Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea (7 page)

She considered making herself a cup of hot chocolate, but decided not to bother. She was suddenly unutterably weary.
Opening a suitcase, she pulled out a white jersey tailored robe and shower cap, and drifted into the bathroom. She noticed, without surprise, the lavender tub and gray and crystal accessories.

She made the shower a brief but thorough one, wanting only to sample the softness of the queen-sized bed. After toweling off on the huge fluffy towel on the heated rack, she slipped on her robe and gave her hair a lick and a promise with the brush she found on the built-in glass vanity. Then with a sigh of contentment she lay down on the bed, not even bothering to remove the spread. She'd get up and unpack soon, she thought drowsily as her lids closed. And she wanted to be sure to talk to Donovan about Randy tonight. She tried to force her weighted lids open again, knowing she should try to call Donovan before she gave in to this delicious sleepiness. That was the last thought that surfaced before she fell soundly asleep.

It seemed only a moment before she was awakened by a thundering cacophony of sound. She moaned and rolled over, trying to ignore it, but it continued interminably until she realized it was someone at the front door. She sat up, and slowly rose to her feet. Catching sight of the clock on the bedside table, she realized groggily that it was almost ten. She had slept for almost two hours! It wasn't enough she realized, as she stumbled bleary-eyed out of the bedroom, across the living room to the front door, and fumbled with the lock.

She wasn't even surprised to see an extremely angry Michael Donovan on the doorstep. Leaning her head against the door, she peered at him owlishly, observing that he looked as vital and alive as ever in figure-hugging black cords and a black turtleneck sweater, his hair a dark flame above the sombre garments. She wondered sleepily if there was such a thing as an energy vampire. Just the sight of his electric-charged vitality made her feel tired—more tired, she corrected herself drowsily.

“Hello, Mr. Donovan,” she said, yawning.

“Good evening, Miss Sloan,” he said sarcastically. “I hope I didn't disturb you.” He pushed the door open, and brushed by her, closing the door behind him with a resounding slam. She flinched at the sound, as well as at the obvious untruth. It was quite evident that Donovan was not at all sorry to have awakened her. He strode into the center of the living room, and turned to regard her impatiently, looking outrageously out of place in the delicate grays and violets of the room. Like a pirate at a royal garden party, she thought dimly.

“I understand you wanted to see me,” he said sarcastically. “I tried to phone you, and it rang off the hook, so I came over.”

“You phoned me?” she asked sleepily, trailing behind him into the living room. “You must have called the wrong number,” she said tiredly, gravitating toward the lavender couch, and curling up in the corner. “I would have heard it.”

“I did
not
call a wrong number,” he said between clenched teeth. He moved with pantherish grace to the gray extension phone on the glass end table, and checked the phone quickly. “You have the volume turned off,” he said disgustedly, adjusting the dial. “It's hardly courteous to ask me to get in touch with you, and then turn the telephone off, Miss Sloan,” he said curtly, his blue eyes blazing.

She felt the stirrings of indignation at the unfair accusation, but she was still too sluggish to take umbrage. “I didn't turn down the volume,” she said lifelessly. “It must have been the previous occupant of the cottage.”

Donovan's eyes narrowed as they raked over her. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he demanded roughly. “Are you on something?”

“On something?” she asked vaguely. Then realizing what he meant, she woke up with a vengeance. She sat up straight on the couch, swift color pinking her cheeks.

“I do not take drugs, Mr. Donovan!” she said angrily. “I'm merely very sleepy.”

He shrugged. “It's an understandable assumption. Your generation seems partial to crutches.”

“And yours wasn't?” she inquired sarcastically. “I believe yours was known as the protest generation. You started the whole drug culture.”

“Touché,” he said ruefully. “Not me personally, I assure you.” His gaze ran over her lingeringly. “Are you always so slow to wake up?” he asked abruptly.

“Not everyone wakes up all in one piece,” she said resentfully. “Though I'm sure you're one of those who switch on like an electric light.”

“Yes, I am,” he said absently, his eyes thoughtful. “One of us will have to change,” he said obscurely.

She stared at him in confusion, but before she could voice a question he continued curtly. “Monty said there was some problem with your living arrangements. What is so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?” he demanded, looking around the richly furnished room casually. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“Everything is not in order!” she said hotly, rising to her feet and facing him belligerently. “Randy isn't here with me.”

The keen blue eyes became suddenly watchful. “The child?” he asked carefully. “I made adequate provisions for him. Doris Charles has excellent references, and her apartment has been furnished with everything a child could possibly want.”

“Everything but his mother,” Brenna grated, her hands clenching into fists. “I want him with me!”

Donovan strolled over to the small portable bar in the corner, and poured himself a Scotch and water, before turning to face her.

“That won't be possible,” he said coolly. “I prefer that the child be cared for in the residence hall. You'll need all your concentration
for the next week or so. I don't want you distracted by maternal worries.”

“That's ridiculous,” she said angrily. “I've always taken care of Randy myself, and I assure you that my schedule has been more demanding than you can imagine.”

“But not as taxing as the one I'll ask of you,” he said bluntly. “There are a number of scenes that have to be reshot, as well as the rest of the picture to finish, and I fully intend to bring the picture in on schedule, Brenna,” he said forcefully.

“I've agreed to accept Miss Charles' assistance,” Brenna said in exasperation. “What difference could it possibly make if she and Randy move in here?”

He took a long swallow of his drink before he answered. “It makes a difference to me. In case you haven't noticed, I run things here.”

“So I've been told,” she said bitterly, her brown eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears as she gazed pleadingly at him. “Why should you object to me having my son here?” she asked huskily. “Won't you change your mind?”

His eyes were brooding as he met hers across the room. “No, I won't change my mind,” he said harshly. “I don't want him here, Brenna.”

“But why?” she asked distractedly. “You can't just arbitrarily refuse without giving me a reason.”

His eyes narrowed to steely slits, and she knew she had angered him. He carefully put his unfinished drink on the bar, and said coolly. “You want to know my reason, Brenna? Then you shall have it.” He crossed the space between them in three swift strides. “You're pushing me, Brenna. I hoped to have more time,” he said softly.

“What do you mean?” she faltered, breathless at his sudden proximity.

He shrugged, the black knit of his sweater straining over powerful shoulders. “You're not ready for this yet,” he said
calmly, “but I'm tired of playing games.” He looked directly into her eyes, and said deliberately, “I don't want your child here, because it drives me crazy to see you with him.”

Brenna couldn't understand this incredible statement, and she looked up at him in total bewilderment. His two hands reached up to cup her face. “You see, I've discovered you were abysmally wrong about the type of woman that turns me on,” he said huskily. “I want you, Brenna.”

She felt as if she were being hypnotized by those piercing eyes that held her in a magnetic thrall. He was so close that she could feel the vibrant warmth emanating from him, the smell, the clean scent of soap and the indescribable essence of the male animal. “No,” she cried, her eyes clinging to his. “It's crazy!”

“Do you think I don't know that?” he asked savagely. “Do you think I go around seducing twenty-year-old girls as a matter of course? I don't like this one iota.” He drew a ragged breath, and spoke more calmly. “All that I know is that when I saw you at the audition yesterday afternoon, it was as if someone had punched me in the stomach. I wanted you more than I have ever wanted any woman in my life. I've got to have you, or go totally insane.”

“You're already insane,” she whispered. “Things just don't happen like that.”

“I didn't think so either,” he said harshly. “I seemed to have become completely obsessed by you. I never cared a damn about chastity in a woman before, but the thought of another man having had you before me, makes me want to strangle you.”

His eyes gleamed with such savagery that a flicker of fear shot through her, and she took an involuntary step backward. His hands fell away from her, and his mouth twisted cynically. “Don't worry, I haven't reached that stage of barbarism yet,” he said hoarsely. “Though I just may, if I ever catch you with any other man. I can't even bear to see you with the child, knowing that another man fathered him.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” she said dazedly. “First, you tell me you want some sort of affair with me, and then that you can't bear to have me around my own son.” Her voice rose hysterically. “What am I supposed to do? Drown him? You're completely mad!”

He shrugged. “I knew it was too soon,” he said. “I was going to wait a little longer, until you got to know me better. I know it's a shock to you.” His mouth twisted wryly. “As for the child, I'll just have to learn to tolerate him, won't I?”

“Tolerate?” The word added fuel to her growing anger. That anyone would have to “tolerate” the adorable, sunny imp that was Randy was unbelievable.

“I shouldn't bother,” she said coldly. “Neither of us need your tolerance, Mr. Donovan.”

“The outraged lioness in defense of her cub,” he murmured mockingly. “Tell me, now that I've invited you into my bed, don't you think that we're on personal enough terms for you to call me Michael?”

“As our acquaintance will be ending right here and now, I hardly think it necessary,” she said coolly, turning toward the bedroom door.

His hand caught her arm as she walked past him, and he whirled her around to face him. “You're not walking out, Brenna,” he said grimly. “You've got a job to do.”

“As your mistress?” she asked sarcastically, lifting her chin.

“Eventually,” Donovan said coolly. “But at present I have a film to make, and you agreed to take the role of Mary Durney.”

“Impossible,” she said shortly. “I couldn't do it now.”

“You'll do it,” he said grimly. “The two things have nothing to do with each other. If you think I gave you the role to apply some sort of sexual harassment, you're wrong. I'll get you into my bed because you want to occupy it, and not for any other reason.”

“Then you're going to be very disappointed,” she said
defiantly. “I'll never want you or any other man like that, Michael Donovan.”

“I think you will,” he said with narrowed eyes. “I have no small amount of experience with women, and I'd judge you to be highly combustible material indeed, Brenna Sloan.”

“Then you'd be wrong,” she said hotly, her denial all the more adamant for the furtive memory of that momentary weakness in the wings of the Rialto.

He shook his head, his face mocking. “I don't think so. It's natural that you should be bitter and afraid of initiating any new relationships. You've obviously been hurt by your affair with Randy's father. Seventeen is an extremely sensitive age for something as traumatic as that to happen to a young girl. It's no wonder you've been rejecting other men since then.”

“How did you know I've been rejecting men?” Brenna asked. Then her eyes widened incredulously. “My God, you've had me investigated!” she whispered.

“Nothing so dramatic,” he scoffed lightly. “I sent a man around to ask a few questions of the right people, that's all. I knew after I spoke to you at the theater last night that you had some sort of grudge against men. It's my experience that a thorough knowledge of one's adversary is the only basis for success.”

“And what did you learn about me?” she asked proudly. “Was it worth your employee's time?”

“Not much,” he said laconically. “You grew up in a children's home. You have a secretarial job with Edwards Temporary Agency. You're a devoted mother, pay your bills promptly, and are distinctly cool to any amorous young men who try to approach you.”

“Doesn't that discourage you?” she asked caustically.

“Not in the least,” he said calmly. “It gives me a good deal of satisfaction to know that you haven't been involved with any other man since Randy's father let you down. I told you I was
very possessive about you, and I know damn well I can melt that ice around you, Brenna.”

“You wouldn't say you're the least bit egotistical?” she asked sardonically.

“I believe in myself,” he said simply. “I wouldn't have gotten as far as I have in life, if I didn't.” His sensual lips curved mischievously. “I also believe in chemistry, and we have an abundance of that, believe me.”

“So you expect me to go on with the picture as if this interview had never happened?” she asked wonderingly.

“Why not?” he asked coolly. “Now that everything is out in the open, we go back to square one. You need the work and I need an actress. The fact that I also need you as a woman shouldn't concern you unduly. After all, before we had this conversation, I was prepared to wait until you said you wanted me. I still am. I won't promise not to do my damnedest to make you want me, but I'm not about to drag you, kicking and screaming, into the nearest cave.”

“Do I have your promise on that?” Brenna asked skeptically.

Donovan's mouth tightened with anger, and his blue eyes flashed. “I'm not accustomed to having my word questioned.” He drew a deep breath, and his tension eased fractionally. “What a suspicious little girl you are, Brenna,” he said mockingly. “You have my promise that I won't pounce until the picture is finished. After that, if I haven't persuaded you to my way of thinking, all promises are null and void. I'll get you any way I can.”