An Act of Love

by Brooke Hastings

  She took out some chicken breasts, boned and cut them up, and assembled the ingredients for sweet and sour chicken. The stove was gas and the nearest thing to a wok was a cast iron frying pan, but it worked well enough. She also cooked some rice and heated some peas to go along with the main course. As she worked the man who'd abducted her sat in a chair by the dining area table and watched, his expression giving no hint of his feelings. He opened his mouth exactly once, to inform her that he'd taken the precaution of disabling the plane's radio.

  Randy had plenty of time to think as she cooked and was honest enough to admit that she found her captor much too attractive. The situation was even rather romantic—being alone in an isolated cabin with a man who obviously wanted to make love to her and just as obviously knew all there was to know about pleasing a woman in bed. Linda would have loved every minute of it.

  The problem was, she wasn't like Linda. Physical infatuation had already led her into one disastrous love affair, and she didn't want it to happen a second time. Her self-esteem, already shaken by Sean Raley, would wind up shattered if she tumbled into bed with some half-crazy stranger.

  They ate their meal in silence, but there was nothing hostile or uncomfortable about the lack of conversation. Randy felt relaxed enough to help herself to seconds, and by the end of the meal had decided to find out just what she was doing up here.

  "Are you a friend of Brett's?" she asked.

  He looked up from his plate. "Your ex-husband? No."

  She tried a different approach. "Then what's your name?"

  "You could call me 'sir.' Or 'my lord'—that has a nice ring to it. Although," he said, lazing back in his chair, "I'd hardly want you to whisper that in my ear if I decide to make love to you later."

  Randy contemplated her empty plate, grateful that she'd waited till now to question him because she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She was almost sure he wouldn't force the issue, but the way he was looking at her told her he wanted to touch her, and it bothered her very much that she might permit him to do so.

  She started to clear away the dishes, putting them into the sink, and was about to begin washing up when he ordered, "Make some coffee first. I take it black."

  There was nothing to gain by refusing. Randy quickly located a drip coffee-maker and an unopened can of coffee in one of the cabinets. She'd had trouble with the can opener when opening the peas, and had no more success with the coffee. After she'd fumbled with the recalcitrant utensil for fifteen seconds the man got up and took it away from her. "I'd resigned myself to the worst meals of my life up here," he said as he opened the coffee and set it on the counter. "How come you can cook like an angel but can't work a simple can opener?"

  Randy turned her back to him and measured out the coffee. "That thing must be an antique," she said. "I've never seen anything like it." Actually she was pleased by his compliment, and had to smile when she imagined Linda in these circumstances. Her sister probably would have poisoned the man—unintentionally!

  As they drank their coffee she continued to study him. Something about him seemed familiar—his hair, perhaps, or the masculine way he carried himself. At last it bothered her so much that she asked him if he were sure they'd never met. "I know I've seen you somewhere," she added.

  "I doubt it," he answered, "although I do happen to work for your father."

  Randy almost choked on her coffee. "You mean he knows about this?" she sputtered.

  "You don't suppose I'd go around snatching up my boss' daughter without his permission!" he said. "I'm not crazy."

  Randy's head was spinning. She'd just placed the wavy brown hair and masculine stride. The last time she'd seen him he'd been storming out of her father's office. And the last time she'd heard his voice he'd been smoothly and odiously charming to her. If the phone connection when she'd called her father from Cambridge hadn't been so poor she would have placed the drawl immediately.

  "You're Luke Griffin," she stated. "I don't believe this." His action had a certain logic considering the hotness of his temper, but Randy was amazed that her father had gone along with it. It wasn't like Bill Dunne at all.

  "I'm also Anne Havemeyer's brother-in-law," Luke reminded' her. "You do remember Tom? The guy you've played house with for two weekends? Better to stick with me, Linda. At least I'm single."

  Now that Randy was recovering from the initial shock of discovering the man's identity, her annoyance was beginning to get the better of her. So this was the man her father was so eager to marry her off to! What had he said? That once she'd met Luke she wouldn't stand a chance? Then she remembered Luke Griffin's comments on the phone and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

  "Linda," she informed him in her most withering tone, "was with a man named Roger Bennett for most of last weekend. And she never 'played house' with your brother-in-law. Mostly she just listened to his problems."

  "Roger Bennett, the New York producer?" Luke asked.

  "You know him?"

  "Sure I know him. I took his girlfriend away from him, for a month or so anyway. Or didn't Roger tell you that he lives with someone?"

  Having met Roger Bennett and liked him very much, Randy didn't want to believe that he was involved with anyone else. "He must have broken up with her," she said. "He wouldn't do something like that."

  "You seem to know a lot about him," Luke replied, "considering that you're not Linda."

  "I told you, I've spent the last ten days with my sister," Randy said clearly and slowly, as if talking to a mental incompetent. "I met Roger in Cambridge."

  "Your sister's been in New Hampshire for the last week," Luke contradicted. "Cut the song and dance about Miranda. I was in your father's office when she called. I even spoke to her."

  "And do you want me to recite the conversation?" Randy asked impatiently. She mimicked Luke's final comment to her with devastating accuracy. " 'You can count on it, sweetheart.' Honestly, Luke! If your ego gets any bigger it'll outgrow Manhattan Island! I made that call from Cambridge. I didn't want Dad to worry…"

  "You mean Miranda called you up and told you about it," he interrupted. "We've been through your list of explanations too many times already." He smiled engagingly. "When your sister gets back from New Hampshire she's coming to work for me. Your father has the idea that I would make a perfect husband for her. But I think I'll pass."

  "Really!" Randy decided that Luke Griffin was conceited enough to give even Sean Raley a run for his money. "May I ask what's wrong with her?"

  "Sure. She's too young for me, unlike you. And rumor has it that she's one of the few actresses in Hollywood who could give an authentic portrayal of a vestal virgin—assuming she lost a few pounds. I'm not in the market for a chubby child bride."

  Randy was so aggravated with the man that she felt like throwing her coffee at him. "So who are you?" she asked. "God's gift to the female sex?"

  "A few women have thought so," Luke laughed. "I kind of thought you agreed. You have a lot to look forward to if you behave yourself and do as you're told."

  "In that case I'll be sure not to," Randy retorted. She knew by the sparkle in his eyes that he was only needling her, but couldn't help snapping at the bait. To be called a vestal virgin was bad enough, but chubby? And a child?

  "When my father finds out that you've got me instead of Lin he'll have your head," she warned him. "He's very protective…"

  "Come off it, Linda. I've seen your sister and I've spoken to her on the phone. There's a picture on your father's desk of the two of you and I've seen that, also. One more word about being Miranda and I swear I'll turn you over my knee…" He cut himself off, grinning at her. "But don't worry. I'll make sure you enjoy it as much as I do."

  By now Randy didn't trust herself to speak. The man was totally impossible. He wouldn't listen to a word she said, he was the worst tease she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter, and his self-confidence was so great that it approached epic proportions. It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to rea
lize that she was handling him all wrong. She wasn't sure just what he wanted from Linda, but the simplest way to resolve the situation was to find out and give it to him. She could afford to be charitable—after all, she'd have the last laugh when they met again in New York.

  She finished up her coffee and started to toy with the cup, asking ingenuously, "Where are we, Luke?"

  "It's enough for you to know that we're somewhere in Maine, at a cabin my great-uncle left me. It's a long story—I'll tell you about it sometime. But right now you need to clean up the kitchen and get to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day."

  Randy didn't bother to ask what he meant. As she worked in the kitchen Luke brought in more wood from outside, stacking it on the hearth. Randy quickly realized that there was no heat in the cabin beyond what was provided by the fire.

  Luke brushed off his pants, yawned and stretched. "Unless you want to freeze your beautiful backside off, leave your bedroom door open. It gets cold here at night. And if you want a shower do it now, because I turn the water heater onto pilot at night to save gas. Everything has to be flown in."

  There was no lock on the bathroom door and Randy was half-afraid that Luke would try to stroll in and watch her, but he apparently had more finesse than that. The long-sleeved, high-necked flannel nightgown wasn't the kind of sleepwear that drove men mad, so she wasn't particularly concerned when she opened the door to find him standing just outside—until he dropped a hand onto her shoulder. No man, she told herself, had the right to be so sexy, especially not Luke Griffin. His closeness made her pulses race, but she forced a boredom into her voice that she was far from feeling.

  "Did you want something?" she asked coolly.

  He studied her detached expression for an uncomfortably long moment, then removed his hand. Since Randy was trapped between the wall and his body there was no need for him to actually touch her in order to detain her. "Yes, I want something," he murmured.

  He twined a large hand through her hair to gently pull her head up and placed his other hand on her neck, the thumb lightly caressing her jaw. Randy met his gaze with a level stare, resolutely ignoring the fact that his hands were scorching her face. He kissed her softly on the mouth, rubbing his lips back and forth over her own, but she refused to respond. Fortunately he didn't persist, but straightened up and shook his head, smiling. "But it doesn't look like I'll get it tonight." Then he walked into the bathroom, closing the door just a little too hard.

  Back in her own room Randy snuggled under the goosedown covers and curled up into a tight ball, trying to warm up. She'd won a minor victory just now and permitted herself the luxury of relishing it. Luke was obviously annoyed that she hadn't tumbled straight into his bed, and her rejection must have been all the more galling since he thought it had come from a woman who'd allegedly had more lovers than she could count.

  But as pleasant as it was to put Luke in his place for once, it hadn't solved anything. She was still in Maine with a man who thought she was her sister. She only prayed that her father never got wind of Luke's mistake, because despite her previous threat, that was actually the last thing she wanted. Knowing William Dunne, he would either fire Luke Griffin, in which case C & D would lose a highly talented executive, or else he'd get out his figurative shotgun, which would be highly embarrassing for everyone concerned.

  At least, Randy thought with a yawn, Luke wasn't the ambitious fortune hunter she'd taken him for. She wasn't flattered by his inaccurate view of her, or by the realization that he'd only been teasing her on the phone, but it was nice to know that the man had some integrity.

  She stretched and yawned again, suddenly terrifically sleepy. It was so peaceful and lovely here—wherever in Maine "here" was. As isolated and restful as New Hampshire would have been, but with some very lovely modern conveniences.

  The wind had come up a bit and was rustling gently through the trees. Randy thought she heard the sound of running water, and the soft tones of an owl hooting filled the night. She pulled up the quilt a little higher and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Four

  "Linda!" Randy jerked awake at the sound of her sister's name. For a moment, disoriented, she couldn't remember where she was. Then she noticed Luke Griffin and the events of the day before came flooding back.

  He was standing in the doorway wearing a knee-length terrycloth robe, looking anything but cheerful. It was so cozy in bed that Randy said beseechingly, "Luke, it's so cold. Why on earth do I have to get up?"

  "Because I'm hungry and I want some breakfast, and because you're going to make it for me." He paused. "Unless you want me to join you in bed, that is," he added.

  Yesterday when he'd made those kind of comments he'd kept a smile on his face and a teasing note in his voice. This morning, however, he was as irritable as a child who'd lost his favorite toy. Randy figured that he was either one of those people who are cranky until they've had their second cup of coffee in the morning, or else he was still annoyed about spending the night alone.

  She reluctantly pulled herself up. With her tousled hair and flannel nightgown she looked like the child Luke had labeled her the night before. They stared at each other for several long seconds before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Randy soon heard him poking viciously at the fire, then throwing on a couple of extra logs.

  Amused by his sour mood, she put on Linda's bathrobe and slippers and trotted into the living room. Given the fact that Luke refused to believe her explanations, it seemed logical to attempt to change his mind with her behavior. He considered Linda spoiled and selfish, so she'd confront him with someone who was solicitous and accommodating. Given her basic nature, it wouldn't be too difficult.

  "What do you feel like eating?" she asked him.

  He gave the fire a final poke and turned around. "Bacon and eggs. Two, over easy. Coffee and toast. And step on it, Linda. I'm starving," he said grumpily.

  Heat from the fire and the smell of frying bacon soon filled the cabin. As soon as the coffee was brewed Randy filled a mug and brought it over to Luke, who was now sitting at the table. He didn't bother to thank her when she set it down in front of him.

  There was at least one positive note to this whole insane experience, Randy decided—her appetite was again as healthy as it had been six months ago. She made herself a breakfast almost as large as Luke's and ate it just as quickly as he did.

  "I can't figure out where you put it," he muttered.

  Randy suspected that she'd only be wasting her time to tell him, but answered with a smile, "Sure you can. You've seen the diaper commercial, although it did make me look heavier than I really was at the time." She paid no attention to his frown, but went on blithely, "I've lost a lot of weight over the last six months, but I'm going to enjoy gaining some of it back. I love to eat, but usually I have to watch the scale with a microscope."

  Luke tipped his chair onto the two back legs, looking down his nose at her. "What did I tell you would happen if you brought that up again?" he asked.

  Randy could tell that his mood had improved, presumably the result of a full stomach, but decided not to press her luck. Her apology was very meek, but then her sense of humor took over, prompting her to add in a vexed undertone, "It's just so hard to remember that I'm supposed to be Linda."

  He began to get up, a determined look on his face, and Randy bolted out of her seat and fetched the coffee pot to top off his mug. Her attentiveness seemed to placate him.

  She washed up the dishes as Luke dressed. She'd just finished wiping the counters when he emerged from his bedroom dressed in worn jeans, work boots, a wool shirt and a vee-neck sweater. "I'm going out to cut some wood," he told her. "Get dressed and come help me."

  Randy did so, wishing that Luke had packed something other than Linda's expensive leather jacket. It was lined with fur and quite warm, but hardly suitable for dragging wood around in. Luke Griffin, she decided, could darn well pay for a new jacket if this one got scratched.

  At first Randy en
joyed the exercise involved in helping Luke with the wood, especially since the air was crisp and clear and the wooded hills a joy to the senses. But after forty minutes of holding up branches while he cut them with a gas-powered saw she started to feel muscles she never knew she had. Twenty minutes later she removed her coat, sweaty and a little achy.

  "Isn't this enough wood?" she asked. "We aren't going to stay here all summer, are we?"

  Luke put down the saw. "Okay. Get busy carrying it." To Randy's utter astonishment he sat down at the base of a large tree, took out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one up. The message was clear enough. He expected her to carry the logs to the woodpile near the cabin while he sat there and supervised.

  She was an affable woman, but her affability didn't extend quite that far. "I could use some help," she pointed out.

  "Maybe." Luke took a few drags on his cigarette before he went on. "But it seems to me that all your life you've had men running in circles trying to please you. You need to learn that you can't walk all over me."

  Randy had never met a man who could spark her temper so easily. It was all she could do to count to five before answering, "I wouldn't dream of walking all over you, but I'm not going to carry the logs while you sit there like the Maharajah of Ranchipoor, Luke."

  "I don't recall giving you a choice," he said.

  There was no point stalking away; Luke would only bolt up and stop her. "And if I refuse?" Randy asked.

  "I'm not giving you that option."

  By now Randy was ready to pray for divine intercession to prevent her from trying to strangle the man. She folded her arms across her chest, shot him a look that oozed exasperation and announced firmly, "Yesterday you laid out your ground rules and today I'm laying out mine. I assume my father must have seen some dim glimmer of intelligence and common sense in you in order to have hired you away from Stockman's, and I will further assume that eventually either one quality or the other will manifest itself and you'll take me home. Until that happy hour arrives, however, I'm willing to do only so much. I'll do the cooking in the interest of assuring myself decent meals and I'll do the cleaning up because watching me work seems to bring you an inordinate amount of satisfaction." She saw a smile tugging at Luke's mouth but couldn't be sure whether he was laughing at her clipped little speech or at his own overbearing behavior. "I'm an active person and I like to keep busy," she continued, "so I'll even help with whatever needs to be done at your cabin. You'll notice, Mr. Griffin, that I used the word 'help.' I won't play the slave to your taskmaster, and I promise you that if you so much as lay a finger on me to try to force me to do so, my father will skin you alive." Recalling his words of the day before she concluded briskly, "Just keep all that in mind and we'll do fine together."