Diana Palmer - Donavan

“What are we celebrating?” Fay asked breathlessly as Donavan swung her around and around to the quick beat of the music.

“Who cares?” He chuckled.

She shook her head. In all her life, she couldn’t remember being so happy or feeling so carefree. If she died tomorrow, it would be worth it, because she had tonight to remember. So she drank warm beer that tasted better with each sip, and she danced in Donavan’s lean, strong arms, and rested against his muscular chest and breathed in the scent of him until she was more drunk on the man than the liquor.

Finally the frantic pace died down and there was a slow two-step. She melted into Donavan, sliding her arms around him with the kind of familiarity that usually came from weeks of togetherness. She seemed to fit against him, like a soft glove. He smelled of tobacco and beer and the whole outdoors, and the feel of his body so close to hers was delightfully exciting. His arms enfolded her, both of them wrapped close around her, and for a few minutes there was nobody else in the world. She heard the music as if through a fog of pure pleasure, her body reacting to the closeness of his in a way it had never reacted before. She felt a tension that was disturbing, and a kind of throbbing ache in her lower body that she’d never experienced. Being close to him was becoming intolerable. She caught her breath and pulled away a little, raising eyes full of curious apprehension to his.

He searched her face quietly, aware of her fear and equally aware of the cause of it. He smiled gently. “It’s all right,” he said quietly.

She frowned. “I…I don’t quite understand what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “Maybe the beer…”

“There’s no need to pretend. Not with me.” He framed her face in his lean hands and bent, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. “We’d better go.”

“Must we?” she sighed.

He nodded. “It’s late.” He caught her hand in his and tugged her along to the truck. He was feeling something of the same reckless excitement she was, except that he was older and more adept at controlling it. He knew that she’d wanted him while they were dancing, but things were getting ahead of him. He didn’t need a rich society girl in his life. God knew, one had been the ruin of his family. People around Jacobsville, Texas, still remembered how his father had gone pell-mell after a local debutante without any scruples about how he forced her to marry him, right on the heels of his wife’s funeral, too. Donavan had turned bitter trying to live down the family scandal. Miss High Society here would find it out eventually. Better not to start something he couldn’t finish, even if she did cause an inconvenient ache in his body. No doubt she’d had half a dozen men, but she might be addictive—and he couldn’t risk finding out she was.

She was pleasantly relaxed when they got back to the deserted bar where she’d left her Mercedes. The spell had worn off a little, and her head had cleared. But with that return to reality came the unpleasantness of having to go home and face the music. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, and they were going to be angry. Really angry.

“Thank you,” she said simply, turning to Donavan after she unlocked her car. “It was a magical night.”

“For me, too.” He opened the door for her. “Stay out of my part of town, debutante,” he said gently. “You don’t belong here.”

Her green eyes searched his gray ones. “I hate my life,” she said.

“Change it,” he replied. “You can if you want to.”

“I’m not used to fighting.”

“Get used to it. Life doesn’t give, it takes. Anything worth having is worth fighting for.”

“So they say.” She toyed with her car keys. “But in my world, the fighting gets dirty.”

“It does in mine, too. That never stopped me. Don’t let it stop you.”

She lowered her eyes to the hard chest that had pillowed her head while they danced. “I won’t forget you.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he murmured dryly, flicking a long strand of hair away from her face. “I’m not looking for complications or ties. Not ever. Your world and mine wouldn’t mix. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“You just told me to,” she pointed out, lifting her face to his.

“Not in my direction,” he emphasized. He smiled at her. The action made him look younger, less formidable. “Go home.”

She sighed. “I guess I should. You wouldn’t like to kiss me good-night, I guess?” she added with lifted eyebrows.

“I would,” he replied. “Which is why I’m not going to. Get in the car.”

“Men,” she muttered. She glared at him, but she got into the car and closed the door.

“Drive carefully,” he said. “And wear your seat belt.”

She fastened it, but not because of his order—she usually wore a seat belt. She spared him one long, last look before she started the car and pulled away. When she drove onto the main highway, he was already driving off in the other direction, and without looking back. She felt a sense of loss that shocked her, as if she’d given up part of herself. Maybe she had. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another human being.

Her father and mother had never been really close to her. They’d had their own independent lives, and they almost never included her in any of their activities. She’d grown up with housekeepers and governesses for companionship, and with no brothers or sisters for company. From lonely child to lonely woman, she’d gone through the motions of living. But she’d never felt that anyone would really mind if she died.

That hadn’t changed when she’d come out to Jacobsville, Texas, to live with her mother’s brother, Uncle Henry Rollins. He wasn’t well-to-do, but he wanted to be. He wasn’t above using his control over Fay’s estate to provide the means to entertain. Fay hadn’t protested, but she’d just realized tonight how lax she’d been in looking out for her own interests. Uncle Henry had invited his business partner to supper and hadn’t told Fay until the last minute. She was tired of having Sean thrown at her, and she’d rebelled, running out the door to her car.

It had been almost comical, bowlegged Uncle Henry rushing after her, huffing and puffing as he tried to match his bulk to her slender swiftness and lost. She hadn’t known where she was going, but she’d wound up at the bar. Fate had sent her there, perhaps, to a man who made her see what a docile child she’d become, when she was an independent woman. Well, things were going to change. Starting now.

Donavan had fascinated her. She tingled, just remembering how he hadn’t even had to lift a hand in the bar to make the man who’d been worrying her back down. He was the stuff of which romantic fantasies were made. But he didn’t like rich women.

It would be nice, she thought, if Donavan had fallen madly in love with her and started searching for her. That would be improbable, though, since he didn’t have a clue as to her real identity. She didn’t know his, either, come to think of it; all she knew was what he did for a living. But he could have been stretching the truth a little. He hadn’t sounded quite forceful when he’d said he was a foreman.

Well, it didn’t really matter, she thought sadly. She’d never see him again. But it had been a memorable meeting altogether, and she knew she’d never forget him. Not ever.

The feedlot office was quiet, and Fay York was grateful for the respite. It had been a hectic two weeks since she started this, her first job. She was still faintly amazed at her own courage and grit, because she’d never thought she’d be able to actually do it. She’d surprised her uncle Henry as much as herself when she’d announced her plans to get a job and become independent until her inheritance came through.