Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [0]
Hooray! I've always wanted these two books to come out in one volume. Stormy Vows and Tempest at Sea were the first two stories I wrote and they reflected all my hopes and romantic dreams of that period of my life. There's always something special about beginnings—the curiosity, the passion, the excitement. These were also the first of many books to come that had continuing characters. It wasn't intentional, just as it wasn't intentional in my later books. They just became too interesting for me to walk away from them. I hope you find the same joy in reading these stories as I did writing them.
Happy reading!
Iris
BANTAM BOOKS BY IRIS JOHANSEN
STALEMATE
AN UNEXPECTED SONG
KILLER DREAMS
ON THE RUN
COUNTDOWN
BLIND ALLEY
FIRESTORM
FATAL TIDE
DEAD AIM
NO ONE TO TRUST
BODY OF LIES
FINAL TARGET
THE SEARCH
THE KILLING GAME
THE FACE OF DECEPTION
AND THEN YOU DIE
LONG AFTER MIDNIGHT
THE UGLY DUCKLING
LION'S BRIDE
DARK RIDER
MIDNIGHT WARRIOR
THE BELOVED SCOUNDREL
THE MAGNIFICENT ROGUE
THE TIGER PRINCE
LAST BRIDGE HOME
THE GOLDEN BARBARIAN
REAP THE WIND
STORM WINDS
THE WIND DANCER
Stormy
Vows
one
BRENNA SLOAN TURNED SLOWLY IN FRONT of the mirror appraising her reflection with critical eyes. A frown creased her forehead and she chewed her lower lip. The simple black wool skirt and white silk blouse had seemed an understated yet chic ensemble when she had chosen it twenty minutes ago, but now she was having second thoughts. Was it perhaps too understated? She definitely wanted to make an impression in what might be the most important interview of her career.
She shrugged and turned away with a sigh. It would just have to do. Her wardrobe wasn't that extensive anyway. She quickly gathered her suede jacket and purse and hurried into the living room.
A chubby golden-haired two-year-old cherub looked up at her from the center of a fiberglass playpen and smiled amiably. He pulled himself up on sturdy legs, looking absurdly adorable in his blue corduroy pants and a T-shirt with LOS ANGELES DODGERS emblazoned across the front.
“We go, Mama?” he asked contentedly. Randy always wanted to go, Brenna thought wryly. For him, every trip was a pleasant adventure, and he certainly had enough of them.
She swung him out of the playpen, planting a kiss on his satin cheek and gathering him close for a quick hug.
“We go,” she affirmed. She put him down on the floor while she folded the collapsible playpen, then picked up a canvas bag of toys that was always kept handy. He watched her serenely, familiar with the ritual that was repeated sometimes twice or three times a day.
Tucking the playpen under her arm, she gathered her jacket, purse, and the toy carryall and headed for the door. Randy toddled beside her happily as they left the apartment and crossed to the elevator.
“Mama carry?” he asked. That, too, was part of the ritual. He really didn't expect it, but he tried every time just the same, Brenna thought tenderly.
“No, Randy must walk,” Brenna said firmly, as the door to the self-service elevator opened and they entered the small shabby cubicle. The apartment building was only two stories and an elevator was not really necessary, but she blessed it fervently each time she took Randy out. Loaded like a pack horse, as she usually was, she never would have made it without a major catastrophe if she had had to help Randy down the stairs. Besides, Randy loved elevators. It was another magic adventure for him—not as intriguing as the fascinating escalators in the department stores, but interesting all the same.
The elevator door opened, and she shepherded Randy out and down the hall to the manager's apartment. Randy knew the way well and nodded with satisfaction as they paused before the door.
“Auntie Viv,” he said placidly, knowing that behind the door was another disciple who provided toys, cookies, and caresses.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Brenna said. “She's going to watch you while mama goes out.” She rang the bell.
“Come in, Brenna,” Vivian Barlow called, and when Brenna