by Lily White
Swallowing, I closed my eyes to block out the memories I was bringing back to life, to keep from seeing the growing anger in Donovan’s gaze. I had to tell him it wasn’t as bad as he imagined, but inside I knew I was lying to myself to claim that. Abuse in any form is still abuse, even if the marks could be hidden because they were on a person’s soul instead of their body.
“Around the time I started school, my dad lost his job. Well, not just lost his job, but his business failed. He was a straight A student in school, had given up a social life in college just to ensure he graduated at the top his class. He had crossed every T and dotted every I that was expected of him by the time he set off into the world to become a wealthy and respected man. But after marrying my mom, and after I was born, he couldn’t balance his desire to have a family with the responsibility of running his business. He started becoming distant. He wasn’t home that often. And my mother became resentful. They started fighting a lot. I guess the stress of everything got to him and he screwed up one of his biggest deals. The business went bankrupt as a result.”
Releasing my hand, Donovan cupped my cheek, prodding me to open my eyes and look at him. But it hurt to admit the truth while someone was looking right through me, while Donovan’s piercing stare was reaching deep enough to plainly see the pain I carried. Forcing my eyes open, I tried to keep from tearing up, but it was impossible.
“I’ve thought about it often, and I realized that rather than blaming himself for the failure, my father directed that blame on my mother and me. Somehow, we’d gotten in the way of everything he wanted to accomplish in life, and rather than picking up and starting over again, he found ways to constantly punish me for existing. So, while he went to work for a friend he had in college just to keep the bills paid, his resentment festered, and I became his outlet for that resentment, the target for his outbursts. I guess by yelling at me, by making me walk a fine line, he was punishing himself for not becoming as wealthy and powerful as he imagined he would.”
Brushing his thumb across my bottom lip, Donovan held me in his hypnotic stare. He wanted to talk to me. I could see the desire behind his eyes, could recognize it in the tick of his jaw, in the indecision lining his face. I wanted him to talk, as well, but doubt enveloped me that he would ever see beyond the tragedy that stole his voice.
“It started as words at first. Name calling, but nothing that was inappropriate, just mean. My mother had tried to step in several times, but I guess they argued about it when I wasn’t around to hear them. After a while, she gave up and tended to her own concerns. I don’t know. Maybe she believed that what my dad was doing was right. Parents aren’t perfect and there isn’t a manual telling you how to make sure your kid doesn’t become a failure.” My stomach hurt at the admission. “That she doesn’t make stupid decisions that could endanger her life.”
His arm tightened against my arm. Even though I’d been talking about the game, I didn’t think about how that statement would ring home to him. The papers said his girlfriend died by a random attack. A robbery gone wrong. But had something else happened that night that nobody knew? Why had Donovan taken it so hard that he’d refused to talk since?
Shaking my head, I pulled away from him enough to crane my neck and look up into that troubled, haunted, gorgeous face. “He never hit me, not with his fists. But his words broke me down every day. I was criticized for every failure, ignored for every success. Eventually I got old enough that I tried to fight back, and that’s when he would grab me so hard, he left bruises. That’s when he would drag me to my room and lock me inside. After a few times, I would flinch whenever somebody tried to grab me. And eventually that fear turned into a hatred of being touched. It was as if everybody was trying to drag me somewhere I didn’t want to be. As if everybody was trying to control me by forcing themselves into my world. Since then, I’ve kept to myself because being alone is better than being a constant failure, it’s better than being criticized for every decision, no matter the results.”
Stepping away from me so that he could free his hands, he stared at me for what felt like hours. Finally, after coming up short on the answers for the questions floating through his thoughts, he asked, Why are you telling me this?
This was the moment of truth, the moment when I would discover if Donovan was able to look beyond his pain and step out of the voiceless box he’d imprisoned himself in since the night his fiancé died. My mouth went dry, my throat tightening as my instincts warred with my decision. And although my instincts told me to lie and give him an answer that would satisfy, yet hide my intent in revealing my secret, my heart begged me to be honest, to explain that I was moving beyond my own fears and insecurities so that I was in a place to help him move beyond his.
Releasing a breath, I spit my reasoning out, hoping like hell that he would understand my motivations without kicking me out of his office and his life.
With very little distance between us already, I stepped forward to close it all the way. Resting my hands on his shoulders, I looked him in the eye when I said, “Because I think we both suffer from the same self-inflicted wounds, and like me, you’re destroying yourself over an event in the past that can never be changed. I want you to know that there is life beyond the pain of the tragedies we’ve suffered.”
The softness of his features sharpened with understanding, the warmth dissipating so fast that I felt chilled just to watch the transition occur. I’d angered him - not just angered, but I’d brought his secret roaring to the surface. I’d admitted, without openly admitting, that I knew why he didn’t speak.
I’d never been the most intelligent woman in life. Sure, I could memorize information and even apply that knowledge to real world problems enough to manage a life and career, but just barely. Because when it comes to intelligence, there are two main types: education and common sense. And whereas I had several degrees pointing to my success in education, I had none pointing to the common sense I should have had to walk away at that moment without digging my grave that much deeper.
Before Donovan could pull away, before he could place the distance between us that would prevent me from breaking every rule in every book ever written, I leaned forward and held his gaze as I pressed my lips to his. Fire flashed behind his eyes, a mix of desire and indecision, of anger and the consequences that come with breaking rules. It scared me to see all the thoughts in those eyes, so I closed my own, pressed closer, and deepened the kiss.
I would have sworn he’d shove me away, that he’d stalk off like he did weeks ago when we’d danced. But his body relaxed against me, my heart thudding beneath my ribs when his tongue hesitantly danced with mine.
What I thought would be a lukewarm reception to my offer of warmth and love became more than I’d bargained for. After accepting the kiss, and after allowing himself to enjoy a moment where a woman was handing herself over freely, the kiss escalated, his arms wrapping around my body to crush me to his, those same arms lifting me so suddenly that I gasped into his mouth. Before I could process what was occurring between us, Donovan had swept me off my feet, carried me the distance to his desk and set me down on the edge of it before guiding my legs apart and around his hips.
Lukewarm became a stifling heat, and although it was new to me to allow a man this close this fast, I found myself lost to the sensation of his body against mine - lost to the feeling of his arousal pressing between my legs until there was no longer any doubt how he felt about me.
My legs tightened around him, my body giving him permission to do as he pleased, to take what he liked as long as it meant he wouldn’t distance himself again. And no, I hadn’t prodded him into uttering a word, into releasing himself from the self-imposed cage he’d erected on the night his fiancé died. But I wanted to think that this moment would be a first step toward a future where neither of us would hide behind punishment and failure any longer. If this was the first crack in Donovan’s cold shell, then I hoped that crack would splinter, and that the force of our carnal des
ires would shatter that shell into a million useless pieces.
Unable to catch a breath with the fierceness of Donovan’s kiss, I was the first to pull away just enough to drag oxygen into my lungs. I should have known better than to look at his face, should have known that his beauty would be my undoing, especially when that beauty was sharpened by carnal desire, by the truth of his lust, by the deep-seated knowledge that in this moment Donovan and I were making a decision that would change both of us, for better or worse, for the rest of our lives.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Rule No. 5: Never touch me. When you reach out to me on purpose, it makes me want to fall to my knees and thank you for showing me the effect I have on you, even if you’ll never openly admit it.
There are many moments in life where we have to decide whether to do what’s wrong or what’s right. It’s unfortunate that the distinction between good decisions and bad aren’t always clearly defined, the consequences and results not always clear, the lasting impact hidden while you attempt to navigate those moments while hoping for the best.
I was living one of those very moments with Donovan Stone. Seated on the edge of his desk, my legs wrapped around his hips, the skirt of my dress puddled around my waist as his palms slowly explored up the backs of my thighs. I had to make a decision about how far I would be willing to go with a man I knew very little about.
Yes, I’d worked with him for over a month now and had played and flirted, teased and joked around, but none of our encounters had left me with an understanding of the man who could drive me to the point of insanity with a well placed compliment, or a single look that somehow conveyed every desire inside him to get to know all of me as much as I wanted to know him.
I was too swept away to think clearly, too full of sinful need and unquenchable thirst to push him away as his body pressed closer to mine. His hand reached the apex of my thighs, his finger tracing the edge of my panties requesting permission to continue his exploration of my most private parts. Rolling my hips in response, I granted him full access, begged him to make me feel all the sensations I’d missed in life by being locked away in a box where no person could touch me.
It didn’t matter that Donovan was silent, because what he lacked in voice, he made up for with body language. He didn’t need to tell me what he was thinking or feeling, the strength of his hands screamed it loud and clear. But rather than yanking my panties aside and entering me with those long, elegant fingers, he teased me instead, his body becoming tenser as the rate of my breath increased, as the silent breath of his was a warm pulse against my skin. I’d never heard Donovan before, but I heard him now, and it was the most sensual sound I’d ever experienced – the simplicity of air rushing against my ear.
If it had just been the beat of his breath, I may have survived the heat of this moment, I may have endured the incapacitating fury of the hormones pumping into my bloodstream in such a flood that my head spun and my body trembled beneath his touch, but it wasn’t just the sound of his breathing I heard in that moment.
Donovan Stone – the man who hadn’t made a sound since the day I first met him – growled out his frustration, the deep vibration of it undoing me, forcing my legs farther apart and liquid heat to soak my panties beneath Donovan’s teasing touch.
Falling back, I lay against the surface of his desk, watching how his chest beat with labored breath, catching sight of a set of blue eyes that were set ablaze by the permission I was granting him now. I’d surrendered to the intensity of my desire, had thrown every last bit of caution to the torrential winds, not caring if I ever regained the ability to care again. There was nothing more that I wanted than to be taken completely, to have this man exert his control over the world I’d carefully constructed for myself, to rip away the veil I’d used to hide for most of my life and shred it beneath his capable hands.
Maybe my mistake had been giving him the freedom to look beyond me, because when I thought Donovan would finally give in to the emotions exploding between us as we forgot about the rules that had been set in place, his eyes left mine for only a brief second, that beautiful gaze of his locking on the single photo on his wall, the pain he’d carried for far too long returning with such a vengeance that he flinched in response to it.
In one second, we were on the verge of taking two tortured souls and combining them to learn to move forward, and in the next, Donovan backed away from me, anger filtering into his expression before he turned his back on me to scrub his palms over his face. Sitting up, I pushed my skirt down to cover my thighs, hopped from his desk and reached to touch his shoulder. But he didn’t turn to me in response to that touch.
He simply walked away.
Without bothering to close the door behind him, Donovan left me standing alone in the center of his office, my expression sullen, my body still recovering from the sensations he’d forced through me by the warmth of his touch. Dejected, I stood motionless, my mind racing as I tried to understand what had happened. I came to the conclusion that, perhaps, common sense should have won after all.
Donovan walking away should have been punishment enough, but when I took the first step to follow him into the main room, I was stopped in place by Jackson’s appearance, his broad shoulders filling the frame of Donovan’s door, his face pulled tight with anger at what he knew had happened.
It didn’t take more than a passing glance to see that my hair was a mess and my eyes were welling with unshed tears. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out the reason for Donovan’s anger and regret when he exited his office. It didn’t take Jackson saying a word for me to know that I’d just made a fatal mistake by breaking every rule that Donovan had set in place to prevent what had just happened.
Slamming the door behind him, Jackson stalked toward me, his brown hair a stylish mess around his face, his amber eyes glowing with hatred. My first reaction was to shrink down, to cross my arms over myself and back away much like I’d done when my father had looked at me with the same vehemence Jackson had now. But I wasn’t that woman anymore. I wouldn’t allow myself to be intimidated or scared, not when I’d tasted what it meant to be powerful and unafraid.
If the last month had taught me anything, it was that I was a woman with hopes and dreams, longings and expectations. If I refused to face life with the same bravery and resilience as every successful person I’d known, then I was doomed to always stay caged within my lonely prison, doomed to die without knowing what it felt like to chase my dreams without fear of the bullies who wanted nothing more than to see me fail.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Jackson’s voice was edged with rage, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he slowly stalked my direction. Refusing to bow down to his anger, I uncrossed my arms from my chest, straightened my shoulders and tilted my chin with as much determined ferocity as I could manage. And although Jackson towered over me, much like the other bully in my life, I refused to feel afraid beneath the weight of his stare, refused to grow quiet in response to the strength of his voice.
I wouldn’t become the woman my father’s wrath had made me. I would become my own woman once and for all.
“That’s none of your business.”
He grinned, the expression menacing and tight. “If it involves Donovan, it is my business. Why the fuck did he just leave, Mia? What happened that pissed him off? What did you do to him?”
Anger boiled inside me, the force of it coloring my cheeks and tightening every muscle in my body. Raising my voice to match the volume in Jackson’s, I met his eyes and answered, “I didn’t do anything to him that he didn’t want done. What is your problem, Jackson? Why do you feel like it’s your earthly duty to cock block every potential chance Donovan has for being happy? You’re not his babysitter and you sure as hell aren’t mine.”
His voice roared over his next words, a sound that would have shattered me less than a month ago, but only served to piss me off now. “Do you have any idea what that man has been through? Do
you have any clue who he was before he shut himself away from the world and damn near lost everything? Who do you think you are, Mia? Because you sure as hell aren’t doing him any favors by forcing yourself on him and risking the small amount of progress he’s made since –“
Jackson’s voice cut off, his jaw ticking with anger as he paced the floor in front of me. Both of our faces were red with anger, both of our bodies locked in rage. Where I was trying to help Donovan overcome his past, Jackson was doing everything he could to tiptoe around the fact that Donovan’s current state of life wasn’t healthy. Breathing out, I forced myself to speak evenly, to think about how we could fix this mess without one of us losing our job in the process.
“Since his fiancé died, you mean?”
Jackson’s head snapped up, his eyes pinning me in place. “He told you?”
“No, he didn’t tell me. That man might as well be Fort Knox for the thickness of the walls he has built around him. He has more secrets than the damn CIA, and those secrets are destroying him, Jackson. Don’t you see that?” Sighing loudly, I sat down in the chair where I’d watched Donovan’s presentation earlier, my eyes practically begging Jackson to understand that, although he was trying to help his lifelong friend, all he was doing was helping Donovan strengthen the walls he built around himself on the day his fiancé died.
“Rachel told me,” I finally admitted. “And after she mentioned what happened, I looked up the old news reports. But from what I read, none of it makes sense as to why Donovan refuses to speak. Was he so traumatized by watching her die that he lost the ability to communicate? There’s no physical reason for his silence, so why would a man like him make such an extreme choice?”