“Because he’s wrong for you. Look at the way he took off when I won your basket.” Donovan stopped beneath a shady tree and behind some bushes that would hide them from curious eyes and prying ears.
She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Why Ross left is none of your business. Besides, who are you to say who’s wrong for me and who’s right?”
He put down the basket and withdrew a checkered table cloth, then handed her an edge. “I’m your friend. We are friends, aren’t we?”
Sarah sniffed in disapproval as she helped him spread the cloth over the ground. “Friends don’t embarrass friends.”
“I wouldn’t know. As you’ve pointed out, I’m a little short on social graces.”
She made a sound of exasperation. “I don’t know what sort of people you’re used to, Mr. Donovan, but in most social circles, friends help each other.”
“I’m trying to help you. I need to talk to you alone, and this was the only way I could do it.”
She sighed again and shook her head. “Mr. Donovan—”
“Jack,” he murmured with a warm, intimate smile. “We’ve surely known each other long enough.”
She eyed him warily, then nodded.
“Now sit down so we can eat.”
She sank down onto the blanket as he started unloading the picnic basket. She watched his lean, competent hands and wondered what he wanted to talk to her about.
Donovan sat down on the blanket across from her and took off his hat, placing it on the ground next to him. His black hair was slicked back from his face, casting the sharp blade of his nose and his angular cheekbones into prominent relief. Sarah curled her fingers into her palms and fought the urge to touch him as he took an apple from the basket, pulled out a knife, and began to peel the fruit.
“What did you want to discuss?” Sarah asked, trying to distract herself from her own sensual thoughts. “The school project?”
“Nope.” The red skin fell away from the apple in one long coil. He held the freshly peeled fruit out to her. “Apple?”
Sarah blinked at the speed with which he had pared it. She took it from his hand and stared at the smooth surface. Any other man would have left nicks and jabs in the fruit, but Donovan had sliced the peel off in one, quick, clean motion that left a smooth path from the knife. She glanced up at him, but he was peeling another apple with the same easy skill.
She wondered where a man learned to use a simple blade with the proficiency of a master wood carver.
He glanced up as a second long curl of red peel dropped to the blanket. “What’s the matter?”
She answered his question with one of her own. “Isn’t it the woman who’s supposed to tempt the man with an apple?”
He paused in raising the fruit to his lips. “I don’t know about apples, sassy girl, but you sure tempt a man.” He bit deep into the juicy pulp and paused, taking what seemed to be an indecently long time to finally scoop the bite into his mouth. The glint in his dark eyes made her shiver.
She cleared her throat. “I…um…I thought we had agreed that you weren’t going to tease me anymore.”
“I’m just giving you a compliment. You’re a pretty woman, Sarah Calhoun.”
She blushed. “Thank you. You’re a very attractive man.”
“Thank you kindly, Miss Sarah.” He grinned, stretching out to lie on his side, his lone dimple easing the hawk like sharpness of his features. He propped his head on one hand and bit into the apple again with strong white teeth. The other men attending the box social had come dressed in their Sunday best, but Donovan had chosen to wear black pants, a white shirt and a leather vest. He looked nothing like one of the wealthiest ranchers in the area. At first glance she would have mistaken him for a cowhand or a drifter.
Or an outlaw.
Sarah averted her gaze from his lean body, so close and warm, and tried to ignore where her thoughts led. But she had to admit the idea of Jack Donovan as an outlaw definitely appealed to her. Even if he’d never broken a law in his life, he had that element of danger about him that secretly thrilled her. Determined to regain control of her wild fantasies, she bit into her apple. The tart sweetness of the fruit exploded on her tongue.
“You realize if we keep this up, we might actually get along,” he drawled.
“I don’t like to fight,” she said.
“Yes, you do,” he replied with a grin. “It keeps life interesting. Besides, it’s your nature.”
“It is not!” she responded hotly. He burst into laughter, and she gave him a sheepish grin. “All right, so maybe it is. It must be the Irish bloodlines.”
“I’d say it’s just you, Sarah.”
She sighed. “It’s not very ladylike, is it? This temper of mine.”
“I don’t know about ladylike, but I’d rather be with a woman than a lady any time.” He bit into the apple and chewed, his movements lazy, his gaze watchful.
“Ladies are women.”
“There are women who are ladies, and then there are women who are women. Ladies bore me. They’re always fainting and blushing and worrying what everyone else thinks about their hair. Women, on the other hand, aren’t afraid to just be. They don’t get caught up in all that nonsense.”
“Whether that’s true or not, a woman must watch out for her reputation,” Sarah said. “I’ve seen what happens when that reputation is a bad one, and it’s nothing to laugh about.”
He shrugged. “A woman should worry more about what she thinks of herself than what others think of her.”
“Easy for a man to say,” she scoffed. “It’s usually a man who ruins a woman’s reputation to begin with.”
“Sometimes,” he conceded.
“Most of the time,” she responded bitterly.
He stopped eating and pinned her with that wise, dark-eyed gaze. “Something you want to talk about?”
“No.” She brushed away his concern with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure you’ve heard the whole story by now.”
“Some people don’t pay all that much attention to gossip,” he said quietly. “And maybe everyone isn’t talking about you as much as you think they are. There are other things going on in this town.”
She flushed. “You think I’m self-centered, don’t you?”
“No, I think you’ve been hurt. But it really doesn’t matter what I think, sweet Sarah. It’s your opinion of yourself that matters.” He bit off the last chunk of apple and tossed the core into the basket.
“I like myself,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, most of the time. I like what I’ve built with the newspaper.”
“You picked yourself up from a fall and got right back on the horse,” he pointed out. “That takes a lot of guts. A lot of women might have just given up and let someone else take care of them.”
“I guess that’s where my temper proved an asset,” she mused. “I got mad, and I was stubborn enough not to let them beat me.”
“Atta girl.” He sat up and rummaged in the hamper, pulling out two thick ham sandwiches. “Too bad you’re thinking of giving all that up.”
She took a sandwich from his hand. “I’m not giving anything up.”
“You’d be sacrificing the newspaper for a wedding dress,” he said, unwrapping his sandwich. “And that would eventually eat away at you. You deserve better, Sarah.”
“Ross is a good man. And it’s my choice.” She started to eat her sandwich, thinking the matter finished.
“I just want you to make the right choice. Who’s to say that Ross will be the only man to ask you to marry him?”
She frowned. The man was like a dog with a bone. “I’m getting on in years, Jack, and there are very few men who would look beyond the…troubles…in my past like Ross has done.”
“Getting on in years?” He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “How old are you, Sarah? Twenty-one, twenty-two?”
“Don’t you know better than to ask a woman her age?” she snapped. “Never mind—obviously you don’t. I�
��ll have you know that I turned twenty-three last month.”
“I’m thirty-one, sassy girl, and believe me when I tell you, you’ve just begun to live.”
“No one can predict the future, Jack Donovan. I’m certain you felt older than your years at my age just like I do.”
He sobered. “It’s true that I grew up long before I should have. Take my advice, sweet Sarah, and enjoy your youth. Life has a way of taking it from you, whether you like it or not.”
The raw emotion in his voice stirred something in her. She touched his hand. “Where are you from, Jack? You’ve never said.”
He looked down at her fingers on his, then glanced up at her face. “Kansas.”
“You have family there?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The only family I ever had was my mother, and she’s been dead for years.”
“Oh, how sad. It’s devastating to lose a parent.” She hesitated. “How did she die?”
He paused, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he said, “She was murdered.”
“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“My father was murdered, too.” She gave a wry smile. “I guess that gives us something in common, doesn’t it?”
“I guess it does.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Did they ever catch who did it?” she asked finally.
“Yup.” He glanced at her, and she shivered, seeing the wolf looking out of those deep brown eyes. “I caught him, and I killed him. Guess that would be called justice, wouldn’t it?”
She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything, merely sat there with her hand on his. After a moment, he turned his hand palm-up and twined his fingers with hers.
Birds called to each other and rustled through the bushes. A fat bumblebee buzzed drunkenly by, circling the tree trunk and hovering briefly over Sarah’s ham sandwich before zipping off in search of the flowers that dotted the meadow around them. The distant rumble of voices and occasional burst of laughter reminded them that they weren’t alone, despite the relative isolation of their picnic spot.
“I…knew the man who killed my father,” Sarah said softly. “I was in love with him. But after what he did, I helped the sheriff catch him.”
The squeeze of his hand was reassuring. “At least with my mother, it was a stranger. I was barely sixteen, but I went out and tracked him down. I didn’t mean to kill him. It just happened that way. I don’t know what I would have done if I had actually been friends with the murderer. It must have been very hard for you.”
“It wrecked my entire life. But I had the newspaper to help get through the worst of it. And now it’s all I have left of my father, really. His dream.”
“You kept it alive.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sure he’s proud of you, Sarah.”
“Thank you for saying that.” She smiled at him, tears stinging her eyes. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
“Aw, now don’t start crying on me.” He searched his pockets and came up with a crumpled bandanna. Using the corner, he dabbed at the droplets that skimmed her cheek. “Why do women always have to cry? Don’t you know that tears make a man loco?”
She laughed through the tears, then took hold of the hand that had soothed them away.
“Thank you, Jack.” She pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re the best friend a woman could have.”
He grew still. “Just don’t be inviting me to any quilting bees.”
“I don’t even attend the quilting bees,” she said with a grin. “But you’re welcome to come to supper any time you have a mind to.”
“Now that’s an invitation that warms my heart. But what about Ross? He won’t take kindly to another man sitting at your supper table.”
“You’re my friend. He’ll just have to get used to it,” she said fiercely.
“That’s my Sassy.” He grinned and tugged a wisp of hair that had escaped from her braid. “Go get ‘em.”
“I told you not to call me that ridiculous name.” She flushed and hoped he would think it was from annoyance and not pleasure. Though she thrilled to the nickname, she would rather die before admitting it.
“I told you, it suits you. Deep inside the prim and proper Miss Calhoun beats the heart of my sassy girl.”
“Oh, stop.” She gave him a playful shove, and the light of battle came into his eyes.
“So, you want to play, do you?” He gave her a devilish smile and tucked his bandanna away in his pocket.
“Now, Jack…” She scooted backwards on the blanket. He reached for her, and she squealed, batting his hand away before he could grab her wrist.
“Oh, no, you don’t…” he growled.
With a screech of laughter, she threw her apple core at him, then rolled to her feet and ran. He was only a step behind her. He grabbed hold of her braid, bringing her to a stop, and pulled her backwards into his arms. She whirled to face him, pushing against his chest with both hands and giggling.
“No, you don’t, Jack Donovan! Stop!” The fierceness of her commands wilted beneath the force of her laughter. She slapped the palms of her hands against his chest in a lame effort to break his hold. “Stop, I say!”
He grinned down at her like an outlaw. “Make me.”
He started walking her backwards, his arms locked around her.
“Jack Donovan, you let go of me right now, or I’ll…I’ll…” Her words spluttered to a stop as he tickled her ribs and she started whooping with laughter again.
“Or you’ll what?” he asked with a chuckle. “You don’t look so tough now.”
She writhed, desperately trying to escape the torment of his fingers dancing along her side. He continued to ease her backwards until she came up against the tree. He planted his hands on either side of her head and smirked down at her. “Give up?”
She panted and blew a few loose tendrils of hair from her face. “Never.”
He edged one hand down and flexed his fingers just over her ribs. “You sure?”
She nodded, her lips parted in a grin. “I never give up.”
“Stubborn Irish.” He wiggled his fingers against her side. “Are you sure —”
She shrieked and jabbed his arm with her elbow, then pivoted to make a run for it. Her action knocked his hand from her waist, and as she turned, his palm skidded up to land on her breast. Both of them froze.
To her horror, her nipple hardened beneath his touch. She jerked her gaze to his and saw the knowledge of her body’s betrayal in his face. Watching his hand with the intensity of a predator, he slowly rubbed his thumb over the rigid little nub. She gave a tiny whimper in the back of her throat as a jolt of arousal spiked through her.
He trailed the backs of his fingers across her breast, seemingly fascinated with her body’s response. She reached out to stop him, to push him away, but instead found herself guiding his hand until the plump flesh rested in his palm. She let her head fall back against the tree, her eyes half shut, as she enjoyed the pleasure that washed over her in waves.
He raised his other hand to give the same attention to her nipple’s twin.
She made a purring noise and arched her back, eager for his touch. He eased one leg between her thighs, then lowered his mouth to her throat. She moaned, and his arousal pressed into her hip with arrogant demand. She slid her arms around his waist and pulled him closer.
He flicked open the buttons of her blouse and parted the material to her waist, revealing her lace-edged shift. He dipped his head, skimming his mouth over the tops of her breasts. She dug her fingers into his back, curving into him as his lips and tongue explored the sensitive flesh now revealed to him. Soft noises escaped her throat as he nipped at her neck and shoulder.
His fingers crept beneath her blouse and hooked the straps of her shift off her shoulders. The material gaped around her bosom, and he smoothed aside the cotton and lace until her breasts were bared to t
he May sunshine.
A breeze caressed her flesh, puckering her nipples even more. He smiled and traced one pale pink circle of flesh. Then he bent and took it in his mouth.
She slammed her head back against the tree, but the pain was lost in the desire that surged through her body.
“Sweet heaven,” she gasped.
He looked up at her, holding her gaze as he suckled her nipple. The hungry passion that glowed in his eyes matched her own, and something snapped. She speared her hands into his hair and pulled his head up to kiss him with all the greedy ardor that raged through her.
His deep-throated groan ripped a similar noise from her. She pressed the palm of her hand against his arousal, eagerly stroking. He stiffened, then grabbed her skirts and yanked them to her knees. His roughened hands caressed the backs of her thighs before he lifted her, shoving her higher against the trunk of the tree, curving her legs around his hips.
“Jack!” she cried out, gripping his shoulders, her body singing with passion.
He froze.
“Christ Jesus,” he swore. “What the hell am I doing?”
He stepped back and lowered her to the ground, then jerked the edges of her blouse together. “Get dressed,” he snapped.
Dazed, Sarah slowly began to straighten her clothes as he walked several yards away and stood with his back to her, his hands on his hips and his head bent. What had he been doing? Sweet Lord, what had she been doing? She must have lost her mind, to practically make love with the man in full view of the entire town.
But oh, how sweet the madness had been while it lasted.
Once she got her clothes properly buttoned and tucked, she reached behind her and pulled the tie from the end of her braid. Being shoved against a tree and half-devoured had definitely played havoc with her normally neat hairstyle—and people would definitely notice.
She finger-combed her loosened, waist-long hair and eyed Donovan’s stiff back. Should she go to him and make sure he was all right, or just get the comb from her reticule and see to her hair? She hesitated, nibbling her lower lip, then made her decision. Resolutely, she headed for Donovan.
She knew he heard her come up behind him, because he stiffened.
Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 Page 10
