I closed my eyes to catch my breath.
It felt like a minute later, but it must have been longer because I was half asleep when Donovan pulled me under the covers and tugged me into his arms, spooning me. He was the only person I dreamt about that night, and my head wasn’t filled with images of rape or sex or assault or violence.
Instead, in my dreams, Donovan held me tight and whispered words that made me feel things. Beautiful things. Things he could never feel in return. Words he could never mean if he were awake.
Twenty-Nine
The smell of freshly ground coffee brewing woke me up the next morning.
I lingered for several minutes, letting consciousness chase sleep away. With wakefulness, I remembered—I was different today than when I’d woken up yesterday. I breathed that in; let myself adjust as my emotions spread their wings inside me like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
I was different.
But who was Donovan?
There was only one way to know. With a yawn, I stretched my well-used muscles and stumbled out of bed to find him.
First, I had to find some clothes.
The shirt I’d worn the night before had disappeared so I had no choice but to invade his walk-in closet in search of my dress. As he’d said it would be, I found it hanging on the rack in front of a row of sharply tailored suits. It was obviously out of place, yet I liked the way my clothing looked next to his. I trailed my hand along the jacket sleeves as I walked toward the back of the room and inhaled. It smelled like him in here. Like his aftershave and the brand of shoe polish he used. I’d never get tired of that smell.
In the back of the closet, next to rows of neatly folded ties, I discovered a shelf of plain white T-shirts. I decided he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed one. Or, rather, I decided that I didn’t care if he did mind.
After stopping in the bathroom to freshen up as best as I could and swish with some mouthwash I found in his cabinet, I padded downstairs toward the smell of the coffee.
My nose led me to the kitchen where I also found Donovan. He was standing with his back to me at the island, reading on a tablet. He wore a light gray T-shirt and a different pair of sweatpants than he’d worn the night before, and though I liked this look on him as much as any, I was slightly disappointed to find his beautiful torso once again covered up.
He didn’t turn around when I walked in, though I was sure he heard me coming down the stairs. Sure he felt my presence the same way I felt the heat radiating off him in my direction.
He was going to make me be the one to break the Morning After ice.
Okay. No big deal.
“Hi,” I said, feeling my cheeks redden for no reason other than I was in the same room with Donovan Kincaid.
Slowly, in his own time, he turned around. He narrowed his eyes as he looked me over. With a frown, he crossed over to a cabinet and pulled out a coffee mug. “I don’t recall setting a shirt out for you.” He handed me the cup.
I smiled, sure he was teasing, but quickly sobered when he didn’t return it.
“I was cold,” I said in my defense. Now that it was daylight, he could want me gone as soon as possible. “I’ll change into my dress after I shower, if you don’t mind.”
Or did he want me naked?
I held my breath waiting for a clue.
“I suppose I don’t mind.” His tone was neutral, though, and didn’t give me anything to go on.
I went to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach and the tightness of my chest. The air between us was charged, but it felt like razors when I inhaled, I was so unsure of what we were. What would happen next.
Usually, I took my coffee with both cream and sweetener, but I didn’t want to push his hospitality so I spooned some sugar from the bowl and stepped away from the counter.
Donovan was waiting for me with creamer from the fridge. “It’s plain. It’s all I have.”
Goose bumps rode down my skin.
“Thanks. Plain is great.” I held my cup out and let him pour some in, wondering if I’d ever told him that I usually drank my coffee with hazelnut or if he’d just guessed.
“I had a protein bar for breakfast myself. But I can get you anything. There’s toast. Or fruit. Or eggs.” He opened the refrigerator and reached inside.
“I usually just have—” I stopped abruptly as he handed me an individual-sized cup of Greek yogurt.
“Or yogurt,” he said.
“Yogurt,” I said at the same time. “Thanks.”
“Spoons are in the drawer behind you.”
I didn’t move. Guessing that I took flavored creamer was one thing. My choice of breakfast food was another. “How did you—?”
“You eat your breakfast at the office most mornings.” Reaching over, he removed the foil lid on the yogurt. “Same thing every day.” He pulled on a lower cabinet handle and a recycling can emerged. He tossed the foil inside and shut it.
“You are perceptive.” I hadn’t even realized he’d ever seen me eating my breakfast. I was obviously the one who wasn’t perceptive.
“I said I was.” Since I hadn’t moved to get a spoon, he reached around me to grab one and stuck it in my yogurt cup for me.
“You’re also cocky.” This time when I grinned up at him, his eyes twinkled as though grinning back, even though his lips remained straight and even.
I stared at those lips, wanting them. He was already so near, his hand resting on the counter behind me, and who cared that I had yogurt in one hand and coffee in another? I only needed my mouth to reach up for a kiss.
I took a step in toward him, but he blinked and abruptly backed up.
“Look.” He scratched the back of his neck, evading my eyes. “I have some work I need to attend to.”
…and there it was. The brush-off.
Disappointment fell through me like an elevator with cut cables.
“I’ll take a quick shower and get out of your hair.” At least he’d been more polite about the way he’d asked for space this time. He’d made progress there. It just hurt that he still needed space.
I set my mug and untouched yogurt on the counter and, with my back to him, babbled on awkwardly. “I have stuff to do today anyway. I have to review the ROI on the social media campaigns for last month, and I’m behind on my opportunity analysis reports. I should really get started as soon as possible if I expect to put a dent in those.”
“No need to rush out. At least finish your coffee first.” His inflection portrayed nothing but poise.
I nodded and took a sip from my mug. He’d turned back to his tablet, so I could watch him as he drank his own coffee and flipped through the pages of the online Wall Street Journal. As though today was life as usual. As though everything was normal. Was this really still no big deal to him? Were we really in just a physical relationship? Did last night mean nothing more than every other time we’d been together?
After several heavy minutes of silence, he turned his head slightly in my direction. “Weston still has you doing the long-form OARs?”