Once her hair was down, he combed his fingers through the strands, ruffling the curls around her face.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured. So gorgeous it hurt.
Her fingers went to his belt. His hand covered hers. Shaking his head, he said, “Not yet. I have more to do.”
She obeyed and dropped her hand. He cupped her jaw, tilted her chin, and kissed her. Just a brush of his lips against hers while spearing his hands up through the hair he’d taken his time to undo. The back of her dress scooped down to her waist in a low V, and he ran his hands down her spine, and back up, savoring the shiver flitting through her body as he did.
His hands trembled the slightest bit. Had he ever trembled when he touched a woman? No. Never. And he’d touched the woman gazing up at him too many times to count since he’d returned to Evergreen Cove.
But somehow this was different. All of it was different. This was her do-over. And he was going to do her over and over, he thought with a wicked grin.
Leaving her briefly, he lifted a glass of ice he’d brought in earlier and sucked an ice cube into his mouth.
She watched him approach, pulling her bottom lip under her teeth.
Beautiful.
He tipped her chin and kissed her neck, raking the ice along her thundering pulse and down to the hollow of her throat. His fingers went to the zipper low on her back where he drew it open slowly, peeling the dress from her shoulders just as slowly.
By the time he dragged the ice over Sofie’s collarbone, she was writhing, head back, her fingers wrenching into his hair.
He bared her breasts, thumbing her skin as he stroked his tongue between them. When the ice melted, he abandoned her body, but only to get another piece.
Sofie was dissolving.
Like the ice on Donovan’s tongue currently running over her pebbled nipple. She sprawled on the red velvet sofa, legs open to accommodate him kneeling before her. Her fingers tightened into his hair as she pulled and pushed and whimpered.
After who knew how many torturous minutes passed, he tracked his tongue between the valley of her breasts and up to her neck where his cold tongue laved her flesh. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and several along the length of her neck, leisurely working his way up to her ear.
Gone was the Donovan who nipped and bit, who soothed the sting with more kisses. This Donovan was achingly gentle, his touch featherlight.
And fully clothed, more was the pity. Since he’d pushed her dress from her hips and sat her down onto the sofa, she only wore the lace panties she’d chosen with him in mind.
The scalloped edges were high cut, covering her bottom but completely transparent. She’d pulled them on earlier today, guessing she’d be wearing them for about five seconds after he laid eyes on them. But to her continued surprise and delight, he hadn’t rushed to strip her bare.
When he promised to give her everything she wanted, he wasn’t lying. This was everything she wanted. His attention. This drugging, slow pace.
Against the back of the sofa, she sagged.
“So far so good?” His head came up, his lips brushing hers.
“I think you know the answer to that question.” She lifted an eyebrow. “You know you don’t have to—”
His finger covered her lips, and she sucked his finger into her mouth, watching his eyes go hot and hungry. Through parted lips, he sucked in a ragged breath.
There. She had him. And soon, she would have him in her mouth or inside her. She increased the suction, thinking she’d won the battle of impatience, when he lifted her hips with his free hand.
He pulled his finger from her mouth, slipped past the barrier of her lace panties, and slicked between her folds. The breath she dragged in was broken, the emitting sound a full-on moan begging for more.
While his tongue encircled her breast, his fingers danced along her center. Then he slid one finger inside her, followed by another, and let loose her nipple with a suctioning pop.
He raised his chin and licked his lips, and damn if her hips didn’t lift on their own, driving his fingers deeper.
“Since this is your first time making love to me”—those lips tipped into a naughty smile—“I’m going to make sure you come first.” Mouth on hers, he gave her a long wet kiss that had her reaching for his shoulders and pulling him closer. “And come hard.”
Her panties disappeared, swept down her legs and tossed over his shoulder. His fingers returned and he put his tongue against her clitoris, applied pressure, and lapped her until she was squirming.
He wasn’t kidding. She came.
And she came hard.
She was dripping. For him. And that undeniable fact had him rock hard.
Despite the very real shake working its way through his bones, he had continued to put his own needs on hold.
Until now.
He’d vowed to give Sofie everything she wanted. Mouth dropped open, her cheeks bright pink, her mahogany curls spread around her over the sofa where he laid her out, he thought probably, they were pretty close.
From between her legs, he tilted his hips, he drove into her wetness, watching her eyes squeeze close, feeling her tightness clamp around him—hold him together.
Yet again.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
It was no secret Donovan was a dog when he was younger. There were a lot of forgettable, hazy nights soaked in a lot of booze. When it came to sex, being as physically close as he could get to another person, there had always been distance. Save for Sofie. She didn’t allow distance.
The only distance he’d ever managed with her was the geographical kind. Being over five hundred miles away had been the only way to be away from her.
That night, the dam of emotions had burst, carrying with it a sense of foreboding the moment he slipped inside her sweet, giving body. She had opened for him in every way possible. Tonight was no different. She was relaxed, accessible. This time, it was he who gave and she who took. He allowed himself the privilege to savor every last inch sliding into her warmth.
Her fingers grazed his jaw, her moss green gaze locking on to his.
He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t hide. Couldn’t deny what he saw in her and what he knew she saw reflected in him. As he angled his hips, arranging himself on the sofa too small for them, he stroked her long and slow, taking his time, pulling every drop of passion out of the woman who had once again accepted him into her arms.
She’d accepted him and that was the most beautiful part.
“Donny.”
His old nickname riding on a cracked moan undid him most of all. He thought he had left Donny behind. Though he didn’t want anything to do with the man he used to be, Sofie, in her own way, affirmed who he was. Who I am.
Inside and out, she knew him. And she didn’t deny him.
Straight through.
She moved with him now, arching into a rhythm he matched effortlessly. When she breathed his name a second time, another orgasm rocked her frame and milked his from him. Like drawing a loose string from a sweater, he unraveled, coming inside her, and collapsing to his forearms over her supple body.
He gave her all of him. Every drop she’d given to him, he returned. She’d taken his release and in the process cleansed him of the past that had held him prisoner for far too long.
It took a while for him to come down, a long while where he lay, his face buried in her neck, while her fingers stroked up and down his back, over his shoulders. As his breaths slowed, he kissed her chest and untangled his hands from her hair.
When he pulled out, he did so slowly, earning a soft exhalation as she sighed against his lips. He’d planned on getting them both off this damned uncomfortable couch, to move her to the bedroom or any piece of furniture not a foot and a half too short for his frame, but once he faced her, he froze.
“Better.” She smiled up at him.
He blew out a laugh, but his levity faded as reality set in. The first time he brought her here, he shouldn
’t have. He’d known that. But he’d never told her that.
Straight through.
“Seven years ago I was fucked up,” he blurted.
Her face softened, but she stayed quiet.
So he continued.
“The night I brought you here… my father died earlier that week. Overdose.”
Robert Pate had always drunk a ton, but he started hitting the pills hard after Donovan left home at sixteen. With his punching bag gone, he guessed Robert no longer had a place to dump his anger.
“Gertrude was beside herself. My father was her only child.”
Sofie slid the hair from his eyes, saying nothing. Comforting him. Unable to keep from it, he lowered his face and kissed her. She flattened her hand against his cheek and held his lips against hers for a beat.
So fucking sweet.
When they parted, he said, “I was done. Done with the whole town, done with this house. I saw where I was headed—knew my life had added up to absolutely nothing. I was going to end up just like him, and I knew it. I was coming here that night to raid the liquor cabinet. Gertrude kept it stocked. I planned on downing a bottle of bourbon or vodka, hell, anything. Then I was going to drive to the quarry and climb a sheet of ice and rock.”
Sofie’s face melted into an expression of concern. “Dangerous.”
“Stupid.”
Her palm slid down his face and came to rest on his neck.
“I saw you watching me from across the bar at the Wharf. Then I decided to do something else with my evening. Decided to give myself a little bit of sweet after a week—a lifetime—of bad. I remember thinking… maybe the way out of pain wasn’t more pain. Maybe if I buried myself in so much pleasure I couldn’t move, I’d be okay.” Moving his fingers into her hair, he cradled her head. “You, Scampi. You were the game changer.”
“The virgin who ruined your plans.”
“You ruined everything.” He gave her a small smile. “And you saved me. Saved me from wandering drunk into the snow.”
“Then I drove you away.”
“I drove myself. I hated myself for taking what I took from you. Just stole what I wanted and didn’t give you anything in return.”
“But you—”
He stopped her words with a kiss, then pulled away and shook his head. “I didn’t deserve an easy out. I didn’t deserve you. Knew you were better off without me. I became what I deserved.”
Gentle fingers stroked his jaw as honest green eyes flashed over his face. Adjusting them on the couch, he held her close, kissed her long and slow.
When her eyes cleared of their lusty haze, he said, “Ready for some more truth?”
“Hit me.”
“Would never hit you.”
Her finger trailed along his bottom lip. “You know what I mean.”
“Every ounce of love you poured into our first night together… I felt that. I’ve been hit a lot, I’ve had bones broken, had needles punctured into my skin to cover the scars. But I swear to you, I’ve never felt more afraid than the moment I figured out what you were giving me—how you felt about me.” He took a deep breath. Straight through. “I’ve never been so unworthy of a gift before or since.”
“Not true.” Tears flooded her eyes.
“Don’t you dare cry for me, sweetheart.”
“I think”—her voice broke, and the break echoed in his heart, splitting him in two—“I still love you.”
He held her face between his palms.
“Fuck, Scampi.”
“I know. It’s foolish.” She blinked several times, forcing back the tears perched on her lashes. He watched her eyes fill again. “More foolish to admit it.” Those swimming eyes found his. “I can’t help it.”
Gently, he lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, drinking her in, savoring that love on her tongue. It had a flavor: sweetness, pure and simple.
She shifted beneath him, pressing her hips up to his. He was growing hard for her. Already. Before he thought better of it, he angled himself between her legs and slid in to the hilt. He moved inside her, continuing to kiss her—making love to her mouth as well as her body.
“I’ve never loved anyone,” he said against her lips, knowing he was about to make an epic mistake but, like this moment, was incapable of stopping. He pumped into her, watching her mouth fall open, her eyes sink to half-mast.
“Fuck, Sofie,” he whispered, his vocal chords tight with emotion. “I love you.” The tears she’d been damming spilled over. He brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs and thrust into her again. “I love you so goddamned much.”
She smiled through her tears, holding him tightly as he continued pumping into her.
He shouldn’t have said it.
After, she would ask questions he couldn’t answer. Questions about what would become of them now.
He loved her. He hadn’t lied about that. He also hadn’t lied about the fact that she was better off without him seven years ago.
But what caved his chest in, even as another orgasm shook his bones, was the fact that she was better off without him now, too.
Sofie had no idea what time it was.
After the library, Donovan brought her upstairs and laid her in his bed. He made love to her again, showing no signs of running out of steam. And the entire time all she could think of was his admission downstairs. She’d confessed her deepest, darkest feelings for him, and he’d shattered her in the best way.
He loved her. He loved her.
They’d left the bed to shower. He soaped her and dried her and kissed her sweetly. Back in bed, he’d tucked her into his chest, enclosed his arms around her, and complained her hair was wet and cold.
She’d laughed, told him to “wait and see what it looks like in the morning,” and closed her eyes.
She was on the fringes of sleep when a shrill ring pierced the air.
Donovan stirred next to her, jostling the bed as he moved to answer his cell.
Sofie blinked her eyes open as he murmured “Alessandre” into the phone. Conversational words followed. Yeah. Not too late. No. Good.
His next four words jolted her awake.
“The sooner the better.”
Rolling onto her back, she pulled the sheets over her naked body. Donovan, sitting on the side of the bed, ran a hand through his hair.
“Yeah,” he said. “Ready to get back.”
Her stomach tossed. This wasn’t happening.
The sooner the better?
He ended the call and dropped the phone on the nightstand with a clatter. Swinging his legs into bed, he settled against the mattress and let out a long, low breath.
She sat up on one elbow, her damp hair causing gooseflesh to pop up on her bare skin.
“Ready to get back… to New York?” Part of her hoped he’d fervently deny it.
He didn’t.
He looked her dead in the eyes in the moonlit room and said, “Ready to get back to work, yeah.”
God. Was she hallucinating? Surely this wasn’t the same man who was in the library with her earlier. When he said her name—her real name—followed by I love you.
“So that’s it? You’re just… leaving?”
“Scampi.” A frown bisected his brows.
“Leaving Evergreen Cove.” She threw the covers off, unable to quell the anger—the hurt—stinging her skin like hundreds of needles.
Leaving her. Again.
The pinnacle of vulnerability would be to show how much she hurt. But she couldn’t keep from reacting. Couldn’t keep the words from coming.
“How can you make plans to go back after… after…”
She couldn’t say it.
Eyes on the ceiling, he spoke in an even tone. “Never planned on staying.”
“But… you said”—that you loved me—“so many things.”
Cold blue eyes flicked to her.
“Doesn’t mean I’m staying, Scampi.”
And there it was. The hairline crack in her heart—t
he crack Donny Pate had put there—splintered. He’d fractured her tender heart seven years ago; now he obliterated it.
Doesn’t mean I’m staying.
But that’s exactly what it should mean. In her mind, anyway. Maybe that’s where this entire affair had occurred. In her mind. Donovan never made her any promises. And she never asked for any. She’d fallen into his arms again, but this time, her eyes were open. He took what he wanted and left her behind seven years ago. She knew him, knew what to expect.
So why are you upset?
Because she started to believe he changed. Believed she changed him. Against her better judgment, she’d allowed herself to hope. Worse, she allowed herself to love him. And love couldn’t be undone.
Finally, Donovan turned his head and looked at her. “You gonna make me sleep alone tonight?”
She should. She could. She could gather the pieces of her heart, what was left of her self-respect, get dressed, and leave. Not trusting her answer, she said nothing.
The palm of his hand brushed her thigh, stroked up her ribs, and closed around her back.
“Don’t wanna sleep alone tonight, Scampi.”
She found herself folding over him, folding, period. Her weakness where he was concerned alive and well. But she didn’t have to stay weak.
Faith had pointed out Sofie held the power in this relationship. He may be leaving. But she had the power to let him. She wasn’t going to squander their last night together arguing when he would end up leaving anyway.
Untrustworthy emotions swirled in her chest. She sealed them up tight. Oh, she’d feel them later. They’d escape and choke the very air in her lungs. But for now she’d do her best to feel nothing.
She lay next to him, rested her palm on his chest, and her face on his shoulder. One strong, tattooed arm wrapped around her body and pulled her close. Lying there against his chest, listening to his heart beat, listening to his breaths slow, she felt plenty.
Each breath she took scratched her dry throat like shards of glass.
Rescuing the Bad Boy Page 28
