Any Thursday (Donovans of the Delta) by Peggy Webb Page A

of a woman in charge.
    “Do you do laundry?”
    “I certainly do not.
    “I didn’t think so, but then a woman of your talents doesn’t have to do laundry.” Feeling only a small twinge of guilt at the way he was protecting both of them from their attraction to each other, he chuckled as she rose to the bait.
    “And that’s another thing. I won’t share my talents, as you so shamelessly call them, with you.”
    “It takes two to kiss, wildcat.”
    “I made one mistake—long ago. I won’t repeat it.”
    He was stunned at the black jealousy that ripped his gut. At that moment he hated Rai Ghayami as intensely as he’d ever hated any man. The dishes clattered to the table as he strode over and cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. “No man stands between me and what I want, Hannah. No man.”
    “And what it is you want, West Coast Warrior?” The fire in her eyes challenged him.
    At that moment even he didn’t know. He conceded the victory to Hannah. “Dinner. Then bed.”
    “I’ll share my dinner, but I won’t share my bed.”
    “It’s inevitable, Hannah.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks before he let her go.
    “Never.”
    Seeing the indomitable Hannah in her glorious moment of triumph made the trip from San Francisco worthwhile. She’d generated more excitement in half an hour than all the silly, artificial women he’d dated in the last six weeks.
    Finally he knew why he’d come to Glacier Bay: He was addicted to Hannah Donovan. How he could ever reconcile that to his addiction to the big city and to his search for a dream woman, he didn’t know.
    “Fish is getting cold,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
    “Eating on an angry stomach is bad for the digestion.”
    “Shall we kiss and make up?”
    “You blackguard.” Hannah could tell by the way he was grinning that he was no longer serious. Their skirmish was over, and she’d won. “Don’t you ever behave?”
    “Rarely.”
    “How well I know.”
    They sat down to the halibut and a salad Hannah pulled from the refrigerator. Jim silently applauded as Hannah made the transition from enraged female to perfect hostess.
    “Jim, how long do you expect this story to take?”
    “A few days.”
    “I want the story to be great.”
    “So do I.”
    “Then shall we put our personal feelings aside— for the good of the institute and the good of your story?”
    Could he? Could he concentrate on anything except the magnificent woman sitting across the table? He had to; he knew that. For both their sakes.
    He smiled. “You strike a hard bargain, lady, but you’re on.”
     o0o
    After dinner Hannah began to prepare immediately for bed. In order to make the most of her day, she got up early, she’d explained to Jim. That meant early to bed.
    He listened to the sounds of her in the shower. There was hardly any way he could do otherwise, since the cabin was so small. The sound of the water tightened his already jangling nerves. It didn’t take much imagination to picture Hannah, her trim body gleaming with moisture and slick with soap. To combat his own increasing passion, he unpacked his faithful Remington, rolled paper into the machine, and began to type.
    The tapping of the typewriter keys soothed him, as it always did. The pleasure of seeing his thoughts transform a blank sheet of paper into something akin to a manuscript filled him with joy. He pitied the poor fools who had been wooed away by that electronic, whirring monster—the word processor. Let them get eyestrain from looking at the phosphorescent screen. He’d stick to the old ways.
    When Hannah came out of the bathroom, his fingers went still and his thoughts scattered like frightened mice. Her hair was wet, slicked back, as black and shiny as the pelt of a seal. There was not a trace of makeup on her face, but she was still as vivid as a poppy. Standing almost shyly in the bathroom doorway, wearing a red terry-cloth robe, she was the most magnificently gorgeous creature he’d