Free Donovan's Child by Christine Rimmer Page B

It’s not right.” Luisa reached across the table, caught Abilene’s hand and held on. Her dark eyes were tender, her expression firm. “I’ve said too much already. You know I have. The rest is Donovan’s to tell.”
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    Donovan went to the studio at a little after ten.
    Abilene was still in Chula Mesa with Luisa, wasting the valuable morning hours when she should have been working. He wondered what the two of them were talking about—and then he told himself to stop wondering.
    It didn’t matter, he tried to convince himself. Whatever they found to chatter about, it had nothing to do with him.
    He reviewed, for the second time, the work Abilene had done the day before. He made notes on her progress, notes on what she ought to get accomplished that day. And also notes on what she should be tackling in the next week. She was doing well, was actually a little ahead of where he’d hoped she might be at this time.
    The truth was that she continued to thoroughly impress him, with how quickly she learned, with her dedicationto the work. In fact, she could probably afford a Sunday morning at the Chula Mesa Diner with Luisa.
    Not that he would ever admit that to her face.
    She came in at ten forty-five. He felt a rising apprehension at the sight of her, in narrow gray slacks, a coral-colored checked shirt and a jacket nipped in at the waist. Her hair was windblown, her cheeks a healthy pink. He wanted to ask her if she’d had a nice time with Luisa.
    But that would have been too friendly. He tried to be careful, not to get friendly with her.
    Plus, he really didn’t want to know about her breakfast with Luisa. He had a strong intuition that his name had probably come up. Maybe more than once. And he just didn’t want to hear what those two might have said about him.
    â€œReady to work?” He rolled toward her.
    She nodded, but didn’t say anything as she slipped in behind the drafting table.
    He circled the table and glided in beside her. That close, he could smell the light, tempting perfume she wore. She reached up, smoothed her hair. He found himself staring at the silky flesh of her neck, at the pure line of her jaw.
    She slid him a look, frowned. “What is it?”
    He cleared his throat. “I have notes, a lot of them.”
    â€œWell, all right then.” Her voice sounded…what? Careful? Breathless? He wasn’t sure. She added, “Let’s get started.”
    He had dual urges—both insane. To ask her if everything was all right. To run the back of his finger down the satin skin of her neck, and to feel for the first time with conscious intent, the texture of her flesh.
    Seriously. Was he losing his mind?
    They went to work.
    An hour later, he left her to continue on her own. He checked on her at three, then changed into sweats and went down to the gym where he worked out on his own, a long session with the free weights and then another, equally long, of simple walking, back and forth, with the aid of the parallel bars, sweating bullets with each step.
    His legs really were getting stronger. Recently, he’d found he was capable of standing long enough to make use of a urinal, even without a nearby wall or a bar to brace himself with. It was milestone of which he was inordinately proud.
    At five, he returned to the main floor. He dropped in on her again before he went to clean up, because it was getting late and he was afraid she’d have left the studio if he took the time to shower first.
    She was still there. “Just getting ready to wrap things up for the day,” she told him. That green-golden gaze ran over him. “Good workout?”
    â€œYes, it was.” He felt sweaty and grungy, and he probably smelled like a hard-ridden horse. But he should have thought of that before he came wheeling in here without a shower. “Let’s see how you’re doing….”
    She showed him what she’d come up with