Page 20 of Donovan's Men

As I had earlier today, I secured his seat belt.

This time, he snagged my right elbow with his left hand and held me tight to him.

I could escape. Of course, I could escape. But as I gazed into those deep-brown eyes—mesmerized—I didn’t want to.

“Cole’s going to be okay.”

His words washed over me, a bit like a bucket of ice water. I moved to pull back.

He tugged me closer. “I’m not sure I ever will.”

The vulnerability in those eyes called to me. Spoke of someone stuck in genuine pain—not something made up for sympathy but genuine grief. “You did everything you could.”

“She shot Cole.”

“And you stopped her from shooting him again—or anyone else. Who knows what she might’ve done? Quite possibly, you saved a lot of lives.” I gestured to his right arm. “And got shot yourself.”

He tried to avert his eyes. To deny my words.

I grasped his chin and drew his gaze back to me.

With his strength, even with a bad arm, he could’ve pushed me away.

He didn’t.

“You need to talk to Hamish about this. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you need help. Others will see you getting help and will feel okay in reaching out as well. You can continue to lead—”

“Lead?” He scoffed the word.

I held his gaze. “Everyone I’ve spoken to makes it clear that, although Cole’s the star, you’re the one they often lookto for leadership. That you make safety a top priority and hold everyone to a high standard. I heard you got a guy fired—”

He rolled his eyes. “Julie nearly took out his eye with her stiletto heel. I couldn’t have that kind of incompetence on my set. Do you know how Julie would’ve felt? And it wouldn’t have been her fault. The guy wasn’t paying attention—”

“And you took care of it. That’s your gift. Just like you took care of the shooter.” I hesitated to use Meggibeth’s name because she’d once been a friend to every one of these people. That betrayal cut deep. Really deep.

Still, Donovan held my elbow. Held me close.

With the hand that’d held his jaw, I slowly stroked his cheek.Noscreamed my professional side.

Oh yesscreamed the man within me. The man desperate for another person’s touch. The man needing to make a connection—no matter how unethical it might be.

His cheek bore a day’s stubble. But of course. He wouldn’t be able to shave. Every photo I’d seen of him, he’d been clean-shaven. Same with Cole.

“You’ll need help to shave.”

“I thought women see scruff as sexy.”

“I can’t speak for most women.” My ex-wife detested facial hair—but I sure as shit wasn’t bringing her up in this moment.

“Some men see it as sexy as well.”

“I don’t have a preference. I mean, clean-shaven like Hamish…or a little scruff like yourself…”Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to regret the words.

He trailed his hand up my biceps to my shoulder, along my collarbone, up my neck, and raked his fingernails gently across my cheek. “You shaved this morning.”

I nodded.