Stormy Vows

by Iris Johansen

  A deep chuckle rumbled from the chest under her hands. “If you don't stop that, you're going to be asked to prove it,” he said dryly, his blue eyes twinkling. “And as much as I lust after that luscious young body of yours, I still think we need to talk.” He drew her down on the couch, and pulled her around so that she was half-sitting, half-lying in his arms. He kissed her lingeringly.

  “Do we really have to talk?” Brenna asked yearningly, one finger lazily tracing the well-defined curve of his upper lip. He caught her hand and held it firmly.

  “We do,” he said with determination, his mouth twisting. “I want everything clear, all cards on the table. We're not going to have any more problems due to misconceptions. We've wasted too much time already.”

  She sighed deeply, and his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the delicious curve of her breast under the melon silk shirt. His hand reached out, as if to caress those tempting mounds before he stopped with an effort.

  “I think we'd better talk very quickly,” he said huskily. “Who'd ever have guessed you'd turn out to be such a passionate little witch. You're a constant temptation to me, love.”

  She smiled, her eyes embracing him with such a dazzling wealth of love that he caught his breath. “Only for you,” she whispered. “I only want you, Michael.”

  “It had better stay that way,” he threatened jokingly, his hand tenderly stroking her hair. “I've been wild with jealousy since the moment we met. That actor at the theater, Paul Chadeaux, even Jake.”

  “Not Jake,” she said unbelievingly. “You know Jake would never violate your friendship.”

  “With my mind, maybe, but my emotions were another matter. I know, better than most, what a rake he can be, and women fall for that devil's face of his like a ton of bricks. You wouldn't be the first to develop a passion for him without Jake even making the effort.”

  “Yes, he is utterly devastating,” Brenna agreed teasingly. “I can't think why I prefer ugly, bad-tempered Irishmen.”

  “Shall I tell you,” he asked mischievously, and bent to whisper in her ear.

  A blush crept over her, but she met his eyes challengingly. “Promises, promises,” she taunted.

  “Exactly,” he said succinctly, and she flushed again, her fingers playing with a button on his shirt as she avoided his eyes.

  “Did you really know you loved me that first day?” she asked curiously.

  He nodded, his face suddenly serious. “It was as if the roof fell in. I didn't know what hit me. At first, I thought it was just lust, but before you left that day I knew it was a hell of a lot more than that.” He closed his eyes, and said slowly, “It was tenderness, and passion, and a crazy kind of nostalgia.” He opened his eyes, and they were dark with feeling. “A longing for home, and you were that home. I wanted to cherish and protect you till the day you died.”

  Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Yet when you offered me our bargain, you said it would only last until you grew bored and told me to go,” she said.

  “That meant forever, because I could never tell you to go,” he said quietly.

  She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat, and said lightly. “That's all very well, Donovan, but you could let a girl know.”

  He touched the tip of her nose lightly. “You haven't been exactly communicative yourself, brown eyes. How could I confess eternal love to you, when you didn't even trust me enough to tell me about the baby?”

  “Randy?” Brenna asked, puzzled, “but you knew…”

  “No, our baby.” Donovan interrupted impatiently. “Don't you think it's time we talked about it?” He stroked the arch of her brow with a caressing finger. “Did you think there was any chance at all that I wouldn't want your baby?”

  “Our baby?” Brenna asked blankly.

  Donovan gazed at her bewildered face, and his brows arched in surprise. He gave a low whistle. “Well, I'll be damned. You didn't know.” He chuckled. “Didn't they teach you where babies come from in that orphanage?”

  Brenna sat bolt upright, as her mind scrambled to assimilate and correlate the evidence that substantiated Donovan's astounding statement.

  “I'm going to have a baby!” she announced incredulously. “But how did you guess?”

  “Hardly a guess,” he said dryly, his blue eyes dancing. “If you'll recall I've had an intimate and pleasurable knowledge of that lovely body of yours for the past three months.” He grinned teasingly. “Unlike you, I was anticipating just such an occurrence. In fact, I was planning on it. It was going to be one of the ties that bound you to me.”

  “A baby!” she hugged him ecstatically. “When?” and she started counting back mentally.

  His arms went around her. “I figure about a month before the Academy Awards,” he drawled. “That'll give you time to get back that sylphlike slimness, before you collect your Oscar for best supporting actress.”

  She ignored his gentle teasing, as she buried her face in his shoulder. “I may decide to give up acting,” she said dreamily. “I may not have the time once the baby is born.”

  His amusement was abruptly stilled, as he pushed her away from him with a stern hand. His face was serious as he said, “Listen, Brenna, I might be a bit of a chauvinist, but I didn't get you pregnant to turn you into just another house frau. I admit my instincts are to lock you up in a harem and throw away the key, but I'm a realist. I want you to be so damn happy that you'll never want to leave me. You're an intelligent and gifted actress, and I want that part of you to be just as fulfilled as the wife and mother. So when the baby's born, you go back to work.” He kissed her lightly. “We'll arrange things so that you can do both.”

  “Monty warned me that you were a slave driver,” she said, smiling mistily. “He also said that it was worth it.”

  His hand tilted her head back. “It will be, my love. I promise you. It will be.” And his lips closed on hers.

  Tempest

  at Sea

  one

  IT WAS SHORTLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT WHEN the yellow Volkswagen drew to a surreptitious halt on the deserted dock. A sudden gust of wind swirled the light fog in gossamer wisps around the small car, and caused the three artificial daisies fastened to the antenna to bob with jaunty cheerfulness. The headlights flicked out and the two women occupants peered cautiously out the windshield at the dimly lit pier that was their destination.

  “I told you it would be all right,” Jane Smith said cheerfully, grinning at the older girl, in the driver's seat. “Les said there wouldn't be anyone around at this time of night. There's only one night watchman, and he doesn't make his rounds for another two hours.”

  Penny Lassiter shook her head in exasperation. “Good Lord, Jane, this is a private marina. We could be arrested for trespassing. As for what else you're planning, they'd probably lock you up and throw away the key.” She ran her fingers worriedly through her glossy brown hair, as she made one last attempt to dissuade her friend from the reckless course she had chosen.

  “Nonsense,” Jane said sturdily. “It may be technically illegal, but it's not as if I'm going to do anything really criminal. I'm doing this only to make a statement and gain enough publicity so that our petition will gain momentum. Besides, Les says that if I'm caught, the court will probably let me off with just a warning. They're always lenient with student demonstrators.”

  Penny Lassiter arched her eyebrow skeptically. “If it's so safe, why doesn't Les Billings do the job himself instead of letting you take all the risks?”

  Jane smothered a little sigh as she gazed at her friend's worried face. She knew that Penny had neither liked nor trusted Les Billings since he had joined their antinuclear society a few months before. Penny had a deep and sincere belief in what they were doing in trying to stop the building of the new nuclear power plant north of Miami, but Les Billings's ideas for accomplishing this aim were too radical and dangerous, in her estimation.

  “Les couldn't be the one to do it,” Jane explained patiently. “He was the one who went o
n board with the food delivery to case the ship. If anyone saw him, they might recognize him. It's much less likely that I'd be noticed.”

  “Case the ship?” Penny echoed incredulously. “My Lord, you even sound like an experienced second-story man.” She bit her lip worriedly, her eyes on Jane's determined face. “Oh, damn, why did I have to let you become involved with this group at all? I should have known that you wouldn't be satisfied with marching or collecting signatures on a petition. You don't even know the meaning of halfway measures. You just rush in full speed ahead and think you can set the whole world right.” She frowned. “Well, this is a little more serious than the collection of strays and derelicts you're always bringing home to the dorm. This could be big trouble.”

  “Yes, little mother,” Jane said soothingly, “but it won't be, I promise you.” She'd become used to Penny's maternal lectures in the year that they'd been roommates at the University of Miami, but she never made the mistake of becoming impatient or undervaluing the affection that provoked them. After losing her parents as a small child and living the gypsy life of an army brat under her grandfather's stern guardianship, she'd learned the hard way that love was a treasure that must never be taken for granted.

  But Penny was steadily ignoring Jane's attempts to reassure her in this case. Her gaze was now traveling unhappily over Jane's petite figure, garbed in a black turtleneck sweater and dark jeans. Her small feet were encased in black canvas sneakers. In the black shapeless sweater, she looked nearer fifteen than twenty. “And you're insane if you think you won't be noticed and remembered if you're spotted on that yacht.”

  “Oh, but I've got that covered,” Jane said mischievously, as she began tucking her short mass of curls beneath a black ribbed stocking cap. “Or I will have soon.”

  “I wasn't referring to your hair, damn it,” Penny said in a thoroughly exasperated tone. She shrugged helplessly at Jane's disbelieving expression. It was a long-standing argument between them that Jane persisted in believing herself plain and insignificant, despite Penny's insistence to the contrary. Jane passionately hated the blazing red of her mop of silky hair that refused to do anything but curl riotously around her heart-shaped face, and she contemptuously referred to her strange golden eyes, framed in extravagant dark lashes, as “cat eyes.” It was true that Jane's features, except for the huge eyes, were nondescript, but there was a certain tender curve to her lower lip and a mobile vitality to her expression that made them hauntingly memorable. In this case, dangerously so.

  She reluctantly relinquished that argument, but immediately attacked from another angle. “You even look like some kind of a cat burglar. Is all this necessary?”

  Jane grinned as she admitted sheepishly, “I don't really know, but they always dress like this in the movies. I figured that there must be some reason for it.”

  “The whole affair makes no sense at all,” Penny argued desperately. “Why pick on Jake Dominic's yacht for your demonstration? He has nothing to do with the building of the nuclear plant.”

  “Publicity,” Jane said tersely. “Jake Dominic's just finished directing a motion picture that has a pronuclear slant. Les chose Dominic because he says that it will attract more attention than if we'd picked an ordinary businessman.”

  It was a fact that couldn't be disputed, much as Penny would have liked to discredit Billings in any way she could. Jake Dominic was the original golden boy. He had fallen heir to the fabulous Dominic shipping fortune at twenty-five and had promptly delegated authority in the corporation to continue to pursue his passion for directing films. In the past twelve years, Dominic's brilliance and fantastic success in his chosen field had been rivaled only by his scandalous and dissolute personal life. His wild escapades and numerous affairs had made him the sought-after prey of eager journalists in every country in the world.

  “Yes, the newspapers will probably plaster the story all over the front page,” Penny concurred gloomily. “Together with the account of your arrest and jail sentence.”

  Jane shook her friend's arm reprovingly. “Stop talking like that,” she ordered cheerfully, “I'm not about to get caught. We have it all worked out.” She reached in the back seat for her backpack, and as she strapped it on she continued soothingly, “Look, Penny, it will all be over in another hour. All I have to do is to row out to Dominic's yacht and climb the anchor line to get on board. I make my way to Dominic's cabin and write my message on the wall. Then I leave my backpack with the bomb in it in the cabin and row back to the pier.” She tightened the strap of her backpack and smiled winningly. “Then you pick me up here and take me out for a well-deserved pizza. Your treat. It's another three days before I get my monthly insurance check.”

  Penny Lassiter flinched. “I wish you'd forget about that bomb, and just write your blasted statement on the wall,” she said unhappily.

  Jane shook her head stubbornly. “They might ignore the graffiti. We need to make them angry enough to make a fuss.” She shrugged. “After all, it's not as if it were a real explosive. It's just a stink bomb. Les made it himself at the chemistry lab,” she continued with satisfaction. “He says that when it goes off, it will cause a positively nauseating odor that will permeate the whole cabin and all the furnishings.”

  “Well, that should upset them enough to content even Les Billings,” Penny said sardonically. “And what, may I ask, is Jake Dominic supposed to be doing while you're redecorating his cabin? No one could sleep through all that.”

  “No problem,” Jane said blithely. “He's still in New York. There was a picture in the morning paper of Dominic and his latest mistress at Club 54.” She frowned. “It's really too bad that he's not here. We'd get much more press coverage if he were on the spot.”

  “And it would also be much more dangerous,” Penny said firmly, seeing the speculative gleam in Jane's golden eyes.

  “Perhaps you're right,” Jane said impishly. “If Dominic were here, I'd have to worry about stumbling over not only him but his latest bedmate. You know that Dominic always takes a woman on his cruises.”

  “You've been reading the gossip columns again,” Penny said absently, her worried eyes on Jane's glowing face. “Jane, don't do this,” she urged seriously. “It's not worth the risk.”

  “Of course it is,” Jane said firmly, her golden eyes alight yet serene. “If you believe in something and it has value for you, then any risk is worthwhile.” She leaned over and kissed Penny lightly on the cheek. “Relax, Penny. It's going to go off smooth as silk.”

  Penny shook her head slowly, her brown eyes oddly sad. “They'll probably crucify you,” she said quietly. “This cynical old world doesn't have a place for people who care as much as you do, Jane.”

  “Then, I'll just have to make a place for myself, won't I?” she asked tranquilly, as she opened the door and jumped out. “Remember, be back here in one hour,” she said, and she slammed the door. With a jaunty wave of her hand, she hurried toward the pier, where the rowboat waited.

  Jane Smith cautiously opened the cabin door and slipped noiselessly inside, closing it after her with the utmost care. She leaned against the door in the stygian darkness for a brief moment and tried to still the rapid beating of her heart.

  Despite her brave words to Penny, she was finding her first attempt at housebreaking—or was it yacht-breaking—a terrifying experience. She closed her eyes for a second and relived the panicky, helpless feeling she'd known as she had clung like a koala bear to the anchor line while she'd worked her way up hand over hand, inching toward the deck that had seemed a mile above her, while the threatening darkness of the sea waited for her first mistake.

  Once she had reached the deck there was no difficulty in finding Dominic's cabin, thanks to the rough map Les had drawn, which she'd faithfully memorized. Still, it was a bit nerve-racking to be cast in the role of an intruder, even if your cause was just. Well, the sooner she got the job done, the sooner she could get out of here. Her eyes had now become used to the darkness, and she co
uld dimly distinguish the shape of a king-sized bed a yard or so away and various pieces of furniture scattered around the room. On the far side of the cabin, she could discern the outlines of a large porthole. She would have to use the wall opposite the bed, she decided.

  Undoing the straps of the backpack, she pulled it off and un-fastened the pouch, extracting the can of red spray paint. She silently glided forward, going around the bed. The floor was obviously lavishly carpeted, she noted, as her sneakered feet sank into the cushioned softness without making a sound. Her hands swiftly explored the paneled smoothness for art plaques or paintings. All she needed to do was to destroy one of Dominic's masterpieces, she thought grimly. She'd read that he was as ardent a collector of art as he was of women. The area was clear. She breathed a sigh of relief and backed away, aiming the nozzle of the spray can carefully. She fleetingly considered flipping on the light, but discarded the idea immediately. It would be too risky, and the message just had to be readable, not a thing of beauty.

  She pressed her finger on the button and released a stream of paint, her arm moving in sweeping movements over the surface of the wall. It went quite quickly, and in a few minutes she neatly recapped the paint can and dropped it into her pouch. Her hands fumbled momentarily in the bag until she found the timer switch connected to the square metal box. She flipped the switch and then dropped the backpack carelessly on the floor.

  Jane moved cautiously toward the door, wishing she could see well enough to hurry. Les had said the timer would give her forty-five minutes to get off the ship and back to the pier, but she didn't like to push it. It had taken her almost fifteen minutes to climb that terrifying anchor line.