Ridiculous. She had no interest in getting involved with anyone. Just the thought of moving on made her heart ache. Even though Donovan stirred something inside her she hadn’t thought possible.
He led her to the back parking lot, full to the brim with cars. The sun cast a warm orange glow over them as day turned into evening. Donovan led her to a low-slung sports car parked near the back and opened the passenger door for her. She slid onto the leather seat, inhaling the scents of man and leather.
When Donovan climbed in next to her she cast a glance at his profile as he brought the engine to life. Strong jaw, lips made for pleasure.
She quickly looked away.
“Where to?” he asked, maneuvering out of the parking lot and onto the street.
She gave him her address, feeling a moment’s panic. This would be the first time someone besides her had been in her house.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Donovan said as they drove through town. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Cloe.”
“You have a last name, Cloe?”
“Carter.”
He held out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She shook his hand, trying to ignore the little sparks that jumped up her arm. It only took a few minutes to get to the house she rented. A cute little Victorian cottage she’d been lucky to find. The owner, an elderly woman named Ethel, had moved in with her daughter when she broke her hip. Said she couldn’t bear to sell the house she’d raised her kids in so she rented it to Cloe because she ‘had a good feeling about her’. Cloe took the utmost care with the house, unwilling to disappoint the woman who’d helped her stop running. Although her past still managed to catch up to her every time she closed her eyes.
“Nice place,” Donovan said when he pulled into the drive and parked outside the one-stall garage.
“Thanks.”
He turned off the engine, but she stopped him before he climbed out.
“Look, I really appreciate your offer to help me out tonight, but I’ll be fine. You don’t need to stay.”
His blue gaze met hers. “You have nothing to worry about from me, Cloe. If it helps, I’m a Navy SEAL. It goes against our moral code to harm a defenseless woman who almost died today.”
The grin on his handsome face made her belly flutter. Earlier, he had told her he was in the navy. But, a SEAL? She hadn’t seen that one coming. He looked like he should be sitting on a throne, not crawling around the sand in camouflage.
“And I promise not to mention the fact you haven’t decorated for Christmas yet.”
Any attraction she’d felt doused instantly. Her house was the only one on the block, probably in the entire town, that remained undecorated. She had no intention of changing that because just the thought of putting up the decorations she used to love made her heart ache.
She reached for the door handle. “Really. I’m fine. Thank you for the ride.”
The second she climbed out of the car a wave of dizziness hit her. She heard the driver’s door open and close seconds before a strong arm slid around her waist, preventing her from falling.
“Sorry, cara, I’m pulling rank on this one. You’re stuck with me for the night and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
That single endearment spoken in flawless Italian did her in. Not even her fiancé had been able to change her mind so easily.
The thought of Lance made her sober immediately. She pushed away from the steady comfort of Donovan’s arms. “All right. You can come in. But, no funny stuff. I have mace right beside my bed.”
That earned a soft chuckle. No, she would not let it affect her.
“I’ll be good. Scout’s honor,” he said.
She’d rather he be bad. Good Lord, where did that come from? Mentally berating her wayward thoughts, Cloe led him to her front door. Then took a deep breath and let him in. The first man to enter her home since her fiancé died.
Chapter Two
Donovan carried the bag of food his brother had packed, following the stunning blonde into her Victorian cottage. Her silky hair swayed down her back with each step she took, even if a bit unsteady.
At the door, she reached into the pocket of her shorts, then, frowning, searched the other one. Panic shone in her eyes when she looked up at him. “My key is gone. So is my wallet.”
“They probably fell out of your pocket. I’ll call my sister and have her look around the restaurant. What did your wallet look like?”
He pulled out his cell.
“It was just a credit card case. Slim, silver. My driver’s license and credit cards are inside.”
“Stay here.”
While talking on the phone to his sister, he strode back to his car, popped open the glove compartment and pulled out a small, black case. Cloe watched him as he handed her the bag of food, then crouched down and used the lock pick set to open her door.
He disconnected his call and slid his cell in his pocket. “Ang couldn’t find your wallet. Possible a spectator picked it up. I’ll call the PD and see if anyone turned it in.”
“I’ll report my credit cards as stolen. Crap, my phone is gone too.”
“You can use mine. We can get your phone replaced tomorrow.”
Her gaze moved to the black case in his hand. “Do you always carry around a lock pick set?”
He rose to his feet and took the bag back. “Comes in handy. After you.”
She hesitated briefly before going inside. He set the bag on the counter, able to see the entire house from the kitchen. Bathroom and bedroom to the right, living room in front of him. Not a Christmas decoration in sight. Not even a tree.
“Why don’t you go soak in a hot bath while I get the food prepared. It’ll help with the stiffness in your muscles.” And help her relax. Which she looked like she needed.
“I can help.”
He opened the bag. “I got this. Trust me, you’ll feel better after a bath.”
Her brows furrowed for a second, before she finally relented. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time. The food’s not going anywhere. Oh, here’s my cell so you can make your calls.”
She accepted the phone, something crossing her face he couldn’t read.
“Thanks.” She headed toward her bedroom, emerging minutes later with a change of clothes.
“Plates are in the cupboard near the sink, silverware in the top drawer,” she said on her way to the bathroom.
“Got it.”
She closed the door quietly behind her and he heard the shower. Respectfully he kept thoughts of her naked, water sluicing down her slender curves, at bay. Damn, it was hard but he managed.
He found the plates, set them on the glossy, cherry wood dining table built for six people, then topped it off with silverware and glasses of water. Luciano had packed a bottle of wine to pair with the ravioli, but Donovan kept that in the bag. No alcohol on his watch.
After that he made a fresh pot of coffee. It wasn’t espresso, but it would help keep them awake tonight.
The bathroom door opened and Cloe walked out, now wearing a pair of stylish jeans and tank top, her feet bare. Her hair hung in loose, damp strands over her shoulders, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. A fresh bandage covered the wound at her hairline.
He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in the world.
Her kelly green eyes scanned the table as she handed back his cell. “My goodness, is all this for us?”
Donovan grinned. “My family believes that food can cure any ailment.” He pulled out a chair for her to sit. She did so, but still stared at the food as if debating whether to believe him or not.
He moved to the chair across from her. “How are you feeling? Headache?”
She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of romaine lettuce. “I’m fine.”
Donovan took a bite of his butternut squash and walnut filled ravioli. Flavors burst on his tongue. His brother had outdone himself again. Donovan had never really caught
on to the whole making fresh pasta thing, but Luciano prided himself in his homemade pastas. Their father had insisted everything in the restaurant be homemade with recipes handed down for generations. It paid off, because the restaurant filled wall-to-wall from opening to closing.
He watched her take a bite of her salad, knowing she wasn’t fine. That seemed to be her go-to answer. Stubborn, or too proud to admit her pain?
“Maybe a couple aspirin after dinner,” he suggested, tearing off a piece of his bruschetta.
“You’re a pushy SEAL aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Irish, Italian and a SEAL. The trifecta of obstinacy.”
That earned him a smile, brief, but stunning.
“I suppose it is,” she said, spearing ravioli and tasting it. Her eyes widened and his pride in his brother’s culinary skills filled his chest. “This is amazing.”
After that she ate three more bites, then tasted the bruschetta and finished half her salad.
Pleased, he cleaned his plate. Sure as hell beat MREs.
“Oh my gosh. I can’t eat another bite,” Cloe said, pushing her plate away.
Donovan pushed his aside too, impressed such a slender woman had eaten over half of it. If his mama got ahold of her she’d say Cloe was much too thin and would make it her life’s mission to put some ‘meat on her bones’.
“We’ll have dessert later, then,” he said.
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat another bite for days.”
“But I have Rosina Al Cioccolato.”
Something flared in her eyes that made his blood threaten to run south. Did she like it when he spoke Italian? A few women he’d dated got really turned on whenever he spoke it. With Cloe, he couldn’t be sure. She masked her feelings pretty well.
“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds delicious.” She averted her gaze, breaking eye contact.
“Chocolate mousse with fresh raspberries and sponge cake soaked in Triple Sec and served with crème angalaise, a light custard sauce.”
She groaned. “I think I gained five pounds just hearing about it.”
“You’d still be beautiful, cara.”
Damn it. Wrong move. She tensed and he regretted his loose tongue. He was here to watch over her, not come on to her.
“Why don’t you go relax on the sofa while I clean this up?” Rising to his feet, he began to clear the dishes.
“I’ll help.”
Yep, stubborn. He pinned her with a hard stare. “Gonna make me pull rank, again, huh?”
She bristled. Cuter than hell. This woman intrigued him on many levels.
“You know I’m not a Navy SEAL. You can’t pull rank,” she muttered, even as she put her plate back down on the table.
“Oh, I’m well aware you aren’t one of my teammates,” he said, his eyes sliding over her perfectly feminine figure.
That sent her hurrying into the living room. But not before she sent him a scorching look. Part annoyance at his shameless flirting, part interested.
Once she had settled on the sofa, he cleaned up the leftovers and put the dishes away. Then he joined Cloe. He didn’t sit, though. Instead he stopped in front of her. “Where do you keep your aspirin?”
“You aren’t going to let me be until I take one, are you?”
“You know me well already.”
She just shook her head at him, but he could tell she was a little more at ease.
“In the bathroom cabinet above the sink. Only one, though. I don’t like taking meds.”
“How bad is your headache?”
“Not bad enough to need more than one aspirin.”
Her determined expression made him nod in acquiescence before striding into the bathroom. Aspirin in hand, he detoured to the kitchen for a glass of water, then returned to sit on the sofa with her.
She must not have heard him approach because she jumped when he sat down.
“Sorry.” He handed the aspirin and glass to her. She leaned forward, popped the pill in her mouth, and took a swig of water.
“I should thank you for taking care of that guy today,” she said, setting the glass on the end table. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How did it feel punching that jerk in the nose?”
Not what he’d expected. He chuckled. “Pretty damn good.”
She nodded as a short silence stretched between them.
“Coffee’s done, want a cup?”
“I’ll get it.”
Donovan rose to his feet and headed for the kitchen. “Already on it. Do you take yours with cream or sugar?”
“A splash of milk, no sugar.”
Not quite as stubborn. Definitely getting more at ease. He poured two cups of coffee, added milk to hers, and returned to the sofa. Cloe had turned on the television, the volume turned down low.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like to watch?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“I don’t watch much TV, so you choose.” With his schedule he was rarely home. His days were spent training, in the field, or at the restaurant.
She flipped the channel to a sitcom he’d seen once or twice.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
“We could put your Christmas decorations up.”
The color leached from her face and her hands tightened on the coffee cup. “No. I don’t think I’m up to that.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Pain? Not physical. Emotional. His pretty host had suffered a tragedy before today. And damn if he didn’t want to fix it.
“All right, no decorations. How about a movie? I can have one of my brothers bring one over.”
Her fingers eased on the mug. “That sounds good.”
He pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your pleasure?”
She thought for a moment. “Something funny. I’ve had enough drama for today.”
His brother picked up on the second ring. “This better be important.”
“I need you to run to the video store and pick up a couple movies. Comedies. And bring them to this address.” He recited Cloe’s address.
Shane groaned on the other end. “I’m a little busy, if you know what I mean. Can’t Gabby do it? She’s not working tonight.”
“She’s on a date.”
“So am I.”
Donovan knew exactly what kind of ‘date’ his brother was on. One that didn’t include wining and dining a woman. Women picked Shane up; he rarely had to take them anywhere besides his apartment.
“She’ll wait, trust me. See ya in a few.”
He hung up on Shane’s protest, knowing his youngest brother would come through. And the woman he had in bed right now would wait. They always did.
“Everything okay?” Cloe asked when he returned the phone to his pocket.
“Yep. Movie’s on its way.”
“Great. How many brothers do you have?”
“Four. And three sisters.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. That’s a big family.”
“That’s what happens when you mix an Italian and an Irishwoman.”
“Your mother is Irish?”
“Yep. She was in the States on vacation when she walked into my dad’s restaurant. They married six weeks later.”
“Six weeks? And they’re still together?”
Donovan chuckled. “After twenty-five years they’re still like newlyweds.”
Cloe looked away, a hint of sadness crossing her features. “They’re very lucky.”
“They have something rare.”
She nodded and sipped her coffee, but not before heavy sorrow crossed her face. It didn’t stay long; she masked it quickly.
“How about you? Siblings?” he asked, wondering what had happened to make such a beautiful woman sad.
“No. Just me.” Her voice hitched and she rose hastily to her feet, almost spilling her coffee down her arm. “Did I see a bottle of wine in your bag? I could use a drink. How about you?”
Her green eyes narrowed on him. “Why not?”
“You have a mild concussion. Alcohol is a depressant, which will make you less likely to notice any adverse effects.”
“I didn’t plan on getting drunk.”
He put the bottle on top of the fridge. “Sorry, cara, no alcohol until the danger is over.”
“You know, beneath that charming exterior you’re a real pain in the ass.”
Donovan laughed. The fire in her pleased him. Much better than the sadness. Which he would get to the bottom of.
Whoa.
Mentally, he took a step back. His parents may have the perfect relationship, but he wasn’t looking for one. The military divorce rate was high. Especially in Spec Ops. Not many women were cut out to stand strong beside their man when he was gone more than he was home. The classified part of his career created a communication barrier. Women liked to talk, expected their men to share, but in his line of work that wasn’t an option.
Jill hadn’t been able to handle it. She’d packed her bags and walked out on him while he was deployed. That had been six months ago. Hell, they’d been together over a year. Jill seemed to accept his career with no trouble. At least that’s what he thought. She’d never communicated with him about her unhappiness over him being gone more than he was home, or that he couldn’t talk about where he went or what he did. He thought he’d found the perfect woman just like his SEAL buddy, Jack Taggart. Jack and Darci were married and making it work. Then again, Darci was an exceptional woman.
Now, he dated just to date. With settling down off the table, socializing had become more fun. The women he dated understood where he came from, and most of them didn’t mind. They were after the same thing he was. No strings made sex incredibly pleasurable. And kept things less complicated.
Sex with this lovely woman would be off the charts with that fire buried carefully inside her. He got the impression she didn’t show it often.
“How about I tempt you with another cup of coffee and dessert.”
She glanced at the wine bottle, out of her reach, then met his gaze. “All right. You win this one, but don’t think you can tell me what to do the rest of the night.”
A SEAL for Christmas (Novella) Page 2
