Desire a Donovan

Once you’ve kissed him...

The sexy, fast-living heir to a multimillion-dollar news-and-entertainment dynasty, Dion Donovan is the man every woman wants. Despite his playboy rep, Dion’s heart belongs to Lyra Anderson. He’s never forgotten the kiss they shared... right before she left Miami for a new life in L.A. Now she’s back, a successful photographer—and more desirable than ever. And this time, Dion’s not letting her get away.

You’ll never forget him.

Lyra will always be grateful to the family who took her in and raised her like one of their own. But it’s her childhood friend Dion who’s haunted her for the past ten years. Working together at the Donovan magazine empire makes Lyra crave Dion’s embrace even more. She knows the pitfalls of falling for the seductive bad boy. She also knows that loving this special Donovan may be worth every risk.

“Who do you want to kiss?” he asked.

Lyra closed her eyes.

She wanted his kiss, Dion’s—the one person who had vowed to protect her like a big brother all her life. She wanted his familiar lips on hers—the same lips that had shared numerous fudge pops with her because they were their favorites.

“I—” She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him in words. Then again, she didn’t need to. Dion and Lyra had always had a close relationship, from the moment she’d first set foot in the Donovan house. She’d related to him even more so than to his mother, who had brought her home. They were always in tune with each other. Now was no different.

Dion’s hand snaked around her neck and tilted her head while he dipped his head closer—so close his breath grazed her lips.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Lyra?”

Her mind screamed no! But her body melded against his in defiance, her hands going to his biceps where her fingers dug in and held on tight. “Yes,” she whispered, and then one of her many dreams about Dion came true.

As her eyes fluttered shut and fireworks exploded inside her head, Dion’s lips touched hers with a soft sweep. Then both his hands were cupping her face, pulling her closer. She stood on tiptoe to reach him as his lips slanted over hers again.

ARTIST C. ARTHUR

was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, where she currently resides with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school, and she hasn’t stopped since.

Determined to bring a new edge to romance, she continues to develop intriguing plots, racy characters and fresh dialogue—thus keeping readers on their toes! Visit her website at www.acarthur.net.

Desire a Donovan

A.C. Arthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the readers who continue to share how much they love the Donovans.

Dear Reader,

It’s time to introduce a new lineup of Donovans! Yes, there are more of those dark, dangerous and delicious men, and this time we’re going to Miami to meet them.

Dion Donovan is definitely a lady’s man, more out of habit than by choice. But there’s one woman who’s always had his heart. And now is the perfect time to tell her—except Lyra Anderson is engaged to someone else. Of course, a Donovan isn’t about to let a minor glitch like that stop him. If ever you’ve believed in true love, Dion and Lyra are the couple to read about. Their love has spanned years of growing pains, relationships, heartbreaks and disappointments and is now struggling to be reborn.

I so enjoyed writing about this new branch of the Donovans and introducing you to another part of the family tree. This is such a strong and loyal family with scrumptious men and the strong women who love them. I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I do.

Happy reading,

A.C.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Prologue

Miami: ten years ago…

“Give me a reason why I should stay, Dion.” She looked into his eyes, which reflected a serious, intense gaze that furrowed his brow slightly.

Lyra knew that look well, had stared into those eyes more times then she could count. But today was different. She was different, and their circumstances were undeniably different. What had transpired between them after the prom a month ago had changed everything. It had been an ordinary Saturday night—indigo sky, no stars and a warm summer-night breeze. She was talking to her best friend in the entire world after one of the worst nights of her life.

But just like the shifting tides along the stretch of beach behind what locals called the Donovan Big House, Lyra’s and Dion’s lives would forever be changed from that moment on. If Lyra were inclined toward clichés, she would say that now was her moment of truth. Since she prided herself on being a realist, she decided it was her day of reckoning instead. Dion Donovan did not love her. At least not in the way she desperately wanted him to. And that, for Lyra, was a huge problem.

“You should do what’s best for you, Lyra. I’ve always told you that,” he’d said.

She sighed, gave a little chuckle because his words weren’t totally unexpected.

“Is that your way of telling me to go?” she’d said.

The clench of his jaw was the only telltale sign that this wasn’t as easy for him as Lyra thought.

“I’m telling you that it’s time you start thinking of yourself, taking care of you and what’s important to you. Photography is important, it’s all you’ve been doing and talking about since I’ve known you,” he’d said.

There was a breeze that morning as they stood on the balcony of the mansion, where Lyra had enjoyed growing up the past ten years. It was a sprawling estate in south Miami that boasted all the luxury and opulence of this branch of the Donovan family tree, who were making their mark in the entertainment industry. Although they were close, the West Coast Donovans were into oil and casinos.

“I can study photography anywhere” was Lyra’s response. She grimaced inside at the thought of how needy it sounded.

“I want you to have the best, you know that. The best schools… .” He cleared his throat. “The best life.”

Lifting her head she met his gaze once more. She looked him in the eye, and yet he was brushing her feelings away. Her heart would break but she would survive, because she didn’t know how to do anything else.

“Then tell me to go.”

He extended his arm as her heart hammered in her chest. Dion gently traced his fingertips along her jawline, hesitating slightly as he approached her lips. Of course her lips parted. She wanted his kiss again, had wanted it with a desperate hunger since that night. But he wouldn’t give it to her. She knew that as well as she knew that in an hour she’d be on a plane to Los Angeles—alone.

“Go,” he said finally. “Go and be happy.”

Lyra had no idea whether it was fury or the onrushing pangs of hurt that overwhelmed her, but she gave him a curt nod and turned her back to him and rushed back into the house. All she knew was that she was going to take his advice. She was going to leave Miami and make a life for herself—on her own terms—and be happy. Without the man she loved.

Chapter 1

Family dinners at the Big House were usually entertaining. Tonight, however, Dion Donovan knew this one would be even more so. He knew the announcement that his mother, Janean, was going to make would be delivered with all the formality and fanfare she possessed. He hadn’t liked it when he’d heard the news earlier in the week and he disliked it even more now.

Entering through the large white double doors, Dion inhaled deeply and immediately felt at home. It made perfect sense, considering he’d grown up in the lavish Key Biscayne estate with his family.

Dinner at his parents’ house was a monthly affair, a usually uneventful evening with his younger brother and sister that kept his parents, Janean and Bruce Donovan, from focusing on the fact that he was still happily single. This afternoon would be different. It wasn’t just a normal family dinner. All the Miami Donovans were invited, including his uncle Reginald and aunt Carolyn and their three children. It always took place once a month on a Sunday afternoon, after everyone had returned from church. There was plenty of food and laughter and just plain family fun. Any other Sunday afternoon, Dion might have looked forward to the gathering. Today, he simply hoped the familial conversation would hide what was truly on his mind.

“Hey, man, expected to see you earlier,” said Sean Donovan. Dion’s younger brother by three years greeted him in the foyer, no doubt having been booted out of the kitchen by their mother for sneaking a taste of the food.

Dion shook his brother’s hand. “I had a few things to go over for tomorrow’s meeting,” he said. “I’ll be tied up in the morning, so I wanted to make sure I had time to review everything I want to discuss.”

Sean nodded. “We’re meeting at one o’clock in your office, correct?”

“Correct.”

Dion was the editor in chief of Infinity Magazine, a quickly growing publication that focused on up-and-coming African-American businesses, entertainers and the movers and shakers in the black community. Bruce Donovan, along with his brother Reginald owned the DNT Network, a cable television company, which in addition to launching Infinity Magazine also owned Donovan Management Company, a literary, sports and talent agency that handled more than a hundred clients.

The Donovans in Las Vegas—Everette and Henry—were in the oil business and had also founded an international charity. Thus far, Dion Donovan’s family in Miami had focused their efforts on the media and entertainment fields, and it was proving to be quite profitable.

Sean was one of the managing editors at Infinity and reported directly to Dion. They’d experienced the usual sibling rivalry growing up, and Sean and Dion’s working relationship was often as intense as their family dynamic. Still, they kept their eyes on the prize—Infinity was in their blood and no matter what their disagreements were they always managed to pull together to make the best decisions for the magazine and the family.

“I’ve been working on that new distribution deal, so we should discuss that,” Sean said as both men walked toward the living room.

The living room was one of the largest spaces on the first floor of the house. Although it was a place for family gatherings that was furnished in a modern European style—with beige, deep-cushioned Italian leather sofas, lush dark-brown rugs, light oak coffee and end tables and a massive bar along the far wall—it still had a comfortable feel. The space was dubbed the centerpiece of the Big House by the Donovan children when they were young. The fact that the house was situated directly on the water with its own private dock and a breathtaking view made them think they were some kind of royalty—black royalty, as Janean would often say.

“Good.” Dion nodded. “That’s exactly what I want to talk about, moving the magazine forward for all of us.”

Dion fixed himself a drink as he talked.

Sean took a seat on the recliner. “You okay?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that?” Dion responded with a frown. “Of course I’m okay.”

Sean observed his brother in the calm, careful way he always had. “Then why are you fixing yourself a glass of rum? You hate rum.”

Dion looked down at his glass and was about to say something, but put the glass down instead. “Preoccupied, I guess.”

With a knowing nod Sean kept staring, a look that Dion knew meant he didn’t believe a word he’d just said. It was that way with him and Sean. The three-year age difference didn’t really matter; sometimes they seemed as close as twins. He could complete Sean’s sentences and pick up on his moods, just as Sean could read him. The two Donovan boys were known for their good looks and wealth. They were also smart, both having graduated from Columbia, their father’s alma mater. Janean loved and spoiled her boys as much as Bruce would let her, but she’d always wanted a daughter. The day she brought home Lyra Anderson, she found just what she’d been looking for.

Sean and Dion weren’t thrilled about having a sister, but over the years they had grown to love her like a sister and keep a protective eye on her. They treated her just like she was related by blood, and in return she treated them and their parents like family.

Still, the fact remained that Lyra wasn’t their sister. And that, Dion had realized years ago, was a big problem.

“I’m cool,” he said trying to assure Sean. When his father walked in, Dion welcomed the distraction. “Hey, Dad,” he said, turning away from Sean toward his father.

“Dion! Sean!” the elder Donovan said in his booming voice as he made a beeline straight for the sofa. “Your mother has had me working all day, like some kind of hired help.” He rubbed his hand down the back of his neck and plopped down like he’d been dying to sit and relax all day.

Bruce Donovan was a tall, broad man, who had just a sprinkling of gray hair peppering his otherwise short dark brown curls. The gray gave him a distinguished look that only added to the impeccable reputation that Bruce was known for. More often than not he wore dress pants and a dress shirt—with or without a tie, depending on his schedule for the day—but he had a laid-back attitude that often disarmed his colleagues and made them think he was a pushover, which he definitely was not.

“You know how she is when it’s the family dinner night,” Sean said, chuckling.

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know why. It’s just the family. Everybody knows what the house looks like on good and bad days. You’d think she was entertaining the king and queen or some other foolishness.”

“Why doesn’t she hire a maid?” Dion asked—a question he already knew the answer to. Still, it bothered him that his mother, at sixty-one, was working like a woman half her age.

“Now you know that’s not going to happen,” Sean replied.

“And don’t you let her hear you asking about it, either,” Bruce chimed in with a warning glare that belied his amusement. “She’ll bust your butt for even uttering the idea that she needs help with this house.”

Dion laughed along with his father and his brother, enjoying the family joke. It had always been that way with his family. They could laugh and cry together and talk about anything. Bruce and Janean had long ago taught them to be open and honest in the Donovan household. The thought made Dion’s stomach knot with regret. He hadn’t been honest with himself years ago, and because of that he’d ruined what might have been the best friendship he’d ever had. Now she was coming home, and Dion didn’t know how he was going to handle that.

* * *

Lyra was going home.

She’d stepped off the plane at Miami International, taking a commercial flight rather than the private jet the Donovans had offered. When she’d left ten years ago, it had been on that private jet, taking her across the country to begin her new life. Now she was back, and everything was different. She had no idea if that was going to be a good or bad thing.

Knocking on the door felt strange, but Lyra lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it clang against the door. All the while she took deep steadying breaths, drawing upon everything she’d learned in yoga class about centering herself and clearing her mind. When the door swung open, all that centering and mind-clearing fled as she was quickly scooped up into strong arms and spun around so that her feet didn’t even touch the floor.

“Little Lyra! You’re back!” Parker Donovan said in his smooth as silk voice that was lined with the barest hint of humor. Parker was Reginald and Carolyn Donovan’s oldest son, Dion and Sean’s first cousin, and one of the many big brother figures Lyra had while growing up.

“Hi, Parker. You can put me down now. I’m not Little Lyra anymore,” she said, unable to contain her laughter as he set her petite five-foot-five, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame down on the floor again.

“You still look little to me,” he said, continuing to smile at her and giving her a soft punch on the shoulder. “Just a bit more tanned, but still little and pretty as ever.”

Lyra smiled up at him, remembering his cool gray-green eyes and dark skin tone. Several of the Donovan men had the same eyes, which only added to their attractiveness. From a distance she could hear the laughter and chatter of the other Donovan family members. Sunday dinners for the Donovans were a must to attend, and the only acceptable excuse was death or being as close to death as one could possibly be.

“Gang’s all here, huh?” she said, knowing she was stalling.

“You know how these dinners go,” he said with a shrug.

And she did know, Lyra thought as she looked around. The décor had changed a bit, much more modern than it had been when she’d left, but still warm and welcoming. She glanced around the foyer, across the shining champagne-and-gold marbled floor, up the winding staircase with its thick banister and wide stairs. Her room used to be all the way down the hall to the left. She had a huge canopy bed, a window with a small balcony, plush carpet, lovely draperies, a desk, a closet full of clothes and practically everything a girl could ever want—even if she wasn’t a member of the Donovan family, biologically speaking.

“And the prodigal daughter returns.”

Lyra heard his voice and felt warmth spiral through her spine, sliding downward like a warm waterfall. She needed another moment, another couple of minutes or an hour to gather herself before seeing him. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she was going to get it.

“She’s all grown up now, man. Doesn’t she look good?” Parker asked, and Lyra wanted to kick him as she had so many times in the past. He always did have a knack for saying what others wanted kept quiet. His playfulness was a big part of his adorable personality, but right now was a pain in her behind. She slowly turned, having decided it was time to face the inevitable.

“Hey, Dion,” she said with all the casual aloofness she could muster.

He walked toward her. He still had the tall muscular body she remembered as if it were yesterday. He didn’t smile. His look was much more intense. Dion Donovan stood at least six feet six inches tall, with a honey complexion, short-cropped black hair and a swagger that said he looked good even if you didn’t want to admit it. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that hugged every inch of his eight-pack and wrapped around his thick biceps like candy coating.

“Hey, Lyra. It’s good to see you,” he said as he came closer.

He was going to hug her, Lyra knew. Not as eagerly as Parker had, but he would wrap his arms around her, because that’s how the Donovans were with family. And she was family, she reminded herself. She’d grown up in this house, had been taken in because her own mother couldn’t seem to get her act together. Janean and Bruce Donovan had raised her as one of their own, giving her every advantage and expecting just as much from her as they did their own children. She owed them everything.

She especially owed them the respect of not pining after their eldest son as if he were the only man on earth that could make her body hum with arousal. Even though, the fact still remained, he was.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she managed as soon as his hands brushed her shoulders and he pulled her up close. He smelled wonderful—some expensive and insanely sexy cologne that she knew would stay with her for days to come.

“I missed you,” he whispered in her ear and Lyra remained silent.

She wouldn’t say the same, couldn’t tell him how much she’d missed him. It was pointless, and she’d made a promise not to move backward. Her new life was her future. Reviving feelings from the past was a futile and emotionally self-destructive exercise, and that was something she refused to engage in. But she’d missed the hell out of him, too.

Chapter 2

Food was everywhere, on fine china platters and crystal and silver condiment bowls and trays along the length of the eight-foot mahogany table covered in an antique-lace tablecloth. Candied yams, homemade macaroni and cheese, corn bread, a huge baked turkey, glazed pineapple ham, mashed potatoes, corn bread stuffing, green beans and corn was more than Lyra could take in in one glance. The dining room hadn’t changed much since she’d left. The massive table was still in the center of the room with chairs all around it, the large china cabinet that spread across the expanse of champagne-colored walls was filled with expensive china patterns, even though several of the pieces were being used on the table and the sideboard, which held even more food.

The atmosphere felt homely, warm and welcoming, and the people sitting and standing around the table greeted her in a way that echoed those feelings.

“You’re back!” Regan Donovan was across the room in seconds, her long arms wrapping around Lyra before she could do anything but smile.

Lyra stumbled back a step as Regan embraced her. “Hey, Regan. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Oh, my God! When I got your email I was ecstatic. You know we need to get together so we can catch up. We can’t do that here with everybody around, but I want to hear everything that’s happened in L.A. And I mean everything,” she said, her large expressive eyes indicating that she wanted to hear things Lyra couldn’t talk about around the rest of the Donovans.

“Let her go, Regan. The rest of us would like to say hello, too.” Savian, Regan Donovan’s older brother, pushed her aside.

“Hi, Savian,” Lyra said, welcoming a hug from the quiet and reserved Donovan cousin, who rarely ever smiled. But there was still a warmth and sincerity evident in his hazel eyes.

“Hey, kiddo. I see you survived it out there in la-la land.”

“I did.” She smiled, pulling away from him. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said biting her inner cheek to keep from blurting out how bad those years away had really been. It wasn’t anybody’s business she’d told herself. She’d left to pursue her goals to become a photographer. And in that regard, she’d done pretty damned well for herself. It was everything else that had fallen apart.

“Well, you look fabulous,” said Carolyn Donovan, a tall, slim woman with a warm chocolate complexion and hair that had a silvery glow. She was beautiful and looked elegant in her cream-colored linen slacks and pale pink blouse. Her hair was flawless as usual and just barely grazed her shoulders. Her eyes smiled as she reached out to hug Lyra.

“Aunt Carolyn, it’s good to see you.”

“Yes,” Carolyn said when she released Lyra from her grip, putting her hands on Lyra’s shoulders as she continued looking her up and down. “Just fabulous. The sun’s kissed your skin so you look even more Native American then you did when you were a little girl. And you’ve blossomed.”