DONOVAN (Gray Wolf Security, #1)(106)

I wandered the house almost like JT had done the night before, running my fingers over pictures of Harrison with his family members, paintings on the wall by modern artists I recognized, over exotic art work scattered here and there among the more mundane items like magazines and discarded newspapers. I was once told you could tell a lot about a person by the things in his house. I found myself wondering if this house spoke more to Harrison, or his designer, or, perhaps, the women in his life.

The more I looked around his house, the more I realized I really knew nothing about Harrison. I mean, the real Harrison. I knew he knew enough about literature to teach high school English, which also meant he had at least a bachelor’s degree in something along those lines. I knew he was intelligent, that he was smart enough to create a multi-billion dollar company out of his father’s small, failing furniture business – the latter of which I learned when I did some research on the Internet. And I knew that family was deeply important to him, important enough that he came all the way to Texas to find JT.

But that was pretty much the sum of all I knew about him. I didn’t know who he spent his time with here in Oregon. I didn’t know what he did in his spare time, except for the obvious fact that he had an entire room filled with video games. I didn’t know what he liked to read, what he liked to talk about, who he gathered around him when he needed support.

It bothered me that I didn’t know these things. I tried to remind myself that it really wasn’t my business. I was here as a courtesy. Once JT was healed and comfortable hanging out with Harrison, my presence would no longer be necessary. Harrison made that kind of clear last night when he escorted me to a guest bedroom instead of his own. Whatever it was going on between us, it wasn’t permanent and it clearly didn’t mean enough to him to continue it here.

Not that I wanted it to continue. Or maybe I did.

All I knew was that I wanted to know more about him. And I wanted him to welcome me into his bed here in his home. I hated that I wanted this, that I wanted him, but I did.




I dressed carefully after a long shower that did nothing to soothe away the tension that had taken up residence in my shoulders. I wanted to make a good impression on Harrison’s family. So I began at the basics, using an expensive, perfumed lotion Susan gave me for Christmas some time back. Then I dug out the makeup kit that I put aside when I came home from New York and rarely touched again. Who needs to wear makeup while slaving over cakes and donuts and cupcakes? Then I piled my hair on top of my head in a simple French knot with small curls framing my face. Another trick I learned in New York for all the dinner parties and charity balls my job had required me to attend.

I convinced myself that I no longer missed New York. But standing in the bathroom staring at this other person in the mirror reminded me of how much I’d hated the prep but loved the results.

In the bedroom, I slid the dress I’d chosen from its hanger, my fingers sliding through the silky material with anticipation. I remembered buying this dress, how it’d hurt to part with the money, but how perfect it felt the first time I put it on. That was four years ago. The dress was sadly out of fashion now. But it still looked perfect hanging from my curves. It was red with a sweetheart bodice, a high waist, and a flirty skirt that ended at my knees in the front and a few inches above my ankles in the back. I slid on a pair of black pumps and smiled at the finished product.

I still cleaned up pretty well.

I grabbed the black shawl I’d also thought to bring and stepped out into the hallway. I hadn’t realized that Harrison was home. When I came upstairs, he was still at the office. But there he was, stepping out of the double doors at the end of the hallway dressed in a suit that hung just perfectly from those broad shoulders and slender hips. My knees went weak for just an instant as I watched him, unaware of me for the moment, moving with more grace than a man should be allowed.

And then he looked up and our eyes met. Those words he spoke to me that day in the hotel brushed through my mind…

You’re the only woman I want.

…and my belly began to tighten and quiver all at the same time.

“Hey,” he said, coming toward me as his eyes moved slowly over the length of me. “You look…amazing.”

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

I meant it as a little tease, but it came out so breathlessly that I think he could tell exactly where my thoughts were going because he slid his hand over my upper arm and drew me close to him, his other hand snaking around my waist. His lips were on mine in an instant. I moved close to him, sliding my fingers into the hair that barely brushed the collar of his shirt. His mouth was cold and minty, the product of a recent tooth brushing. But it warmed up quickly, the mint an added tingle on the tip of my tongue as I explored just as intently as he did.

But then he was pulling away, clearing his throat as he did.

“We should probably go see if JT needs any help.”

“Oh. Of course,” I mumbled, caught a little off guard by his abrupt movement.

He pressed his hand to the small of my back and pushed me gently toward the stairs. I moved away from his touch as soon as we headed down, my head spinning with thoughts I didn’t want to entertain floating through my mind. Like, why did he kiss me like that if he didn’t want to be with me? And, why did he keep pulling me close only to push me away?

JT was already in the living room when we entered, dressed in a suit I didn’t recognize. By some miracle, he’d managed to get the pants on without have to cut a slit in them, which was pretty impressive since he’d need a whole new wardrobe of jeans when the cast came off. His tie was a little askew, but somehow it worked on JT.