Donovan's Child (11 page)

She made a low sound as their lips met. And she opened for him.

He swept his tongue in, groaning at the taste of her, the wet, tempting slickness. She put her hand on his shoulder, clasping, holding on to him.

That did it.

He was aching for her, growing hard.

She pulled back. Her eyes seemed haunted, a trick of the dim light. “My rooms?” she asked again.

His throat clutched. He felt absurdly inexperienced, as though this were his first time—which, in a sense, it was. Somehow, he managed a nod.

She reached out again, bangle bracelets clattering, her hand sliding warm and smooth against his nape, to pull him close for one last, hard, swift kiss.

And then, as quick as she had kissed him, she released him. She leaned on her door and swung those long legs out. She jumped down, pushed the door shut between them.

For a moment, she stood out there, beside the van, looking in at him, as if she had something important to say. But in the end, she only turned and left him.

He pivoted in his chair, tracking her, watching her walk away around the end of the van, her boot heels tapping out a hollow rhythm on the concrete floor.

She headed for the ramp. Too soon, she was out of sight.

Once he could no longer see her, he had the strangest sensation—that he had lost her already, without ever letting himself have her. That tonight hadn't really happened. That he was alone.

Again.

That, he couldn't bear. Not now. Not yet.

He was backed out and down in record time. He shut up the van and made for the exit ramp as fast as his wheels would carry him.

I
n her rooms, Abilene worked fast.

She took off her bangles and dropped them on the table by the bed. She took off her jacket, her shirt, her bra. Perched on the stool at the end of the bed, she tore off her boots, her jeans—everything. Naked, she grabbed the clothes in her arms, carried them to the closet, tossed them inside and shut the door.

And then yanked it open again.

Maybe greeting him naked was a little too…much.

She dug around in the pile of clothes until she found her silk panties. Once she'd wiggled back into them, she went to the dresser in the middle of the closet, where she started opening drawers and riffling through them, looking for something that was attractive, but maybe not too overtly seductive.

Not that she'd brought anything overtly seductive.

After all, she'd come here to work, not to have sex with Donovan.

In the end, she settled on the one nightgown she'd brought. It was cotton, a warm bronze color, very thin and wispy. It left her arms bare, but covered the rest of her to her ankles.

Not sexy, really. But not exactly unsexy. And certainly not as bad as greeting him in her Rice T-shirt and tattered sweats.

The bed was already turned back. Olga did that, nightly. So she ran around the sitting room, the bedroom and the bathroom, getting the lighting right—low, but not
too
low.

By then, a good ten minutes had passed since she left him in the garage. He would be knocking on the sitting room door any second now.

Wouldn't he?

He'd better be.

She went out to the sitting room and perched on the couch, where she stared at the door to the hallway, willing that knock to come.

It didn't. Endless seconds ticked by.

Eventually, she jumped up and went back to the bedroom, to check the time on the bedside clock: fifteen full minutes had gone by since he agreed to meet her in her room.

She went back to the sitting room, stood in the middle of the floor and tried to figure out what to do next.

What was going on here? He
had
agreed he would come to her rooms. Hadn't he?

He'd agreed with a nod, which clearly meant yes. But maybe she should have insisted that he say it out loud.

Then again, if he'd changed his mind after the fact, what difference did it make?

She paced the floor, trying to decide what her next move should be. Should she go to his rooms? Call him?

Or just forget it? Just take off this not-quite-sexy nightgown, put on her sweats and go to bed.

The knock—three light taps—cut her off in mid-pace.

In a rush, she released the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. She considered calling out that the door was open. But then she ended up racing over there and turning the knob.

At the last second, she decided she'd better be sure it was him before she swung the door wide. When it came to Donovan, well, a woman just never knew….

So she peeked around the edge of the door.

And there he was, staring back at her, still wearing the same sweater and jeans he'd worn to Luisa's. One side of that wonderful mouth of his kicked up. “Changed your mind?”

“I most certainly did not.” She stepped back, pulling the door wide. “I was getting a little worried about
you,
though.”

He wheeled in.

Once he'd cleared the threshold, she shut the door and leaned back against it, turning the lock by feel, her knees suddenly rubbery and her chest kind of tight. “Is everything all right?”

“Abilene.”

“What?” She sounded snippy. Somehow, she couldn't help herself.

“I went to my room, that's all. To get condoms.”

She realized she'd failed to mention that they didn't need them. “I'm on the pill.” Then again, well, you
couldn't be too safe these days. “But I guess it's wise, to use a condom in any case.”

“Well, all right, then.” He looked her up and down, a lazy kind of look, a look that took its sweet time. When his eyes rose to meet hers again, he started backing the chair toward the center of the room. “Come away from the door.” He said it softly, with wonderful, delicious intent.

And she felt instantly better about everything. It was obvious that he wanted to be with her. She could stop feeling that maybe she had pushed him into something he just wasn't ready for.

She took a cautious step.

“Nice nightgown,” he said. He sounded like he really meant it.

But she felt suddenly shy anyway. She gnawed on her lower lip, fiddled with the wide straps that held up the top. “It's not exactly seductive….”

“It's perfect.”

She felt a flush flooding up her neck and over her cheeks, and she had to look away. “I, um, thank you.”

“Come here.”

She took another step. “I feel…kind of awkward, you know? As if it's my first time, or something, which it's not. I mean, it's not like there were a
lot
of guys, or anything. But still, it's not as if I'm a virgin or anything….” She shut her mouth, swallowed. Yikes. Talk about an excess of information.

“I know what you mean.” He said it low, roughly tender. “When you kissed me in the van, I was thinking that I felt completely out of my depth, like it was my first time all over again.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. And it
is
the first time.
Our
first time.”

Now she almost wanted to cry. “Oh, Donovan…”

“Yeah?”

“That was the perfect thing to say.”

“You think so?” He looked kind of pleased with himself.

“I do, yes. The perfect thing.”

“So you think you might come all the way over here, then?”

She did just that, stopping inches from his front wheels. He put his palms to his thighs, patted gently. She hesitated. “Will I…hurt you?”

“I'll let you know if it gets too bad.”

“So it
will
hurt you, hurt your legs, if I sit on your lap?”

“If it does, a little, it will be worth it.” He engaged the brake, locking the wheels into place. “Trust me to tell you, if something isn't going to work for me.”

“Yes, all right.” Her throat felt constricted. And her heart was just jackhammering away inside her chest. She could almost laugh at herself. She'd been so confident, at Luisa's, and when she kissed him down in the garage. Where had all that boldness gone?

But then he held out his hand to her.

She took it. And she found reassurance, in the steadiness and strength of his grip. She let herself relax a little, let herself feel again the electric excitement that charged the air between them every time they touched.

He gave a tug. She took his signal, gathering her nightgown in her free hand, lifting it high enough to get it out of her way. It was so simple, to hitch one leg over him, to slide her hips forward, so she straddled his lap.

With slow care, she settled her weight onto him, the skirt of her gown riding high across the tops of her thighs.

“You feel good,” he said. He let go of her hand and clasped her bare thigh. Heat shimmered through her as he stroked her skin with his open palm. “Smooth.”

She framed his face in her hands. “Oh, Donovan…”

“Shh,” he said. “It's all right.” And he kissed her, a slow, deep kiss, wet and sweet and so arousing.

His tongue slid over hers, retreating, and then gliding forward again, beneath hers that time, in a slick caress that brought a soft moan into her throat. The kiss went on and on and he touched her as he kissed her, first with long, exploratory caresses of her bare thighs. And then, more deliberately.

He cupped her bent knees in his palms. And after that, he took the caress lower, down the sensitive, thin flesh of her shins, and around, to learn the curves of her calves, the secret coves behind her knees.

She touched him, too. She ran her eager hands along the hard, thick muscles of his shoulders, over his chest, so deep and powerful, heavy with muscle even through the soft wool of the sweater he wore. Encircling his neck, she let her touch stray up into his close-cut hair. The short strands were warm, alive, between her fingers.

And then he ended the kiss, pulling away just enough that their lips no longer met. He pressed his forehead to hers. With a long, slow sigh, she braced her forearms on his shoulders and linked her hands behind his head.

Below, she could feel him. Growing hard. She tried moving her hips on him in a gentle, rocking motion.

It felt so good, she sighed again, let her head fall back and groaned his name, “Donovan…”

He pressed his lips to her throat, grazed the sensitive skin there with his teeth. “Yes…”

And then those wonderful strong hands of his were sliding under the hem of her nightgown, around the sides
of her thighs. He cupped her bottom, over her panties, and he urged her to move faster—and then slower. And then faster again.

And again, they were kissing, mouths fused and hungry, as she moved on him, creating the sweetest, hottest kind of friction, and she was burning, deliciously. She was on fire, a fire that only flared hotter, that built and spread, all through her.

He tasted so good. He
felt
so good.

She let her hands stray downward, along his sides, so lean and compact, to his tight waist. For a moment, she lingered there, her hips rocking, her hands on either side of him, holding on good and tight, as the pleasure within her built in fiery waves.

Beneath his sweater, she felt his warmth. But she wanted more. So she took the sweater by the hem and tugged it upward. For a moment, he resisted, unwilling to let go of her.

But she was insistent. And finally, he gave in. He eased his hands from the folds of her nightgown and lifted his arms high.

With a moan, she pulled her mouth from his and whipped the sweater up between them. He did the rest, yanking it all the way off, tossing it to the floor.

And then they were kissing again. And he had those hands of his back under her gown, holding her, urging her onward.

And she was rocking him, rocking herself, rocking both of them, as she wrapped her arms around him, ran her hungry fingers up and down the hard muscles of his back.

She could have gone on like that forever, moving against him as he kissed her in that so thorough, so lazy, slow, delicious way he had. He still had his jeans on. She
still wore her panties. But even with the barrier of their clothing between them, it felt perfect to her.

It felt absolutely right.

But he took it further. He trailed a hand slowly, up under her nightgown, along the lower curve of her back…and around.

To the front of her again. He pressed his palm flat against her belly. And then those skilled fingers of his slid lower.

He cupped her.

She froze. And she gasped.

He took that soft sound into him as he eased his fingers under the elastic of her panties and slid them into the wetness between her thighs.

Oh, it felt so good. So thrilling, so free. So exactly right.

She was open to him and he stroked her, continuing to cup her at the same time, holding her in place with one hand as with the other he did the most amazing, lovely things. He dipped a finger in, then two. And with his thumb, he found her sweet spot.

Oh, she was losing it. She hovered in a haze of building pleasure, on the far edge. She teetered on the verge of completion.

And then, she was there. She was going over. The soft explosion claimed her.

She grabbed his wrist, widened her legs even farther, held on tight, moaned low and helplessly, deep in her throat as the sweet, shimmering contractions took her. The pleasure increased in waves, taking her higher, and yet higher still. Until she hit the second peak, surged over it…and down.

The slow fade-off began.

She sagged against him, murmuring wordless things, boneless now.

He gathered her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. She felt the brushing touch of his lips in her hair, the warmth of his breath at her temple. For a time they just sat there, in his chair, together. Entwined.

Some time passed. Minutes. Forever.

When she finally lifted her head from his shoulder, he touched her cheek and she met his shining eyes. He stroked her hair, guided a heavy, tangled lock of it behind her ear.

They shared another kiss—a tender one, a light brushing of his mouth to hers.

And then he was gathering her nightgown in his hands, easing it up. She raised her arms and he pulled it off and away, dropping it to the floor on top of his sweater.

“So fine,” he whispered, bending his head to touch his tongue to the tip of one breast. He pressed his thumbs to either side of her navel, holding her waist in his hands. And then he caressed his way upward, until he cradled both breasts.

She sighed and arched her back, offering him total access. He took it, bending closer, taking one nipple into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around it, and then sinking his teeth in—not too hard, just enough to add to her pleasure.

He kissed her other breast, too, taking his time about it, making her moan again, making her clutch his big shoulders and whisper his name.

And then his hands were around her waist again, lifting.

She took his cue and transferred her weight to her toes. A little unsteadily, with her legs spread so wide, she started to rise. He helped her, taking most of her
weight in his two strong hands. She hitched one leg back and then the other, clearing the large rear wheels of the chair. And then the smaller front wheels, too. At last she was able to find her balance upright, to bring her legs together.

He gazed up at her, his eyes heavy-lidded. She smiled down at him, admiring the beautiful musculature of his arms and shoulders, the hard perfection of his chest and belly. Such a gorgeous man.

And still very much aroused, his hardness straining the fly of his jeans.