Slow Burn: A Texas Heat Novel Read Online Free Page B

unguarded moment, she could look at him, drink him in, and adore his chiseled, handsome face. The long sweep of his gold eyelashes as he slept. His full lips, strong jawline. Oh God, why did he have to be so beautiful?
    Donavan murmured in his sleep. “Okay, baby?”
    Harper felt tears sting her eyes. He’d never spoken to her with that gentle tone before. The man was sound asleep. He probably thinks he’s in the Bahamas, in bed with big boobs Kimber.
    On that depressing note, Harper savored the feeling of safety, warmth and love, just - being in his arms. Donavan stirred, framed her face between his hands and kissed her hungrily as if he’d never get enough. Harper kissed him back with all the pent up longing in her heart. He abruptly stopped, eyes still closed and settled her head on his chest. “Mine,” he whispered.
    Harper felt hot all over. She trembled in the aftermath. Her mind shied away from what her heart already knew. She loved him! Harper blinked, wide eyed in the dark like an owl blinded by the light. The yearning for him was so strong she could hardly breathe. Harper cursed under her breath. How could this happen? It was like some cruel cosmic joke. Donavan McClain would never look twice at her. She wasn’t his type, not even close. He liked slender, blond, big titty women. His dates looked like supermodels. Harper felt down right inferior next to them. It was hard not to feel inadequate as a woman when she towered over most men and other women looked at her with pity or ridicule. Then there was that sinister voice, the man from the nightmare telling her. You’re worthless Harper, unlovable . Sometimes it was hard not to believe the monster in the memory.
    Donavan was universally loved by beautiful, petite, glamorous women. She didn’t know how to be a girlie girl. Harper ruefully supposed she didn’t have a feminine bone in her body.    
    Her mom was afraid she was a lesbian but promised to still love her if she ever wanted to come out of the closet! That mortifying conversation ended with her mom in tears begging Harper to wear cosmetics, dresses and high heels like a normal girl. Donavan dated women who looked the polar opposite of Harper. She had inky black hair. He loved corn silk blonds. Harper’s eyes were an odd shade of forest green. His dates usually flashed baby blues framed with long fake eyelashes and pretty eye shadow. Harper never wore makeup. Donavan’s harem were itty bitty. She was gigantic in comparison. She had a fat, round ass. His women were flat as pancakes. Donavan’s type wore cut off tops to show off their flat abdomens and pierced navels. Harper’s idea of fashion was military tactical gear, camouflage, tee shirt, jeans, boots. In short, Harper didn’t have a chance in hell with Donavan McClain. She tried to ease away from him. He grunted in his sleep, his arms tightened around her like steel bands. Harper closed her eyes. She knew she would likely never be in his arms again. She inhaled him, touched him, and snuggled against him as close as she dared. She savored every second of sheer bliss. Then Harper fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter 7
    Lindsey and Carl Grant stood at the foot of the hospital bed. They stared at their daughter sleeping in the protective arms of Donavan McClain. Lindsey gasped with a shocked whisper, “My God, they love each other.”
    “Yep,” Carl said.
    “You knew?”
    “I suspected in the First Grade, by high school I knew for sure.”
    “But, they’re always at each other’s throats,” Lindsey said in dismay.
    Carl chuckled. “Donavan would walk through hell and back for her.”
    “Let’s hope there will never be a need.”
    A few days later, Donavan parked the police cruiser in the circular drive of the Tudor mansion. The oval door flew open. Mrs. Gilbert, the housekeeper, beckoned him inside. Her beloved face lined with worry.
    “How bad?” Donavan asked.
    “He’s hit a rough patch, to be sure,” she said fretfully. Her blue