Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [78]
She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and slipped it from his massive shoulders, placing little gentle kisses on his chest and throat as she did so. She had spoken only the truth when she said she wanted to make him happy. Not only did she want to capture a very special memory for herself, but she wanted to give Michael the same joyous gift. Her arms slipped around his strong throat, and she kissed him gently, tenderly, with all the love she possessed for this difficult, exciting man. “Show me,” she entreated quietly.
In the hours that followed he did show her what she desired. She memorized every muscle of his body as he had once done to her. She learned with lips and hands how to raise him to the height of desire and satisfaction, and in doing so, reached her own rapture. They came together not once, but many times that night. Donovan was as indefatigable and insatiable as she, as if half comprehending the desperation that drove her to pour forth her love in this the only way Michael would accept. It was shortly before dawn when Donovan fell asleep, his arm still cradling the warmth of her body.
But Brenna remained wide awake, her strained desperate eyes on the gradually lightening sky seen through the bedroom window. She knew, with a wrench that threatened to tear her soul apart, that it was time for her to go.
eleven
IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER NOON WHEN THE taxi pulled up before the Rialto theater, and the driver politely came around to open the passenger door. Brenna got out, payed the amount on the meter, and headed for the stage door with a hurried stride. It was her last step in her flight from Donovan, this meeting with Charles Wilkes, and she was anxious to get it over with.
It seemed incredible that less than eight hours ago she had been in Michael's arms, and now she was seeking Charles' help in removing her from his world permanently. The silent, almost furtive escape from Twin Pines with only an overnight case and a sleeping Randy, and the long drive to the airport in Portland seemed years, not hours ago., She had been in luck. After parking the Mercedes, and leaving the keys in an envelope addressed to Michael at the ticket counter, she had been able to get a flight down to Los Angeles within thirty minutes. She only had time to phone a very concerned and puzzled Charles Wilkes, and arrange to meet him at the theater at noon, before the flight was called.
Brenna was reluctant to ask for Wilkes' help, but she saw no other alternative. She had frighteningly little money after she had paid for the plane tickets and the taxi to Vivian Barlow's apartment to drop Randy off. She desperately needed a job and a place to stay, and it could not be in Los Angeles. She had broken her commitment to Michael, and she knew how determined and ruthless he would be in claiming what was due him. Charles had contacts with repertory troupes throughout California, as well as ties with several universities and academic establishments. If anyone could get her to a safe haven, it was her former mentor.
The stage door was open, as she expected, and she stopped a moment to smooth her hair, and tuck the melon silk blouse into her camel slacks. There was no sense in looking more disheveled and desperate than necessary. Charles was going to be concerned enough, when she asked for his help to escape from Michael. He had been almost childishly pleased when he had learned of their marriage.
She walked quickly down the shabby, dimly lit hall to Wilkes' small office. The door was slightly ajar, and she could see a small pool of light from the metallic desk lamp on the ancient pine desk. She pushed open the door.
“Come in, Brenna.”
The blood drained from her face, as she stared transfixed at the red-haired man, who rose lazily to his feet at her entrance. Donovan was casually dressed, as always, in rust corduroy jeans and a cream cotton shirt that was left carelessly unbuttoned almost