Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [68]
“You knew me well enough to be willing to jump in bed with me,” he said caustically, levering himself up into a sitting position. Even in the dimness of the firelit room, she could see the flicker of anger in his eyes. “But you didn't know me well enough to trust me to protect a helpless child!”
“I wasn't willing to jump into bed with you,” Brenna said stung. “You gave me no choice.”
Donovan's smile was coolly cynical. “You didn't want a choice,” he drawled. “You wanted it as much as I did. I just gave you the excuse you needed.” His eyes were strangely brooding, as he smiled mirthlessly, his gaze raking over the tempting beauty of her bared breasts and slim waist. He shrugged as his hands came out to clasp her slender shoulders. “Why should I care if I have your confidence?” he asked bitterly. “I have what I bargained for.”
As his hands tightened on her shoulders to pull her into his arms, Brenna flinched and gave a cry of pain.
“What the hell?” Michael ejaculated, startled. He fumbled with the bedside lamp, and suddenly the room was filled with light.
“My God!” he brushed her hair gently away from her shoulders, revealing the livid, purple bruise marks on the satin skin. Michael's face was white and set, his eyes sick, as he asked hoarsely, “Did I do that?”
She looked up at him startled, her eyes wide. “No, of course you didn't,” she assured him quickly. “It was Paul Chadeaux,” she said ruefully. “He wasn't overly gentle in his attempts to get me to sign that affidavit.”
Donovan muttered an obscene imprecation, and reached out to touch a bruise with gentle fingers. “I should have killed him,” he said grimly. “What other damage did the bastard do to you?”
Brenna was suddenly frightened by the deadly anger mirrored in Donovan's eyes. “Nothing, really,” she said deprecatingly. “I hit my head on the headboard when we fell on the bed, but it only hurt for a moment.” She touched the side of her head gingerly.
Donovan brushed her hair aside until he found a sizable lump. She flinched as he touched the swelling, and Michael's mouth tightened ominously. “It must have hurt like hell. You're lucky you don't have a concussion.” His electric blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “God! I wish I had him here now.”
“It's over now. Let's forget it,” Brenna said nervously.
“Yes, you forget it,” Donovan said absently, his eyes thoughtful. “You've suffered enough. I'll take care of it.”
“Michael, no,” she protested firmly. “I'm the one who suffered injury, and if any redress is to be exacted, it would be up to me to do so. This isn't the Middle Ages, dammit. I won't have you rushing around fighting my battles as if I was some idiotic, simpering damsel in distress.”
Donovan's lips quirked, and there was a flicker of amusement on his taut face. “Sorry, darling. Women's lib is out in this case,” he said mockingly. “I warned you that I take care of my own.” His hand slid down her shoulder to cup her breast, his eyes noting her suddenly indrawn breath with a gleam of satisfaction.
“Don't worry, I'm not going to take Chadeaux apart with my bare hands, as much as I'd enjoy it. I'll find another and more permanent way of dealing with him. You can be sure he won't ever bother you again.” There was absolute assurance in Donovan's voice and Brenna shivered at the ruthless glint in his eyes.
His expression became moody as he stared into her apprehensive face. “Poor Brenna; you're a frightened lamb in a world of ravening wolves,” he said soberly. “We men haven't treated you very well in your young life, have we, love? A father who deserted you. Chadeaux causing the death of your sister, and saddling you with a child to raise.” His face clouded. “Even I ended up by practically raping you. How can anyone condemn you for hating the lot of us?”
Brenna looked at him helplessly. How could she tell him it wasn't hate she felt for him, but love. Even in the throes of passion he had never indicated that he felt anything for her but a wild, obsessive