Donovan's Child by Christine Rimmer Read Free Book Online Page A

him. Leave me out of it. Please.”
    He left her, shutting the door a little too loudly behind him.
    Â 
    â€œWhat did you do to Ben?” Donovan demanded when she walked into the studio the next morning bright and early.
    As if she was answering that one. “Why do you ask?”
    â€œOh, come on. I know he’s got a thing for you.”
    She took a careful breath. Let it out slowly. “If you knew that, you might have mentioned it to me before now.”
    â€œI thought it was none of my business.”
    â€œOh, right. Because you’re so considerate of other people and all.” She was standing in front of her drafting table.
    He rolled out from behind his twin computer screens and came at her, fast, stopping cleanly a foot from her shoes. “He left a half hour ago.”
    Her throat clutched. She gulped. “What do you mean, left?”
    â€œHe packed his suitcases and he left. He said he needed to get out of this house, away from here. Far away.”
    â€œFor…how long?”
    Donovan blew out a breath. “Abilene. He quit.”
    She felt awful. Yes, Ben had been upset last night. But she’d never imagined he would just pack up and move out, just walk away from a job he’d had for two years now. “But where will he go?”
    Donovan stared up at her. His sky-colored eyes, as always, saw far too clearly. “If you cared that much, you wouldn’t have turned him down when he made his play, now would you?”
    She eased backward, around the drafting table, and sank into the swivel chair behind it, not even caring that Donovan would see the move for what it was: a retreat. “How would you know if he made a play for me?”
    He let out a low sound—dismissive? Disbelieving? She couldn’t tell which. “I guessed. And since you’re not denying it, I’m thinking I guessed right.”
    She threw up both hands. “What do you want me to say?”
    â€œHow about the truth?”
    â€œFine. All right. He did ask me out. I said no.” She glared at him, daring him to say one more word about it.
    He said nothing. He only sat there, his strong hands gripping the wheels of his chair, watching her face.
    She dropped her hands, flat, to the drafting table, making a hard slapping sound. “Where will he go, Donovan?” Tears of frustration—and yes, guilt, too—tried to rise. She gulped them down, hard.
    He rolled a fraction closer and spoke with surprising gentleness. “Stop worrying. He owns a house in Fort Worth, near his family. And he’s an excellent engineer. I gave him a glowing letter of recommendation. He’ll easily find another job. Plus, it wasn’t just you. I think he was getting a little tired of things around here. A little tired of the isolation, of dealing with me. He was ready to move on. And he definitely has options as to what to do next. So please, take my word on it, Ben is going to be fine.”
    She stared at him, vaguely stunned. He had just been kind to her, hadn’t he? He’d made a real effort to soothe her worries about Ben.
    Had he ever once been kind to her before?
    Not that she recalled. And Donovan McRae being kind…that was something she would definitely have remembered.
    She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, murmured softly, “It’s…kind of you, to say that.”
    â€œNot kind,” he answered gruffly. “It’s only the simple truth.”
    A weak laugh escaped her. “You just can’t stand it, can you? To have someone call you kind?”
    â€œBecause I’m not kind. I’m a hardheaded SOB with absolutely no consideration for anyone but myself. We both know that.”
    She closed her eyes, pressed her fingertips against her shut eyelids and wished she could quit thinking about the things Ben had said last night—about how she had a thing for Donovan. About how, if she had questions forDonovan, she should gut