Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [41]
She was shaking and trembling like a leaf, as he played upon her body as a master musician would on his beloved instrument. Every nerve was exquisitely sensitized to the touch of his body, and she knew that she was wildly desperate for the completion he could give her.
“I'm going to take you now, love.” He breathed against her breast. “Tell me you want me to take you!”
The passionate injunction sent a spiraling shock through her, that did much to revive the thinking process which had been suspended at the command of her aching body. She knew he would keep his word and let her go, if she insisted. But, God, how could she insist, when he had tuned her body to this feverish pitch of need? Yet she knew she must refuse him, if she was to salvage any portion of her independence. Donovan was still almost a stranger to her. He had never mentioned love, only desire, and even if she did feel the same desire, it was still not enough.
“Brenna!” Donovan's voice was roughly impatient, as he waited for the acquiescence that he fully expected.
It was the hardest thing she ever did to look into Donovan's eyes and say huskily, “Let me go, Michael.”
His face echoed his shocked disbelief, and his hands tightened on her possessively. Then his eyes flamed with anger. “You don't mean that,” he said roughly. “You want it as much as I do.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I want you to let me go,” she said shakily. “I want you to keep your promise, Michael Donovan.”
His eyes narrowed and there was a ruthless curve to his mouth as he said coolly, “You know I could force you to say yes.”
She said honestly, “Yes, you probably could. I seem to have little resistance where you're concerned.” She looked fearlessly into his eyes. “But I don't think you will. You value your integrity, and that wouldn't really be keeping your word, would it?”
There was a flash of anger in the hot blue eyes as he pushed her away with a violent shove.
“Damn you!” he said harshly. With rapid, jerky movements, he was out of the tub, wrapping one of the towels around his waist. As he looked down at her, there was a fierce savagery about his tautly held body that caused her to shrink back against the side of the tub.
“Get out of there and get dressed. I'll give you exactly three minutes!”
He strode from the enclosure, pushing aside the screen with a violence that threatened to topple it. She heard the soft thud of his bare feet on the spiral staircase, before she scrambled out of the tub and dried hurriedly. He hadn't said what would happen in three minutes, but if his expression was any harbinger, she didn't want to find out. She grabbed frantically at the clothes on the floor at the edge of the tub and donned a pair of green swimming trunks that came almost to her knees and a white short-sleeved shirt that was equally voluminous. Looking down at herself ruefully, she knew she looked a complete sketch. If any outfit was designed to turn a man off, this one was. She refused to ask herself why she felt a niggling sense of dissatisfaction with her appearance. After all, that was what she wanted, wasn't it? Even a Marilyn Monroe would have been safe in a costume like this.
She stepped hesitantly from behind the screen just as Donovan came down the stairs. Dressed in faded jeans and a pale blue workman's shirt he looked devastatingly virile and attractive. He finished rolling up the sleeves as he came toward her. His face was expressionless, but there was an undeniable tenseness about him that made her look away involuntarily. A caustic smile curving his mouth, he walked past her to the bar and poured himself a drink.
“You'll find a comb and brush upstairs on the bedside table,” he said coolly. “I'll put the steaks on.”
Her eyes widened. “We aren't leaving?”
“It's still raining,” he pointed out. “You'd be drenched