Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(18)
Which she took to mean he knew more than he let on. She had no idea what he actually knew about her and Donovan. Not that there was much to know. They’d wham-bam-thank-you-ma’amed and that had been the end of things.
Connor dragged the next tree in line by its skinny trunk to a waiting hole. “He won’t bite, Sofe.” He winked.
She licked her dry lips, having absolutely nothing to say to that.
Okay. So she’d just… go in there. Apparently she had a job to do, although preventing two burly men, one of whom did not like her very much, from taking things from the mansion was not why she was here. After that task was finished, right after, she would talk to Donovan about Ruby’s idea.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she squared her shoulders and walked into the mansion.
CHAPTER FOUR
Donovan moved the heavy boxes of china and silver to the ballroom, though Sofie insisted on helping, carrying the smaller container of candles. Mario and Jim had made things very clear—they were here to load the truck, not move boxes around. To her surprise, Donovan hadn’t pushed the issue.
“That’s it.” He flipped the lights off in the ballroom. “Hadn’t planned on spending two hours rearranging stuff I would rather throw out.”
Great. So he was prickly. And she had yet to bring up the campout.
“There was something I wanted to talk to you about,” she said from the darkened shadows of the room, her voice quiet.
He turned and pegged her with those pale, electric eyes. Being under his scrutiny always made her feel kind of small. And she wasn’t a petite girl. He also made her feel a lot turned on. Everything about his height, his attitude, and his smile—when he did smile—made her want him.
Used to make her want him, she reminded herself. So, her body was experiencing some leftover physical reaction to him. Perfectly normal.
“And you owe me a coffee,” she said.
Half his face in shadow, the other half softly lit from the sunlight in the corridor, he licked his lips. It was a glorious sight. He didn’t quite smile, but he was no longer frowning.
“All right, Scampi. Coffee.”
She followed him from the ballroom and through the hallway, passing a series of doors she knew to be the bathroom, the great room, and a few other areas not furnished for any one use in particular. In the foyer, they passed the library, which she fervently ignored.
Don’t you mean The Deflowering Room?
If Donovan thought about what they had done in that room seven years ago, he didn’t show it. Just kept walking. She followed his lead, passing a curved staircase leading to the upstairs, her heels tapping along the elegant, but worn, parquet floor.
The doorway across the foyer from the library led to a massive dining room. In here, the walls bled deep red, the carpet mud brown. The dreaded space opened to the kitchen, one of the only rooms in this place bathed in natural sunlight.
Stepping through the murky dining hall, she followed him into the wide, welcoming kitchen. Buttercream cabinets, pale granite countertops, and a butcher’s block filled in the spaces around large, modern appliances. A solid oak kitchen table stood in one corner, eight high-backed chairs encircling it. The room was bright and open, and looked as if it belonged in a different house.
The man standing in the kitchen looked like he belonged in the rest of it. Dark, intimidating…
She thought of Connor’s word. Unapproachable. That was a good word.
Donovan went to the coffeemaker. She watched his fingers grasp the silver coffee scoop, digging out grounds from a black foil bag, a brand of coffee she’d heard of but had never tried. Her eyes traveled the length of his long legs, encased in worn blue jeans, and ending in those same steel-toed black boots she’d rarely seen him without.
“Those look like the same boots you wore at the Wharf,” she blurted before thinking maybe she shouldn’t have said that. Nothing like telling the man you slept with years ago you haven’t forgotten a single detail about him.
“They are.”
Surprised he answered, she asked, “Why haven’t you bought a new pair?”
He pressed a button on the coffeemaker and turned to give her a confused expression. He should, she wasn’t really making any sense.
“Scampi, if this is what you wanted to talk to me about, I gotta say, I’m underwhelmed.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s about the charity dinner. Or, well, the charity in general I guess.”
He remained silent.
“Your grandmother hired me over a year ago to plan this dinner and raise money for Open Arms. My job is something I take very seriously,” she said, warming up to her point. “I know you don’t like this town, and you don’t like this house, I’m guessing—since you’re selling it—but I’m determined to see through my commitment.”
He tilted his head, sending a lock of black hair over his forehead. “You have a key to the house, sweetheart. You can ‘see through’ whatever you need to.”
Sweetheart.
She tried not to let the endearment stir feelings so intent on pressing their way forward.
Taking a deep breath, she thought back to the day she visited Open Arms. Not only did the facility need all the funds they could get, the kids she met needed a win in a big way.
One of the children who’d snagged her heart was a four-year-old girl who bore scars from her stepfather’s cigarettes, another a twelve-year-old boy who had been beaten by his drunken mother. The boy flinched whenever Sofie talked with her hands, so she’d quickly learned to keep her gesturing at a minimum.