Gathering tableware, she set the table for two then went to the fridge to find something to drink. Oh, boy. A half carton of orange juice and the bottle of wine left over from the dinner Donovan’s brother had sent over yesterday.
“Um, I only have water and wine,” she said.
“The wine will go great with dinner. I chilled it so it should be ready.”
She grabbed the fancy bottle, watching him stir something in the taller pot. Then he brought the wooden spoon to his mouth and tasted the red sauce. Spellbound, she froze in place, her belly doing little somersaults. She wanted a taste too. But not the spoon.
Mentally berating herself, she hurried to the table to pour the wine. He was just a man. A very handsome, sophisticated, muscular hunk of a man.
Ah.
Why couldn’t she stop? Donovan was doing her a favor by staying here and protecting her from danger. He didn’t deserve her hormones turning him into a sex object. In her defense, she hadn’t been with a man since Lance and that had been over a year ago. They hadn’t seemed to be able to find time for intimacy in their busy lives. That had partly been responsible for her holiday plans at the resort. Some skiing, some romance, Christmas traditions.
Look how that turned out. Her hormones had gotten her into trouble then and they couldn’t be trusted. If she engrossed herself in work she’d be fine. As she had been the past year. Work kept her mind from going to sad places. Since meeting Donovan she hadn’t been able to stick to that.
The man was scrambling her brain.
That, or the accident had affected her more than she thought. Yeah, she’d go with that. Safer.
Realizing she had forgotten an opener for the wine, she went back into the kitchen and dug through the drawer until she found it.
“Smells wonderful,” she commented before going back to the table to open the bottle. When she tried to pull the cork it wouldn’t budge. Biting her lip, she tried again. No luck.
“Here, let me. Sometimes those corks really stick.”
She handed the bottle to Donovan, who pulled the cork as if it were a piece of lint. Hard as she tried she couldn’t keep her eyes off his biceps. They were spectacular. And oh-so-useful.
God, she was out of control.
Donovan handed the bottle back to her and she thanked him while avoiding his gaze. Couldn’t risk him reading her thoughts.
“Dinner in five,” he said on his way back to the kitchen.
Sounded good to her, she was hungry. For food. Food was the only thing on the menu and she better get it straight before she got in trouble.
She poured the wine and sat down to wait. He wouldn’t need her help; he looked like he had it handled. Good, she was better off here.
As promised, five minutes later dinner was on the table. A huge bowl of spaghetti that looked even more delicious than it smelled.
“You made this in my kitchen?” she asked in disbelief.
He grinned and sat across from her. “Hope you like marinara.”
“When it smells like this, yep.”
He served up a large heap of noodles and sauce on her plate, then a larger one on his. No way she’d ever eat that much.
She wound a forkful and tasted it. Then groaned and looked at Donovan. “No way you made this in my kitchen,” she said. “This is amazing.”
“Glad you approve. My papa’s marinara is the best.”
“I agree.” She took another bite, then sipped her wine. Flavor burst on her tongue. The wine paired perfectly with the pasta.
When half her plate was clear she pushed it away and leaned back in her chair. “No more.”
They cleaned up the table together. Then stood side-by-side to wash the dishes. The old house hadn’t come with a dishwasher. Donovan offered to wash so she could dry and put them away.
“Does you entire family cook like that?” she asked, accepting a plate from him.
“They do. My parents insisted we all learn the skill. Running a restaurant didn’t leave us much choice.” He chuckled. “Angela is the only one who really never picked up the skill. She hates to cook.”
Cloe put the plate in the cupboard. Conversation with Donovan came so naturally. Too much so. Not even with Lance had she felt this comfortable with a man.
“I’m not much of a cook,” she said. “I never really took the time to learn.” Because she’d been too busy building her career to learn what her mother wanted to teach her.
Guilt and regret washed over her. If only she’d taken the time to do it. Those moments were lost now. She would never bake with her mother. Never learn her special nuances in the kitchen, her special dishes. Never stand side-by-side with her as they baked Christmas cookies for the annual party.
“Cloe? You okay?”
Jolted out of the past, she looked down to see she still held a pot in her hand, water dripping down her arm. Donovan took the pan from her and set it on the counter. Then his hands cupped her shoulders and turned her so she faced him. With her emotions so close to the surface she stared at his chest, afraid he’d read her thoughts if she looked him in the eye.
He put a knuckle beneath her chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Whatever it is you keep buried in here,” his other hand slipped down to her chest to rest over her heart. “You can trust me with it.”
Her heart fluttered beneath his touch. Trust him with her heart? God, how she wanted to. But, she couldn’t risk losing anyone else she loved. Never again.
She pulled away. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Then she turned and ran to the safety of her bedroom. Closing the door on her past and her future.
Chapter Seven
Donovan stared at Cloe’s closed bedroom door. It felt more like a barrier than a door. If it had a lock he bet she’d used it. The torment in her eyes before she bolted spoke volumes. She’d suffered. Still did. But she wasn’t willing to share.
That bothered him more than he cared to admit. Maybe because the women he dated usually volunteered information. Hell, he liked to listen. Cloe wasn’t like other women he’d dated. Jill had been good at conversation in the beginning of their relationship. It was in the end that she’d stopped talking. As she walked out the door without warning, without as much as a goodbye. Just a note that said ‘I can’t do this anymore’.
Did he really want to go through that again?
Cloe made him want to take the risk. This was more than a case of him doing the right thing and protecting her from harm.
Damn. How quickly things were getting complicated. He didn’t need complicated. Been there, done that. Hurt like hell.
He wanted to knock down that door. Kick it in and uncover her secrets. Take the hurt away. Carry it for her. Hold her.
Donovan raked a hand through his hair and turned back to the sink. He dipped his hands in the soapy water and finished washing the dishes. Then he dried them and put them away. All the while keeping an eagle eye on Cloe’s door. No sound came from the other side.
After hanging up the dishtowel, he sat on the couch and turned on the television. Her door opened and he glanced over the back of the sofa to see her carrying an armload of blankets toward him. He rose to his feet to accept them from her. Their hands brushed and she jerked away.
“I’m sorry for running out on you like that. There are just some things I can’t talk about.”
“I understand.” That, he did understand, as much as he didn’t want to. He’d seen good men fall in the line of duty, so he got it. Talking about things that were painful wasn’t easy for anyone. He sure as hell didn’t want to share his.
Her soft gaze met his. “You do?”
Aw, hell. Fair was fair. If he wanted her to open up he’d have to do the same. Earn her trust.
“We all have ghosts, Cloe.”
“Even you?”
He placed the blankets on the sofa. Then he took her hand in his. “My ex-girlfriend walked out on me while I was deployed. No warning. No note. No contact to date.”
Her eyes widened. “She left without telling you?”
“She did.”
“While you were deployed. That’s just wrong.” Her fingers tightened in his. “I’m so sorry.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Her sharp, indrawn breath made him hide a smile. As much as she tried, she wasn’t immune to the chemistry between them.
“I appreciate that, cara.”
This time she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she leaned toward him until her breasts touched his chest.
“I like it when you speak Italian,” she murmured. “And Gaelic.”
“Chi nasce bella nasce maritata.”
Heat flared in her light green eyes. And went straight to his groin. He snagged an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. God, she felt so good. So right.
“What did you say?” she asked, breathless.
He smiled. “She that is born beautiful is born married.”
A mask fell over her face and she stepped out of his arms. “I’m not married,” she said, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.
“I know that. We covered the ‘involved’ part already. That’s not what the saying means—”
She held up her hands to stop him. “I know what it means. I just don’t like it because I am never getting married.”
“Why the hell not?”
“That’s none of your business.” Anger flared in her eyes. “You aren’t going to push me into telling you my sad story just because you told me yours.”
So her story was a sad one. That made him want to push harder.
“And you aren’t going to sweet talk me into it either.” She poked him in the chest. “Not with Italian or Gaelic or any of the other languages you speak.”
Damn, she was pretty when she got riled. Her skin glowed, her eyes brightened. Color tinted her cheeks.
He wanted to kiss her.
“I’m sorry your story is a sad one, cara.”
She shook her finger at him. “Oh, no. No, you don’t. Don’t be nice to me, dammit.”
That drew a smile from him as he stalked closer. She stood her ground. He liked that.
“You’re making this very hard,” she said.
“Am I?” He took another step closer.
She stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Not happening, mister. Navy SEAL or not, you aren’t strong-arming me into talking.”
He grinned. “Strong-arming?”
Her lips pressed together before her smile took over. The world tilted beneath his feet. Damn, her smile lit up the room. This was a real smile, not the half-attempts she’d given him so far.
It hit him square in the chest.
He reached out and cupped the nape of her neck, drawing her against him. Before she could resist he lowered his head and claimed her lips. A tiny sigh escaped her, her hands sliding around his waist to grip his back.
Damn, she tasted as good as she smelled. Donovan deepened the kiss, feeling a burst of male pride when she allowed him in. Slowly, he backed her up against the wall, groaning when their bodies came in full contact.
Needing to be closer, he leaned more fully on her. Her answering moan about brought him to his knees.
Cloe pushed against his shoulders, her mouth leaving his.
“No. I can’t do this,” she breathed.
Donovan stepped away from her. He’d never force a woman. But, damn, he wanted her more than his next breath.
Cloe touched her lips with a trembling hand. “I’m sorry,” she said before spinning and practically running for her bedroom.
This time he was certain she wasn’t coming back out.
****
Cloe leaned against the door of her bedroom, trying to steady herself. What had she been thinking, kissing Donovan like that? Guilt flooded her, making her breath catch in her throat. Lance was gone, but it still felt like a betrayal.
How had this gotten so far out of control?
She ran her tongue over her swollen lips, tasting Donovan there. Despite what her brain said, her body wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted a man. Including Lance. She’d been attracted to him, in love with him, but he’d never set her on fire like Donovan did.
What did that mean?
Cloe let out a long sigh and pushed off the door to get ready for bed. No way could she go back out there tonight. Not when her emotions were so screwed up. But, oh, she wanted to. So, so bad.
Tugging her pajamas on and climbing in bed, she silently berated herself. Because only a fool would put herself out there again.
She couldn’t make another mistake like the last one. Not even with a man whose kisses threatened everything she’d tried so hard to forget.
****
Donovan rolled off the couch, changed into workout clothes, and slipped into his running shoes. No sound came from Cloe’s bedroom, so he ducked outside for his run. His shoes made little sound on the pavement as he pounded out a five-minute mile. Then another two before dropping and hammering out sit-ups and push-ups on the back porch.
With a glance at his watch he sprinted into the house so he could catch a shower before Cloe got up. Her alarm would go off in fifteen minutes. He only needed ten.
Fisting his shirt behind his head, he pulled it off on his way to the bathroom. He stopped short when he saw Cloe standing in the kitchen, the carafe to the coffee pot in her hand, staring at him.
Heat flared in her eyes before she spun around and poured the water into the pot.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were up.”
“I woke up a few minutes ago. Thought I’d make coffee before you got up, but I see you got an early start.” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat.
“Morning routine. Thought I’d be finished before you needed the shower.”
She kept her back turned, fussing with the bag of coffee beans. “You work out like this every morning?”
“Yes, mostly to stay in shape, but partly because I like it.”
“Well, it’s working.”
Donovan hid a grin. After the kiss last night he wasn’t sure she’d give him a second look. Ever. This proved she wasn’t as immune to him as she wanted to be.
“Care if I grab a quick shower?” he asked.
“No, go ahead.”
Amused she still wouldn’t turn around, he strode into the bathroom and closed the door. He showered in less than five minutes, wrapped a towel around his hips and cursed himself for not grabbing clean clothes first. Cloe wasn’t the only distracted one at the moment.
He exited the bathroom and found Cloe standing there holding out a cup of coffee. She’d already dressed in fitted t-shirt and shorts that showcased her gorgeous legs.
“I thought you’d like—oh.”
Her eyes dropped to the towel riding low on his hips, then slowly rose to meet his. No shyness this time and damn if he didn’t adore that.
“I’d love a cup, but I need to get dressed first.”
Actually, it wasn’t the coffee he wanted at the moment. With her sleep-mussed hair and a morning glow on her flawless skin, she looked good enough to kiss. Something he couldn’t stop thinking about.
“Yes. Dressed,” she murmured.
He grinned. “Unless you want me to wear a towel all day.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. Then she shook her head and took a step back. “No. I’ll keep this warm for you while you get dressed.”
“Back in three.” He grabbed his bag and strode into the bathroom before she saw the evidence of his attraction to her.
Minutes later he joined her at the kitchen table. “Your turn.”
“I think I’ll finish my coffee first.”
He took a drink of his. “Working today?”
She nodded. “I have an account that needs finishing before the New Year.”
“I thought I’d run out and get some groceries. Can you take a break this afternoon?”
Her hands wrapped around he
r mug, fingers tight. “I know you’re helping me out by staying here, but I don’t think it’s necessary. I really can take care of myself. And if this guy makes any more threats I’ll report it to the police.”
“I’m not leaving you alone. We don’t know what is motivating this guy. That makes him dangerous.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
He sent her a skeptical look and she shifted in her chair, her brows pulling down.
“I don’t like stealing you away from your family and your work. Christmas is coming soon. You should be spending it with them, not holed up here with me waiting for something that might not happen.” She stared into her coffee. “Your holiday leave probably isn’t that long. I can’t be responsible for keeping you away from the ones you love.”
“Not to worry. I have work to do, too. I brought my laptop with me so I can get it done. Just pretend I’m not here.”
The look that passed over her face almost made him chuckle. She may keep her secrets buried, but her face told all. It would be as hard for her to ignore his presence as it was for him to ignore hers.
“Then we do this under one condition.”
“And that is?”
“If your family needs you, you go.”
She drove a hard bargain. “Counter offer?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line but she didn’t object.
“If I need to go, you go with me.”
If possible, her lips thinned even more before she spoke. “You’re taking this protection thing a little far, aren’t you?”
“You’re worth it, cara.”
Her shoulders lifted in a sigh. “I’ve lost this battle, haven’t I?”
He grinned. “Look at it as a win for your survival.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth tipped. “All right, all right. But don’t you dare avoid your family so you can be here. Got it?”
“Got it,” he mused.
With a satisfied nod, she rose to her feet. “I’m gonna shower then get to work. I can take a break at lunch to go to the grocery store.”
“Deal.”
She disappeared into the bathroom and emerged minutes later. Her damp hair hung down her back like blond silk. He watched her walk to her computer and sit down. Minutes later she was engrossed in her work. Deciding to do some work himself and pull his thoughts out of the gutter, he got up and grabbed his laptop. Flipping on the television and turning the volume down as to not distract her, he got to work checking emails and catching up.
A SEAL for Christmas (Novella) Page 7
