Donovan's Child by Christine Rimmer Page A

you’ll find me stark naked in there.”
    He lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. In the morning light, she could see he hadn’t shaved yet. Golden stubble shone on his lean cheeks and sculpted jaw. He said, “I told you, there’s no excuse.”
    â€œYou’re right. There isn’t.” But there had to be something. “But I think there is a reason, isn’t there?”
    He blew out a breath. “Fine. Yeah. There’s a reason.” He didn’t say what—really, the man was beyond exasperating.
    She was forced to prompt him again. “Okay. What reason?”
    And he finally gave it up. “I figured out the answer to our main problem. You must know how it is, when the solution finally comes.” He held out both hands to the side, palms up. “Magic time. I woke up this morning and I knew what we had to do….”
    â€œWait a minute…” She felt suddenly breathless. Buoyant. “You mean you figured out what we need for the entry and the facade?”
    He nodded.
    â€œOh, Donovan. That’s huge.”
    He lowered his head and spoke with real modesty. “It seemed that way at the time.”
    â€œI can’t believe it. This is fabulous. So you, what? You dreamed it?”
    â€œWell, I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I just woke up and I knew. I went to the studio. I couldn’t get it downfast enough. And when I had it, I came looking for you. I couldn’t wait to show you. It seemed important at the time.”
    â€œDonovan. It is important. It’s everything—I mean, if you’ve really got it….”
    â€œOh, I’ve got it.” A slow smile burst across his wonderful face. He looked so charming, when he smiled.
    She remembered then. When she had turned in the shower and opened her eyes, saw him sitting there, big as life in her bathroom: there had been rolled drawings in his lap. “You had them with you before, didn’t you?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œBut where are they now?”
    â€œI went back to the studio. I left them in there.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me that up front? I mean, it would have made what you did a little easier to understand.”
    â€œI told you. That would have been an excuse. And there is no excuse.” He glanced away, then back at her again. “Do you…want to see them?”
    â€œAre you kidding? I can’t wait to see them.”
    â€œYou’re not leaving, then?” He looked so hopeful, his face open and eager.
    And she saw, at that moment, the man he had been, the man she had glimpsed from a distance once so long ago, before he lost a child. Before he fell down a mountain. Before all the things that can kill a man inside, make him hard and cold, cruel at heart.
    â€œNo,” she said. “I’m not leaving.”
    Already, he was backing, clearing the doorway so he could turn. “Then get dressed. Meet me in the studio….”
    â€œDonovan.” She said his name softly. But it was, unmistakably, a command.
    He froze, his strong body drawn taut, rigid in the chair.
    She said, slowly and deliberately, “Stay. Please. Stay here with me. Just for a little while, all right?”
    He stared, perhaps sensing the direction of her thoughts, yet not really believing. And then he whispered, “But I don’t…” For once, he didn’t have the words.
    She asked, gently now, “Would you come out of the doorway, please? Would you…come here?”
    He started to come to her—then stopped the chair with a firm grip on the wheels. “Abilene…”
    â€œHmm?”
    â€œYou really don’t want to go there.”
    â€œDon’t tell me what I want. You’ll get it wrong every time.”
    His dark gold lashes swept down, then instantly lifted again to reveal watchful, stricken eyes. “I only mean, it’s not a good idea. We’ve cleared the air between us.