Iris Johansen - Always

But Donahue didn't know about that regrettable softness, and if she put up a bold-enough front, perhaps he wouldn't discover it.

Well, she couldn't sit meekly in her own room and wait for Donahue to come to her. That would automatically place him in a position of psychological power. She strode swiftly to the door through which he'd disappeared and tried it. It was unlocked. She threw it open and went in search of Donahue.

The living area of the villa was as quietly luxurious as the bedroom, with thick carpets in a shade of antique gold and contemporary furniture inhues of brown, ranging from deepest chocolate to creamy beige. Everything was sleek, beautifully decorated, extremely expensive, and somehow… impersonal. Yes, that was the word. It had the impersonal air of a hotel room.

The kitchen where she found Donahue was equally efficient and impersonal. Stainless-steel and cool blues predominated, but they were no more icy than the glance Donahue threw her as he whirled to face her when she walked through the louvered door. For an instant his face was wary, his stance as ready for action as a cocked pistol. Then he recognized her and obviously forced himself to relax. What kind of experiences and how many years living on the edge of danger had bred that wariness? she wondered with a fleeting sympathy. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought we should get that discussion out of the way."

"I didn't expect you." He pointed to the breakfast bar across the room. "Sit down. I've made you a chefs salad and a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. Do you want coffee or milk?"

"Coffee." She hesitated a moment, then walked over to the navy-blue cushioned stool he'd indicated. So much for her aggressive, businesslike behavior. Donahue was treating her with the casual intimacy of an invited guest, making it impossible for her to respond with the belligerence she would have chosen to display. "This isn't necessary. If you'd just let me go back to the hotel, you wouldn't have to bother with KP duty."

"It's no bother." He crossed the room and set the wooden salad bowl in front of her. "All we have onhand is a bottle of Italian dressing. Will that be all right?" "Yes, but…"

He wasn't listening. He was at the refrigerator taking out a bottle of dressing and a container of cream. He set the two items before her. "I usually make coffee a little strong. I hope that's all right." "Fine." With barely contained impatience, she watched him pour two cups from the pot on the counter. "I'm not really hungry. I want to talk- ?'

"Eat. We'll talk later." He smiled faintly. "You'll need your strength."

Lisa cast him a rebellious glance and reached for the coffee. She almost choked as she took a sip. "A little strong! Good Lord, what did you use to brew it? Tar?"

He frowned and tasted his own coffee, then immediately made a face. "Sorry. I've had to have it this strong to keep me awake for the last twenty-four hours. I must have automatically made it the same strength this time."

"You haven't slept for over twenty-four hours?" she asked, startled.

"Closer to forty-eight, not counting the catnap I took on the plane from L.A." He took her cup to the sink and poured it down the drain, then did the same with the coffee in the coffee maker on the countertop. "I'll make a fresh pot."

"Why?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"Why did you stay awake? You couldn't have been afraid I'd escape. I was practically a zombie."

"I made you a promise," he said simply. "You seemed worried about…" He paused. "Aboutbeing alone when John brought you to the villa. I promised I wouldn't leave you."

She felt a sudden flutter of warmth, which she was quick to suppress. "That sounds remarkably sentimental for a man in your profession." She looked down at the plate in front of her. "Are you sure you weren't just afraid I'd kick the bucket and leave you to face a murder charge?"

He frowned. "I'm sure. I don't lie, Lisa. If I make a statement, then you can be damn sure it's the truth as I see it. I don't deny I was worried about you, even though the doctor at the lab assured me you'd safely sleep off the effects of the overdose. You could have been more obliging and reacted as they predicted. First you woke up earlier than they said you would. Then you zonked out again and proceeded to sleep like Rip Van Winkle. I've never been so scared in my life as when you decided to oversleep the lab boys' estimate, but it was for you I was frightened, not myself." He reset the strength level on the coffee maker and turned to face her. "Alex told me the other night that he thought I'd finally run across something I couldn't handle. I denied it. I wouldn't deny it today."

She averted her eyes and took a bite of her sandwich. "Not many men could handle a kidnapping with aplomb."

"The kidnapping I can handle. It's what happened between us on the beach that I'm having problems with. I think you know that."

Lisa looked up swiftly and felt a wild tremor run through her. His eyes held the same smoky intensity they had such a short time ago. She felt a slow languid melting sensation in the pit of her stomach. She knew she should look away, but it seemed impossible when the world had narrowed to contain only the two of them. She continued to gaze helplessly across the room at him.

It was Donahue who finally looked away. "You're not eating," he growled as he turned to pour her a fresh cup of coffee. "No more talk until you're finished."

They hadn't really been talking in the last moment or two, but the bands of communication had been loud and crystal clear. Too clear. Lisa immediately grasped the excuse to avoid a confrontation with the exact nature of that communication. "Okay." She took a bite of her sandwich. "Later."

Her throat was so tight she found it difficult to swallow. She managed to finish the sandwich and a little of the salad. She didn't taste much, however, with Donohue leaning lazily against the cabinet and watching her with narrowed eyes. She pushed away the plates. "I don't want any more."

"Good." He straightened. "We can take your coffee into the study. Come on." He crossed the room and lifted her from the stool. She felt a tiny shock of sensation as his hands grasped her waist. She inhaled sharply and hoped desperately he hadn't noticed. She glanced up at him.

He nodded gravely. "I felt it, too. Pretty explosive, isn't it?" He released her and picked up her cup and saucer. "I think we'd better avoid physical contact for the time being. The study is down the hall and to your left."

"All right." Lisa avoided his eyes as she hurried ahead of him down the hall. She was losing confidence by the moment. When she reached the study she chose a wing chair beside the huge mahogany desk and tried to look as businesslike as the room itself. That impersonality was immediately nullified when Donahue handed her coffee to her, then dropped down on the carpet at her feet, leaning against the desk, and linked his hands loosely about his knees.

He stared at her. "I want to go to bed with you," he said softly.

She almost dropped the coffee cup. "That wasn't what I wanted to talk about, Donahue."

"It's the only thing I'm interested in discussing, but we'll touch on the item that's your primary interest first. I can't let you go until Baldwin shows up." He smiled with beguiling warmth. "Discussion closed. Now let's talk about going to bed."

She drew a deep, exasperated breath. "Donahue, I won't deny there's a certain chemical attraction betw-"

"Clancy," he corrected. His eyes were fixed on her face. "I want to hear you say my name." His voice dropped to a velvet whisper. "Say it, Lisa."

She would not be caught up in that breathtaking intimacy again. Yet she found herself repeating, "Clancy."

She was rewarded by that same rare smile. "I like that. Thank you, acushla." The faint brogue was more pronounced now and so was the appealing Gaelic charm she'd noticed so fleetingly in the dressing room.