Tempting Fate, page 12
With that closing advice, she dragged Alex off to meet a visiting guest lecturer from the English department, leaving Donovan and Brooke alone for the first time since arriving at the cocktail party.
"Your sister is nice," Brooke said, accepting the glass of champagne Donovan handed her.
"I've always thought so. I suppose I should point out that she's technical y my stepsister. Her mother married my dad when she was eight and I was thirteen."
He took a drink of the aged Scotch. As far as Donovan could tel , President Chambers's admittedly superior brand of liquor was the only thing that made these faculty affairs reasonably palatable. That and the opportunity to shore up support for his work, of course.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "the marriage didn't last and I didn't see much of Serena for a time, but we've always been close, regardless of geography."
"I could tel that," Brooke said thoughtful y. "No one would ever know that you weren't related by blood."
Donovan shrugged. "We never bothered to make the distinction. It didn't seem to make a difference."
Brooke's gaze shifted from Donovan across the room to Alex Bedare. He was gazing down at his wife, his ebony eyes fil ed with il -disguised wonder. Serena, engaged in an obviously stimulating conversation with a tal , thin, bespec-tacled man sporting an unnatural y red toupee, remained oblivious to her husband's loving study.
"Alex certainly seems nice. And he obviously adores Serena."
"Worships the ground she walks on," Donovan agreed.
"Fortunately for the balance of power in that relationship, the feeling is mutual." His green eyes roamed over her face. "How long do we have to hang around here?"
The desire in his heated gaze went straight to her heart, causing it to hammer wildly against her ribs. Brooke pressed her hand against the bodice of her black cocktail dress in an unconscious gesture to steady it.
"I suppose that we've done our duty," she said in a voice that was already husky, an intriguing mixture of smoke and honey.
Donovan plucked her glass from her hand, discarding it with his own on a tray carried by a passing waiter. Then, his fingers splayed on her waist, he turned her toward the gate at the other side of the yard.
"Let me be the first to congratulate you on making a very wise and prudent decision."
Brooke looked up at him curiously. "Prudent?"
"Prudent." Leaning down, he caught the lobe of her ear between his teeth. "Because one more minute and I'd be forced to rip that proper little dress off your luscious body, throw you down onto President and Mrs. Chambers's pristinely manicured lawn and make mad, passionate love to you right in front of the entire Althea D. Smiley Coeducational Col ege faculty."
Brooke was amazed by the way her body reacted instinctively, warming to his words. But she didn't chal enge Donovan's outrageous statement.
The way she was feeling right now, she'd probably take him up on it.
"One thing certainly hasn't changed—you're stil incorrigible," she complained lightly. His fingers were warming her skin through the silk fabric of her dress as he shepherded her through the crush of people.
Donovan had watched Brooke's eyes widen in response to his words and found himself even more aroused by her reaction. "And aren't you glad I am?"
Tilting her head, Brooke shared a slow, secret smile with him. "Very."
EIGHT
HAD IT BEEN MINUTES? Or hours? Brooke blinked sleepily as she glanced around the darkened room. Propping herself up on her elbows, she tried to focus on the digital dial of Donovan's clock radio.
"Going somewhere?" Donovan's arm tightened, drawing her back against his warm, inviting body.
"I just changed my mind," she murmured, snuggling down beside him.
"Too bad."
She looked up at him. "You want me to leave?"
He pressed a light kiss against her frowning lips. "Of course not. I thought perhaps you'd been struck by a bolt of do-mesticity and decided to go into the kitchen and find your man something to eat."
Brooke was feeling lazily satiated and had no desire to go mucking around a kitchen. Especial y one as sparsely supplied as Donovan's. The most she'd probably find in his refrigerator would be a stash of fruit that the apes had rejected because it had gone too soft for their finicky tastes.
"You should have eaten at the party. There was enough food there to feed an army."
"My body can only concentrate on one thing at a time,"
he objected. "After the way you led me on in your office, al I could think about was dragging you back here and having my wicked way with you."
Brooke was unreasonably pleased that she could cause Donovan such physical and mental discomfort. Slowly, almost absently, she ran the bottom of her foot up his calf.
"Wel , it's too bad you didn't at least try the butterfly shrimp; they were delicious. I'l admit to being relieved when I discovered that Mrs. Chambers had hired outside caterers.
I wasn't particularly looking forward to dining hal fare."
When she pressed her lips against his chest, Donovan's body stirred in automatic response. "You keep that up, sweetheart, and I may just forget that I'm starving to death."
He pul ed her on top of him. "Besides, now that you mention it, what's the matter with the dining hal meals? Or do you have something against meat loaf?"
Brooke grinned into his smiling eyes. "Not the first day.
Nor do I particularly object to an encore performance for the second night's dinner. But when the stuff showed up cold in the breakfast hash the third morning, I felt the cook was overdoing a good thing."
He ran his hands down the length of her back, his fingers skimming over her hips. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"
he asked hopeful y.
Brooke nuzzled against him. "Nope."
"I am." Donovan's stomach growled, reinforcing his words.
Exhaling a sigh, Brooke rol ed off him. "You're a big boy now, Donovan. So go find yourself something to eat."
He trailed one finger down her cheek. "I was hoping you'd consider it a romantic notion to feed your lover." Devils danced in his gleaming green eyes. "Especial y considering al the energy he's expended this evening."
Brooke arched a quizzical brow as she sat up, propping the pil ows up behind her as she leaned back against the headboard. "I hadn't realized lovemaking was a solo event. Are you saying that I don't satisfy you, Donovan?"
"Of course not," he hurried to reassure her. "You were wonderful. Stupendous. Incredible, as always."
Brooke fought the smile teasing at the corners of her lips.
"But you're stil hungry."
"Starving."
She forced a careless shrug. "It's your kitchen, Donovan, not mine." Folding her arms over her breasts, she eyed him somewhat censoriously. "And now that the subject has come up, I'd like to know why we always make love here."
Confused by her suddenly serious tone, Donovan sat up as wel . "I thought you liked my house," he complained.
"Of course I do. At least what I can see of it through the clutter. But my apartment isn't exactly a dump, Donovan.
Why don't we ever make love there?"
"Because it makes me nervous," he admitted, feeling foolish the moment the words had left his mouth.
"Nervous?"
Donovan shrugged. "Honey, you have a great many wonderful attributes, but if I were forced to name a flaw, it would be that you're an obsessive neatnik. That minimalist apartment of yours reminds me of a nun's cel . Or someplace a surgeon might live. Or an accountant."
"I am an accountant," Brooke pointed out. "And if it's real y too neat for your taste, we can always throw a few magazines onto the couch." She smiled encouragingly. "In fact, if it'l make you more comfortable, Donovan, let's go al out. We'l take al the copies of the Encyclopedia Britannica and pile them over the carpeting in varying size pyramids."
She was laughing at him. Donovan wasn't certain he liked that. "Or we could simply keep things the way they are," he grumbled. "What's wrong with making love here?"
"I'm tired of having to go home and change every morning."
"So bring some clothes over," Donovan countered with a casualness he was far from feeling. "Hel , why don't you just move in? You spend al your free time here, anyway."
Brooke stared at him. "Move in here? With you?"
He leaned toward her, his lips inches from hers. "Why not?
It seems to me to be the ideal situation."
Her fingers plucked nervously at the sheets. "People wil talk."
"I don't care."
Brooke hated admitting that she did. But early socialization ran deep. "Besides, if we lived together," she said tentatively, "couldn't it be argued that we were condoning identical behavior from the students? Encouraging it, even?"
He shot her a frustrated, impatient look. "Brooke, think back to when we were students. I don't remember celibacy being high on our list of recreational alternatives. Do you honestly believe these kids are any different?"
She could feel the color rising, hot and revealing, in her cheeks. Unwil ing to trust her voice at this point, she didn't answer him.
"Hel , for that matter they're not kids," Donovan added irritably. "They're grown men and women who are more than capable of making their own sexual decisions. If you're honestly afraid that we'd be single-handedly corrupting the entire student body, sweetheart, you can relax."
Donovan knew he was handling this badly, but now that he'd begun, he couldn't seem to stop. His green eyes speared hers. "Or is there something else you're afraid of?" he asked softly.
Brooke got up quickly, unwil ing to continue this conversation. "I'l see what I can find for dinner."
Donovan rose to his feet, as wel . Tilting her head back to look up at him, Brooke wondered why she had never noticed the vast discrepancy in their height before. Perhaps because he had never seemed so dangerous. So threatening.
"Don't bother. I've lost my appetite," he said flatly. He took her by the shoulders, holding her to his intense scrutiny.
"Over these past years, whenever I thought about us, I always felt that I was to blame. That I hadn't paid enough attention to you, or that in trying to be fair, I'd ended up causing us both grief."
"I've already told you that I don't want to talk about the past," she insisted.
His fingers tightened their hold as his eyes narrowed dangerously. "And I've repeatedly told you that I do, that it's high time we got things out in the open. So where the hel does that leave us?"
Brooke jerked free. "I don't know," she whispered. She began gathering up her scattered clothing.
Donovan reached out a hand. "Brooke, be reasonable," he said tiredly. "What, exactly, is it you want from me?"
She clutched her black cocktail dress to her breasts as her eyes scanned the floor for her discarded panty hose. When she realized Donovan was stil waiting for an answer, she moistened her lips.
"I don't know."
"But you do know that you're not wil ing to move in here with me."
Brooke's lips were drier than they had ever been in her life.
"I can't."
Donovan closed his eyes on a slow, accepting blink. When he opened them, the anger had burned away, leaving only tenderness.
"Fine. Then let's get married."
"Married?"
He nodded. "Married. You and I."
"You and I?" she echoed.
Again the slight nod of his dark head. "As in man and wife.
Spoon and June. And don't forget the best part—honey-moon."
Brooke went decidedly pale. "This isn't anything to joke about."
His level gaze refused to release hers. "So who's joking?
We've put it off twelve long years, Brooke. I'd say that was long enough."
She shook her head. "I don't need those words. I made love |
with you of my own free wil because I wanted you. And be-1
cause you wanted me. You were right when you said things I hadn't changed; what we shared the past two weeks has been I incredible. But it's been sex, pure and simple. It isn't neces-|
sary to pretty it up with romantic pledges that you have no |
intention of keeping."
He resisted the urge to smile at her solemn expression, I knowing that she would only accuse him of taking her words |
too lightly. "Is it that frightening?" he asked quietly.
Frightening. How strange that Donovan, who had always I appeared blithely ignorant of her feelings, should hit upon the precise word. She wondered when he had switched his |
bril iant analytical skil s to humans.
"Is what that frightening?" she whispered.
His green eyes offered steady reassurance. "Me loving you." |
"It's too soon," she protested.
He brushed his lips lightly, lingeringly, against hers. "No, it's not."
As she found herself becoming beguiled by the gentle kiss, Brooke jerked her head back. "I can't handle this right now,"
she complained. "I've just moved to Claremont; I have a new apartment that's in desperate need of furniture, a new office that I've final y gotten into some semblance of order, and a new job that makes everything else I've done so far in my life look like child's play. Nearly every member of the faculty has been treating me as if I'm Typhoid Mary, and I know they're cal ing me horrible names behind my back."
She took a deep breath before continuing. "Until the party this evening, except for a few brief professional contacts, like President Chambers and Mrs. Harrigan, I didn't even know anyone here but you. And Gloria," she tacked on, thinking back on how she had actual y enjoyed her brief conversation with Donovan's Gorilla gorilla beringei.
"And the last thing you need right now is another person making demands on you."
"That's about it," she agreed shakily.
"I'l give you some time to make up your mind," Donovan said as he touched her cheek. "In fact, it would probably be a good idea if we don't see each other for a few days. But don't take too long," he warned. "I'm not a patient man."
Not patient? This was the man who had taught a goril a more than twelve hundred words, al the time ignoring the naysayers who insisted that such a feat was impossible?
Brooke could recal Donovan's struggles to teach his chimps even the most rudimentary of conversational skil s. Not patient?
"I find that difficult to believe," she murmured.
He cupped her chin. "Believe it," he said quietly before plucking her lacy black slip from the post at the end of the bed.
Brooke accepted the item of apparel with trembling hands, feeling like a coward as she retreated to the bathroom to dress.
When she came out, Donovan was gone.
DCNCVAN SAT on his front porch, eyeing the dark windows of the neighboring house thoughtful y. Obviously Serena and Alex had gone to bed.
For a brief moment he considered waking them up; he needed conversation, the comfort offered by individuals who honestly cared for him. People who loved him. Family.
Muttering a soft oath, he rose from the glider, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets as he left the porch and headed in the direction of the primate center. There was no point in burdening Serena with his troubles. She had enough on her mind with the upcoming Australian Open.
Donovan was traveling to Melbourne during the Thanksgiving break to watch his sister achieve her Grand Slam. Over the past two weeks, whenever he thought about the trip, he had automatical y pictured Brooke by his side, sharing his days, and even more importantly, his nights. Now he was forced to reconsider that idea. There was an outside chance she wouldn't come.
"The hel she won't," he muttered as he unlocked the door to the goril a compound. "She'l come to Australia if I have to drag her there by the hair."
He couldn't resist a grim smile at the thought of how Brooke would respond to such Neanderthal tactics. A wet cat was the first image that came to mind.
The apes were al asleep, with the exception of Gloria, who was, as usual, wide awake, her gaze locked onto a television screen distorted by wide, fuzzy horizontal black bars.
"Hi," Donovan greeted her, pul ing up a chair.
She gave him an impatient sign. "Where new television?"
Donovan sighed, thinking that he couldn't seem to please any of the women in his life lately. "I'm working on it." He signed his words as he answered. "What are we watching?"
Her broad sloping forehead furrowed into deep scowl lines.
"Gloria watch bang bang shooting. You no watch. Donovan bad."
"So I've been told," he muttered. He crossed the room to the refrigerator where he took out a jar of peanut butter, another jar of strawberry jel y and a loaf of whole-wheat bread.
"Want something to eat?" he asked over his shoulder.
Gleaming black eyes observed him suspiciously. "Snack?
Now?"
Breaking Gloria's strict regime was admittedly unusual behavior. But it didn't seem polite to eat one of her favorite sandwiches in front of her without offering her something to eat as wel .
"Now," he agreed.
The goril a didn't wait to be asked twice. "Jel -O," she ordered. "Red. And cookie." When Donovan didn't object, the huge ape apparently decided to take advantage of this ex-traordinary occasion. "Two cookies. Oreos."
"Two cookies coming up."
Donovan knew that he was probably creating a monster.
Tomorrow night Gloria would undoubtedly insist on a midnight snack. He shook his head, refusing to take on any more problems than he already had for the time being.
He prepared his own sandwich, then gave Gloria a bowl of strawberry Jel -O, her favorite flavor, and two Oreo cookies. As always, he was amazed by the delicacy of the goril a's huge hands as she took the cookies apart, her wide yel ow teeth scraping at the soft frosting center.
"So," he signed as he sat down to watch The Untouch-ables, which while black and white, was at least in English for a change, "why are you mad at me?"
