Always - Iris Johansen [16]
“You don’t know me at all.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t know you as well as I’m going to, but I do know you.” He opened the door. “I’m going to get you something to eat. You’ll probably feel better if you wash some of that sand off. However, if you don’t feel up to it, I’ll be glad to help. It’s a valet service I’m always willing to provide when I kidnap a lady.” The door closed behind him with a soft, decisive click.
LISA STARED BLANKLY at the closed door. The abrupt change from brisk, threatening incisiveness to half-humorous sensuality had once more caught her off guard. How many sides were there to the man’s personality, anyway? She drew a deep breath and turned toward the bathroom. Even if she hadn’t felt abominably gritty, she would have obeyed Donahue’s last suggestion. He was too unknown a quantity for her to be certain that he’d been joking, and she definitely didn’t want to be exposed to any more intimacies. She was still too bewildered and wary about her reaction to Donahue just now on the beach to take a chance of repeating the scene.
Forty minutes later she had finished showering, shampooing and drying her hair. Another ten minutes and she was dressed in baggy white linen slacks and a loose thigh-length cotton sweater in a warm melon shade. She coiled her hair in a careless knot on top of her head and nodded with satisfaction at her reflection in the mirror. No one could say there was anything in the least provocative about her appearance, and that was just what she intended. She thrust her feet into white canvas sandals and was ready for the fray. For a moment she stood there, trying to gather her composure. She had to come to an understanding with Donahue, and she hoped that understanding would bring them to terms on her release. If she could maintain the same aggressiveness and cool control she had noticed in him, perhaps he would see that she wouldn’t permit him to keep her here. The only problem was that aggressiveness wasn’t exactly her area of expertise. If it had been, she wouldn’t be having this painful dilemma with Martin. She had always been too soft, and Martin had known exactly how to manipulate that weakness to his own advantage.
But Donahue didn’t know about that regrettable softness, and if she put up a bold-enough front, perhaps he wouldn’t discover it.
Well, she couldn’t sit meekly in her own room and wait for Donahue to come to her. That would automatically place him in a position of psychological power. She strode swiftly to the door through which he’d disappeared and tried it. It was unlocked. She threw it open and went in search of Donahue.
The living area of the villa was as quietly luxurious as the bedroom, with thick carpets in a shade of antique gold and contemporary furniture in hues of brown, ranging from deepest chocolate to creamy beige. Everything was sleek, beautifully decorated, extremely expensive, and somehow … impersonal. Yes, that was the word. It had the impersonal air of a hotel room.
The kitchen where she found Donahue was equally efficient and impersonal. Stainless-steel and cool blues predominated, but they were no more icy than the glance Donahue threw her as he whirled to face her when she walked through the louvered door. For an instant his face was wary, his stance as ready for action as a cocked pistol. Then he recognized her and obviously forced himself to relax. What kind of experiences and how many years living on the edge of danger had bred that wariness? she wondered with a fleeting sympathy. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought we should get that discussion out of the way.”
“I didn’t expect you.” He pointed to the breakfast bar across the room. “Sit down. I’ve made you a chef’s salad and a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. Do you want coffee or milk?”
“Coffee.” She hesitated a moment, then walked over to the navy-blue cushioned stool he’d indicated. So much for her aggressive, businesslike behavior. Donahue was treating her with the casual intimacy of an invited guest, making it impossible