Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea Read Free Page A

himself for the insults she had hurled at him by teasing her as a cat would a mouse.
    “I don't deserve that,” she said quietly, lifting her chin defiantly. “I know you're annoyed with me, but don't descend to that sexist casting couch routine to put me in my place, Mr. Donovan. I have a valid argument and I'm sorry you're tooblind and pigheaded to appreciate it.” She turned and stalked majestically off the stage, leaving the two men staring after her. She paused at the door, and turned to meet Donovan's narrowed eyes. “You're wrong, Michael Donovan,” she said with serene conviction. “I could have made something very special out of Angie Linden.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “And if my memory serves, Juliet was a very sexy lady,” she said softly. “So you're wrong there, too.” She strode from the theater.

two
    A WHITE CORE OF ANGER BURNED LIKE A piece of molten steel in Brenna as she went through the motions of driving home, picking up Randy from Vivian's, and taking him back to their apartment. Once home, Brenna put Randy down for his afternoon nap. She scrupulously removed all the toys from his bed, knowing that if there was even one distraction, Randy would find it and refuse to go to sleep. She ignored his pleading eyes, turned him over on his stomach, tucked his blanket around him and, patted his round bottom. “Sleep,” she said firmly, and closed the door decisively behind her.
    She leaned wearily against the door, feeling as if the violent emotions of the morning had savaged her and left her weak and drained. She moved slowly to the couch, and curled up in the corner, leaning her head on the arm. Unexpectedly a drop of moisture coursed down her cheek, and she brushed it aside angrily. Tears? No, dammit, she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't give Michael Donovan the satisfaction of upsetting her that much. She was tougher than that. Hadn't Janine said that, she thought suddenly, her throat tightening. She could remember her sister kneeling beside her bed, her ash-blond hair wild around her white face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You're strong,Brenna,” Janine had gasped. “You've always been stronger than me, even though I'm older. Help me, Brenna. Help me!”
    Brenna shook her head, her eyes filling helplessly at the poignant memory. “Damn you, Michael Donovan,” she whispered huskily, her hands balling into fists. Usually she could keep the memories at bay with her customary determination, blocking out the still raw emotions that had torn her apart and left her defenseless in their aftermath. Now they came flooding back, tumbling over each other in a chaotic eruption brought on by her distressing experience with Donovan.
    Janine had been right: Brenna had always been tougher than her older sister, though heaven knows how much was integral, and how much a result of her upbringing in the orphanage that had been the only home they had known since Brenna was four and Janine eight. Their father had deserted their mother shortly after Brenna was born, and, as their mother had had to work long hours to support the three of them, she had not had the time to give her younger child the love and attention she had lavished on Janine. Consequently, when their mother died of pneumonia shortly after Brenna's fourth birthday, Brenna was not as devastated as she might have been. Janine, on the other hand, had been struck down by the second catastrophic blow of her young life, and she never quite recovered. They had been sent to the John Harris Memorial Home when an investigation by the welfare department had uncovered no relatives. Brenna had adjusted quickly to her new circumstances, but Janine had retreated behind a wall of shyness, developing a finely balanced sensitivity that shut away the present, letting in only the familiar figures of the past. Always an imaginative child, she lived in a world of her own making, and clung to Brenna with an almost fanatic need and devotion.
    When she had been released