Excerpt of Donovan's Woman by Amanda Ashley

With a sigh, he looked over at the woman. She was sleeping peacefully, her cheek resting on her hand. Her hair spread over the pillow like a splash of gold ink, her eyelashes rested like fans of silk against her cheeks. Just looking at her calmed the storm within him. He wished he had the right to crawl in beside her and take her in his arms, to hold her close, stroke her hair, feel the softness of her skin beneath his hand.

He hadn’t made love to a woman in over five years. He had pleasured Serepta, but it hadn’t been love, nor had he ever gone willingly to her bed.

He swore softly, his bile rising with the memory. How he hated her! But no more than he hated himself.

“Gryff?” Marri’s voice, sleep soft. “Gryff, are you all right?”

“Sure. Go back to sleep.” He heard the bed creak and then she was there in the dark beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He grunted softly, remembering that he had spoken the same words to her not so long ago. “No.”

She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to help,” she murmured.

The warmth of her touch penetrated his shirt, warming the skin beneath, arrowing straight down to his groin. “Why?”

“Because you’re helping me.”

“Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do.”

With a sigh, she drew his head to her breast and after a moment, she lightly stroked his hair.

Her touch, filled with a gentleness and compassion that he hadn’t felt in years, was his undoing. With a sob, his arms went around her waist. He clung to her like a child afraid of the dark while hot tears stung his eyes and burned his cheeks.

She murmured to him, soft meaningless words of solace and comfort as she lightly massaged his neck and back. Under other circumstances, it might have relaxed him, but it had been years since he had been with a woman he desired. Every in-drawn breath carried her scent to him, every touch of her hand fueled his desire.

He swore softly. It was bad enough that he was behaving like a frightened child. If he didn’t put some space between them, in another minute he would have her flat on her back beneath him.

Muttering another oath, he drew back. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face the disdain he was sure to see in her eyes. He was a grown man. He was supposed to be looking after her, not acting like an mewling infant, or some wild, rutting beast. He didn’t know which shamed him more, his tears or his lust.

Still not looking at her, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “Good night.”

He heard the bunk creak beneath her weight as she climbed onto the bed, the soft whisper of cloth against cloth as she slid under the covers and turned her back to him.

Damn and blast. He didn’t know how he was ever going to face her again.

Marri stared into the darkness, the bodice of her dress still damp from Gryff’s tears. She couldn’t believe she had comforted him while he cried. Found it hard to believe he was capable of tears. He seemed so strong and self-assured, beyond emotions like sorrow or regret. Her palm tingled when she recalled how she had stroked his hair. Consoling him had seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

She couldn’t remember ever comforting anyone who wasn’t a member of her family. She had been acutely aware that Gryff wasn’t one of her brothers. His masculine scent had teased her senses, the weight of his head against her breast had sent shivers of awareness spiraling through her, made her think of things she had never considered before, made her yearn to slip her hands under his shirt and feel his bare skin beneath her palms, to press his body to hers, to touch him and taste him.

Heat flooded her cheeks. What was wrong with her? Why was she having these strange feelings about a man she hardly knew?

She turned onto her stomach and slid a surreptitious glance in his direction. He sat at the table staring out the window, a smoldering cigarette in his hand. He looked dark and dangerous and alone, she thought. So alone. She wondered suddenly if he was married. But surely not. He had never mentioned a wife. He wore no ring.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Sleep, she thought. It was the best thing for her. She heard the sound of the cabin door opening. Gryff, she thought, probably going outside to stretch his legs before he went to bed.

Moments later, just as she was drifting off, she thought she heard the melancholy howl of a wolf.