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She stiffened. Why did he have to touch her? Always with the touching. Touching was dangerous. His hand on her never failed to jolt her system, to make wires cross where they shouldn’t. She tipped up her chin. “What?”
His eyes met hers, something unreadable there. “I really am sorry. Sorry that you had to deal with that this morning and that I wasn’t here on time to intervene.” His fingers tightened around hers. “And she was wrong to approach you like that but right to warn you away from me. I’m good at my job, and I’m going to train you with everything I have. But I’m an asshole most of the time and a fuck-up at most everything else. I didn’t mean for you to get hit with any of my shrapnel.”
She frowned. “You’re not a fuck-up, Donovan.”
“Yeah, when it comes to this kind of thing, I am,” he said, his voice tired. “Scary to think people trust me to give them relationship advice, right? The only relationship I managed not to screw up was with my parents and that’s because they died before I had the chance.”
Marin’s chest constricted. “Donovan . . .”
“It’s fine. Those who can’t do, teach—isn’t that what they say?” He gave her a tight smile. “Regardless, I’ll talk to Elle and make sure she directs her anger toward the right person. I won’t let my shit mess anything up for you. I promise.”
Her shoulders sagged, any residual anger slipping away at his weary tone. “I don’t understand why you’d even get involved with someone like her. She seems so harsh and . . . cold.”
His expression darkened and he released her hand. “Because I’m not any better.”
“Of course you are,” she said without hesitation. Sure, a lot of time had passed, but people didn’t change their core personality, and the Donovan she’d known had never been cold. Lost and a little lonely, maybe, but not cold.
He glanced away, his posture rigid. “No. I’m not. I’m worse. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You haven’t seen me—how I am now. You’re still seeing who I used to be. When it comes to women, I’m good at two things. Getting them off. And leaving. I try to find the ones who are okay with both.”
The words were delivered with sharp, slicing edges. They should’ve scared her. Instead, she had the urge to move closer to him. “Quite a resume tagline you got there. Is that the line you drop on a woman when you meet her in a bar?”
He looked up at her and smirked. “Not exactly. Leading in with ‘I’m an asshole’ usually isn’t the best tactic.”
“You’re not an asshole, Donovan. You spend your days counseling people in broken relationships. I’d say your aversion to having one yourself is an occupational hazard not a character failure. As long as you’re not lying to women about what it is, it’s your prerogative.”
“You sound like a wise therapist, Dr. Rush.”
She mimed brushing off her shoulder, trying to lighten the mood and that stormy expression on his face. “Well, you know, I’m learning from the best. Hopefully my naive, tender heart can handle the training with that evil bastard Dr. West.”
He squared his body with hers and leveled her with a look. Even with a hangover, he looked gorgeous in his pressed suit with his hair mussed and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. This less polished version fit him well. “Don’t let Elle get to you. I know you can handle a helluva lot. You already have.”
“I have.” She smiled and then, acting on instinct, grabbed his lapels to straighten and smooth them. “In fact, you probably should be the one worried. I’ve raised a teenage boy and lived to tell about it. You have no idea if you can handle me.” She patted his shoulder and stepped around him to head to the door. “I could be the heartbreaker here. Remember who went looking for whom last time.”
But before she could make her escape, a hand grasped her arm from behind and dragged her back. She gasped when she spun and almost collided with Donovan, her hands landing on his chest to stop the momentum. His eyes flared with something new and dangerous, as he peered down at her. “Don’t do that, Rush. Don’t flirt and sway those hips like that and expect it to roll off me. I’m trying to be good. I will be good. But I have my limits. You’ve got to do your part, too.”
Her response got caught high up in her throat, her heartbeat jumping to join it. The teasing comment had slipped past her lips before she could stop it. She’d wanted to flirt a little, wanted to prove to him and herself that she wasn’t as sweet and fragile as Dr. McCray had accused. She wasn’t experienced in bed. That didn’t mean she was some innocent.
But now she’d poked the lion. Everything in her was screaming that she should run, that they were too close, that this was going off the rails quickly. But all the buildup from the night before, her unsatisfying evening, and the feel of him right here with her was just too much.
It was like they were back in that lab again, all alone in the world and looking for something to hold on to if only for a few hot minutes. Her brain fogged, every one of her physical resources zeroing in on the hum in her body, the ache for that connection. She forgot that she was at work. That this was a bad idea. That he’d just told her that he was good at leaving. All she could see was Donovan. His heartbeat thumped beneath her fingertips. Her fingers curled against his shirt.
He hissed out a breath at the touch.
“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his eyes raking over her face, his expression tense. “Tell me what this is.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Marin.” His voice came out gritty, strained.
There was so much in that one simple plea that it completely undid her, ripped the ties holding her good sense together and left them in a tangle on the floor.
She
pushed up on her toes, closed her eyes, and kissed him.
Donovan froze, his body going still for a moment under her touch, but then she tightened her hold on his shirt and made this noise. A ridiculous, unstoppable sound that came across way too desperate, way too needy. But it seemed to do something to him. He groaned against her mouth—a dam breaking. His hands went to the sides of her face, cradling her head and angling her just how he wanted her. Hungry. Searching. Hot.
All the control tilted in that one moment as he took over, tasting her lips and dragging her against him. Making noises similar to hers—only sexier, rougher. She melted into it, letting him have whatever he wanted as she succumbed to the sensations rolling through her—the feel of his fingers against her cheeks, the hard heat of his body brushing hers, the bittersweet taste of the coffee on his lips. It was all she remembered about kissing him before but with more urgency, more intensity, more . . . everything.
