Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(73)

“The bastard cut you.” She felt sick. Infuriated. With no one to spew her anger at, she growled, “I hate him.”

“No, sweetheart, don’t give him that. He doesn’t deserve any feelings from you.”

Donovan’s calm voice dampened the spark of her anger. He was right. Wasting energy on a man—a beast—who would harm his own child was a waste. It was better spent on the man in front of her. The man who was gentle in spite of having a million reasons not to be.

She lifted his finger, pressed a kiss to the star. “I wish I could make it better.”

Hand on her lower back, arm around her, he pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers.

“Trust me. You are.” He lifted his arm and tucked it under the pillow behind his head, propping himself up, looking at her. “Bones heal. Scars fade.”

“But you’ve immortalized yours.”

He was quiet for a long time, so quiet she didn’t think he was going to comment.

“My body is my life’s roadmap, Scampi. Erasing those scars completely”—he shook his head—“wouldn’t be right.”

Plopping her chin back down onto her hand, she lay there, allowing her finger to trace the lines and ink decorating his imperfect skin. She was beginning to see what he meant about the rocks he chose for his fireplace.

There was much more beauty in imperfection than perfection.

“My shoes are still in the yard,” she mumbled after a long bout of silence.

His chest shook with gentle laughter. She felt her smile as she took in the lines on either side of his mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes slid to hers. Bedroom eyes brimming with hot intention. Remembering how he’d loved her with his mouth last night, she squirmed, going damp between her thighs at the thought.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked, hoping to hide her reaction to him. “Is it because you have new clothes to change into, and I’m going to be stuck with the wrinkled and rumpled ensemble strewn across your bedroom floor?”

His hand was at home on her butt, his smile intact.

She flicked her eyes to the balcony. The sun was shining bright, the clock unstoppable.

“I should get out of bed.” Sad, but true. “There are so many things I need to do today,” she announced glumly. “So many calls…”

“Slow down.” His arm tightened around her body, sliding up to her ribs. Goose bumps popped up on her naked skin. “In my world,” he said, his voice a seductive murmur, “this is not how mornings go.”

Her nipples pebbled at the notion she might get to find out what was under his gravelly tone.

“How do they go normally?”

“Don’t want them to go the way they normally go.” He gave her a sleepy smile. “Want to know how they go with you.”

The breath halted in her lungs. She held it there like she could hold on to this moment. As if time would stop if she willed it to obey.

“Normally,” he said, “I get up, feed Dog.” Gertie, hearing her other name, padded to the edge of the bed and rested her chin on the blanket. Large, pale blue eyes that matched her temporary owner’s stared them down. Donovan reached out and gave her a pat. “Morning, Dog.” To Sofie, he said, “I let her out, feed her. Shower, shave. Get to work on the house.”

The house. So many things to do and a looming deadline for the dinner—the campout—lay before them both. She lifted her hand to rub the headache forming over one eyebrow. “I have a zillion things to do.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because it’s true.”

“You have time, Scampi.”

“I really don’t.”

Grabbing her up, he pulled her until she was lying on top of him, skin to skin, absolutely nothing in between them. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Something was between them. Something large, nestled between his legs, nudged her suggestively.

He smiled, tilted his hips. “Make time.”

Dog whined low in her throat, begging for some of that time neither of them had to give. Donovan slid out from under Sofie, leaving her in bed, and threw the covers back over her body. He strutted bare-assed naked across the bedroom and shrugged into a pair of jeans while she snuggled into a pillow and enjoyed the show. Watching a worn pair of denim cover his perfect butt was almost as fun as watching him take them off.

Almost.

Shirtless, he pulled open the bedroom door and commanded, “Do not get out of that bed.”

Which, of course, she ignored.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE




It might have been the most stunning shower she’d ever seen in her life.

Stone walls, various sprayers at varying heights, and a huge round shower head hanging right over the middle of the enclosure. There was no door, just sort of a hallway leading into the shower.

Yes, she’d gotten out of bed. She wasn’t trying to be obstinate; she had to pee. On the way through the bathroom, she’d spotted the shower and was drawn to it by no fault of her own. The tub in her apartment was small, narrow, and the plug designed to stop the drain, broken.

But this massive, luxury veritable wall of water? Yeah, there was no way she was passing up the chance to get in there.

Sofie tilted her head back to rinse the shampoo out of her hair when she heard a familiar, deep voice echo off the stone.