A.C. Arthur - Desire a Donovan

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Lyra was going home.

She’d stepped off the plane at Miami International, taking a commercial flight rather than the private jet the Donovans had offered. When she’d left ten years ago, it had been on that private jet, taking her across the country to begin her new life. Now she was back, and everything was different. She had no idea if that was going to be a good or bad thing.

Knocking on the door felt strange, but Lyra lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it clang against the door. All the while she took deep steadying breaths, drawing upon everything she’d learned in yoga class about centering herself and clearing her mind. When the door swung open, all that centering and mind-clearing fled as she was quickly scooped up into strong arms and spun around so that her feet didn’t even touch the floor.

“Little Lyra! You’re back!” Parker Donovan said in his smooth as silk voice that was lined with the barest hint of humor. Parker was Reginald and Carolyn Donovan’s oldest son, Dion and Sean’s first cousin, and one of the many big brother figures Lyra had while growing up.

“Hi, Parker. You can put me down now. I’m not Little Lyra anymore,” she said, unable to contain her laughter as he set her petite five-foot-five, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame down on the floor again.

“You still look little to me,” he said, continuing to smile at her and giving her a soft punch on the shoulder. “Just a bit more tanned, but still little and pretty as ever.”

Lyra smiled up at him, remembering his cool gray-green eyes and dark skin tone. Several of the Donovan men had the same eyes, which only added to their attractiveness. From a distance she could hear the laughter and chatter of the other Donovan family members. Sunday dinners for the Donovans were a must to attend, and the only acceptable excuse was death or being as close to death as one could possibly be.

“Gang’s all here, huh?” she said, knowing she was stalling.

“You know how these dinners go,” he said with a shrug.

And she did know, Lyra thought as she looked around. The décor had changed a bit, much more modern than it had been when she’d left, but still warm and welcoming. She glanced around the foyer, across the shining champagne-and-gold marbled floor, up the winding staircase with its thick banister and wide stairs. Her room used to be all the way down the hall to the left. She had a huge canopy bed, a window with a small balcony, plush carpet, lovely draperies, a desk, a closet full of clothes and practically everything a girl could ever want—even if she wasn’t a member of the Donovan family, biologically speaking.

“And the prodigal daughter returns.”

Lyra heard his voice and felt warmth spiral through her spine, sliding downward like a warm waterfall. She needed another moment, another couple of minutes or an hour to gather herself before seeing him. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she was going to get it.

“She’s all grown up now, man. Doesn’t she look good?” Parker asked, and Lyra wanted to kick him as she had so many times in the past. He always did have a knack for saying what others wanted kept quiet. His playfulness was a big part of his adorable personality, but right now was a pain in her behind. She slowly turned, having decided it was time to face the inevitable.

“Hey, Dion,” she said with all the casual aloofness she could muster.

He walked toward her. He still had the tall muscular body she remembered as if it were yesterday. He didn’t smile. His look was much more intense. Dion Donovan stood at least six feet six inches tall, with a honey complexion, short-cropped black hair and a swagger that said he looked good even if you didn’t want to admit it. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that hugged every inch of his eight-pack and wrapped around his thick biceps like candy coating.

“Hey, Lyra. It’s good to see you,” he said as he came closer.

He was going to hug her, Lyra knew. Not as eagerly as Parker had, but he would wrap his arms around her, because that’s how the Donovans were with family. And she was family, she reminded herself. She’d grown up in this house, had been taken in because her own mother couldn’t seem to get her act together. Janean and Bruce Donovan had raised her as one of their own, giving her every advantage and expecting just as much from her as they did their own children. She owed them everything.

She especially owed them the respect of not pining after their eldest son as if he were the only man on earth that could make her body hum with arousal. Even though, the fact still remained, he was.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she managed as soon as his hands brushed her shoulders and he pulled her up close. He smelled wonderful—some expensive and insanely sexy cologne that she knew would stay with her for days to come.

“I missed you,” he whispered in her ear and Lyra remained silent.

She wouldn’t say the same, couldn’t tell him how much she’d missed him. It was pointless, and she’d made a promise not to move backward. Her new life was her future. Reviving feelings from the past was a futile and emotionally self-destructive exercise, and that was something she refused to engage in. But she’d missed the hell out of him, too.

Chapter 2

Food was everywhere, on fine china platters and crystal and silver condiment bowls and trays along the length of the eight-foot mahogany table covered in an antique-lace tablecloth. Candied yams, homemade macaroni and cheese, corn bread, a huge baked turkey, glazed pineapple ham, mashed potatoes, corn bread stuffing, green beans and corn was more than Lyra could take in in one glance. The dining room hadn’t changed much since she’d left. The massive table was still in the center of the room with chairs all around it, the large china cabinet that spread across the expanse of champagne-colored walls was filled with expensive china patterns, even though several of the pieces were being used on the table and the sideboard, which held even more food.

The atmosphere felt homely, warm and welcoming, and the people sitting and standing around the table greeted her in a way that echoed those feelings.

“You’re back!” Regan Donovan was across the room in seconds, her long arms wrapping around Lyra before she could do anything but smile.

Lyra stumbled back a step as Regan embraced her. “Hey, Regan. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Oh, my God! When I got your email I was ecstatic. You know we need to get together so we can catch up. We can’t do that here with everybody around, but I want to hear everything that’s happened in L.A. And I mean everything,” she said, her large expressive eyes indicating that she wanted to hear things Lyra couldn’t talk about around the rest of the Donovans.

“Let her go, Regan. The rest of us would like to say hello, too.” Savian, Regan Donovan’s older brother, pushed her aside.

“Hi, Savian,” Lyra said, welcoming a hug from the quiet and reserved Donovan cousin, who rarely ever smiled. But there was still a warmth and sincerity evident in his hazel eyes.

“Hey, kiddo. I see you survived it out there in la-la land.”

“I did.” She smiled, pulling away from him. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said biting her inner cheek to keep from blurting out how bad those years away had really been. It wasn’t anybody’s business she’d told herself. She’d left to pursue her goals to become a photographer. And in that regard, she’d done pretty damned well for herself. It was everything else that had fallen apart.

“Well, you look fabulous,” said Carolyn Donovan, a tall, slim woman with a warm chocolate complexion and hair that had a silvery glow. She was beautiful and looked elegant in her cream-colored linen slacks and pale pink blouse. Her hair was flawless as usual and just barely grazed her shoulders. Her eyes smiled as she reached out to hug Lyra.