“So you just want to have sex with me, is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying that I want to be with you. I came home for you, Savannah.”
Savannah wanted to put her hands over her ears. “You came home because your illustrious career abruptly ended. You’re going through a crisis, a trial of faith. Perhaps you’ve even found yourself. But none of that matters. It’s too late, Donovan. There is no going back.”
Slowly, he rose to his feet and Savannah knew her barb had struck home. It should feel good, unleashing all that anger she had pent up, but it only made her feel small and petty.
He turned from her and went to stand in front of the bay window overlooking the lake.
“I guess I deserved that.” His voice was edged with hurt and it pained Savannah to hear it, but she could not own his hurt. She had enough of her own.
He shifted to face her and sat on the windowsill. “Is Reese my daughter?”
His question hit her like a bucket of ice water.
She stared at him as numbness settled over her body. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Your lack of an answer and the look on your face tell me everything. Shame on me, right? Deep down, I think I knew that you could never cheat on me. You loved me too much.” He paused. “I’m pretty sure you still do.”
Savannah sprang up out of her chair and headed for the door, desperation chasing at her heels. As her fingers wrapped around the doorknob, Donovan’s hand snaked around her upper arm, whipping her around before pinning her up against the door.
“Not so fast. You owe me an explanation.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“We’ll see what the courts have to say.”
Savannah’s heart missed a beat. “You’d take me to court?”
“Do you think I won’t? You’ve kept my child from me. You had no right.”
“I had every right!” Savannah cried, fear constricting her chest into a painful knot. “You didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. God forbid something should derail your football career. How many times did I hear you say that kids were a hindrance, that they would only get in the way? In the way of what, Donovan? Your fame? Your ego? Or just in the way of being free of me?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
Savannah laughed bitterly, a single tear coursing down her face, which she swiped at. “Is it? Think back. Remember how absorbed you were in everything and everyone but me. I went to Kyle because I needed someone to talk to, someone who would listen. I almost wanted him to come on to me, because I was so hurt and angry at you. I wanted to get you back for not caring. But when a moment presented itself, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hurt you or Kyle. You both meant too much to me.”
“Savannah—”
“You nearly killed me, Donovan. There were days when I thought I couldn’t live without you. But when I almost miscarried Reese, I knew I had to pull myself together. I couldn’t lose the last thing that I had of you. I needed her. And she needed me.”
“She needed me too, Savannah.”
“Oh, please. You were with another woman by then. Remember Cara Hunter, the supermodel? I certainly do. I had to see the two of you in every magazine for months.”
“She was a friend.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“I was hurt.”
“Well, sorry, I guess I should have shoved my own pain down and only thought of yours. I meant so much to you, after all.”
“I never wanted any of this to happen.”
“But it did. You closed me out and I couldn’t bear to have you in my life as a part-time father to Reese, to have you come and go. I didn’t want a world of weekend visitations and every other holiday and birthdays. I didn’t want you to decide one day that you didn’t want Reese, either. I couldn’t bear it if she was hurt.”
“You think that little of me, do you?”
Tears rolled down Savannah’s cheeks in earnest even though she had closed her eyes to try to staunch the flow. “I needed you gone. Forgotten. That was the only way I could manage every day.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “You can’t take her away from me. I won’t let you.”
His grip eased on her shoulders. “I’d never take her away, Savvy. That’s not what I want.” He dropped his hands and stepped back. “Christ, I don’t even know if I could have been a good father to her. You’re right, I was self-absorbed. I didn’t realize it until my injury forced me to take stock of my life. Three months of being laid up kicks your ass right into a good bout of self-examination. It’s not pretty to look at the failures of your life, to realize you took the wrong road.” He gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “But I’m glad I was forced to realize that. If it hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
“Please, Donovan—”
“Do you love him, Savannah? Is he really what you want?”
At that moment, Savannah didn’t know what she wanted. She was so confused, and Donovan was too close, too dangerous to her senses.
Her feelings for him had never truly died. They had simply lain dormant, buried as best as she could manage. Just seeing him had immediately brought those feelings to the surface, and only the pain of his previous defection kept them from spilling over.
“Yes,” she murmured in a tear-laden voice, “I love Jake.” But never the way she had loved Donovan. And Jake deserved a woman who would love him completely, whose heart would not always belong to another man.
But she could love Jake the way he deserved, given time. She would not allow Donovan’s vows of renewed devotion make her doubt herself.
“Will you at least let me see Reese?” he asked, looking suddenly tired and defeated.
“Of course.” She couldn’t deny him any longer, and Reese deserved the truth. “About what I said earlier…”
“It’s water under the bridge now. What’s done is done.”
He turned from her and walked away. Savannah nearly reached for him, her heart aching over what she had done.
He didn’t deserve this, no matter what had happened between them. But back when it was all happening, she hadn’t seen it that way.
For weeks after Reese was born, she had told herself daily that she would call Donovan, that he should know about his daughter, and if he told her to get lost, then she would have her answer and be free of any guilt.
But one day had turned into another. Weeks became months. Months melted into years. The time never seemed right. Then she simply blanked out that phase of her life and continued on as though she had never known Donovan Jerricho.
“So what do we do now?” she asked softly.
“I guess I take you home. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
She had thought so—but now she wasn’t so sure. Her heart felt as though it was dissolving into little pieces.
“Yes,” she answered, knowing she was doing the right thing. She faced the door and turned the knob, the low keen of the hinges the only sound in the silence.
Like a polite stranger, Donovan took her by the elbow and they walked in silence to his car, a low-slung, gleaming machine that seemed out of place amid the tall grass and chirp of crickets.
He opened the passenger-side door for her and waited for her to get in. But something in Savannah made her stop, then turn, and take Donovan’s face between her palms and bring his lips down to hers in a slow, sensual kiss that had her clinging to him in the sultry night air.
“Savannah…”
“Don’t say anything. Please, Donovan—just take me back inside.”
Chapter Five
Without a word, he did as she asked, his movements fluid as he lifted her into his arms, kicking the car door shut with his booted foot and carrying her back up the porch steps and over the threshold into the house, like a man carrying his wife.
If he closed the front door, she didn’t hear it. His mouth had returned to hers and he kissed her with such
passion it took her breath away.
Savannah felt reckless and frantic for him. She needed this time with him, needed to get him out of her system once and for all, she told herself as he carried her down a long hall.
She knew this spot. It was his old bedroom, and it was just as she remembered it. In the corner sat the big mahogany bed, with its carved headboard and posts, which supported an extralarge mattress to fit his footballer’s frame.
At times during high school Donovan had hoisted her in through the window and they had lain in his bed, touching and kissing.
She had been a good and proper Southern girl then and had never let it go too far. But he had introduced her to pleasure without intercourse, when simply having his mouth on her nipples could bring her to orgasm.
She hadn’t thought anything could be better—then he had shown her all the joy she could derive from having his hand between her legs.
And when she turned eighteen, she finally discovered the ecstasy of having his big, solid body between her thighs; knew the true meaning of being one.
She had craved that connection between them like some wanton, sex-starved woman. He would just laugh and snatch her up in his arms, always prepared to give her what she wanted—just as he did now as he eased down on top of her, his fingers entwining with hers, spreading her arms wide then moving them over her head as he pressed against her, his arousal hot and hard and tempting.
His mouth moved along her jaw, his warm, moist breath fanning over her skin, making her shiver as he kissed and licked her neck, her collarbone, the naked flesh between her breasts.
Savannah arched up as he nosed aside the material of her blouse and closed his mouth over her nipple through the thin material of her bra. She groaned and pressed up against him, her body twisting under his, wanting more.
He manacled both her wrists in one of his hands above her head, keeping her immobile as his free hand traveled down her side, gently squeezing her waist before pulling her blouse free of her jeans, the warmth of his palm settling over her stomach, massaging in slow circles, making her nearly crazy with desire.
She wanted him to undo the button and ease down the zipper. She wanted his hands down there, his finger slipping between her moist folds. She was so ready, so wet and throbbing. The tension was almost too much to bear.
She freed one of her hands and gripped his arm, her fingers digging into the enormous band of muscle that had made him such a dynamo on the playing field. That arm had been pure gold once.
She raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it, momentarily stilling him as he watched her kiss each of his fingers, gently rolling up his shirtsleeve to reveal the jagged scars left from two surgeries to repair a break that would never properly heal and that would keep him from playing the game he had loved so much.
Her lips softly feathered over the wound, her eyes never leaving his as her tongue lightly lapped at the injury.
She hurt so deeply for him. He may have hurt her worse than anything she could have imagined, but no matter what he had done, he did not deserve such a blow.
She wanted to ask him what he would do now that he could no longer play ball, if he had other dreams and aspirations, but a husky growl rumbled up his throat, giving her only a moment’s warning before his mouth came down over hers in a demanding kiss that took her breath away.
The heat rising from his body was heady and intoxicating. A languorous warmth coursed up her arms and over her chest before sinking lower, his heat becoming part of her as a throbbing ache built at the juncture of her thighs.
He took hold of her hand and moved it up his inner thigh, her fingers brushing the hardness centered there. She ached for the feel of him inside her, to know if it was as good as her memory.
Her body thrummed as her left hand swept against his rigid length. She heard his sharp intake of breath and felt satisfaction.
Sweet Mary, he was virile—a heavenly made male in the prime of his life, but with a tempered maturity that was all the more mesmerizing.
She massaged his erection through his jeans, feeling him swell. Air hissed through his teeth as she cupped his balls and scratched lightly with her nails.
When she looked up at his face, she saw passion raging almost out of control. He rolled to his back and urgently tugged her pants down, then dragged her across his lap, her naked thighs straddling him.
Wet heat dampened her panties. He pressed up against her, rocking his erection against her barely shielded cleft.
He cupped her breasts and she let out a low moan as his thumbs swept across the rigid peaks, making her mindless with desire as he flicked and rubbed and rolled her nipples between his fingers. Her inner lips clenched, a throbbing welling deep inside her.
His hands moved to the edge of her blouse, and without a word, he ripped every button from the silky material, wrenching the breath from her lungs. Her body quivered with rising anticipation.
Savannah gyrated against him, pleasure flushing her skin, her scent rising hot and musky between them.
She arched against his hands on her breasts, wanting his mouth on her.
He pulled her forward and his tongue slid out and flicked one nipple. She jolted as he teased the peak, moistening it, circling, lapping, her body quickening with each passing second.
He moved to her other nipple to lavish it with the same attention he had shown the first, before cupping her breasts and pushing them together, drawing one sensitive nub deep into his mouth and then moving to the other to offer it the same attention.
Savannah moaned his name, wild with desire. All she could do was hold on to his shoulders and revel in the friction her own movement created between their bodies.
“Yes,” she breathed as he continued to tug on her nipple while his free hand skimmed up her calf, pausing to stroke the tender flesh behind her knee before resuming his journey along her outer thigh.
His fingers brushed the base of her spine, leaving a path of prickling skin to tantalize her before drifting around to the front and sliding his hand down the front of her cotton panties.
The first touch of his finger against her clitoris made Savannah cry out with pleasure; the erect nub was hot and exquisitely sensitive, pouring bliss through her veins. His mouth created wet paths between her breasts as he massaged her.
“Please,” she moaned as his finger slowed to torturous circles. She wanted him to stroke her faster, but he wanted to torment her, to tease.
Each time she felt on the brink of heaven, it was as if he knew and would purposely ease back, kiss around her nipple, lick beneath her breast, make one taunting sweep with his tongue across the aching tip. Then he would start again, building the tension, the need, until Savannah thought she would disintegrate.
She tore urgently at the buttons of his shirt, needing to lay her hands against his hard flesh, pressing against the muscles that bunched and flexed with every move he made.
“Donovan!”
“Whatever you want,” he murmured in a passionroughened voice, as his mouth latched onto her nipple and his finger resumed the torture on her throbbing core, flicking back and forth so that she was bucking and writhing, dying inside for that sweet release she knew he could give her, until her back arched, her entire body tensing, lightning gathering deep inside her and spiraling downward as her first convulsion pulsed through her, followed by a second and a third and a fourth as Donovan made light circles before his finger slid down to her opening to sweep inside her. Savannah moaned at the sensation, each contraction clutching him.
He began to pump and she closed her eyes, the intoxication stirring once more. She wriggled, yearning for him to go deeper, and heard his harsh groan.
Savannah ground her hips against him. He grabbed hold of her wrists, pinioning them at her sides as he stared into her eyes, looking fierce and tender.
With a growl, he leaned forward and kissed her nipple, the tip so incredibly sensitive from all the attention he had given it that her inner lips contracted one more time.<
br />
With a deep, almost desperate breath, he leaned back against the pillows and gently righted the blouse that his big hands had ripped down the middle, an expression on his face that told her that he wanted to talk, not take advantage of her vulnerability.
But talking was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t want to be reasonable or sensible or drift back to that place of pretense.
She wanted to feel his hands on her, flesh against flesh, with no barriers. She had missed him so much, longed for him to ease the ache in her heart as well as her body.
She reached out to run a finger down the deep V of his half-open shirt, smiling at the way his gaze followed her every move.
Something caught her eye then and she eased back the right side of his shirt, shocked to see a small, perfectly drawn heart positioned directly above his real heart.
She stared, not quite sure what she was seeing. The tattoo reminded her of the heart she had once etched on an old birch tree down by Sweetwater Bayou, where she and Donovan used to go to spend time alone. They had used his old pocketknife to etch the shape and then both of them had carved their initials.
“D. J….” She sucked in a breath. “And S.H.” Those were the initials forever marking his skin inside the heart tattoo. She glanced up at him, confused.
“I got it done the morning before we broke up. I was going to surprise you. It seemed a romantic thing to do at the time.”
Had she seen it then, she would have melted, cried on the spot that he had done such a thing while lecturing him on the potential dangers of tattooing—unclean tools and hepatitis. He had always laughed at the way she worried about him.
Savannah traced its shape with her finger, feeling the smooth, solid flesh beneath, the muscles that delineated Donovan’s rock-hard upper chest and rippled down his stomach, her gaze fixed on the initials inside that heart.
All these years and he had never tried to have it removed. She knew laser procedures could have obliterated it, leaving no more than a slight discoloration on his skin. Why had he never done it?
Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down Page 12