Read Online Donovan's Bed: The Calhoun Sisters, Book 1 by Debra Mullins - Free Book Online
Authors: Debra Mullins
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sitting on a horse.
He shifted in the saddle, and she knew it was Jack Donovan.
Her pulse sped up. Why was he here, beneath her window, in the middle of the night? It was like some tale from a dime novel.
He just sat there, so still that she might have indeed mistaken him for one of the shadows if Senseless hadn’t chosen that moment to toss his head. Then Jack urged the horse forward, came fully into the moonlight, and looked straight up at her bedroom window.
She knew she should step back. She was in her nightgown, and she knew he could see her. It was the height of immodesty. But for some reason, she couldn’t move…or didn’t want to.
You were made for loving . She heard his words again as if he whispered them in her ear, and a tremor shook her. He didn’t know how right he was, and how hard she fought that part of herself.
She knew well the fires that burned inside her. Her passionate nature had long been a failing. Her own heated emotions often caused more harm than good, especially when she gave them rein. Case in point—when she had gotten so annoyed at Jack Donovan that she wrote that article, which started the gossip about her all over again.
But worse than her temper were the terrible longings that plagued her, the secret cravings that frequently held her captive late at night as she longed for a man’s touch.
At heart she was a wanton, and she hated herself for it.
Yet here she stood, proving her true nature by brazenly displaying herself for the pleasure of the man below. She should be in bed asleep, like any other respectable woman. But she couldn’t pull herself away, couldn’t break the silent communication that stretched between them.
She knew he desired her; he had made that very plain. But she hadn’t wanted to admit her own reciprocal feelings. The stirrings invoked by his kiss two weeks ago had become stronger and more disturbing each time they met, and those passions awoke now, flushing her body with heat.
She could feel his eyes on her. Her body reacted, making her nipples hard and her knees weak. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to slow her pounding heart. Then she raised one trembling hand to the windowpane, wishing she touched warm flesh instead of cool glass.
But giving in to these dangerous feelings would mean disaster. Donovan had made it abundantly clear that he wanted her only as a bedmate and not a bride.
She knew now what he was doing beneath her window in the middle of the night. He knew the most hidden, darkest part of her. He had seen deep into her soul and knew her for what she was…a slave to her own passions.
And still, she wanted nothing more than to go outside and step into his arms and let loose the fires that consumed her.
He knew he shouldn’t have given Senseless his head.
Donovan looked over the Calhoun house. It was well built and painted white, with a wraparound porch and real glass windows. Someone had planted flowers along the walkway, and lace curtains fluttered in the night breeze. It was more than just a house; it was a home.
A pale flash of movement in one of the upstairs windows caught his eye, and he glanced up. A woman stood in the window, the moonlight making her nightgown glow white and her hair glint with gold.
Sarah.
His body reacted to the sight of her, and he cursed. Why her, damn it? Why did he react so fiercely to the one woman in town who wasn’t after him? The one woman he couldn’t have?
She was pretty, but so were a dozen other women. And come to think of it, he had never been partial to blondes. He liked brunettes with big, dark eyes. The widow O’Brien was more his type of woman. But for some reason, it was Sarah Calhoun who made him hot. Blonde, blue-eyed Sarah, with her starched petticoats and her single-minded determination. There were times when he was sure she would figure out who he had been and print the story in the paper, destroying his chance of starting over. If he had any brains at all, he
He shifted in the saddle, and she knew it was Jack Donovan.
Her pulse sped up. Why was he here, beneath her window, in the middle of the night? It was like some tale from a dime novel.
He just sat there, so still that she might have indeed mistaken him for one of the shadows if Senseless hadn’t chosen that moment to toss his head. Then Jack urged the horse forward, came fully into the moonlight, and looked straight up at her bedroom window.
She knew she should step back. She was in her nightgown, and she knew he could see her. It was the height of immodesty. But for some reason, she couldn’t move…or didn’t want to.
You were made for loving . She heard his words again as if he whispered them in her ear, and a tremor shook her. He didn’t know how right he was, and how hard she fought that part of herself.
She knew well the fires that burned inside her. Her passionate nature had long been a failing. Her own heated emotions often caused more harm than good, especially when she gave them rein. Case in point—when she had gotten so annoyed at Jack Donovan that she wrote that article, which started the gossip about her all over again.
But worse than her temper were the terrible longings that plagued her, the secret cravings that frequently held her captive late at night as she longed for a man’s touch.
At heart she was a wanton, and she hated herself for it.
Yet here she stood, proving her true nature by brazenly displaying herself for the pleasure of the man below. She should be in bed asleep, like any other respectable woman. But she couldn’t pull herself away, couldn’t break the silent communication that stretched between them.
She knew he desired her; he had made that very plain. But she hadn’t wanted to admit her own reciprocal feelings. The stirrings invoked by his kiss two weeks ago had become stronger and more disturbing each time they met, and those passions awoke now, flushing her body with heat.
She could feel his eyes on her. Her body reacted, making her nipples hard and her knees weak. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to slow her pounding heart. Then she raised one trembling hand to the windowpane, wishing she touched warm flesh instead of cool glass.
But giving in to these dangerous feelings would mean disaster. Donovan had made it abundantly clear that he wanted her only as a bedmate and not a bride.
She knew now what he was doing beneath her window in the middle of the night. He knew the most hidden, darkest part of her. He had seen deep into her soul and knew her for what she was…a slave to her own passions.
And still, she wanted nothing more than to go outside and step into his arms and let loose the fires that consumed her.
He knew he shouldn’t have given Senseless his head.
Donovan looked over the Calhoun house. It was well built and painted white, with a wraparound porch and real glass windows. Someone had planted flowers along the walkway, and lace curtains fluttered in the night breeze. It was more than just a house; it was a home.
A pale flash of movement in one of the upstairs windows caught his eye, and he glanced up. A woman stood in the window, the moonlight making her nightgown glow white and her hair glint with gold.
Sarah.
His body reacted to the sight of her, and he cursed. Why her, damn it? Why did he react so fiercely to the one woman in town who wasn’t after him? The one woman he couldn’t have?
She was pretty, but so were a dozen other women. And come to think of it, he had never been partial to blondes. He liked brunettes with big, dark eyes. The widow O’Brien was more his type of woman. But for some reason, it was Sarah Calhoun who made him hot. Blonde, blue-eyed Sarah, with her starched petticoats and her single-minded determination. There were times when he was sure she would figure out who he had been and print the story in the paper, destroying his chance of starting over. If he had any brains at all, he
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