Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(19)
Sofie hadn’t grown up in a problem-free home—who did?—but in comparison to what the children at Open Arms had survived, her childhood was utter paradise. Her parents were still married, happily so. Her sisters were healthy and alive, though they bickered like birds fighting over a French fry. Sometimes Sofie felt like the off piece around her mother and sisters, but she and her father had a special bond.
The children at Open Arms deserved to be championed. If Sofie could improve those kids’ lives even a little, let them know someone cared, then her efforts would be worth it.
With them in mind, she told Donovan, “I’m doing this for two reasons.”
Her voice wavered. She took a breath and steadied it.
“The children at Open Arms need a win. They need money, need the town’s attention, need people to stop ignoring and overlooking them.”
His jaw had tightened since she began speaking, an unknown emotion darkening his eyes.
“I take it you didn’t know your grandmother well. She was an amazing woman. She cared about the people in this town.”
A dry, humorless laugh chafed his throat. “ ‘Amazing.’ You people need a new adjective.” The smile on his face wasn’t so much a smile as a grimace. “If she cared about the people in this town, Scampi, it was only because I was no longer one of them.”
She felt a frown pull her mouth.
“I’m not fighting you on the charity part, and you know that. I feel like there’s something else you need from me. Wanna tell me what that is, or continue practicing your Nobel Peace Prize speech?”
Done delaying, she let him have it—told him about the campout, about Ruby’s commitment to the children. About how they would need hardly anything and would stay out of the way if he agreed to the campout. “They have their own supplies and tents. Connor is already hard at work to make the outside inhabitable. I don’t see what it would hurt if you let the kids sleep in the yard.”
His arms were still crossed, and while he wasn’t exactly scowling, he didn’t look pleased. “You’re asking me to give a dozen homeless children free rein of the grounds at the historical Pate Mansion.”
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
His lips formed one word. “No.”
Suddenly, she was looking at his back. No?
“Cream is in the fridge,” he announced, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “Not flavored like you prefer, but it’s all I have.”
A fleeting thought about how surprising it was that he remembered she took flavored creamer in her coffee pushed itself forward, but she shoved it away.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Allergic to kids?”
He leaned on the counter with one hip, the mug steaming in his hand. “I’m not going to be here for this charity thing, and you want to let kids roam around here after the house has been readied, the grounds have been cleared. And before my buyer has a last walk-through.”
“It’s not like we’re letting loose a bunch of feral cats,” she said, suddenly figuring out this was a point she could fight. “Ruby has volunteers, assistants. I’ll be here.”
“You’ll be here.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, “I’ll be here.”
He recognized that stubborn chin-tilt. She’d worn it the night she stomped from the Wharf’s kitchen to the packed-with-guests dining room and earned her nickname. She’d looked equally determined the night of the Christmas party when she’d followed him to his Jeep and let him kiss her until they steamed the windows…
Sofie was the same now as she was then: sweet, caring. Committed. And frankly, he no longer saw the need to continue this argument.
“Fine.” He started for the dining room, or any room where she wasn’t.
“Fine?” she called from behind him. “Just like that?”
He turned and paced back into the kitchen. “Just like that. That was the agreement. You stay out of my way. I’ll stay out of yours.”
He shouldn’t want her. He didn’t want to want her. But he did. And the closer she came to him, the harder it was not to give in. Apparently, since he’d given her exactly what she wanted with hardly a fight.
In front of him now, she said, “You don’t have to… be angry.”
Lightly scented perfume lifted off her skin, jetting him back to the first time he kissed the soft flesh behind her ear.
In the process of punishing himself for taking what he’d taken from her, his body and mind had also connected her to the one thing he’d been trying to forget for seven years.
What she felt like beneath him.
No longer was he willing to use her as his own personal sanctuary. He’d come back to the Cove to deal with his shit, not drag her into it. She should hate him for the way he’d treated her way back when and, hell, he wouldn’t blame her a bit. He hated himself for it.
He remembered their moments in the library vividly, the way her face pinched, the way she bit down on her lip. How tight she felt, how nervous she was. The slight tremor running through her arms had radiated down his spine, mirroring the tremor that shook him to the core.
His father was dead. And Donovan would’ve thought, after years of bad blood, after the beatings, after Robert Pate was in the ground, that he would finally be free. But Donovan hadn’t felt free that night. He felt like a part of him was missing. He felt like crying. He’d laid the confusing swirl of emotions to rest in Sofie’s pliant body. Hid them in the softness of her hair, buried them in the bend of her curves.