Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(68)

He opened the door and carried her into the kitchen. Propping open the door with his hip, he set her on her bare feet, let Gertie pass, then followed behind her.

Fading sunlight filled the kitchen, shining warm orange and yellow on Donovan’s face. His pale eyes held a certain spark, making him look like a heavenly body. He had one of those, too, she thought, eyes tracking down his tattooed arms.

Hadn’t she been about to do something? Oh, right. Her shoes. She took a step to the door. “It’ll only take a second—”

He reached for her and quelled the flow of words yet again, his mouth plundering hers, and more putting her panties in danger of getting wet than her precious shoes.

“Argue with me again,” he dared, his hands sliding around to her butt and cupping it.

“No, thank you.”

His lips lifted again and she had to mentally restrain her heart from doing the same. Gloria’s words from wine night—though slurred—rang in her ears. Had Sofie bedded the bad boy expecting him to change?

Of course she had. Even now she found herself hoping he’d stay in the Cove instead of leave when this charity dinner was over.

Donovan, his hand linked with hers, walked from the kitchen to the dining room and into the foyer. She floated behind him, the promise of what she guessed was more kisses carrying her on the air.

Which… was a very bad idea.

“I should get out of here,” she said in a last feeble attempt to keep her heart intact. “Can you still take me home?”

The plan after she’d relinquished her car keys was for Donovan to drive her home. She thought back to something Faith said when Sofie had excused herself to get her purse in the foyer, leaving Robin, Charlie, and Donovan chatting in the ballroom.

Her friend’s hand had closed around the key ring and she offered one parting piece of advice. “Don’t let Glo scare you.”

“What are you—”

“Donovan isn’t Asher. I can see how much you like him. How much he likes you.”

Which was so not what Sofie had needed to hear.

Had Faith’s earlier comment given her hope? Softened Sofie’s heart to room-temperature butter? She really should leave, if for no other reason than to preserve her sanity. But she was stuck here unless Donovan agreed to take her home.

Since he hadn’t answered her yet, she tried again. “Give me a second to get my things.” She started for the library but didn’t get far.

Before she knew what had happened, her back was flat against the front door, braced there by Donovan’s body.

He didn’t kiss her, only trained his eyes on hers. “What happened?”

“Pardon?”

“I made you come on the washer,” he blurted without preamble.

She blinked at him. Oh-kay.

“I made you come on the table.”

“Donovan…”

“You avoided me for a week.”

All true.

“I was busy. Not avoiding you,” she responded quietly.

“Thinking I should’ve lied and told you there were a hundred.”

He meant girls since her.

“No.” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Would’ve been easier than zero.” His voice was low and edgy, his glare burning through her. “Getting laid a hundred times over would’ve been easier than coming in my hand with your name on my lips for the past seven years.”

Was she supposed to be… flattered by that admission? She wasn’t. Her mouth dropped open, her blood pressure skyrocketing.

“I never asked you to… to… do that. You’re the one who left town.”

“You’re the one who took me out of the game,” he bit out.

This time the fire burning within was from anger. Well, he wasn’t the only one who had a grievance. “Oh, you were so gone for me, you instructed me to, and I quote, ‘get the f*ck’ out of your car?”

His cool eyes flamed. “Scampi.”

“Care to have a repeat of that night? You can drop me at my apartment instead of a parking lot this time. After that, feel free to get back to those hundreds of women you’d like to bang.”

“Scampi.”

“I never asked you to make me the last of your conquests, Donny. Were you waiting for me to forgive you? Fine. I forgive you.” She waved a hand. “Go forth! Get back in the saddle, cowboy.”

She pushed against his chest. Which was as successful as moving a stone wall.

He continued hovering and glaring. Giving up on getting past him and back through the house, she clutched the doorknob behind her, intending to slip outside. She didn’t make it. He caught her arm and tossed her over his shoulder while she held the waistband of his shorts. Blood rushed to her head, her hair swinging as he carried her up the stairs.

“This is ridiculous!” she shouted, voice jarring with every step he took.

“Tell me about it,” came his calm response.

At the top of the stairs, he turned, opened a door, and plopped her on her feet. Her head spun as the blood drained from her face and settled elsewhere. Donovan flipped on the light. They were in a bedroom. A very big bedroom with a very big bed, covered with a gray and black comforter, and four pillows. The massive black headboard took up most of the wall behind it.