Read Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) Online
Authors: Alison Ashlyn
Tags: #Contemporary, #Women's Fiction
Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1)
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
“So let me be clear about this.
For a very large sum of money, you expect to hire a woman to become engaged to, marry, and have sex with for a year?” Sierra inquired, trying to sound matter of fact. “That’s a pretty tall order.”
They’d never taught these particular kinds of negotiations and arrangements in business school.
A glint appeared in Michael’s eye. “Who said anything about sex, Sierra?”
“But you said, ‘in every sense of the word’ so I assumed you meant…” Sierra floundered.
God, she was out of her depth.
“I meant only that a legal wedding will take place. It’s you who mentioned sex, not I.” Something shimmered in his gaze. “Somehow I find that very intriguing.”
“You know what? I’m done with this conversation.” She stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “Please convey my thanks to Mr. Murdoch for arranging this meeting today, and of course, I thank you as well for the opportunity to discuss this…idea…with you, but I’m afraid I’m not the right person for the position you have in mind.”
Too late, she realized, in Michael Donovan’s company, every remark she made took on a sexual innuendo she swore she hadn’t intended.
He rose from his seat behind the desk. “Oh, I disagree with you. Strange as it may seem, I think you may be exactly the right person for what I have in mind.”
Buying His Bride
by
Alison Ashlyn
The Donovan Brothers Trilogy
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Buying His Bride
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Alison Ashlyn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2016
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0847-0
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0848-7
The Donovan Brothers Trilogy
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
My love goes to my husband,
to whom I dedicate this book.
Acknowledgments
Thanks go to the fabulous group of authors in the Silicon Valley chapter of Romance Writers of America—mentors, friends, and wonderful writers, all.
Chapter One
“Of all the inconsiderate…”
Sierra Callahan stopped in her tracks as a car braked to a sudden halt after driving through a deep pool of water on a rainy San Francisco summer morning. She was covered in oily water. A man leaped out of the back seat of the private limousine and joined her on the sidewalk. He approached her beneath an umbrella, clad in an expensive trench coat and a designer suit beneath it.
“You’ve ruined my clothes! Don’t you watch where you’re going?”
Even as the words tumbled from Sierra’s mouth, she registered his good looks. He wasn’t model-handsome, but his height, broad shoulders, dark hair, and hawk-like features were arresting. Stunning, even.
She looked her worst at the moment. That just made her angrier.
“What did you think you were doing, speeding along flooded streets? Didn’t you care pedestrians would get soaked? The entire front of me is wet to the skin.” Her cheap raincoat was no match for the heavy dousing it received.
She anticipated an arrogant excuse.
None came.
“I apologize.” His voice was deep. “I’m behind schedule this morning, we were going too fast, and my driver misjudged the depth of the water.” He took in her appearance. “You really are drenched, aren’t you?”
Despite her anger, she liked his manner—but her clothes were ruined. “You noticed.” Sierra tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “I’m late for a work meeting, and now I’m going to show up looking like hell.”
His lips quirked.
Tall with green eyes and a riot of red curls that fell below her shoulders, Sierra often received appreciative looks from men. He gave her one now. However, she’d given up on the species several years ago. She was wary of wealthy men in particular, given her bad experience with them. This one had a private limo and a driver, for God’s sake. If anyone oozed privilege of the most affluent members of San Francisco’s financial elite, he did.
She’d come downtown on public transportation dressed in one of the few suits she owned. She could ill afford to lose one. Sopping wet, she looked nothing like the confident, professional woman she was, and she suppressed a pang of regret.
Just a natural desire to look her best. Nothing more. She’d sworn off men, but she wasn’t dead. She shivered. From the damp, she assured herself. Not from the tiny flare of attraction she quashed.
The man produced a wallet from inside his coat and pressed a thick wad of bills in her hand. “Look, I’ve really got to get going. Again, I apologize. This should be enough to replace your clothing. I’d be happy to drop you somewhere. We seem like we may be going in the same direction.”
Sierra doubted it. He’d be going into the heart of the city while she was headed south of Market. Anyway, the last thing she wanted was to leap into a luxury automobile with a total stranger and ruin its expensive interior. The prospect of dripping water from every pore next to this man made her cringe.
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.” She relaxed but couldn’t erase all the tartness from her tone. “Just tell your driver to watch more carefully next time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s pouring rain, you’re soaked to the skin, thanks to us, and the least we can do is give you a lift. Please get in.” He gestured to the still-open door in the rear of the limo.
Sierra shook her head. “I appreciate the offer,” she said. “But no.” A drop of rain ran off her nose. She ignored it.
He paused a moment longer, studying her face, and then shrugged. “Your call, of course, but be careful out here.”
It wasn’t until the vehicle had sped away that Sierra looked down at the bills the man had thrust into her hands.
She gasped.
Who the hell handed out two thousand dollars in cash to a stranger as if it were chump change?
****
“You think I should advertise for a
what
?” Normally unflappable, Michael Donovan, heir apparent to Donovan Enterprises International and head of the real estate empire’s luxury-brand hotels and resorts, stared at his two younger half-brothers.
At well over six feet, Michael was accustomed to standing out in a crowd, but when he was roused or angry, he dominated a room the way few others could. Except, perhaps his siblings, both of whom had his own share of the commanding Donovan presence.
“A wife,” said Rafe, lounging on one of the room’s broad leather couches.
“A temporary one,” Gabe clarified from the comfort of a deep armchair. “Just until Father is out of the woods and feeling better.”
The three men occupied the large library of the family home in Sea Cliff, San Francisco’s exclusive hillside neighborhood of mansions built overlooking the bay. On this late summer afternoon the fog was rapidly obscuring the magnificent view in a cocoon of mist.
Michael, drink in hand, skewered first Raphael and then Gabriel with a hard stare. Rafe and Gabe remained unfazed.
He swore under his breath. “Our father has a stroke, I have my hands full running the business in his absence, and in the meantime you two concoct some crazy scheme straight out of some pot-boiler. It’s like the old days with you two getting into trouble the minute my back is turned!”
Rafe and Gabe both laughed. “This time we’re helping you out,” Rafe said. “It’s a great idea.”
Advertise for a wife?
“Where the hell did this misguided idea come from?”
Gabe shrugged. “You know Father has been making noises about the three of us settling down and getting married. Especially you. You’re the oldest.”
“And now that he’s too sick to think about running DEI, he’s obsessing on your single status. It’s stressing him out. He needs to avoid stress.” Rafe looked unimpressed by Michael’s negative response. “If you’d think about it for five minutes, you’d see we’re right.”
Gabe nodded.
Michael snorted. “I hardly think something as drastic as marriage is necessary!” He paced in front of the fire, its light falling on the old, mellowed tones of the antique Persian rugs that covered the library floors. “What is this harebrained scheme about hiring a wife? I could find one on my own, I hope, if I had any desire to get married.” He took a swallow of his drink. “Which I don’t right now, thank you very much!”
There was no way he would repeat the mistakes of his father. Connor had married a woman who tricked him into marriage by getting pregnant with Michael, pretended to love him until she got her hands on his bank accounts, and then proceeded to spend and step out on him until his heart was broken. Despite everything, Connor had still loved Carol.
Hell, no, that wouldn’t happen to him. Michael knew his financial status made him the target of many a calculating woman. Playing the field and keeping relationships free of emotional encumbrances had served him well thus far. He wasn’t about to change that now.
He recalled a slim redhead drenched in rain. She’d probably be no different from other women. Not that it mattered. He’d never see her again.
But his brothers were undeterred.
“That’s our point,” Gabe said. “You don’t want to settle down. So make it a business matter.”
“A business matter?”
“It’ll have to be a real marriage to satisfy Father for the present, but it doesn’t have to be a long one,” said Rafe. “In a matter of months the doctors say he’ll have recovered from the stroke—if he takes it easy and doesn’t worry about anything between now and then.”
Gabe took up the thread. “John Murdoch’s been the family lawyer for years. There are plenty of women who would be willing to be part of a contract marriage. For the right price.”
Rafe, ever logical, continued, “It keeps things on a business level, free of emotions, and you and she would each get something out of the arrangement.” He smiled. “The family can afford it.”
They were exasperating.
“This strikes me as a pretty bloodless plan from two men whose parents shared a loving marriage.”
Rafe shook his head. “It’s not bloodless. It’s practical. We let Murdoch draw up terms and conditions that are fair to you and the woman in question. We offer a hefty compensation to the woman in return for her services and her discretion.”
Gabe stood to emphasize his point. “You have yourself a—say, six-months bride. Father is happy during a critical time in his recovery, and then you and this woman come to the foregone conclusion that you have irreconcilable differences. No harm, no foul. It’ll work.”
“Yup.” Rafe continued to lounge on the couch. “No one will be worse for the wear.”
“Including Father, I suppose?” Michael’s tone was ironic. “Don’t you think a divorce after six months would also risk upsetting him…possibly bringing on another stroke?”
He couldn’t believe he was discussing the issue, but his brain kicked into assessment mode as he considered the angles.
Rafe shrugged. “Let’s face it, it happens all the time. Right now we have to think about his immediate health, not the what-ifs down the road. We can deal with those later.”
Despite the doctor’s assurance that Connor’s stroke had been a mild one, in truth, Michael was concerned about their father. In his mid-seventies, Connor rarely appeared to his sons as anything other than confident and in command of all situations.
But Michael had seen a more vulnerable side to him. He grimaced at the memory of his father’s pain when Carol had been killed in a car accident, and when Diane, his second wife and Rafe and Gabe’s mother, had also died some ten years later. Michael was appalled as a growing boy at the sight of his father’s emotional turmoil over Carol’s multiple infidelities and avaricious nature. If that’s what loving a woman could do to a man, he wanted no part of it. Hell, Connor’s pain had been worse when Diane had passed.