The Taming of a Wild Child (7 page)

Mercy
.

Curiosity killed the cat
.

But the cat would die happy.

A loud, embarrassing growl from her stomach had Donovan tossing her a Saints jersey that hung nearly to her knees and leading her down to the kitchen a couple of hours later. He produced a bottle of wine and poured her a large glass. “A drink. As promised.”

She laughed. “Finally.”

“Now for food …” Donovan opened the fridge door and stared inside.

Donovan’s house had barely registered in her brain when she’d arrived, but now she couldn’t help but notice. The bedroom had been gorgeous—sumptuous and relaxing, without being overdone or competing with the view from the balcony doors—and that sumptuous, tasteful feel extended through the rest of the house. The interior renovations were very modern, with clean lines and a masculine décor that complemented the exposed brick walls and high ceilings of the original architecture. So many people renovated the charm and personality out of these older homes, and it pleased her to see that wasn’t the case here.

“Your house is gorgeous. Did you do the renovations?”

He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “Not personally.”

“But you approved the design?”

“Yep. Feel free to look around while I get us something to eat.”

Honestly, watching Donovan prepare food wearing nothing but a pair of jeans had more appeal.
Mercy
, she could happily stare at him all night long, but staring
was
a little rude. She picked up her glass and wandered into the living room.

The fireplace and mantel looked to be original to the house, but it was the attention to detail that impressed her. Either Donovan or his designer had an excellent eye and a love for the historic bones of the house.

There was the requisite enormous television stationed across from a leather recliner that looked buttery soft, and a wall full of CDs and DVDs. A quick glance at the alphabetized titles told her that Donovan was both very organized and extremely eclectic in his tastes. There was a bit of everything from jazz to punk and
Casablanca
to
Shaun of the Dead
.

French doors led from that room to a courtyard behind
the house. She opened the door and stepped outside onto the patio, where the bricks still radiated warmth captured from the summer sun. Lights flipped on at her movement and she caught her breath.

High walls and lush plants provided privacy and created a feeling of seclusion in the middle of one of the busiest neighborhoods on earth. Iron benches provided seating to her right, and to her left was what looked like a large round pond. On closer inspection it proved to be a whirlpool. Dipping in a toe, she noticed it was cool water, not hot, just perfect for warm, muggy summer nights. Lorelei sat, letting her feet dangle into the pool as she listened to the night sounds.

The house, the garden—both were beautiful. But not at all the kind of place she’d thought Donovan would live. He seemed more like a high-rise condo or urban loft type of person: all brushed nickel and glass and—

She stopped the thought.
Why
had she assumed that? And when had she come to that conclusion, for that matter? She barely knew him—at least not in a way that would have given her insights into his natural habitat.

It was shocking and a little disconcerting how little she actually knew about him—beyond his award-worthy skills in that decadent bed upstairs. What did
that
say about her?

“There you are. Aren’t you hot out here?”

Donovan was coming out of the house, juggling a tray with the bottle of wine tucked under his arm and the other wineglass held upside down by the stem.

“I like being outside on summer nights—even if it is muggy. There’s just something real and grounding about a warm night …” She trailed off at his amusement. “I just like it. But if you don’t, we can go back inside.”

“No. It’s why I have a garden.” He put down the tray
and sat cross-legged next to her on the apron of the pool. “As promised—food.”

Lorelei eyeballed the tray and stifled a laugh. Baby carrots and dip, a bag of potato chips, and a heaping plate of pizza rolls. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to produce, but it hadn’t been this. “You eat like a college student.”

“No, I
cook
like a college student. That’s why I normally eat out.”

“I haven’t had pizza rolls in years. They’re so bad for you.”

“So many of the best things in life are.”

She wondered if she should include Donovan in that list. Or if he was including her in his.

Shaking the thought away, she reached for one. They were hot, fresh from the microwave, with cheese and sauce oozing out of the seams. She popped it into her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed. Over-processed, fat-laden, high-sodium bliss exploded over her tongue. She groaned quietly as she savored it. When she opened her eyes, Donovan was staring at her, his glass halfway to his mouth.

He cleared his throat and shifted slightly. “Damn, they must be good. That’s the face you make when—”

She frowned at him and he stopped. Nodding thanks at his belated discretion, she sipped at her wine. Chasing a pizza roll with a glass of excellent wine—and very expensive, based on the label—was almost surreal. But it fit with the situation somehow.

Tonight, as a whole, seemed outside the bounds of reality. The fund-raiser seemed like ancient history. Even taking the stage on Vivi and Connor’s behalf no longer seemed like a monumental achievement etched in time. Time, for all intents and purposes, had stopped. It was
very late—or possibly very early; she had no idea—she’d had a long, stressful day and a longer evening of downright gymnastic sex that would test anyone’s stamina. She should be exhausted.

But she wasn’t. And she was having a good time. It didn’t bear close scrutiny, but she was, nonetheless.

They ate in silence for a while, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

“I meant to tell you that you did a good job tonight. At the fund-raiser,” he clarified.

The compliment wasn’t the most effusive ever, but coming from Donovan it seemed like very high praise. “Thanks.”

“You’re a natural when it comes to working a crowd.”

Wow. Really high praise
.

“How much money did you get commitments for?”

“Some,” she hedged, “but not as much as I’d like. How much can I put
you
down for?”

Donovan laughed. “See—a natural.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a regal nod. “But I’d still like a firm commitment on a dollar amount. I’m constantly amazed at how cheap rich people can be. The population of that room tonight probably has over half the wealth of the entire city, but you’d think I was taking food straight out of their children’s mouths.”

Donovan laughed. “Very true.”

Too late she realized she’d opened a door, and braced herself for Donovan to come back with one of his scathing remarks about “elites” and “class.” But he didn’t go there. Instead he reached for one of the pizza rolls.

“I’m sure Jack will write you a fat check, though. He seemed keen on impressing you.”

If anyone other than Donovan had said that she’d think that odd tone was jealousy. “Here’s a newsflash: Jack Morgan
will pinch a nickel until the buffalo burps. He promised me a contribution, but it’s practically pocket change. If he’s trying to impress me with his largesse, he’s failed pretty miserably.”

That earned her another laugh from Donovan. Then he casually tossed out a figure that nearly had her choking on her carrot. The St. James family—or maybe just Donovan—certainly put the riche in nouveau riche. When she could breathe again, she tried to sound just as casual. “Let’s say I’m starting to feel impressed.”

Donovan’s white smile flashed in the moonlight. “Good.”

“Now I’ve got to come up with another speech for tomorrow night. A similar yet different way to get a different set of people to open
their
checkbooks.”

“Which group?”

“I’d have to check. The homeless shelter, maybe? It’s at the convention center.”

He shook his head. “That would be the Arts Association awards dinner. Not a fund-raiser for the homeless shelter.”

Damn it. How did Vivi keep up with all of this?
“Are you sure?”

“Quite. I’m supposed to be there.”

Then when
was
the homeless-shelter event? She tried to picture Vivi’s schedule …
Wait. Another
event where they’d both be there? That added a whole new dimension of conflict. It would be much easier to come to terms with her attraction to Donovan and the ramifications of that if she didn’t have to face him.

“I guess I might see you there, then.”
And sometime between now and then I’ll figure out how I’m going to handle that
.

Donovan nodded before tossing a pizza roll into the air and catching it in his mouth. He looked at her expectantly.

It was the escape route she needed from confusing thoughts back into the fun surrealism of the evening. She applauded politely. “Nice trick. Now I am
really
impressed. You should have done that before you pledged money.”

He picked up another. “Open your mouth,” he said as he took aim.

“No way.”

“Come on,” he coaxed. “I’m trying to impress you, remember?”

Something about this seemed almost charming—which meant she either needed to get her head examined or else afterglow was even better than beer goggles. If anyone had tried to tell her that snide, pontificating pundit Donovan St. James would casually pledge an amount equal to an endowed chair at a university just seconds before trying to convince a woman to let him throw food at her, she’d have laughed in their face. But she hadn’t seen the snide, pontificating pundit tonight. She didn’t even really recognize the man in front of her as the Donovan she’d hated since high school.

No
. Not hated. Just ignored and dismissed.

“Come on, Lorelei. Open up.”

She shook her head. “If you miss I’ll end up with sauce all over me.”

“I never miss. Although I just might have to this time.”

“Because …?”

He gave her a look that clearly said he’d be happy to lick her clean. It sent a naughty tingle all the way down to her toes.
Oh, why not?
Her proper upbringing frowned upon playing with one’s food—much less tossing it at another human being—but hadn’t she decided that tonight
was outside the bounds anyway? Feeling foolish, she opened her mouth.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll flinch from it if you see it coming.”

“Fine.” She sighed and closed her eyes, then opened her mouth again.

“Tuck your chin in a little … Tilt your head a little to the left …”

She followed along like a puppet.

“Not that much … Okay, good.”

It was amazingly quiet—quiet enough for her to hear the bubbles of the water in the pool. When nothing happened she started to get a little nervous. She kept her eyes closed, though, not wanting to end up with a pizza roll in them, but it was getting just a little awkward now.

A second later Donovan’s mouth closed over hers. He caught her gasp of surprise, then his tongue swept in to tease hers.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist,” he mumbled as he moved to her neck.

There was a small splash, and then Donovan was pulling her into the pool. The night was warm and muggy, and the water felt delicious lapping against her stomach. Somehow in those moments when she’d been waiting awkwardly, Donovan had lost his jeans, and she no longer minded being left to wait like that. The borrowed jersey floated up to her waist, allowing her bare skin contact with Donovan below the water’s surface.

The contrast of warm skin and cool water, the tickle of hair against her thighs and stomach, and the heavy air above the refreshing water all combined with Donovan’s kiss to send her senses into overload.

Oh,
yeah
. She was definitely impressed.

Once again Lorelei woke in a strange bed with a man sleeping beside her. Her brain was faster this time in making sense of the situation—and she lacked the massive hangover from last week—but the feeling of déjà vu couldn’t be shaken.

Weak daylight peeked in around the curtains, telling her it was early yet. She could hear Donovan’s deep, even breaths beside her, and one heavy leg had hers pinned to the bed. She was very glad Donovan was still asleep, otherwise this morning would end up being equally as awkward—but hopefully not as hostile—as the last time.

At least this time she remembered all the details—even if she was still a little fuzzy on the “why” part. Well, not completely fuzzy. She knew why she’d had sex with him: because she’d wanted to. Why she’d
wanted
to was a bit trickier to nail down.

It was all very confusing. And not something she really wanted to deal with right now.

Slowly and carefully, she slid her legs out from under his. Donovan mumbled and rolled over, but didn’t wake, so she slipped out of the bed and took her clothing to the hallway to dress.

Once again she’d be going home in evening wear, but the chances of her being noticed were pretty slim, actually, since she knew which streets to avoid to keep accidental encounters to a minimum. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she grabbed the rest of her things. The sight of the alarm keypad next to the front door gave her pause. Had Donovan set the alarm last night?

Cringing the whole time, she opened the door and waited for sirens to blare and announce her exit. Nothing. With a sigh of relief she stepped outside, pulling the
door closed and making sure it locked behind her. Cursing her footwear, she started the trek home.

It was early enough not to be miserable, but the day was already promising to be a scorcher, and the humidity was already high enough to have her hair sticking to her neck. She couldn’t say the Quarter was waking up, since it never actually slept, but there were few people on the streets, and some of them looked worse than she did.

Normally the walk home wouldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes, tops, but her shoes slowed her down and that gave her more time to think. Pretty soon she was starting to wonder if bolting had been the best idea—and not just because her feet hurt.