DONOVAN (Gray Wolf Security, #1)(72)

“Sean’s mom didn’t know he was there. Sean hid him out in his bedroom until she left for work.”

“That’s why she told you she hadn’t seen him.”

She nodded, peeking out from behind her fingers. “Is it possible to love someone so much that you want to kill them and hug them to death all at the same time?”

“Definitely.”

She dropped her hands and studied her shoes as she kicked at a loose piece of concrete on the sidewalk. “I guess you think I’m the worst guardian ever.”

“I think you’re a woman who’s in way over her head.”

“Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe someone should call child protective services on me.”

“I only said that because I was frustrated.”

She looked up at me and I realized there were tears in her eyes. I wanted to touch her, to make it all better. But there was still this thing between us, this wall that I wasn’t sure I could climb over just yet.

She turned away and climbed into the car without saying another word.

We drove across town, but instead of taking me home, she pulled into her own driveway.

“I guess the least I owe you is a drink,” she said without looking at me.

“You don’t owe me anything. In fact, I think I owe you an explanation.”

She didn’t seem to hear me. She climbed out of the car and walked to the front porch, leaving the door open after she let herself inside. I tried not to seem too eager as I unfolded my long legs from her little car and followed.

She was in the kitchen—the incredibly clean and well-appointed kitchen—pouring a healthy slug from a bottle of ten year old scotch.

“A souvenir from my dad’s collection,” she said, holding the label up where I could see it. “He was something of an alcohol enthusiast.”

“He knew good scotch.”

She nodded. “He also had very expensive tastes.”

She handed me a glass and sipped at her own. I swirled the amber liquid in the glass, looking at it in the light the way my father had taught me to do. I’d never really gotten the point to it, but it seemed to impress people. However, Penelope didn’t even seem to notice.

“I owe you an apology,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have said those things at the bakery earlier today. I know you just care about what happens to JT.”

“That’s what I wanted to explain to you,” I said, setting down my glass without taking a single sip. “There are things about me—“

“I guess I’m still too much of a small town girl,” she interrupted, a sadness to her voice that drowned out my thoughts. “I thought I was a big city gal; that I could survive in New York City like I’d always dreamed of doing. But the truth is, I thrived in this town. This is the only place I’ve ever really felt like I belonged.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Then why does it feel like a finality? Like I’ve already reached all the goals I will ever have to aspire to?” She took another sip of her scotch, wincing as the strong liquor touched her throat. “This isn’t the life JT should be stuck with.”

That was something she and I agreed on.

“He’s talented on the football field. He could get a scholarship to a good college.”

She nodded. “If the coach will let him back on the team next year.”

“Maybe if I talk to him…?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I meant for this to be a sort of thank you. And here I am moaning about my worries.”

“It’s honorable to be so concerned for your brother.”

“Is it?” She studied my face a moment. “I know absolutely nothing about you. Just that you’re an English teacher and you take an unusual interest in your students. I don’t even know your first name.”

“Harrison,” I said immediately.

She smiled. “Harrison. I like it.”

And I liked the way it sounded on her lips.

I moved closer to her, causing her to back up against the sink. It suddenly felt very familiar, but the way she was looking at me was different. There was no fear, no anger, no confusion in her eyes now. There was just naked emotion. Loneliness. Sadness. And there was need. The need was so clear, so outspoken that it was like a shout coming from those beautiful green eyes.

I removed the glass from her hand and set it on the counter, not breaking eye contact as I did. And then I took her face in both my hands and lifted her lips to mine. She opened to me almost immediately, the taste of scotch still burning on her tongue. But there were other, lovely things about her. The taste of vanilla on her tongue, the hint of mint and something sweet deeper in the depths of her mouth. It seemed like every place I touched, every new crevice I found, offered a different taste, a different hint of the secrets she held deep inside.

I only meant to kiss her. She was vulnerable, hurting. Now was not the time to do something she might regret. But that kiss was so sweet, so amazing, that I found it difficult to think, let alone step away.

And then her arms came around my neck, her fingers playing in the curls at my collar, and I began to remember what it felt like to be wanted by someone who wanted nothing more than my touch, my kiss, who wanted just me, not what I could offer through my business connections or my money.