Walk with Me (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (15 page)

I turn at the waist to face Mark, picking at my nails. “Um, no I don’t work at the police department. Actually, my roommate is dating one of Donovan’s partners and the two of them introduced us. They thought we had a lot in common, I guess.”

Little Marie pulls herself around the coffee table to Donovan’s legs, further proving my point about the draw to him by all females. He picks her up and plops her down on his knee and starts bouncing her up and down. Sarah kneels up and hands Donovan a sippy cup for Marie. “Do you go to school, Kenna?” Sarah asks.

“I currently go to SMC. I’m in my second year there, but I transfer to UCLA next fall.”

I’m in awe with Donovan’s relaxed and capable demeanor with little Marie. I know nothing about kids—how to talk to them or handle them. It’s impressive and sweet to watch.

“Oh, that’s my alma mater,” Sarah says. “I went to law school at UCLA. I did my undergrad at BU, where I’m from originally.”

I guess she wants to know where I’m from “originally” so I further explain. “I grew up locally in Marina Del Rey and permitted into Santa Monica High School.”

Gosh, I sound so young when I explain it, a teenager just out of high school seriously dating a cop. It doesn’t fit with how I feel, though, like I’ve already lived a full life and survived so much in my short time on this planet. I feel closer to thirty with the strength and independence I’ve had to pull from within, forcing me to mature beyond my chronological age, but I know my actual life experience is more limited than other girls. I’m a walking paradox, which makes it difficult to relate to my peers, who have never experienced such things.

Donovan places a hand on my knee, which would normally course an electric pulse right to my groin, but with my nerves as they are, his touch just garners my attention. “Do you want something to drink, babe? I’m getting myself a diet soda.”

Babe? The first term of endearment I’ve heard out of Donovan’s mouth in public. The benefit of his family? “I’ll take a glass of water, please.”

Mark chimes in when Donovan stands up with little Marie in his arms. “I’ll take Princess Marie from you.” What a lucky girl. She just bounces from one lap to the next. But I, too, had my uncle growing up, at least one area of normalcy in my childhood.

Donovan hands her off to Mark. “Can I get something for anyone else while I’m up?” Donovan asks the group.

“Can you grab me another beer?” Mark asks. “You and Kenna are welcome to one of the bottles I brought if you wish.”

Donovan shoots Mark a disapproving look. “No, thank you, but I’ll get
you
a beer, Mark.” That seemed a little rude and I don’t know if I like Donovan speaking on my behalf, but I choose not to say anything, trying to make a good first impression and all.

The next half hour is filled with discussions among the group and smaller talks between couples. Everyone seemed all ears, even me, when Donovan started talking about his work and some of the latest arrests he’s made. He doesn’t talk to me about his job, only with Tyler and his family. When Donovan does open up and talk about his work as a cop, he lights up, speaking faster and more animatedly.

Further into the discussions I learn Sarah is a contract attorney for a large law firm downtown. Her husband, Nick, is a general manager for a sporting goods store and they’ve been married for five years. Mark is an accountant and works for one of the record labels here in Santa Monica.

The aromas from the kitchen remind me I haven’t eaten for a few hours, my energy draining and my tolerance waning. While everyone else is busy talking, I migrate to the kitchen to see if I can give Connie a helping hand and hopefully grab a piece of something in the process. “Connie, everything smells so wonderful. Can I help with anything?”

Wiping her hands on the towel tucked in her apron strings, she smiles at me. “No, dear. You relax with everyone. I’ve got it all taken care of, but if you want to take the vegetable tray and dips into the family room I’d appreciate that. Looks like Paul is going to be late as usual.”

Connie reminds me of a wife from one of those 1950s TV shows, whose place is in the kitchen. The epitome of what you picture as the ideal mom, humming around the stove with her apron on, whipping up something from scratch and pouring all her love into the meal she is preparing for her perfect family.

Score! My mission was a success. “Okay. I can do that.” I grab a couple carrots and dip and shove them in my mouth before bringing them to the masses.

I’m waffling between sitting next to Sarah on the floor—right in front of the vegetable tray—or back in my spot next to Donovan, when the sounds of a large commotion comes our way.

With a booming voice, Paul strolls into the family room with a bottle-blonde vixen in tow. “Let’s get this party started,” he roars and holds up a bottle of wine. The blonde with boobs pushed up and out of her tight-fitting V-neck blouse and black high-heel leather boots rolls her eyes at Paul and walks into the room, greeting everyone with hugs and kisses.

I’m the last one to meet Playmate Miss February on her rounds. “Hi, I’m Kenna.” I shake her hand.

She smiles at me. “I know who you are. We’ve all been waiting to meet the mystery girl that Donovan has been so keen on and actually the first girl he’s been willing to bring home. And I can see why. Aren’t you a pretty little thang,” she says with a southern twang. “I’m Tanya, Paul’s fiancée.”

Tanya’s funny. Her personality doesn’t match her appearance. She’s a southern belle who relocated to California after college. She has a straightforward and shoots-from-the-hip attitude, and she doesn’t take any of Paul’s bull that he dishes out to everyone else.

We don’t settle in too long before Connie calls us to dinner. Spaghetti and meat sauce with salad and garlic bread. This woman can cook. The best pasta I’ve ever tasted, and I clean my plate. I’m glad we’re all eating the same thing because she didn’t skimp on the garlic. After dinner we help to clear the table, but Joseph takes over cleaning the dishes. This is a routine that has been in the works for many years and I just fall into place with everyone else.

Mark holds up a deck of cards at the cleared dining table. “Let’s play a game of Skat.” Everyone agrees in unison and negotiations for quarters begin. I don’t know what’s going on and turn to Donovan to fill me in on Skat and the deal with quarters. He tells me it’s a card game where you eliminate players with the lowest hand in each round until the face-off at the end between two for the collective pot. Thankfully, they do a practice round with the cards face up, so I can follow along. Once I get the hang of the game, we take off playing full bore. It’s an easy game and I stay in pretty long. Sarah, Nick, Joseph, and Paul are the first to be eliminated. Everyone except Sarah, who puts Marie down for bed, is sitting around and watching the rest of the game.

Mark takes a swig from his beer. “Remember that one New Year’s Day we played with fives instead of quarters and the pot was close to a hundred bucks. I think it came down to Sarah and Dillon that time.” Everyone stiffens at Mark’s comment and then shoots looks at Connie for her reaction, but she doesn’t seem to be fazed by whatever he said. He quickly changes the subject.

I try to play the words back in my mind. What did he say that caused such a response from everyone? He talked about New Year’s and playing Skat with Sarah and someone named Dillon. Maybe that was her old boyfriend before she married Nick. But why would they all look at Connie?

I lean toward Donovan’s side and ask, “Who’s Dillon?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he says and lays his cards down and announces, “Skat! Everyone pays.” And just like that Donovan wipes away the foul mood from the table. He seems to be good at that—always the moderator, the comedian, the comforter.

After the game Connie pulls out dessert and offers tea and coffee to everyone. A coconut custard pie with sliced bananas and whip cream. I’m all geared up for a nice slice of pie with a cup of decaf Earl Grey tea when Donovan pulls me aside and whispers in my ear. “I want to give you a tour of my place before dessert, okay?”

The heat of his breath tickles my ear and sends a line of chills down my neck and right to my now-hard nipples. Now I’m no longer watering at the mouth for a slice of pie. I’m watering at the mouth for Donovan. I want more closeness and more of that excitement he just aroused in me. I swallow hard and nod as he pulls me by my hand through the kitchen.

“I’m taking Kenna to show her my place,” Donovan says, making a general announcement. “We’ll be back later. If you leave before we get back, I’ll see you all next week.” Everyone waves good-bye with forks full of pie in the air.

Donovan pulls me through the French doors and down a path to the back of the property. The lot is large and the main house and guesthouse are separated by a cement patio and grass area. The entire length of the back end of the wide property houses a good-size building with two doors.

He stops at the first door, opens it, and flicks on the lights. It appears to be some sort of workshop with workbenches on both sides and a bank of cabinets, floor to ceiling, in the back. “This is my workshop I share with my dad,” he says with pride in his voice, gesturing to a pair of saw horses standing in the middle of the space with an unfinished wooden box straddling them. “I build furniture as a hobby.”

I wish I had the time for a hobby. “Wow. That’s impressive. What are you working on now?” I point and walk over to the piece on the sawhorses.

“It’s a chest for the foot of my bed. It’s alder, the same wood I built my bedframe and chest of drawers from.” He walks up behind me and presses his body into mine as he reaches past me and runs his hand along the edge of the wooden chest. I’m sandwiched between the hardwood and Donovan. I lean my body back into his chest and roll my head to the side, exposing my neck and lips to him. Donovan dips his head down and gives me a quick kiss.

“I think my family likes you. You’ve impressed them, just like you’ve impressed me.”

Relief floods through me. I was afraid they would see through my façade—they would see I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in with their perfect family. I turn to face Donovan. “How can you tell?” I search his eyes for clues.

Rubbing both sides of my arms, Donovan warms me with a supportive smile. “I can just see it in their faces. Plus, I know how people see you. You carry yourself with great maturity and confidence for someone your age. You exude strength and courage, probably because of what you’ve endured in the past.”

Wow. I guess I fooled them all, because I feel like an insecure little girl who’s afraid to put herself out there in fear of rejection. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’ve been so closed off to others. I never pulled the walls down in the past because then there is no chance I’ll be hurt. But now I’m experiencing these amazing feelings with Donovan and I don’t want to go back to not feeling anything. He is opening the floodgates to my heart and soul and I want to keep them open—forever.

Dropping his hands from my arms, Donovan gestures around the room. “This is where I come to get away and lose myself or to just think. I can work out here for hours. There’s something about working with your hands”—and he flashes me a devilish grin, grabbing at my waist and pulling me into him—“that clears the mind.”

I yelp at his manhandling and giggle trying to squirm out of his hold. Donovan at first tightens his grip on me, smiling salaciously, but then with a wicked glint in his eyes his posture changes and he tickles me on the sides. “No! Stop it!” I screech. But he continues his pleasurable torment, working one hand down to the back of my thigh. “Donovan! Please stop. I can’t take it. I’m going to pee my pants.” With my final plea he drops his hands.

We stand facing each other, chests heaving from the short burst of excitement. With a wild gleam in his eyes, Donovan leans down and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Donovan Alexander!” I scream. “You put me down!” He ignores my demand and carries me out of the workshop and over next door.

“You’re so cute when you get all indignant. You want down?” he says and lowers me to the floor inside his bachelor pad. I’m standing facing him with my body pressed against his. His eyes are searing into mine and his hands are securing me in place at the waist. My chest is rising and falling with deep, steady breaths and moisture and heat are building between my thighs. I’m so turned on by his caveman gesture of dragging me back to his den against my will. At this moment I want him to take me. A primal need exists deep within my body for Donovan to bury himself inside me and quite the dull ache that’s been building in my groin since the first day I’ve laid eyes on him.

There is no denying the raw sexual attraction to Donovan. And this is one area I can tell he isn’t passive about—sex. In public he is the perfect gentleman, so polite and respectful. But behind closed doors I bet an alter ego exists. He is commanding, passionate, and insatiable. I don’t know what makes me think this with my limited experience, but something tells me he is going to be the same in bed and I don’t know if I can wait any longer to test my theory. My self-control is waning after a delicious dinner with this perfect man and his perfect TV family. If he wanted to take me right here and now, it would be the dream ending to the evening.

He doesn’t take me like I am secretly begging him with all my telepathic power. As a matter of fact, he breaks the mood and drops his hands from my body like I’m a piece of unripe fruit not yet ready to be picked and walks further into the room. I sigh and follow behind him, knowing the moment has been broken.