Page 106 of Donovan's Men

For the better? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t regret my men.

Without a firm resolution to all my problems, I finished rinsing off and stepped out of the warmth of the shower. Steam rose around me.Huh…I hadn’t realized I’d turned the water up quite so high. I loved my soaker tub, but my showers made life worthwhile. I toweled off quickly and was slipping back into the bathrobe I’d snagged when Donovan sauntered in.

Without knocking.

Oh yeah, that’s what people in relationships did. Right?

He planted a kiss on my lips as he eased the bathrobe off my shoulders. “Don’t ever hide from me, sweetheart.”

A warm glow grew inside my belly. I liked his nickname for me. And that surprised me. I believed myself above such things. But with him, I felt cherished. Special. Something told me he wouldn’t use that nickname with Tyson—that he’d pick something else.

I poked him in the ribs. “What’re you going to call Tyson?”

“Sunshine.”

I burst out laughing. Somehow…it fit. When Tyson wasn’t being grumpy, he was totally sunshine. “He’s optimistic.”

“Sometimes.”

Donovan’s somber tone caught my attention.

“We need to talk.” He tapped my nose. “And you’re going to have to come clean as well.”

Before I could respond, he stepped into the shower, closed the door, and turned on the water.

Uh.

Fuck.

I discovered my room empty and still smelling a little like cum. Like sex. Not unpleasant, per se, but not something I was accustomed to. The guys had stripped the bed, and the dirty sheets lay in a pile on the floor. I snagged Donovan’s jeans and methodically emptied his pockets. I wasn’t snooping—just being practical. Once I had everything dumped onto the bureau, I snagged his sweater and the sheets, then headed to the laundry closet. After double-checking the washing instructions for the sweater—and finding a regular cycle would be fine—I put everything in and added my hypoallergenic detergent. Then I opened the linen closet and grabbed a fresh set of sheets. I hovered my hand over another flannel set, remembered how overheated Tyson and I’d been this morning, and opted for cotton.

Tyson smacked my ass as he sauntered past.

After shutting the cupboard door, I followed him into my bedroom.

He stopped short, snagged the bottom sheet from my hands, and started to lay it down.

I dropped the top sheet on the chair and helped him with the fitted sheet. What normally took me plenty of struggling time took mere moments.

Another grin crossed his face as he slapped me on the shoulder. “Always better together. My wife and I…” He faltered. The grin slipped.

Normally at this point of the discussion, I’d be fully dressed, we’d be in some kind of office, and I’d have my notepad. Here, though, in this bedroom, I was completely naked—and so was he.

Before I could react, however, he brushed past me and grabbed the top sheet. “I think the duvet’s going to be too warmunless we turn the temperature down a lot. I’m loath to hike it up—”

“Yeah, no.” I frowned. Yes, we mostly used clean hydroelectric power, but conservation was part of my nature. And over the years, I’d lived in plenty of places that relied on fossil fuels. That guilt didn’t alleviate easily, but keeping the temperature in my place lower helped with my mental stress over the state of the environment. That and I hated to throw money away. “I have blankets—wool, cotton, and, uh…” I racked my brain to remember the fabric of the pale-blue one. “Fleece?”

“I think wool. But bring the other two, and we can gauge where we wind up.” He offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My wife ran cold and insisted we have a vast pile of blankets. I was forever sticking my foot out to catch some chill.”

After a moment, I returned his smile—enjoying the image of him with a random foot stuck out. Maybe not so much the image of him sharing a bed with his wife. But that wasn’t jealousy—only concern for him because he struggled with those memories.

“Is the bed still not made?” Donovan strode into the room.

My mouth went dry. While we’d been in bed, I’d caught glimpses of him—but I hadn’t gotten a really good look. I wasn’t someone who coveted beauty—in choosing my profession, I’d taken the position that all people were beautiful on the outside and, perhaps, damaged on the inside. Not that I couldn’t appreciate that outward appearance affected how people interacted with the world. I only had to think of the woman whose coworker had doused her with oil and lit her on fire to realize that. She’d survived—barely—and I’d spent months helping her deal with the trauma. The guy had gone to jail where he’d wound up killing himself, but she was dedicated to returning to the job she loved and overcoming the memory of the man who’d been obsessed with her.

Like Cole Hamilton and Meggibeth Smythe.

Funny, I hadn’t given that situation much thought since Donovan and Tyson had become my sole focus. Because of my suspension, I wouldn’t be there to help Cole go back to work. Although, since Meggibeth was safely in jail, he didn’t have that to worry about. Hala or Ian could take over.