Donovan's Child by Christine Rimmer Page B

You’ve decided to stay, to finish what we started. Now we can forget about all this.”
    â€œForget?” It hurt, a lot, that he had decided to make what had passed between them just now sound so unimportant, so trivial. “Would it be that easy for you, to pretend this morning never happened?”
    â€œYou know what I mean. We can go forward, do the work that has to be done, leave the rest of it alone.”
    â€œThe rest of it?”
    He glanced beyond her, toward the open bathroom door. The light was still on in there. She followed his gaze briefly, long enough to see what he saw—the gleaming trail of water across the floor. Her towel in a damp clump, right where she had dropped it when she grabbed for her robe.
    â€œIt would only lead to trouble,” he said gruffly, atlast, still looking past her. “I’m no good for that, not any more.”
    She made herself ask, “No good for what?”
    He shut his eyes again. And that time, when he opened them, he met her gaze with defiance. And such stark, determined loneliness. “No good for any of it. Sex. Love. A future with someone—with you.”
    She tried for a teasing note. “Love and the future, huh? Well, Donovan, we really don’t have to tackle everything at once.”
    He laughed, as she’d hoped he might. But it was a gruff laugh, a sound with more pain than humor in it.
    â€œAnd as for sex…” She was looking down again, at her own bare feet on the hardwood floor. She drew her head up to find him watching her, his focus absolute. Unwavering. Waiting for her to finish what she’d so boldly begun. She blurted out, “Well, does it work? I mean, can you…? Is there some kind of damage, or is it all in your mind?”
    A silence from him. Then, warily, “How many questions was that? Four?”
    She was not backing off on this. “So pick one.”
    He did, after a moment. “There’s no physical problem.”
    â€œSo it’s a psychological issue, then?”
    â€œAbilene.” He said her name in a weary voice. “Psychological. Emotional. Mental. I have no clue, okay? In the past year, I never so much as thought about it. It wasn’t as if I cared.”
    â€œOh.” Disappointment had her shoulders drooping. She whispered, “I see…”
    â€œAt least, not until about twenty-five minutes ago.” Was that an actual gleam she now saw in his eyes?
    â€œOh!” She snapped up straight again. Of course. Howcould she have forgotten? He’d already said it—that he wanted her, in a man/woman way. “So you can, then? You’re…able?”
    â€œYeah. I’m able.”
    She found she was grinning. And then he was grinning, too.
    And then they were both laughing, together.
    It felt so good, to laugh with him. As good as she’d dared to imagine it might. She wanted to go to him, to touch him, to lay her hand against his beard-stubbled cheek, maybe bend down and press her lips to his.
    But he had stopped laughing. He was watching her again. And his eyes were wary.
    So she didn’t approach him. She went past him, to the side of the bed, and sat down. The silence stretched out. Finally, she couldn’t bear it any longer. “Well, okay. I’m relieved—not that we couldn’t have worked something out. I mean, there are a lot of different ways to make love.”
    He said nothing to that, only arched a gold-dusted brow.
    What? Had she said something that offended him? She felt breathless all over again. And embarrassed, too. But still, she refused to give up on this.
    She suggested what she hadn’t quite had the nerve to do. “Maybe just a kiss. Would that be all right? We could start with a kiss. For now.”
    He stayed where he was, in the doorway. And he asked, so gently, “Is that wise?”
    â€œOh, come on.” She threw up both hands. “What do you mean, wise? Is a kiss ever