Page 52 of Donovan's Men

Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’m sorry you got dragged—”

“No apologies.” Donovan held his fork up—poised to…what?

I couldn’t figure it out. “I can apologize if I feel I’m in the wrong. I thought I needed backup—”

“You did.” Tyson arched his eyebrow and directed his stare at Donovan. “Because what you really want is Hamish at your mercy.”

“What?” I might’ve squeaked that.

Donovan laughed. Heartily. “Remembering our conversation?”

I laid my fork on my plate and slowly raised my hand. “Obviously, this was a conversation I wasn’t a part of.”

Tyson eyed me. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He pivoted his attention back to Donovan. “TMI?”

“Oh, I think it’s fair that Hamish know what you know.” He forked a piece of chicken. “That said, we should establish some ground rules for this relationship.”

“What relationship? I’m your counselor—”

“You need to withdraw from that.” Tyson swallowed. “And I need to hand over the investigation. Well, it’s mostly done, and I don’t believe my involvement in this”—he gestured between the three of us—“will jeopardize things. But I need to speak to my sergeant. I should’ve done it before now. I just thought…” He closed his eyes. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“That your investigation would be wrapped up by now?” I picked my fork up again, but my ravenous hunger waned. “Or that I would be strong enough to resist him?”

Donovan smiled. Not lasciviously—but also not what I’d term a normal smile. Something lurked behind his eyes, and I didn’t trust it.

You shouldn’t have before, and look where you’ve wound up. Right where he wants you.

Yeah, but also where I want to be.

I couldn’t argue with that. At the moment, no matter how awkward things were, I wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else. Not even ensconced in my condo and hunkered down with eggplant parmesan at the end of a very long week.

“Resisting him has little to do with this.” Tyson met my gaze. “Because I was planning to pursue you when things were over.” He smiled. This one was tender and kind. “I’ve kind of got a thing for near-virgin ginger vegetarian psychologists.”

Had the heat receded? Well, damn thing was back. My cheeks probably resembled Rudolph’s damn nose. I managed a smile. “It’s mutual. I don’t know what this is.” I gestured between the three of us. “I just…I’m so confused.”

“This is us having a discussion about what the parameters of the relationship will look like moving forward.” Donovan wiped his lips with the lovely forest-green linen napkin with silver filagree.

Far more delicate than this rustic—although luxurious—place deserved. The contradictions weren’t lost on me. “I’m not going to ask what relationship. We’re clearly beyond that.” I laid my fork in the five-o’clock position. “But what parameters are you thinking about?”

“Well, for starters—how do we facilitate communication? Okay, everyone get out their phones.” Donovan did exactly that.

“At the table?”Call me old-fashioned, but I think this is wrong.Still, I was completely incapable of disobeying Donovan, so I did exactly that.

We’d all hooked up to the Wi-Fi when we’d arrived—such a telling and classic and very twenty-first-century move.

Tyson followed suit.

“I’m creating a group chat.” Donovan proceeded to do exactly that.

My phone buzzed.

—I’m going to get both of you into my bed soon.—

I nearly choked on the sip of water I’d just taken. I swallowed without spewing. But barely. “That’s terribly presumptuous.”

Tyson chuckled. “But I find it advantageous to lay things on the line.” He met my gaze. “I can drive you back to Vancouver atany time. It’s a quick ride. Or to Mission City where we can find you a hotel. You’re not obliged to stay.” He glared at Donovan. “Especially if you don’t want to.”

But I do want. I want very, very, very much.“Okay, so let’s take bed off the table for a moment.” I laid my phone on the table—screen down.