Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

oldest son. The unusual design and workmanship were her twin daughters’ present. The odd turquoise and gold of her eyes was a gift from a grandfather she had never met.
    The door of the Donovan condo hadn’t closed behind Susa before she recognized the approaching footsteps.
    “Archer,” she said, delighted. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to make it. Don was maddeningly vague about your plans.” As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder at the man who filled the doorway. His thick black hair was streaked with silver, his body was straight and strong beneath the casual rust sweater and black slacks, and she smiled with pleasure just at being near him.
    “Miss one of The Donovan’s command performances?” Archer said, grinning as he crossed the living room to the entry. “Not likely. I feel guilty about everyone rescheduling the party just for me, though.”
    “Don’t be silly,” she said, holding out her arms. “Don said he could have a birthday whenever he damn well pleased.”
    Archer scooped his mother up in a big hug. Only Susa called The Donovan by his given name, just as only Susa was privileged to wind The Donovan around her little finger. The power flowed both ways, because she was wound just as tightly around his.
    “More beautiful than ever,” Archer said, kissing his mother soundly. “But still too skinny.”
    “Bite your tongue,” she muttered, and gave him another kiss. “I’m just fashionable.”
    Though he smiled, he looked over his mother’s honey-gold hair to his father. The Donovan nodded slightly, silently telling his son that Susa’s health was good. Archer let out a long, silent breath. The thought of his mother hurting made him feel helpless. It wasn’t a feeling he liked.
    “Is she here?” Susa asked.
    “She?”
    “Len’s widow.”
    Again Archer looked at his father.
    The Donovan smiled rather sadly. “She knows. She knew before she married me. I just . . . wanted to spare her any . . .”
    Susa’s small fingers threaded through her husband’s. She smiled up at him. “Silly goose.” On tiptoe she kissed him. “Wonderful goose. I knew I wasn’t your first.”
    “You were my last.”
    “Yes. And you were mine. That’s all that matters.”
    He bent down and murmured something against her ear that made color rise in her cheeks and put a sparkle in her eyes. “Wicked, wicked man.”
    Archer grinned. “You wouldn’t have him any other way, and you know it.”
    “Hush. I don’t want him to know it.”
    “Too late, Mom. The cat got out of that bag before I was born.”
    Hannah walked into the living area and stopped cold, feeling like an intruder. The affection between the three Donovans was as clear and potent as sunlight. But that wasn’t what made her go still. It was the change in Archer. Though he was dressed in black jeans and a black sweater, he looked . . . lighter. Nowhere did she see the remote, controlled man he had been to her since he had stalked out of the bedroom last night.
    Tension deep inside her loosened and relief swept through her, leaving her with a feeling close to floating. Obviously he had gotten over his rage and was ready to be reasonable about their relationship. Two consenting adults, nothing more . . . and nothing less. The searing ecstasy she hungered for was once again close enough to touch, to taste.
    He turned, sensing her. The instant he saw her, he changed. Doors slamming, bolts going home, shut down. Shutting her out. The fires that burned within him were out of her reach.
    Emotions stabbed through her like dark lightning. She chose anger and ignored the rest, because admitting that she was hurt was something she refused to do. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked up to Archer’s parents.
    “Mr. Donovan, Mrs. Donovan, I’m Hannah McGarry. It’s kind of you to let me stay in your home. Since it’s obvious you’re going to have a full house tonight, I won’t impose. Perhaps you could suggest a hotel where—”
    “No.” Archer’s voice was cold. “You came to me for two things. It’s easier to protect you here than in a hotel.”
    The tension crackling between Hannah and Archer made Susa’s eyes narrow. Don looked from his son to the daughter-in-law he had never known. She was tall, nicely curved, with short sun-streaked brown hair and eyes so dark a blue he at first thought they were black. Their indigo gleam was repeated in a silk blouse whose open collar revealed a smooth