Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [34]
“I'll go,” she said recklessly.
An almost boyish smile lit Donovan's rugged features. “Great,” he said tersely, and putting the car in gear, he backed out of the parking space and drove rapidly out of the lot.
six
THE WHIR OF THE SCARLET HELICOPTER'S rotors died to a whisper, and Donovan reached across to unsnap Brenna's seat belt with swift economical movements. “Stay where you are,” he ordered briskly. “I'll come around and help you down.”
Brenna nodded absently, as she peered eagerly through the window at the small clearing surrounded by towering pines. They had landed on a square concrete landing pad, and she watched impatiently as Donovan attached lines to the helicopter from steel links embedded in the concrete. He paused to look speculatively at the darkening sky to the west, before coming around to the door and opening it.
“Looks like we're going to get a bit of a storm,” he said, as he reached up and, placing his two hands firmly on her waist, swung her easily to the ground. “I was hoping the weather would be good, so that we could go out in the boat,” he said frowning. “Are you a sailor, Brenna?”
“I have no idea,” she said simply. “I've never been on a boat.”
She had said the same thing about flying, when they had arrived at the private landing strip on the outskirts of Twin Pines a little over an hour ago.
Shutting the helicopter door, Donovan took her hand in his and set off up the pebbled path that led across the clearing, into the dense stand of trees.
“I have an idea a man could become addicted to providing you with new experiences, Brenna Sloan,” he said thoughtfully. “It would give him a never-ending source of pleasure.”
She made a face, as she gave a half skip to keep up with his lengthy stride. “Where were you ten years ago?” she asked lightly. “Orphanage brats lead notoriously dull lives.”
His hand tightened protectively around hers. He didn't look at her as he asked quietly, “Was it very bad, Brenna?”
“The children's home?” She shook her head. “No, not really bad,” she said matter of factly. “Lonely, sometimes.”
They had reached the glade now, and Brenna cocked an eyebrow inquiringly. “Would it be too much to ask where we're going?”
“The cabin is about a quarter of a mile from here,” he said. “I thought we'd stop there first to take some steaks out of the freezer, before we take a hike around the island.” His eyes appraised the horizon critically. “It looks like the storm may hold off for a while. It's moving slowly.”
After that, they moved in companionable silence through the woods. Brenna breathed in the pinescented, pungent air with warm contentment. For a city bred person like herself this simple walk through the woods had all the attraction of the exotic. She was as lighthearted and happy as a child at this moment, and a great part of it was due to this man, who was holding her hand with such casual camaraderie.
From the moment she had agreed to come to Donovan's island, he had been everything one could have wished in a companion. He had carefully kept any sign of sexual awareness from his attitude during the time he had driven her to the cottage, and waited while she quickly changed into white shorts, sneakers, and a yellow sun top. She had washed the heavy makeup off and hadn't bothered to replace it, relying on the glowing perfection of her healthy skin. She had hurriedly brushed out the elaborate hairdo, letting her hair fall in its usual gleaming curtain down her back. Then they had hurried like two eager schoolchildren to the airstrip to board the helicopter. Somehow it did not surprise her at all that Donovan could pilot the helicopter himself, and was also licensed to fly the Lear jet that was hangared at the field. A man as dominant as Donovan would want to be fully in command, wherever he was.
They had been walking for about five minutes and Brenna could see the outline of the redwood chalet in a distant clearing.