Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [69]
Donovan's expression hardened, and his mouth curved cynically. “No answer?” he queried mockingly. “Or is that the silence of assent?”
He shifted his hand and pulled her forcefully into his arms, kissing her with a rough passion that caused the familiar melting sensation to begin in her lower body. When their lips parted, he murmured huskily, “You'll just have to continue hating and distrusting me, Brenna, because I'm not going to let you go. I'm holding you to our bargain till hell freezes over.”
“Or until you tell me to go.” she said with a catch in her voice, remembering the words of their original bargain.
He bore her down on the bed, his hands and lips beginning their passionate ritual. “Yes, until I tell you to go.”
ten
“YOU'RE LATE, BRENNA,” MARCIA OWENS SAID with mock severity, her dark eyes twinkling. “That's the second time this week. Better watch it or you'll be getting a pink slip in your pay envelope.” Donovan's secretary was an attractive, dark-haired paragon of efficiency. She was in her middle thirties with a wry sense of humor, and this wasn't the first time she'd teased Brenna about her dual position as Donovan's wife and unpaid help in the office.
Brenna made a face at her. “Sorry, Marcia. I wasn't feeling well this morning. I must be coming down with something. I told Michael to go on without me, but I felt better later so I came on in.”
She shrugged out of her tailored peach pantsuit jacket, and hung it in the closet, placing her brown handbag on the hook beside it. “I know how much you depend on me,” she added teasingly, as she strolled back over to the desk.
They exchanged smiles of complete understanding. They both knew that Brenna's presence was completely superfluous in the executive offices at Twin Pines. Marcia Owens handled Donovan's affairs with the exceptional efficiency that he demanded of all his employees. Brenna's contribution consisted of typing a few letters, occasional filing, and relieving Marcia for her coffee breaks. Nevertheless, Brenna enjoyed her mornings working in the office with Marcia. They had formed a great friendship in the last three weeks, and she had discovered a rapport with the older woman that she had found with few of her contemporaries.
The secretary shook her head ruefully. “You must be a glutton for punishment,” she said lightly. “Why don't you stay home and pamper yourself? It isn't as if Mr. Donovan is cracking the whip over your head.” Marcia Owens studied her boss's wife with envy-free admiration, thinking idly how truly lovely the girl was in the simple cream silk blouse and the peach slacks. It was true that Brenna had been of negligible help since she had volunteered her assistance, but she sincerely liked Brenna Donovan and enjoyed having her quiet, cheerful presence in the office.
It was obvious to her that Donovan felt the same way. Brenna seemed to exert a subtle, soothing influence on her employer on the mornings she was there. Though it was not in any way obvious to anyone that did not know Donovan extremely well, Marcia had worked closely with the man for some six years, and she could read the signs. She remembered how he had come out of his office yesterday, a stack of contracts in his hand. While he explained to her what he wanted done with them, his eyes were drawn, as if by a magnet, to the unobtrusive figure of his wife across the room at the filing cabinet, where she was quietly filing some papers. He had not interrupted his instructions, he had not even spoken to Brenna, but his absent gaze had not left her until he had turned to return to his office.
Brenna shrugged. “I get bored. I'm not used to being a lady of leisure. I spend the afternoons with Randy, but he doesn't really need me now that he's got Doris. And if I didn't have something