Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [73]
Again Brenna felt that poignant tug of sympathy for this brilliant man who had everything a man could want, and was still jaded and even curiously lonely.
“Perhaps next time you should try a Swede,” she said lightly, trying to gently nudge him out of his depression.
It worked. Dominic's mercurial temperament responded, and the black eyes gleamed mischievously. “I've already gone that route,” he said with a shudder. “They're much too aggressive. I was totally exhausted by the time I got back to port.”
“What about her?” Brenna asked grinning.
“Oh, Helga immediately took off for Switzerland with her ski instructor. I hear he was a candidate for the Olympics before she got her hands on him.” He sighed morosely, his eyes twinkling. “He's never been heard of since!”
Brenna chuckled irrepressibly. “What are you doing back in Twin Pines?” she asked. “Michael didn't mention you were doing a picture?”
He shrugged. “I'm ready to go to work. If I have too much time on my hands, I get restless, and voilà —trouble.”
“It seems I've heard rumors to that effect,” Brenna agreed demurely. “Are you the important lunch date my husband can't break to escort his own wife?”
“Not me, sweet, but I'll act as a substitute, if you'll wait until I see that unchivalrous husband of yours,” he said. “I want to pick up a script Michael told me about. Some thriller about a nuclear power plant. Michael says it has possibilities.”
“Done,” Brenna said cheerfully. “I'll be ready to leave when you're finished with Michael.”
With a wave of his hand, Dominic entered Donovan's office without knocking, and Brenna went to the closet to get her jacket and purse. When she returned to her desk to extract the contract from her typewriter and hand it to Marcia, she was amazed to see the older woman convulsed in laughter. As Brenna stared at her blankly, the secretary wiped tears from her eyes and gasped penitently. “Sorry, Brenna, I was just eavesdropping, and it struck me as funny.”
“What did?” Brenna asked, puzzled.
Marcia's eyes danced. “The calm way you accepted the foremost rake of the western world as a second-best substitute for your husband. No one would believe it.”
Brenna grinned. It did seem funny when she looked at it from Marcia's point of view, and if one didn't know that the husband in question was Michael Donovan.
“If you'll forgive me for interrupting your chat, I'd like to see Mr. Donovan.” The husky voice was dripping sarcasm, and they both looked up, startled, at the woman who had entered the office unnoticed. Brenna's eyes widened as she recognized the woman standing there. The large violet eyes, wild riotous ash-blond hair, and curvaceous figure were as famous as the throaty voice. Melanie St. James, who had rocketed to stardom in her first picture, a Michael Donovan production. With a pang, Brenna recalled that the gossip columns had also been filled with speculations regarding Donovan's torrid affair with his gorgeous protégée.
Marcia Owens recovered her aplomb swiftly. “Is Mr. Donovan expecting you?”
The pouting lips tightened. “Of course, he's expecting me,” she said arrogantly. “We have a luncheon date.”
Brenna felt a cold pain somewhere in her midriff, as she heard the woman's words. So this was Donovan's inviolate, unbreakable luncheon date, she thought numbly.
Marcia Owens shrugged, and picked up the phone. “I'll tell him you're here,” she said coolly. “At the moment he's with Mr. Dominic.”
“Jake Dominic?” Melanie St. James inquired, her eyes taking on an almost greedy glitter. “I've never met him. Is he working with Donovan now?”
“Occasionally,” Marcia answered remotely, and spoke into the receiver. “Mr. Donovan will see you now. Miss St. James,” she said as she replaced the receiver. “Go right in.”
A smile of triumph lit Melanie St. James' face. “I told you he'd see me,” she said with smug satisfaction. “After all, he called me.” She swept by them and