“I asked you once how you felt about me,” she reminded him again, her tone very gentle now. “You said it wasn’t relevant then. I think it is relevant now. How do you feel about me, Donovan?”
His voice was so low she could hardly hear him. “I’ve never been in love. I’m not even sure I know what the word means. But I know you haven’t been out of my thoughts for one minute since I left you. I know I’ve never met any woman I admired or respected more. I know I want you so badly my teeth ache. I wake up every night in a cold sweat, aching for you. Missing you.”
Tears were running down her cheeks now. Tears of joy. Of relief. Of hope. And of sympathy, because this was obviously so difficult for him. “That’s close enough.”
He held up a hand. “I also know that it would kill me if I hurt you or let you down. I don’t ever want to see you suffer again. I don’t ever want to cause you pain. But I’m afraid I will, because I don’t know how the hell to go about making a woman happy. I can give you things—my association with Bryan has made me very comfortable financially—but I know that isn’t enough for you.”
She dashed a hand against her cheek. “No. If money and material things were enough to make me happy, I would have married Bryan. But you’re right, it takes a lot more than that to make me happy.”
“And you think you can be happy with me?” He sounded as though that concept was almost impossible for him to believe.
She couldn’t resist reaching out to touch his hard cheek. “I know I will. And I know I can make you happy, too, if you’ll let me.”
Catching her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm in a hard caress that made her heart trip. “There are people who would say you’re crazy to choose me over Bryan.”
“I don’t care what anyone says. In my opinion, I’ve chosen the best man. I love you, Donovan.”
He pulled her into his arms, his mouth crushing hers in a kiss that said everything he couldn’t put into words. Sheer poetry, she decided, happily losing herself in the embrace.
“How long do you think Bryan and Grace will stay away?” she murmured against his lips.
“I don’t expect to see them for awhile.” He brushed his fingers experimentally through her short hair, seemed to like the feeling and did it again. “Why—do you want to go fishing?”
She gave him a look. “Now is not the time to start teasing me,” she informed him, breaking away from his arms to stand and offer him her hand. “You can prove that you really do have a sense of humor after you make love with me.”
“Are you going to be a demanding sort of wife?” he asked as he rose to stand beside her.
Wife. The word shot through her like an arrow. Was this Donovan’s idea of a proposal?
She swallowed before answering lightly, “Yes, I’m going to be very high-maintenance. You’re going to have to spend the rest of your life catering to my whims.”
He pretended to give her warning a moment’s thought, and then he nodded. “I can live with that.”
Apparently, they were engaged.
So the man she loved wasn’t exactly the most romantic or silver-tongued charmer in the world. She didn’t care. She adored him exactly the way he was.
Smiling like an idiot, Chloe led him up the stairs toward the bedroom that had always been hers. He stopped at the top of the stairs to kiss her half senseless again.
“There’s only one problem,” he murmured, his hands already exploring her curves. “I didn’t come prepared for this. I know you want kids, but…”
She broke away with a shaky laugh, feeling as though her skin was melting everywhere he’d touched. “Wait right here,” she ordered, and dashed into Grace’s room, where she rummaged through a nightstand drawer, emerging with a couple of plastic packets she had suspected she would find there.
She returned triumphantly to Donovan. “I do want children,” she assured him, leading him into the other bedroom. “But not quite yet.”
Being the gentleman that he was, he didn’t ask any questions about the con
veniently appearing condoms. She would tell him another time about Grace’s broken engagement, and the weekends Grace had once spent here with the man she had planned to marry—but for now, she concentrated only on her own engagement. One that she was certain would end much more happily than her twin’s had.
Finally closed into the small, early-American-furnished bedroom with the slanted roof and daydream-tempting window seat, Donovan turned to pull her back into his arms. It didn’t take him long to rid her of her tank top and shorts, nor the flimsy bra and panties she had worn beneath. He growled approval of the skin he’d revealed, his fingers exploring her so slowly and so skillfully that he soon brought her to shivering incoherence by his touch alone.
She helped him remove his own clothes, though her hands were shaking so hard she fumbled more than she assisted. She had never wanted anyone more than she wanted Donovan now. She had never ached, never burned like this. When he finally stood in front of her, naked except for the short cast below his right knee, she saw to her utter delight that he had a powerful ache for her, too.
She reached for him, drawing him slowly against her. Her breath caught when they finally stood skin-to-skin. He groaned.
His hands cupped her bottom, drew her tightly against his rock-hard arousal. She rubbed against him, knowing she was playing with fire, but loving the tremor that ran through him in response. Donovan’s control was so formidable that it gave her a heady sense of feminine power to know she had the ability to break through it.
He tumbled her to the bed, falling with her, his mouth locked with hers. She ran her hands over as much of him as she could reach, loving the hard, hot, pulsing strength of him. He didn’t wait for her assistance with the protection she’d found for him. He donned it swiftly and with a skill that bespoke experience she wouldn’t think about right now.