Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 (14 page)

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 the 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.

“Jack?” She paused, but he didn’t face her. “Listen to me. It’s all right. I’m not angry or anything…”

“
You’re
not angry?” He spun to face her, his expression fierce. “
I’m
angry. At myself. That almost got out of hand.”

“It’s all right, Jack. I know you made a promise to me, but we all make mistakes.”

“A mistake? Hell, no.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Wrong time and wrong place, definitely—but not a mistake. I’m just mad at myself for losing control.”

She blinked, confused. “What?”

“Do you really think I’d risk everyone seeing us together after what you just told me?”

“I guess not.” She felt very cold, as if she’d fallen into a frozen lake. She should have known he’d reject her after hearing about her past.

“I’ve been trying to be a gentleman, yet here we are, all over each other like a couple of minks,” he continued. “Damn it, I lose my reason every time I touch you.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t control yourself,” she returned, hot anger dispelling the coldness of his rebuff. “As I recall, Jack,
you
were the one to bid on
my
basket.”

“I know that! Damn it, woman, you make me do crazy things.”

“No one made you do anything you didn’t want to do.”

“It’s not that. I mean… Damn it, Sarah, it just isn’t decent!”

“Decent?” The breeze blew long strands of hair across her face, and she impatiently brushed them aside, the picture of control even as her heart cracked a little more. “You’re quite correct, Jack. Decent people do not behave like I just did.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

She held up a hand. “You’ve made your point. I quite understand.”

“I don’t think so.” He gestured at her. “I can’t seem to help myself around you, Sarah. Women like you make a man forget how to be civilized.”

“Women like me?” Stung, she folded her arms across her chest. It was so obvious that he thought she was a loose woman, lacking in morals. The moment he had touched her, she had melted into him like a wanton.

Bitterness from hurts long unhealed spilled over the wound of his rejection. “There are plenty of other women to choose from, Jack Donovan,” she said stiffly.

“And every one of them is trying to get into my bed,” he muttered.

“That should make your search much easier!” She turned away from him and stalked toward the blanket where her reticule lay. He had been playing the same game with her for months now, and she was tired of it. As much as being in his arms had made her blood sing, her heart couldn’t take any more abuse.

“Wait a minute, Sarah!”

She took out her comb and started jerking it through her hair, ignoring him.

Until he grabbed the comb, and her hair with it.

“Ow!” She yanked the comb from his hand and rubbed her stinging scalp, glaring.

“Just listen to me, Sarah,” he said. “Look, you just told me something important about your past, and then things got out of control. You know what could have happened, right in here in front of the whole town?”

“What
almost
happened, you mean.”

“I wanted you, and I thought you wanted me. I’m trying to do what’s best for both of us.”

“Which is what? To seduce me? No, thank you, Jack. I have no interest in your games.” She parted her hair and rapidly started braiding.

“They’re not games!” He hauled her close against him, holding her firmly to his chest. She struggled, but her hands were tangled in her hair, leaving her helpless in his grasp. “Damn it, Sarah, I was trying to make you feel good, trying to give you what you need. You don’t appreciate yourself enough.”

“And you do? Tell me, Jack, what am I supposed to do? Thank you for taking pity on the poor, ruined spinster?”

“It’s not like that! You’re twisting my words, Sarah.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Look, one of the most respected men in the town wants to marry you—”

“Oh, I see how it is!” She shoved one hand against his chest, freeing herself from his embrace. “Now that Ross Turner is interested in marrying me, I’m suddenly more desirable? I’m not some prize heifer to be fought over!”

“I never said you were.” He grasped her shoulders. “And I have
never
stopped wanting you, Sarah.”

She jerked away from him again. “How nice for you that Ross’s approval of me finally makes it all right for you to acknowledge your feelings.”

“I don’t think Ross is right for you, but if you’re set on marrying him—”

“You thought you’d give me one last tumble before I marry a man you think is wrong for me? Is that what this was, Jack?” She tied off her braid and flipped it back over her shoulder.