DONOVAN: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

The boy was respectful enough to look a little shamed. He stared at the ground for a minute before his gaze shot out past me to the car sitting at the curb. He pulled free of my touch and walked out there, falling into Penelope’s embrace where she stood waiting against the front fender.

  I stayed where I was, trying to give them a little space. I could hear a few words: sorry…didn’t mean it…I understand…

  I was curious what else happened between them today. I understood that JT was hurt by what the coach had done and that he would blame Penelope, especially if he knew that she was the one who notified the school. But it seemed like there was more to it. Once again, I watched them standing together, saw the deep affection that existed between them, and wondered how much damage my presence in this town was already doing to their relationship, to my son’s peace of mind.

  But he was my son. Didn’t that mean anything?

  Penelope looked up, relief and gratefulness so clear in her eyes that it spoke to something deep inside of me that wanted to respond in some meaningful way. What was it about that woman that was getting under my skin?

  I’d kissed her. I hadn’t planned on it. She was accusing me of dark and stupid things, and I was about to tell her the truth when she tried to push me away and I grabbed her wrists and…one thing led to another and it seemed perfectly natural to kiss her. Or to force myself on her. I guess that was what I’d done. And I don’t know why. I’ve never had to force myself on a woman once in my entire life. Women flocked to me. I never wanted for a date, never had to go searching for a woman when I wanted one. I have never done what I did today. There was just something about Penelope that drove all sense out of my head.

  And, right now, right as she made amends with my biological child, all I could think about was going over there and pulling her into my arms all over again.

  I had to physically turn away to keep from going to her.

  They came walking up to the house a minute later, their arms around each other’s waist.

  “JT’s going to spend the night here since it’s already so late.”

  I looked up, aware of the defiance in her eyes that was so much like the expression that radiated from JT’s eyes. I shrugged, stepping out of the way so that JT could duck back into the house.

  “But if you miss any of your classes tomorrow, or sleep through one, you’re grounded,” Penelope yelled in after him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” JT called back.

  “We were actually on the way to bed,” Sean said, poking his head out the door from an awkward angle. “Please don’t tell my mom what time you came over?”

  I almost laughed, but caught myself just in time.

  “As long as you make an appearance in homeroom.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sean said.

  We said our goodnights and waited until we heard the front door lock and saw the television go off before we turned back to her car. Penelope leaned against the front fender again, pressing both hands to her face.

  “Sean’s mom didn’t know he was there. Sean hid him out in his bedroom until she left for work.”

  “That’s why she told you she hadn’t seen him.”

  She nodded, peeking out from behind her fingers. “Is it possible to love someone so much that you want to kill them and hug them to death all at the same time?”

  “Definitely.”

  She dropped her hands and studied her shoes as she kicked at a loose piece of concrete on the sidewalk. “I guess you think I’m the worst guardian ever.”

  “I think you’re a woman who’s in way over her head.”

  “Maybe you were right the first time. Maybe someone should call child protective services on me.”

  “I only said that because I was frustrated.”

  She looked up at me and I realized there were tears in her eyes. I wanted to touch her, to make it all better. But there was still this thing between us, this wall that I wasn’t sure I could climb over just yet.

  She turned away and climbed into the car without saying another word.

  We drove across town, but instead of taking me home, she pulled into her own driveway.

  “I guess the least I owe you is a drink,” she said without looking at me.

  “You don’t owe me anything. In fact, I think I owe you an explanation.”

  She didn’t seem to hear me. She climbed out of the car and walked to the front porch, leaving the door open after she let herself inside. I tried not to seem too eager as I unfolded my long legs from her little car and followed.

  She was in the kitchen—the incredibly clean and well-appointed kitchen—pouring a healthy slug from a bottle of ten year old scotch.

  “A souvenir from my dad’s collection,” she said, holding the label up where I could see it. “He was something of an alcohol enthusiast.”

  “He knew good scotch.”

  She nodded. “He also had very expensive tastes.”

  She handed me a glass and sipped at her own. I swirled the amber liquid in the glass, looking at it in the light the way my father had taught me to do. I’d never really gotten the point to it, but it seemed to impress people. However, Penelope didn’t even seem to notice.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have said those things at the bakery earlier today. I know you just care about what happens to JT.”

  “That’s what I wanted to explain to you,” I said, setting down my glass without taking a single sip. “There are things about me—“

  “I guess I’m still too much of a small town girl,” she interrupted, a sadness to her voice that drowned out my thoughts. “I thought I was a big city gal; that I could survive in New York City like I’d always dreamed of doing. But the truth is, I thrived in this town. This is the only place I’ve ever really felt like I belonged.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Then why does it feel like a finality? Like I’ve already reached all the goals I will ever have to aspire to?” She took another sip of her scotch, wincing as the strong liquor touched her throat. “This isn’t the life JT should be stuck with.”

  That was something she and I agreed on.

  “He’s talented on the football field. He could get a scholarship to a good college.”

  She nodded. “If the coach will let him back on the team next year.”

  “Maybe if I talk to him…?”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I meant for this to be a sort of thank you. And here I am moaning about my worries.”

  “It’s honorable to be so concerned for your brother.”

  “Is it?” She studied my face a moment. “I know absolutely nothing about you. Just that you’re an English teacher and you take an unusual interest in your students. I don’t even know your first name.”

  “Harrison,” I said immediately.

  She smiled. “Harrison. I like it.”

  And I liked the way it sounded on her lips.

  I moved closer to her, causing her to back up against the sink. It suddenly felt very familiar, but the way she was looking at me was different. There was no fear, no anger, no confusion in her eyes now. There was just naked emotion. Loneliness. Sadness. And there was need. The need was so clear, so outspoken that it was like a shout coming from those beautiful green eyes.

  I removed the glass from her hand and set it on the counter, not breaking eye contact as I did. And then I took her face in both my hands and lifted her lips to mine. She opened to me almost immediately, the taste of scotch still burning on her tongue. But there were other, lovely things about her. The taste of vanilla on her tongue, the hint of mint and something sweet deeper in the depths of her mouth. It seemed like every place I touched, every new crevice I found, offered a different taste, a different hint of the secrets she held deep inside.

  I only meant to kiss her. She was vulnerable, hurting. Now was not the time to do something she might regret. But that kiss was so sweet, so amazing, that I found it difficult to think, let alone step away.


  And then her arms came around my neck, her fingers playing in the curls at my collar, and I began to remember what it felt like to be wanted by someone who wanted nothing more than my touch, my kiss, who wanted just me, not what I could offer through my business connections or my money.

  I lifted her to the edge of the sink without breaking the kiss, my hands sliding under her shirt. Her spine stiffened slightly when I touched this one spot along her ribs, so I had to touch it again. She moaned, the sound a vibration against my lips. And then I pressed my hand under the cup of her bra and that moan became a groan that I felt deep in my balls, the need growing inside of me reaching that point of no return.

  It was crazy. A mistake. I knew it as she pulled the t-shirt from my body and discarded it on her perfectly polished kitchen floor. But I couldn’t have walked away if I had wanted to.

  Chapter 7

  Penelope

  I don’t know how it started. I’m not even sure how we ended up in my bedroom. All I know is that his hands were gentler than I imagined they would be and his kisses were enough to make my thoughts become nothing more than background noise.

  Damn, he knew what to do with that mouth!

  I couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed me this thoroughly. Or the last time a nibble on my ribs had felt like a promise of paradise. And that thing his tongue did to my clit…there were no words!

  I was completely naked on my childhood bed with the most incredibly handsome man I’d met in…well, ever, doing things to me that I’d always thought were just a figment of some romance writer’s imagination. I pressed my hands into his hair and pulled him closer to me, moving my hips so that he touched all the right places, noises I didn’t think my body capable of flowing from my mouth.

  If I was dreaming, I hoped no one would wake me. Ever.

  There was a twinge of disappointment as he began to slide back up the length of my body. But when our lips found one another again, and the taste of my juices was warm on his tongue, it was like the sweetest nectar of the sweetest peach ever eaten. I pressed my hands against the small of his back, pushing at his jeans with my fingertips and my feet, anxious to feel him inside of me. He chuckled a little before pulling back and helping me by unzipping his fly—gee, why didn’t I think of that?—and sliding them over his narrow hips. I watched, enjoying the show. And what those jeans revealed made my heart do a funny little dance it took it a minute to recover from.

  Could God have made a more perfect man?

  I reached for him and he closed his eyes as my hand wrapped itself around his girth, a moan slipping from between those perfect lips that made my juices run that much more freely. And then he positioned himself at my opening, sliding carefully inside, his movements controlled as he slowly—painfully slowly—buried himself as deeply as he physically could. I lifted my hips, welcoming him. And then we moved into a perfect rhythm, rocking together as though we’d done this a million times before, our bodies just instinctively aware of one another and the way in which we needed to be touched.

  I wanted it to last forever. I buried my fingers in his flesh, held him tight against me even as he reached underneath me and lifted my hips to his. I must have cried out over and over because my throat was raw later, but I barely remember it. All I remember is how good it felt, how quick the tingle of orgasm built, how excruciating the pleasure truly was. And I remember the rawness of his screams, buried in my pillow, as he reached his climax.

  I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember lying with my head on his chest, listening to his heavy breathing slowing, remember the smell of him filling my every pore. I can still smell him as I lay here now, aware that morning has arrived, that he’s gone. But I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m not ready to face the reality of what I’ve done.

  Reality, however, wasn’t going to let me ignore it for long. The doorbell rang. It was an innocent sound, at first. But then it came over and again, like someone was leaning on it.

  I reluctantly climbed out of bed and tugged my bathrobe over my nakedness, pulling it modestly against my curves.

  “Can I help you?” I asked the bored looking man who stood on my front doorstep.

  “Penelope Monroe?”

  I nodded, glancing past him out into the street, trying to figure out what time it was by the number of cars in my neighbor’s driveways. After eight, at least.

  “You’ve been served,” the man said, shoving an envelope into my hands. “Would you sign here?”

  “What do you mean, served?” I asked, my attention drawn back to the stranger on my doorstep.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just deliver them. But my guess is, you’re being sued.”

  I managed to sign his paper and close the door despite the rising panic in my chest. The only thing I could think it might be was a creditor my parents left unpaid that I’d missed in all the mess they’d left behind. I took the envelope into the kitchen and sliced it open with a steak knife, pouring the contents out onto the counter next to the scotch glass Harrison had slipped from my hand last night as he began to…

  Harrison. His name was all over these papers. But not his name. Harrison Philips.

  The name set off a bell in my mind. I knew that name, but I wasn’t sure how.

  Harrison James Philips it said toward the bottom of one of the pages. It was a court order stating that he was to take custody of one Jonathon Tyler Monroe.

  My head was spinning. I didn’t understand.

  “I’m sorry,” a voice said behind me. “I tried to stop them.”

  I couldn’t even turn. I couldn’t pull my eyes from those words.

  “I don’t understand,” I somehow managed to whisper.

  “I tried to tell you last night.”

  I did turn then. It was a feat of pure will that forced my eyes from those papers - that forced me to look at the man who shared my bed just hours ago, to look at Harrison.

  “Tell me what?”

  “He’s my son, Penny.” There was something like regret in his eyes. But I had to be imagining it, didn’t I?

  “JT is my biological son. And I want him back.”

  Chapter 8

  Harrison

  I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been comfortable enough in a woman’s bed to sleep. But I did. And when I woke—thank God for phone alarms—I had to rush out in order to get ready for work in time.

  Penelope was curled up on her side, her back pressed against me, her hands curled under her cheek. I brushed my fingertip carefully against her face, pulling a piece of thick, mahogany hair away so that I could see her more clearly. She was so beautiful! And she was even more so like this, with all the tension and worry gone from her face. I wanted to wake her, make love to her sleek, warm body. But she was so peaceful, and my phone kept reminding me that I’ll be late for first period if I don’t get going. And, for the moment, I needed to keep my cover in place.

  What would Penelope say when she finally realized I wasn’t a high school English teacher? What would she think of my real occupation as CEO of one of the most successful companies in the country? Would she be impressed with my successes, impressed by my wealth? Or would she scorn it all because of the lies I’ve told her?

  I climbed out of bed, moving silently so that I wouldn’t disturb her. I never meant for any of this to happen. When I came here, it was with the intention of developing a relationship with the son I didn’t know I had until a few months ago. It never occurred to me that I would fall into bed with his overwrought sister. Or that I would care about the carnage I’d leave behind when I left town with my son in tow.

  But now…things were getting far too complicated!

  I glanced around the room. I wanted to leave her a note, but didn’t see anything I could write on. I decided a text message would probably work just as well. My alarm bleated again. I quickly turned it off, stared at Penelope for a second longer, then slipped away, leaving her to get some well-deserved res
t.

  My rented house was just a few blocks away. I was in the shower within minutes of leaving her, rushing through my morning routine as I tried to remember if I got my lesson plans finished the night before. I was shaving when my cellphone rang. My first thought was that Penelope woke up and was calling to ask where I’d gone.

  “Harrison? This is Mitchell Faraday. I just wanted to let you know the paperwork was filed and the party should be getting served as we speak.”

  “Paperwork?” I asked, my mind jumping around, trying to remember what paperwork I’d asked my lawyer to file.

  “On the custody matter. The judge agreed to hold a hearing tomorrow morning—“

  “Custody?”

  Oh, hell!

  I suddenly remembered a hurried phone call as I rushed to Penelope’s bakery the day before. I’d just found out that my son—her brother—had gotten arrested for public intoxication over the weekend. I was so angry that I decided to push the button on the custody battle I’d promised my sister I would delay until I better knew what JT’s situation was. But I was so angry, and then Penelope looked so overwhelmed, so vulnerable, and we kissed and I forgot all about it.

  I disconnected the phone as Mitchell stammered over his own words, trying to explain himself. Tugging on the first set of clothing I could find, I jumped into my car and rushed back to Penelope’s house in the hopes of catching the process server before he performed his duties. But there was a car pulling away from the curb out front.

  A sense of dread settled in my stomach.

  I barely had the car in park before I jumped out and rushed toward the house, bursting through the door without stopping to knock. I found her in the kitchen, staring at the paperwork where it was spilled out over the counter.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I tried to stop them.”

  She didn’t speak at first. Then, in a quiet, broken voice, she said, “I don’t understand.”

  “I tried to tell you last night.”

  It was true. I did try to tell her. But, somehow, I couldn’t make the words come out. Or maybe I just hadn’t tried hard enough. I don’t know which it was, but I know that I would forever regret not telling her before…before the taste of her lips and the feel of her eager body under mine.