Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [10]
Brenna gritted her teeth in exasperation. She was tempted to use Conroy as a bulwark against the domineering tactics of Michael Donovan. Yet she knew if she offered any encouragement to Blake, he would make himself more obnoxious than ever.
“Oh, go away, Blake!” she said wearily, running her fingers through her hair.
Donovan chuckled. Reaching out, he took Conroy's hand from Brenna's arm and pulled her closer to his side. She shot him a glance of acute dislike that he ignored urbanely. “Yes, do go away, Blake,” he repeated mildly.
Conroy gave a smothered curse, and his look at Brenna was positively lethal. He stalked off, every line of his body expressing his outrage.
“That's the best acting he's done tonight,” Donovan said idly.
“You were watching?” Brenna asked, surprised.
Donovan nodded. “I wanted to talk to Charles,” he said. “And I wanted to see you perform again. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
Brenna looked at him skeptically. “You came to see me?” she questioned doubtfully. “That's rather hard to believe.”
“I'm a busy man, Miss Sloan,” he said curtly. “I don't have time to play games. Now, how about that drink?”
She shook her head wearily. “It's been a long day, Mr. Donovan, and I'm tired.” She met his eyes steadily, and for a brief moment lost the thread of what she wanted to say as she was caught up by the sheer magnetism of the man. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look away. “You see, I'm afraid I don't believe you,” she said defiantly. “I think you do enjoy playing games. We both know you gave Blake Conroy a completely wrong impression for some reason of your own. You couldn't possibly be interested in me. I'm not your type.”
Donovan cocked one eyebrow, his blue eyes narrowed. “Please go on, Miss Sloan,” he drawled softly. “I'd be delighted to discover what you judge to be my type of woman.”
She shrugged. “Everyone knows that your little playmates are always sophisticated women of the world. I'm sure a ‘Juliet type’ like me would bore you to tears in no time,” she said sarcastically.
Donovan smiled sensually, and, reaching out, ran his hand caressingly along the curve of her cheek. She gasped at the sensation that brought her body to tingling life. A gleam of triumph lit his eyes, as though her reaction gave him a tigerish pleasure.
“Perhaps I'm bored with my usual women,” he suggested silkily. “It was you who said Juliet was a sexy lady. Perhaps I would find it interesting to explore that premise more thoroughly.”
She stepped back hurriedly, and he let her go, his hand leaving her face reluctantly. Even when he was no longer touching her she could still feel the tug of his overpowering virility. She was tempted to move closer to him, so that she might again feel that tingling aliveness she had never known before.
She forced her voice to coolness. “I don't find that very likely. I think you came here tonight to soothe Charles' feelings for rejecting his protégée, but when you saw me again, you couldn't resist the opportunity to try to get a little of your own back for the insults I tossed at you this afternoon.”
There was a flicker of anger behind the blue eyes, and his mouth tightened fractionally. “So young to be so cynical,” he said dryly. “Is it only me, or do you hate all men?”
“I don't hate men,” Brenna said quietly. “I just don't find them fair or trustworthy where women are concerned.”
“Interesting,” Donovan said briefly, his eyes keen. She had the odd impression that those calculating eyes had observed, analyzed, and stored up for future use every facet of her physical and mental faculties.
“In this case, you're wrong,” he said casually, reaching into a back pocket to draw out a folded, wrinkled manuscript. He held it out to her. “I came to give you this.”
She took the script