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“I don’t have to define anything. I saw plenty of pictures.”
“I can’t help what’s out there, British.”
“No, but considering you gave Stephanie a pep talk about men learning how to respect women, you’re a pig,” she snarled and pushed past him. She was jealous. Damn it. “I only let them show me the PG-13 pictures. But don’t get me started on the images that were highly inappropriate for girls to see on the internet without being eighteen.”
Donovan held on to her elbow. “Wait a minute, now.”
“You know what,” she said with a sigh, “you really don’t have to explain your past to me, Donovan.”
“I do if your opinion of me drops.” His voice softened and so did her stance. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.”
They did not need to have this conversation. This conversation led to promises and relationships. The most she could ask of him now was just for him to be himself.
“Donovannn,” British drawled and pulled away from his firm hold.
“I work in the beauty industry, British,” he said over her plea. British melted into his dark eyes. “You can’t think I am sleeping with every single model I’ve been photographed with.”
Silence built between them.
The television screen flickered to a commercial and a deep voice-over announced next Wednesday’s installment.
“As you’re finishing up the Thanksgiving weekend, don’t forget to tune in to our inside look at Ravens Cosmetics as we break down the levels of the family.”
Donovan let go of British’s arm and searched through the empty containers and crab rangoon wrappers. “Not now, damn it,” he groaned.
The voice-over continued. “We’ve followed the whirlwind romance between the CEO, Will Ravens, and his Creative Design Director, Zoe Baldwin. We’ve caught up with the twin sisters running public relations. Tomorrow night we’ll take an inside look at their playboy brother. No, not Marcus Ravens, but the elusive Donovan Ravens, the one who only lets his picture be taken when he’s with a mod—”
The screen went blank. Donovan breathed heavily in satisfaction with the remote control in his hand. “Television is overrated.”
“Nice save.” British laughed and turned back toward the kitchen. Donovan followed close behind. “I can do these dishes.”
“I know you can, but I want to help.”
“Fine.” She blew out a sigh.
“But first, dessert.”
Donovan dipped his head low and captured her mouth with his.
British forgot her thoughts. She only reacted. The moment his tongue touched hers, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She tried not to moan but, like a starving woman, a growl escaped her throat. How was it possible to have missed his touch?
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” Donovan asked, breaking the kiss.
British wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I have an idea.”
The empty cartons dropped to the floor when Donovan scooped her up into his arms. “Where is your bedroom?”
She inclined her head and in no time they reached the closed door. “Wait, I need to prepare you for something,” she said, holding on to the crystal doorknob.
With an easy smile, Donovan winked and covered the knob with his hand. “It’s okay, British. I expect to see a photograph of you and Christian. It’s natural.”
“No, wait!”
Donovan crossed the threshold with her in his arms. He stopped walking any farther and craned his neck to take in the panoramic view of the posters. All one-hundred-plus photos of her New Edition collection over the years.
“In my defense—” she began to cringe, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder “—when I moved here, I didn’t want to start a new beginning with old photographs of me and Christian. So my high school friends and I got a little creative one day.”
“A little drunk and creative?”
