She noticed that his hair was wet and so were his clothes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and then because she was weak and pathetic, she started to cry.

"G.o.ddammit, Donovan. I have the police looking for you. I just got back myself. I thought... Jesus Christ I thought..."

But he never finished his sentence and with a growl, he pulled her close, so that she was tucked under his chin. And for Donovan, it felt like coming home. Like the safest place in the world.

"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice hoa.r.s.e. "I got lost."

She squeezed her eyes shut when he kissed the top of her head. "You're freezing."

Teeth chattering, she nodded but couldn't answer because a fresh batch of tears had her choked up.

"It's okay," he said, voice gruff. "I've got you."

Hearing those three words nearly did her in, and she clutched at his shirt, unable to articulate how grateful she was. Even though she was wet and cold and miserable, she was here with him, and right now, it was all that mattered.

Jack scooped her into his arms and headed for the stairs.

Chapter Twenty-one.

Jack Simon could handle a lot of things. He was used to juggling more than one ball, and he was used to dealing with circ.u.mstances that weren't ideal. He'd learned early on in the political arena that when s.h.i.t happened, you let it happen because most times, there was no way to stop it. You let the chaos ensue and then you put a plan in place to fix it.

He was a fixer. Had the ability to think outside the box. It's why he was good at his job.

But it was one thing to apply that code to a work day situation. When it came to something up close and personal, it was a h.e.l.l of a lot harder to keep some kind of perspective. To keep from freaking the h.e.l.l out.

He'd lost his s.h.i.t today. More than once. When he realized that Donovan was missing, he'd barely kept it together. Him. The guy they called Stone Cold Simon.

Jack gave his head a shake.

Right now, he had Donovan where she needed to be. In his place. In his arms. He f.u.c.king had her.

He strode across the landing and headed for his bedroom. Once inside, he kicked open the door to the bathroom and gently set her down on the counter. She was shaking so hard that he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her.

Her eyes were closed, and a bruise on her cheek was looking nasty. His gut tightened, and he slid his palm over her cheek. Donovan leaned into him, and Jack felt as if he was coming apart. Never had he felt this helpless.

"Hey, I'll be right back," he said roughly.

She opened her eyes and d.a.m.n but those tears lingering in the corners got to him. He wiped one away and dropped a kiss on her head before turning on the shower and heading into his room for a moment.

He grabbed his cell out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Sabrina so that she wouldn't worry and then he called the police, leaving a message with the desk sergeant that Donovan was home and that she was safe.

He started to tug his shirt over his head and paused-s.h.i.t-Maverick would have his a.s.s if he didn't give him an update. He'd called him earlier, thinking that maybe Donovan had been in contact, but his cousin hadn't heard s.h.i.t from her and had proceeded to give Jack an earful.

Most of it deserved, which was the only reason Jack hadn't given it right back to him.

Jack sent Rick a text and headed back to the bathroom, stripping off the rest of his wet clothes before reaching for her.

Donovan's eyes looked huge, and they never left his as he carefully peeled away the towel and her wet clothes. Her arms were scratched up, and she had more than her fair share of bug bites, but he wasn't overly concerned until he got a peek at her ankle. It was starting to purple and he was pretty sure it was sprained.

Carefully he lifted her and stepped into the hot shower. Jack held her for several long minutes, letting the hot spray wash over both of them. Eventually her body relaxed and the shivering stopped.

"Babe, I'm going to have you stand, but you need to watch your foot, okay?"

She nodded, but remained silent. Donovan wasn't the silent type. She was the kind of woman who yelled and cursed when things got rough. This silent s.h.i.t scared the c.r.a.p out of him.

Those huge eyes looked up at him as Jack set her down and reached for the soap. Once his hands were lathered up he slid them over her shoulders and began to wash her. Slowly, carefully, he kneaded tight muscles, and ma.s.saged sore limbs. He touched every inch of her. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her stomach and hips. Her thighs and calves. He cleaned the bottom of her feet and gingerly washed her injured ankle. He got between her toes, the underside of her arch.

Every single inch.

After that, he coaxed her into his arms so that she was resting on him and he carefully washed her hair. By the time he was done, her eyes were open and they regarded him in silence.

He hated the silence. This wasn't Donovan.

They stood under the hot shower for a long time, it seemed, and then she made a sound, like a sigh, and traced a path down his chest with her fingers. His body, already hyperaware of the woman in his arms, reacted immediately. His c.o.c.k hardened and when her fingers flew like b.u.t.terflies over his abdomen he clenched his jaw so tight that it hurt.

Now was not the time to go there. s.e.x wasn't what this was about. He wanted to comfort her and let her know that even though their situation was royally f.u.c.ked up, things would be okay. They had to be okay.

Donovan paused, her touch light on his hip, there where he'd once had a tattoo. Her tattoo.

She stared down at it, her fingers still caressing him and, Jesus, he wasn't strong enough. His d.i.c.k was so hard and heavy, and when she moved against him he hissed, whether from pain or pleasure he wasn't sure. Maybe it was both.

"Donnie," he said carefully. Things were unsettled between them, and they'd both had an emotional day. He should step back. Gain that perspective that he needed so badly. A stronger man would.

But then she'd always been his kryptonite, hadn't she? The one weakness he couldn't get over.

"I almost had mine removed," she said softly.

When he didn't respond she looked up at him. "My tattoo. Maverick took me. I'd been crying on his shoulder for weeks, and I was a mess. I guess he got sick of it, because he dragged me to his local tattoo guy. Told me that the only way to get over you was to get rid of everything that reminded me of you."

She exhaled, her eyes back on the empty patch of skin. "But I couldn't do it. I sat in that chair, drank a fifth of whisky and waited for the pain to go away. When the guy was about to start the laser treatment, I bolted. I just...ran. This tattoo is a testament to what we had and what I lost."

She sniffled and his heart turned over at the sadness in her eyes. He felt like an absolute s.h.i.t, but he had to at least try and make her understand. For him, it was different. He wasn't strong enough to carry that kind of burden around. He needed a clear line-a finish line-and he'd taken it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I had to."

She lowered her lashes, wet from the water, and blew across his flesh. "I know. I screwed up so badly, Jack. So badly."

"Hey," he said, running his hands through her hair. "We don't have to do this. Not now. It's been one h.e.l.l of a day."

Donovan's hands moved up to his chest, and she slid her mouth across one of his nipples. It wasn't fair. The reaction she got out of him with a touch as simple as that.

His fingers were still in her hair and maybe it was the tilt of her chin, or the way she looked so vulnerable that had him tied up in knots. Maybe it was the feel of her in his arms or the sight of his mark on her body. His tattoo. The one she'd kept. Whatever it was, when she made that sound, that little whimper of surrender he was done for.

There was no turning back.

He'd been scared s.h.i.tless most of the day. With no idea of her whereabouts. With the cops telling him it wasn't unusual for hikers to go missing for days. With the memory of their fight in his mind.

At one point, he would have gladly wrung her neck for putting him through that, but right now, with her soft and wet and willing, he had other things in mind.

Jack bent and swept a kiss over her mouth, biting her bottom lip before trailing a line down her throat. She arched backward and his c.o.c.k hardened even more when her thighs pressed into him.

Her pulse ramped up, and he licked her there, his hands sliding over her wet body before his mouth left her throat and then closed over one of her nipples. He gave it a tug, his teeth grazing, teasing.

"Jack," she gasped.

He smiled wickedly and then he suckled hard, his tongue and mouth firmly in place.

She bucked against him and then whimpered, her hands now in his hair and holding him there. He licked and sucked and kneaded until she swore (now there was his old Donovan), and yanked on his head so hard, he glanced up.

Her mouth was open and she was panting for him, that d.a.m.n tongue licking the corner of her mouth, there where her mole was.

He reached for her again, hands on either side of her face. Both of them were breathing hard, and he needed to take a moment. Get some of that perspective back.

"Donnie," he managed to say roughly. "Maybe we shouldn't-"

"Oh we are," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "We so are."

That was enough for him. His perspective could go to h.e.l.l.

Jack's tongue went deep as he claimed her mouth and kissed her with all the fury and pa.s.sion and anger and need that was inside him. Tongues danced, hands slid over slick skin, touching here and caressing there, and it seemed like hours had pa.s.sed when they eventually came up for air.

Christ, kissing had to be the most underrated form of pleasure there was. He could spend hours kissing this woman. Every cell in his body was firing all cylinders and Jack was so f.u.c.king hard and ready-all from a kiss.

He would have taken it slow. Gone back for some more tongue dancing. He would have loved and kissed every d.a.m.n inch of her body. But Donovan wasn't having any of that. There was a fever in her eyes, and he understood her need to connect.

He felt it too.

They could have lost everything today, but instead they'd found their way back to each other. Sure there was a lot of c.r.a.p to wade through, but Jack wasn't letting this woman go. Not again. Not even if she wanted it.

Donovan James was his, and he was going to d.a.m.n well prove it to her.

"There's no going back," he said, hands on her hips.

Her bottom lip trembled a bit. "I don't want to go back."

Jack growled and lifted her into the air, hot water sluicing over them as he thrust deeply into her slick heat. Bracing her against the wall, he levered her just so, a dark grin on his face when she cried out and wrapped her legs around him.

"This is gonna be fast and hard," he said hoa.r.s.ely, his body finding rhythm, his strokes deep.

"Fast and hard is good," she managed to say before kissing him into silence.

As it turned out fast and hard was more than good. In fact it called for seconds.

And it was nearly an hour and a half later when the two of them collapsed onto Jack's bed. Both wet and satiated and thoroughly loved.

Jack rolled Donovan into his arms and held her until her breathing was even and he knew that she was asleep. Outside, the storm raged on and Jack had no way of knowing that a new one was brewing, and it would be one that would test him in ways he'd never thought possible.

He eventually drifted off, missing his cellphone and the vibration that signaled a slew of text messages.

A slew of messages that signaled the coming storm.

Chapter Twenty-two.

Donovan must be dreaming. Or maybe she'd perished in the Canadian wilderness because this right here? This was heaven. Waking up beside Jack Simon after a night of lovin' sure as h.e.l.l was her idea of bliss.

He was on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other resting on her hip. Her leg was tucked between his, and as she lay on her side gazing up at him, she knew that she could spend hours doing nothing but watching him. It was a total high school moment. An, I'm-fifteen-and-crushing-huge kind of moment, but she didn't care.

His thick hair was a mess, and it gave him a boyish look. Coupled with his five o'clock shadow, that beautiful, sculpted mouth and eyelashes any woman would kill for, he was s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. He was s.e.xy and yummy and at the moment, Jack Simon was all hers.

The storm broke sometime in the night, and the sunlight streaming in from the windows bathed them both in warmth, but the rays gave Jack an almost ethereal look.

Ethereal on Jack was d.a.m.n hot.

Donovan watched him, listened to his breathing and when she laid her head on his chest, she loved the sound of his heart beating slow and steady. d.a.m.n, but she missed this. Waking up with Jack.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she sniffled, swiping at them. No more of that s.h.i.t. She was done with all of it. Done with feeling sorry for herself. Done with living a life through eyes that were half dead. Done denying that this connection was ever going to go away. There was no chance in h.e.l.l of that happening.

She winced and eased her body a bit, but it was no use. She was sore in places she hadn't known existed. How much of it was from her night of sin or how much from her pathetic adventure in the great outdoors was anyone's guess, but it was a good sore nonetheless.

Sore meant she'd survived that long trek into the bush.

Sore meant that she'd had one h.e.l.l of a hot night with a man she loved.

And pain? Well, pain just meant that she was living.

"Jack," she whispered. "Are we going to make it?"

He didn't answer, of course, because he was still asleep, and she kissed his chest, laying her cheek there again so that she could keep listening to him. He was like a melody she hadn't written yet. A melody slowly coming to life. She didn't want to think about all the hard stuff still ahead. Didn't want to think about Cooper Simon or Derek McKenzie or the many scenarios that could still play out.

All she wanted to think about was how good it was to be here. In this moment with Jack.