An Act of Love (8 page)

When Randy didn't answer he went on rather cheerfully,
"That's okay, though. I can be patient when I have to be." He winked at
her, grinning broadly. "But not
too
patient,
Linda. Let's go eat."

The moment he released her Randy scrambled to her feet and
began walking rapidly back to the cabin. Her emotions were a chaotic
jumble of annoyance, humiliation and, much against her will, growing
bewitchment. She was beginning to suspect that her opponent could be
dangerously charming if he put his mind to it.

Back in the cabin, he gestured toward the kitchen,
prompting Randy to say irritably, "I suppose you expect me to make you
dinner."

"Very perceptive," he drawled.

Her temper heated up a fraction more—she didn't
appreciate being ordered around—but then she gave a mental
shrug. The fact was, she was hungry, and she'd lay odds that she was a
darn sight better cook than he was. He left her to go back outside and
she started to unpack the carton of groceries, adding staples and
canned goods to the items already in the cupboards. A few minutes later
he returned with a large cooler, which he set on the counter. Randy
checked the refrigerator, found that it was still quite warm, and
decided that unloading the cooler should wait.

She took out some chicken breasts, boned and cut them up,
and assembled the ingredients for sweet and sour chicken. The stove was
gas and the nearest thing to a wok was a cast iron frying pan, but it
worked well enough. She also cooked some rice and heated some peas to
go along with the main course. As she worked the man who'd abducted her
sat in a chair by the dining area table and watched, his expression
giving no hint of his feelings. He opened his mouth exactly once, to
inform her that he'd taken the precaution of disabling the plane's
radio.

Randy had plenty of time to think as she cooked and was
honest enough to admit that she found her captor much too attractive.
The situation was even rather romantic—being alone in an
isolated cabin with a man who obviously wanted to make love to her and
just as obviously knew all there was to know about pleasing a woman in
bed. Linda would have loved every minute of it.

The problem was, she wasn't like Linda. Physical
infatuation had already led her into one disastrous love affair, and
she didn't want it to happen a second time. Her self-esteem, already
shaken by Sean Raley, would wind up shattered if she tumbled into bed
with some half-crazy stranger.

They ate their meal in silence, but there was nothing
hostile or uncomfortable about the lack of conversation. Randy felt
relaxed enough to help herself to seconds, and by the end of the meal
had decided to find out just what she was doing up here.

"Are you a friend of Brett's?" she asked.

He looked up from his plate. "Your ex-husband? No."

She tried a different approach. "Then what's your name?"

"You could call me 'sir.' Or 'my lord'—that has
a nice ring to it. Although," he said, lazing back in his chair, "I'd
hardly want you to whisper that in my ear if I decide to make love to
you later."

Randy contemplated her empty plate, grateful that she'd
waited till now to question him because she suddenly felt sick to her
stomach. She was almost sure he wouldn't force the issue, but the way
he was looking at her told her he wanted to touch her, and it bothered
her very much that she might permit him to do so.

She started to clear away the dishes, putting them into
the sink, and was about to begin washing up when he ordered, "Make some
coffee first. I take it black."

There was nothing to gain by refusing. Randy quickly
located a drip coffee-maker and an unopened can of coffee in one of the
cabinets. She'd had trouble with the can opener when opening the peas,
and had no more success with the coffee. After she'd fumbled with the
recalcitrant utensil for fifteen seconds the man got up and took it
away from her. "I'd resigned myself to the worst meals of my life up
here," he said as he opened the coffee and set it on the counter. "How
come you can cook like an angel but can't work a simple can opener?"

Randy turned her back to him and measured out the coffee.
"That thing must be an antique," she said. "I've never seen anything
like it." Actually she was pleased by his compliment, and had to smile
when she imagined Linda in these circumstances. Her sister probably
would have poisoned the man—unintentionally!

As they drank their coffee she continued to study him.
Something about him seemed familiar—his hair, perhaps, or the
masculine way he carried himself. At last it bothered her so much that
she asked him if he were sure they'd never met. "I know I've seen you
somewhere," she added.

"I doubt it," he answered, "although I do happen to work
for your father."

Randy almost choked on her coffee. "You mean he
knows
about this?" she sputtered.

"You don't suppose I'd go around snatching up my boss'
daughter without his permission!" he said. "I'm not crazy."

Randy's head was spinning. She'd just placed the wavy
brown hair and masculine stride. The last time she'd seen him he'd been
storming out of her father's office. And the last time she'd heard his
voice he'd been smoothly and odiously charming to her. If the phone
connection when she'd called her father from Cambridge hadn't been so
poor she would have placed the drawl immediately.

"You're Luke Griffin," she stated. "I don't believe this."
His action had a certain logic considering the hotness of his temper,
but Randy was amazed that her father had gone along with it. It wasn't
like Bill Dunne at all.

"I'm also Anne Havemeyer's brother-in-law," Luke reminded'
her. "You do remember Tom? The guy you've played house with for two
weekends? Better to stick with me, Linda. At least I'm single."

Now that Randy was recovering from the initial shock of
discovering the man's identity, her annoyance was beginning to get the
better of her. So this was the man her father was so eager to marry her
off to! What had he said? That once she'd met Luke she wouldn't stand a
chance? Then she remembered Luke Griffin's comments on the phone and
rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Linda," she informed him in her most withering tone, "was
with a man named Roger Bennett for most of last weekend. And she never
'played house' with your brother-in-law. Mostly she just listened to
his problems."

"Roger Bennett, the New York producer?" Luke asked.

"You know him?"

"Sure I know him. I took his girlfriend away from him, for
a month or so anyway. Or didn't Roger tell you that he lives with
someone?"

Having met Roger Bennett and liked him very much, Randy
didn't want to believe that he was involved with anyone else. "He must
have broken up with her," she said. "He wouldn't do something like
that."

"You seem to know a lot about him," Luke replied,
"considering that you're not Linda."

"I told you, I've spent the last ten days with my sister,"
Randy said clearly and slowly, as if talking to a mental incompetent.
"I met Roger in Cambridge."

"Your sister's been in New Hampshire for the last week,"
Luke contradicted. "Cut the song and dance about Miranda. I was in your
father's office when she called. I even spoke to her."

"And do you want me to recite the conversation?" Randy
asked impatiently. She mimicked Luke's final comment to her with
devastating accuracy. " 'You can count on it, sweetheart.' Honestly,
Luke! If your ego gets any bigger it'll outgrow Manhattan Island! I
made that call from Cambridge. I didn't want Dad to worry…"

"You mean Miranda called you up and told you about it," he
interrupted. "We've been through your list of explanations too many
times already." He smiled engagingly. "When your sister gets back from
New Hampshire she's coming to work for me. Your father has the idea
that I would make a perfect husband for her. But I think I'll pass."

"Really!" Randy decided that Luke Griffin was conceited
enough to give even Sean Raley a run for his money. "May I ask what's
wrong with her?"

"Sure. She's too young for me, unlike you. And rumor has
it that she's one of the few actresses in Hollywood who could give an
authentic portrayal of a vestal virgin—assuming she lost a
few pounds. I'm not in the market for a chubby child bride."

Randy was so aggravated with the man that she felt like
throwing her coffee at him. "So who are
you
?" she
asked. "God's gift to the female sex?"

"A few women have thought so," Luke laughed. "I kind of
thought you agreed. You have a lot to look forward to if you behave
yourself and do as you're told."

"In that case I'll be sure not to," Randy retorted. She
knew by the sparkle in his eyes that he was only needling her, but
couldn't help snapping at the bait. To be called a vestal virgin was
bad enough, but
chubby
? And a
child
?

"When my father finds out that you've got me instead of
Lin he'll have your head," she warned him. "He's very
protective…"

"Come off it, Linda. I've seen your sister and I've spoken
to her on the phone. There's a picture on your father's desk of the two
of you and I've seen that, also. One more word about being Miranda and
I swear I'll turn you over my knee…" He cut himself off,
grinning at her. "But don't worry. I'll make sure you enjoy it as much
as I do."

By now Randy didn't trust herself to speak. The man was
totally impossible. He wouldn't listen to a word she said, he was the
worst tease she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter, and his
self-confidence was so great that it approached epic proportions. It
took her a few minutes to calm down enough to realize that she was
handling him all wrong. She wasn't sure just what he wanted from Linda,
but the simplest way to resolve the situation was to find out and give
it to him. She could afford to be charitable—after all, she'd
have the last laugh when they met again in New York.

She finished up her coffee and started to toy with the
cup, asking ingenuously, "Where are we, Luke?"

"It's enough for you to know that we're somewhere in
Maine, at a cabin my great-uncle left me. It's a long
story—I'll tell you about it sometime. But right now you need
to clean up the kitchen and get to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Randy didn't bother to ask what he meant. As she worked in
the kitchen Luke brought in more wood from outside, stacking it on the
hearth. Randy quickly realized that there was no heat in the cabin
beyond what was provided by the fire.

Luke brushed off his pants, yawned and stretched. "Unless
you want to freeze your beautiful backside off, leave your bedroom door
open. It gets cold here at night. And if you want a shower do it now,
because I turn the water heater onto pilot at night to save gas.
Everything has to be flown in."

There was no lock on the bathroom door and Randy was
half-afraid that Luke would try to stroll in and watch her, but he
apparently had more finesse than that. The long-sleeved, high-necked
flannel nightgown wasn't the kind of sleepwear that drove men mad, so
she wasn't particularly concerned when she opened the door to find him
standing just outside—until he dropped a hand onto her
shoulder. No man, she told herself, had the right to be so sexy,
especially not Luke Griffin. His closeness made her pulses race, but
she forced a boredom into her voice that she was far from feeling.

"Did you want something?" she asked coolly.

He studied her detached expression for an uncomfortably
long moment, then removed his hand. Since Randy was trapped between the
wall and his body there was no need for him to actually touch her in
order to detain her. "Yes, I want something," he murmured.

He twined a large hand through her hair to gently pull her
head up and placed his other hand on her neck, the thumb lightly
caressing her jaw. Randy met his gaze with a level stare, resolutely
ignoring the fact that his hands were scorching her face. He kissed her
softly on the mouth, rubbing his lips back and forth over her own, but
she refused to respond. Fortunately he didn't persist, but straightened
up and shook his head, smiling. "But it doesn't look like I'll get it
tonight." Then he walked into the bathroom, closing the door just a
little too hard.

Back in her own room Randy snuggled under the goosedown
covers and curled up into a tight ball, trying to warm up. She'd won a
minor victory just now and permitted herself the luxury of relishing
it. Luke was obviously annoyed that she hadn't tumbled straight into
his bed, and her rejection must have been all the more galling since he
thought it had come from a woman who'd allegedly had more lovers than
she could count.

But as pleasant as it was to put Luke in his place for
once, it hadn't solved anything. She was still in Maine with a man who
thought she was her sister. She only prayed that her father never got
wind of Luke's mistake, because despite her previous threat, that was
actually the last thing she wanted. Knowing William Dunne, he would
either fire Luke Griffin, in which case C & D would lose a
highly talented executive, or else he'd get out his figurative shotgun,
which would be highly embarrassing for everyone concerned.

At least, Randy thought with a yawn, Luke wasn't the
ambitious fortune hunter she'd taken him for. She wasn't flattered by
his inaccurate view of her, or by the realization that he'd only been
teasing her on the phone, but it was nice to know that the man had some
integrity.

She stretched and yawned again, suddenly terrifically
sleepy. It was so peaceful and lovely here—wherever in Maine
"here" was. As isolated and restful as New Hampshire would have been, but with some very lovely
modern conveniences.

The wind had come up a bit and was rustling gently through
the trees. Randy thought she heard the sound of running water, and the
soft tones of an owl hooting filled the night. She pulled up the quilt
a little higher and closed her eyes.