Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [76]
The tears continued to flow and she brushed them aside impatiently. She had always had to be strong and independent. She would get over this stupid pain and weakness and emerge stronger than ever. She would leave, and never see that strongwilled Irishman again. She would make a life for herself and Randy, and it would be a good life. She closed her eyes and the maddening tears continued to flow. She would do all these things, she assured herself sadly, but first she would take one final night for herself. She would say a last “good-bye” to her love, Michael Donovan.
She got out of the tub, drying quickly, powdering liberally with her lavender-scented talc, before donning her favorite negligee set. It was a wonderfully romantic gown. Its white silk background was sprinkled with minute pink roses. The tiny sleeves, low rounded elasticized neckline, and empire waistline lent a Regency air to the ensemble. The matching peignoir was a loose drift of white chiffon with long loose sleeves. She slipped into a pair of white satin mules, and brushed her hair into a bright shining cape. She looked with bittersweet approval into the long oval mirror on the closet door. Yes, this was the image of her that she wanted Michael to hold in his memory when she was gone. She turned off the bedroom light, and left the room to go downstairs to wait for Michael.
She was curled up in one corner of the couch in the living room, idly leafing through a magazine, a little over an hour later when the front door was thrown open explosively. She could hear Donovan's rapid footsteps in the hall.
He came through the living room door like a small hurricane. He had discarded his suit jacket and was dressed in black slacks and a white shirt opened carelessly at the throat. His hair glowed brilliantly under the overhead light, and, as usual, he seemed to draw all the radiance in the room to himself. His face was taut and angry, as he crossed to the couch and pulled her roughly to her feet. “Dammit! I could beat you,” he said furiously. “What the hell do you mean by refusing my phone calls? You know damn well I was tied up with appointments and couldn't come to you. I've gone through hell all afternoon, since Jake called and told me what an asinine snit you'd gotten yourself into. Women!” he finished disgustedly.
A little smile curved Brenna's lips. “That's what Jake said,” she said, her brown eyes twinkling.
He paid no attention. His jaw was set belligerently as he continued harshly. “You're going to shut up and listen to what I have to say, dammit. I had a damn good reason for taking Melanie to lunch, and if you weren't so stubborn, I would have told you what it was when I called.”
“Have you had anything to eat?” she asked quietly, her eyes running lovingly over the blunt, rough features.
“What?” he asked, caught off balance for once, blue eyes surprised.
“Did you have any dinner?” she asked.
“No, I didn't take the time,” he said impatiently. “Look, Brenna, we've got to get this straightened out.”
“I'll fix you an omelet,” she interrupted, smiling. “You can tell me all about it while I'm cooking. The coffee is already prepared.”
She wriggled out of his grasp and preceded him down the hall and into the kitchen. He followed her closely, almost as if he suspected her of trying to escape him. She gestured to the breakfast bar. “It won't be a minute,” she said serenely. She poured him a cup of coffee, added the small dollop of cream