seated at a quiet corner table and Dominic had given the order for both of them, that he turned to Brenna with quiet determination in every line of his face.

“All right, now we talk,” he said briskly. “Will you please tell me why you're looking like a Christian who has just been thrown to the lions?”

Trust Jake to think in such visual terms, she thought numbly, but she had no intention of confiding in him. The wound was too raw to bear probing by that ruthless intellect. “Perhaps I'm not feeling well,” she said evasively. “Marcia will tell you I was a little under the weather this morning.”

“Bull!” Jake said succinctly. “We both know the reason you're falling apart at the seams. I hoped to get you to bring it out in the open yourself. But if you won't, I will.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Brenna said rigidly, looking down at her folded hands on the white damask tablecloth.

“Too bad!” Jake said coldly. “Michael's my best friend, and I hope you're going to be a close second, Brenna. I'm not about to let some foolish, womanish misconception hurt either of you. Now, let's talk about that promiscuous little sex kitten Michael took out to lunch today.”

Brenna flinched. “I don't see any evidence of misconception,” she said with an effort. “It seems to be perfectly clear.”

“It always does to a woman,” Jake said dryly. “Did it ever occur to you that he could have a reason, other than the obvious one, to see the beauteous Miss St. James? They are in the same business, you know.”

“She isn't under contract to Donovan any more,” Brenna
said miserably. “Everyone knows that she signed with Fox two years ago.”

“About the same time she and Donovan called it quits,” Jake observed coolly. “If I remember, it was Donovan who tired of her. So why the hell would he want to stir up the ashes of a dead love affair?” He grimaced. “Believe me, there's nothing less appetizing once you're through with a woman.”