Stormy Vows

by Iris Johansen

  “You're damn right I do,” he said bluntly. “This isn't some storybook. This is real life, Brenna. There's always a price tag on everything. Sometimes it's hidden, but the price is there. In this case, I don't think you'll find it hard to pay.”

  Brenna shivered. “You make it sound so… business-like,” she said unhappily.

  “I think I can promise you it won't be at all business-like once we're in bed,” he said dryly. “We really turn each other on, remember? I told you once I don't play games. I like all the cards on the table. For saving your son for you, all I want is your word that you won't leave me until I tell you to go.”

  Brenna's mouth twisted wryly. “Yet you retain the right to toss me aside whenever you get bored with me,” she said sadly. “Jake said you always had an escape clause written into every contract.”

  There was a flicker of emotion deep in Donovan's eyes before he looked away. “That's right, I do,” he said coolly. “Do I have your promise?”

  Brenna's throat was tight and aching as she looked at Donovan's hard, expressionless face. She had a fleeting memory of another Donovan walking with her hand in hand through the woods. Why did it hurt so much to realize she might never reach further than the physical with this man?

  “Yes, you have my promise,” she said wearily.

  “Good,” Donovan said briskly, as if he had never expected anything else. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead as if she were a small child. “You'd better get to bed. You're exhausted. I'll see you tomorrow.”

  Her face must have reflected her surprise, for a sardonic smile twisted Donovan's mouth. “You expected me to drag you off to bed once I had your word? You must have had some poor lovers, Brenna. Now that I have a commitment from you, I can wait.” He grimaced. “Not long, but I can wait.” She was staring after him, still speechless, when the door closed behind him.

  eight

  BRENNA SIPPED HER CHAMPAGNE, GAZING over the crowded living room with a curious feeling of remoteness. It was almost as if she were a guest and not the central figure at this wedding reception. There was no possibility of her occupying center stage with Michael Donovan in the same scene, she thought wryly. Even the glamour surrounding the bride was eclipsed by a groom with Donovan's dynamic charisma.

  Not that she had been neglected. On the contrary, she had been fussed over and toadied to, to such an extent that she was forced to move to this quiet corner to escape. She had no illusions that it was her own charm that had instigated such an effusive display. Two hours ago the little nobody actress had become Mrs. Michael Donovan, and so must be cultivated. She had the ear of the throne.

  “A bride for such a short time and left all alone? Michael isn't usually so careless with his possessions.” Jake Dominic's mocking voice made her look up quickly. Devastatingly attractive, as usual, in conventional black evening clothes, he was a welcome sight to Brenna, after putting up with the fawning sycophants all evening.

  “He appears to be busy,” Brenna said calmly, her eyes searching out Donovan's red head in a far corner of the room, as he bent to listen attentively to a distinguished gray-haired man.

  “Judge Simon Arthington, State Supreme Court Judge,” Jake said thoughtfully. “And before that, I saw him with Senator Atkins. Unusual company to cultivate on one's wedding day, wouldn't you say?”

  “Perhaps he's just being a good host,” Brenna said evasively. “They are friends of his, aren't they?”

  “Oh, they're friends of his,” Jake said cynically. “Michael is a very generous contributor to their campaign funds. They're very fond of him.” He looked around the room distastefully. “I see several other ‘friends' of Michael's here.” He shrugged, and turned to smile charmingly at her. “Have I told you how lovely you are tonight? You're something out of Tolstoy.”

  She smiled back at him, wrinkling her nose saucily. “I should be. I was too busy slaving for you to go shopping, so Michael had wardrobe run me up this little number. I have an idea it was originally meant for a remake of War and Peace.”

  All joking aside, she really loved the gown. It was an exquisitely simple garment in lemon yellow, embroidered with white daisies. The empire cut and low round neck merely hinted gracefully at the smallness of her waist and hips, but boldly accented the swell of her breasts. She wore no jewelry and only a garland of daisies on her head. Her hair had been brushed to a sensuous silken sheen and allowed to fall almost to her waist, to complement the romantic aura of the gown.

  “Oh, yes, Michael was in a great hurry for this wedding, wasn't he?” Jake asked casually. “But not too hurried to arrange this elaborate reception for you, Brenna. I suppose you're very fond of parties. Most women are.”

  Brenna made a face. “I hate them,” she said frankly. “This kind, at least. I enjoyed the one on the set yesterday, to celebrate the end of the picture. Michael made all the arrangements for the wedding and reception.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Jake said softly, black eyes gleaming. “I happen to know that Michael is bored to death at parties. He never attends one unless it's absolutely necessary for business reasons. Then, when he's finished, he's usually found in a corner, munching dip and glowering bad-temperedly. Yet on the most private and personal event of his life, he throws an elaborate party, invites people he couldn't care less about, except to use. And he proceeds to ignore his beautiful bride, who he's obviously crazy about, and spends his time cultivating judges and senators!” Jake's expression was as alert and watchful as a pouncing cat as he asked mildly, “You wouldn't know anything about all this, would you, Brenna?”

  Brenna looked down at her champagne. “Why should I know anything?” she asked quietly. “Michael always does what he wants to do.”

  Jake's eyebrows rose cynically. “And if you do, you're not about to satisfy my curiosity,” he said knowingly.

  Brenna looked up, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Exactly,” she said succinctly.

  He sighed. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “I couldn't get anything out of Michael, either.”

  “Why should you bother, Jake?” Brenna asked curiously. “Michael knows what he's doing.”

  “None better,” Jake agreed lightly. “I suppose I'm feeling a touch of unaccustomed responsibility. I've never been a best man before.”

  “You were very convincing,” Brenna assured him solemnly. “You and Nora practically stole the show. It was nice of Nora to be my maid of honor, wasn't it?”

  “She likes you,” Jake said simply. “The whole crew likes you. You're a very popular person, Brenna Sloan. I even like you.”

  Brenna sketched a mocking curtsy, her brown eyes dancing at such a graceless compliment from a man who was reputed to have one of the smoothest lines in the world. “I am duly honored,” she said demurely.

  “You should be,” he said dryly. “I don't think I've ever told a woman I liked her before. It may be a first for the Guinness Book of World Records.”

  Brenna let out a little bubble of laughter. Dominic cocked his head, a pleased smile on his face, “I do like that laugh of yours. Most women giggle or tinkle. You sort of gurgle like running water. You should do it more often.”

  “Working under you isn't a matter for laughter, Jake Dominic,” Brenna said severely. “You almost killed me.”

  “You held up better than most actresses would.” He shrugged. “You have stamina.”

  It was a compliment to be treasured from Jake Dominic, and Brenna began to feel as if the heartbreaking, exhausting work may have been worth it after all.

  “I saw the final rushes last night,” Jake said slowly. “They were good.” He took a sip of his champagne. “You were damn good.”

  Brenna's eyes flew to his face.

  He looked at her steadily, taking his time. “You were so good, that everyone in the audience is going to wonder why Dirk jilted you for Nora.” He frowned teasingly. “You've endangered the credibility of my masterpiece.”

  “Jake, do you mean…” Brenn
a trailed off breathlessly, afraid to continue.

  “I mean that you were great,” he said simply. “I mean that Donovan has not only got himself a wife, he's got himself a new star.”

  “Jake!” Brenna exclaimed exuberantly, launching herself into his arms. Careless of their champagne glasses, and the glances of the amused guests, she hugged him ecstatically.

  They were both laughing hilariously, Jake holding her around the waist with one arm, while he rescued the champagne glasses with the other, when Brenna felt a hand on her shoulder.

  Donovan plucked her neatly from Jake's embrace, to rest possessively in the curve of his arm. “Mine, I believe,” he said coolly to Jake. Then his eyes went to Brenna, and her smile faded as she met the dangerous glint in his. “I'm happy to see you're enjoying yourself, my dear,” he said silkily. “It's the most animation I've seen you display today.”

  “Take it easy, Michael,” Jake advised softly. “She was just happy. I told her about the rushes.”

  Donovan's tension relaxed fractionally, but his tone was still less than cordial when he said, “I've had enough of this charade, Brenna. It's time we left.”

  Dominic raised his eyebrow and gave Brenna an I-told-youso glance. “I would slip away quietly if you want to avoid the usual embarrassing remarks and foolishness. My car is parked in front of the residence hall.” He handed Donovan the keys. “I wouldn't suggest you use your Mercedes. I heard some of the stunt boys plotting to rig up yours à la James Bond.”

  A reluctant smile creased Donovan's face, as he shook his head ruefully. “My God! What will they be up to next? Thanks, Jake.”

  With Dominic urbanely covering their retreat, Donovan and Brenna quietly exited through the kitchen door, and made their way quickly up the path in the direction of the residence hall.

  “I've arranged to have Randy and Doris Charles moved from their quarters to my home tomorrow,” Donovan said abruptly. “I thought under the circumstances that we would dispense with the usual honeymoon nonsense and just go directly there tonight.”

  Brenna was aware that Donovan had his own home a short distance away from the main complex of Twin Pines, so this decision came as no surprise to her. Donovan's workload for the next few months would be staggering with both the post-production for Forgotten Moment and the start of the filming of Wild Heritage on the agenda. Brenna was surprised at the curiously defensive note in Donovan's usually urbane manner. Had he really thought that she would expect the usual romantic trappings despite the conditions of her marriage?

  “Yes, of course,” she said serenely. “It would be a foolish gesture when you have such a full schedule.”

  For some reason the sweet reasonableness of this statement seemed to only increase Donovan's irritation and a black scowl clouded his face. “How very sensible of you,” he said caustically. “And how lucky I am to have such a pragmatic bride.”

  Pragmatic? That was hardly the correct word to describe her mood at this moment, she thought. She was married to this redheaded dynamo, who had taken charge of her life, and changed it out of all recognition. This was her wedding night. In a short time, she would give herself to him in the most intimate, physical sense. Why wasn't she frightened, she wondered. She was excited, nervous, and even shy, but not frightened.

  Donovan was moodily silent on the short drive to his home, and it was only as they pulled into the curving driveway and halted before an extremely large, two-story house of mellow pink brick, that the silence was broken.

  “It's perfectly lovely,” Brenna said softly, gazing at the house.

  It was lovely. There was an indescribable beauty about the house with it's wide bay windows and climbing ivy. It had a subtle air of welcoming warmth and permanency about it, that was at odds with the rest of the modern style architecture of Twin Pines.

  Donovan smiled mockingly. “You're surprised? I thought you would be. When I had the house built, I told the architect I wanted it to look like it had been here for a hundred years and would be here for another hundred. I live a fast life that has constantly changing values. I like the idea of having some semblance of permanence to come home to.

  “There are no live-in servants,” he went on coolly. “I have a woman from town, a Mrs. Haskins, who comes daily and two girls who come in twice a week. Besides that there is the gardener and all-around handyman, Joe Peters. Oh, yes. I've recently hired a chauffeur for you, Bob Phillips.”

  She looked at him, startled. “I don't need a driver,” she protested. “I wouldn't know what to do with one.”

  “You're a lady of substance now,” he said mockingly. “You'll get used to it.”

  She doubted that. But looking around the foyer a few minutes later, she knew she would have no problem getting used to this aspect of Donovan's wealth. There was nothing pretentious about the decor. She had half-expected antiques after Donovan's statement in the car, but this was not the case. The house was decorated in no particular period, and with only one general theme: comfort. Every piece of furniture that graced the house had the mellow patina of expert craftsmanship, lovingly executed.

  “I think coffee is in order, after all that champagne,” Donovan said briskly. “I want to talk.” He gestured to the double door in richly glowing mahogany. “If you'd like to go into the library and make yourself comfortable, I'll bring it through.”

  “Couldn't I go with you?” she asked impulsively.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Why not?” he asked with a shrug, and she followed him down the hall to the large bright kitchen done entirely in sunshine yellow and white.

  “Sit down,” he said casually, waving to the breakfast bar with its high stools upholstered in rich white leather. “I'll be with you in a minute.”

  As Brenna perched on a high stool and watched him as he measured coffee into the chrome percolator, she thought what an incongruous sight they must present in their ultra-modern surroundings. She in her romantic finery and Donovan in dark formal evening clothes. He did not wear evening clothes with the same air of being born to them as Jake Dominic, she mused. Despite the faultless tailoring, the smooth material seemed to confine rather than cover the powerful shoulders, and led one to wonder at the untamed body beneath the civilized trappings. She felt a sudden surge of liquid weakness in her every limb at the sheer raw virility of the man as he prowled about the kitchen at his homely tasks.

  He looked up suddenly and surprised her looking at him. His hands were arrested for a moment, as he effortlessly read the message that she was scarcely aware she was projecting.

  “If you don't stop looking at me like that, I won't be responsible,” he said huskily. “And I've got to talk to you.”

  She flushed, and looked down at her hands loosely folded on the yellow countertop. “I don't know what you mean.”

  “You do, but I won't argue with you,” he said roughly. “I've made a decision that I thought would suit you down to the ground, but it won't work if you keep throwing out signals. I want you too much.”

  She looked up in bewilderment, her doe eyes wide and asking in their frame of dark lashes.

  “I've decided to give you a little more time before you fulfill your part of our little bargain,” he said bluntly. “God knows how long I'll last, but I figure I can hold out for a week or so.”

  A cold sinking lethargy washed over her in a chilly tide that confused and frightened her. Why did she feel this sudden sense of loss?

  “I see,” she said quietly. “May I ask why you're being so generous?”

  His mouth twisted cynically. “Perhaps I'm developing a taste for the joys of self-denial and abstention,” he said dryly. “Or perhaps those big brown eyes of yours make me feel like a hunter out of season.”

  “That's very kind of you,” she said lifelessly. “I appreciate your consideration.”

  “You're damn right it is,” he said frowning. “I guess the truth is, I've never had to blackmail a woman to get her into bed with me before. It's leaving a bad taste in my mouth.�
�

  He suddenly reminded Brenna, rather endearingly, of a small boy who had been told that Christmas had been canceled this year.

  “I thought I'd give you a chance to get to know me,” he said gruffly. “Perhaps we could be friends. We seemed to be doing pretty well on the island, before you got into that damn bathtub.”

  Brenna hid an amused smile at the accusing tone of the statement. She wondered if he had conveniently forgotten that he had ordered her into that bathtub.

  “Do you think it will work?” she asked solemnly, her eyes twinkling. She was suddenly feeling wonderfully lighthearted.

  “Hell, I don't know!” he growled sourly. “But the alternate is to forget about the coffee, and I take you upstairs and don't let you out of that bedroom for a week.”

  “I see,” she said earnestly. “Well, then perhaps we'd better try.” An impish grin curved her lips, and her brown eyes were shining mischievously. “After all, I wouldn't want to take you away from your work.”

  There was a trace of disgruntled conjecture in the blue eyes, as Donovan took in the demure smile on Brenna's face.

  “Don't get too cocky,” he said warningly. “It's only a postponement, not a reprieve.”

  “Who knows what can happen in a week,” she said breezily. “You may decide I don't appeal to you. After all, I'm not your regulation sex goddess.”

  “No, you're not,” he agreed, his eyes suddenly dark and intense , as he came slowly forward to stand before her. There was a breathless electricity in the air, as he reached out with one finger and traced the fine contour of her cheekbone. “You're much too thin; a strong wind could blow you away. Your face is lovely, but I've seen lovelier. Except for your eyes, it's not an outstanding face.” He cradled her face in his hands with a yearning tenderness. “And then you smile, and all I want to do is pick you up and carry you away somewhere, so that you'll never give that special smile to anyone but me.” His lips touched hers gently. “You're much more dangerous to a man than any sex goddess, sweetheart.”