Abilene leaned close to him. âDonât you wish youâd done this sooner?â Her hair swung forward. He could smell her fresh, tart scent. He wanted to touch her hair. He wanted it bad.
And he had a thousand reasons why he shouldnât have what he wanted.
To hell with all those reasons.
He lifted his hand from the table and caught a thick lock between his fingers.
He wanted to kiss her, to feel the give, the texture, the heat of her mouth.
She said his name âDonovan,â on a whisper of sound. And he thought that no one, ever, had said his name the way she did. With tenderness. And complete understanding.
With acceptance. And the sweet heat of honest desire.
There was nothing else, at that moment. Just Abilene.
So close to him, leaning closer â¦
Dear Reader,
Once, Donovan McRae was arguably the finest architect in America. He loved his work and he also enjoyed a reputation as a skilled and daring extreme sports enthusiastâa world-class ice climber. But in the past year, the formerly gregarious genius has completely shut himself off from the world. And no one knows why.
He hasnât been out of the gorgeous house he designed in the middle of the West Texas high desert a hundred miles from El Paso in months. Heâs turned away friends and associates, refusing to see anyoneâincluding Abilene Bravo, who had won the special fellowship he offered before he turned his back on his own life. Sheâs been waiting a year for the important collaboration with him to begin.
No way can he put her off forever. Eventually, he has to let Abilene in.
And when he does, heâs going to get more than he bargained for. The honest, forthright and optimistic Abilene is not about to let him hide from the world forever. Whether he likes it or not, sheâs determined to throw open some windows and doors and let the light in.
Sparks will fly. Guaranteed.
Happy reading everyone,
Christine Rimmer
âImpress me,â Donovan McRae commanded from behind a matched pair of enormous computer screens.
The screens sat on a desktop that consisted of a giant slab of ash-colored wood. The slab of wood was mounted on a base hewn from what appeared to be volcanic rock. The desk, the screens and the man were way down at the far end of a long, slant-roofed, skylit space, a space that served as Donovanâs studio and drafting room in his sprawling, half-subterranean retreat in the West Texas high desert.
Impress me?
Abilene Bravo could not believe heâd just said that.
After all, sheâd been imagining this moment for over a year now. At first with anticipation, then with apprehension and finally, as the months dragged by, with growing fury. Sheâd waited so long for this dayâand the first words out of the âgreat manâsâ mouth were Impress me?
Hadnât she already done that? Wasnât that how sheâd won this prize fellowship in the first place?
And would it have killed him to emerge from behind that fortress of screens, to rise from that volcano of a desk, to gesture her nearer, maybe even to go so far as to offer a handshake?
Or, hey. Just, you know, to say hello?
Abilene gritted her teeth and tamped her anger down. She reminded herself that she was not letting her big mouthâor her temperâget the better of her.
She did have something to show him, a preliminary design sheâd been tinkering with, tweaking to perfection, for months as she waited for this all-important collaboration to begin. Donovanâs assistant had led her to a workstation, complete with old-school drafting table and a desk, on which sat a computer loaded up with the necessary computer-assisted design software.
âWell?â Donovan barked at her, when she didnât respond fast enough. âDo you have something to show me or not?â
Abilene saw red, and again ordered her heart to stop racing, her blood not to boil. She said, in a voice that somehow stayed level, âI do, yes,â as she shoved her memory stick into an empty port.
A few clicks of the mouse and her full-color introductory drawing materialized in front of her. On his two screens, Donovan would be seeing it, too.
âMy rendering of the front elevation,â she said.
âSelf-evident,â he grumbled.