Tycoon's One-Night Revenge by Bronwyn Jameson Page A

salvation had arrived.
    Discarding the boots, she hurried back to the living area only to find Donovan as alone as she’d left him. The microwave whirred busily at his back. The table was set. He looked up from slicing what looked and smelled like a homemade sourdough loaf. “Hungry?”
    Susannah ignored her stomach’s growling response and the unsettling notion of how comfortable he looked in her kitchen. “Did I hear you speaking to someone just then?”
    “Phone.” He pointed out the instrument across the living room with the wickedly serrated knife. “It was Gabrielle. A courtesy call to check the food had arrived and that everything was to your satisfaction.”
    She glanced at the dishes he’d set out on the table, and nodded. Of course the food would be better than satisfactory—it was one of The Palisades’ premium selling points. “Did she mention the transport situation?”
    “Yes, but the news is not what you wanted to hear. The helicopter won’t be back until Monday at the earliest.”
    A sick feeling of dread tightened Susannah’s throat. “The weather forecast is that dire?”
    “The forecast isn’t bad, but the rain was even heavier and more prolonged farther south. There’s flooding over a widespread area and the chopper used for this service has been seconded for rescue operations.” He looked up from his bread cutting and met her eyes. “Since we’re safe and dry here, I suggested that we could wait until after the emergencies.”
    “Do you mean we’re stuck here indefinitely?”
    “Gabrielle mentioned a charter service they use for day trips. If the sea settles, it can ferry us across the bay,” he said with irritating calm. While he spoke, he carried the bread and whatever he’d nuked in the microwave to the table, depositing both alongside a bowl of salad. He held out a chair, inviting her to sit. “You might as well make yourself comfortable.”
    Stiff-backed and a long way from comfortable, Susannah slid into the chair. She took extra care to avoid contact with the hands resting casually against its back. “For how long?” she asked, her voice husky with nerves.
    “A day or two, at most.” He took his place across the table, the glint in his eyes as silvery sharp as the knife he’d wielded before. A shiver tracked her spine like the trickle of raindrops on glass as he slowly smiled. “But who knows? It’s in the hands of the Gods. Why don’t you relax and enjoy?”

Five
    R elax and enjoy? I don’t think so.
    But when Susannah watched him ladle a generous serving of chowder-style soup into her bowl, her stomach decided that, yes, it could very-much enjoy. The dish was as good as it looked and smelled, and with the edge taken from her hunger she was able to relax enough to see the positive side of her situation.
    As long as they couldn’t leave, no one could arrive. And the only thing worse than being trapped here alone with Donovan Keane, was being discovered trapped here alone with Donovan Keane by, for example, Alex. He hadn’t called and her mother hadn’t called back, either. She’d expected to hear from someone…unless the phones were out.
    “Did Gabrielle mention the phone lines being down?”
    He looked up from buttering a slice of bread. “No. Why do you ask?”
    “I just wondered, with all the rain, and mine has been so silent.” She cast a glance in that direction, then sat up straight as it struck her that—“I didn’t hear it ring earlier.”
    “Above that wailing hair dryer?”
    Point taken, but still…“It’s strange that Gabrielle didn’t mention the flooding when I spoke to her. She seemed quite optimistic about tomorrow.”
    “Are you suggesting I fabricated her phone call?” he asked after a long beat of consideration. He set down his knife and leaned back in his chair, his hooded gaze inscrutable. “To what end?”
    “To keep me here,” Susannah replied, mimicking his deliberate intonation.
    “Kidnapping? Isn’t that a little