Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

Almost as soon as it had begun, however, it was over. Michael lifted his head as the car slid to a stop. “We’ve arrived.”

Was she lightheaded from Michael’s brief kiss or from the rarified atmosphere of the exclusive hotel where Bijou was located?

They were ushered inside by the doorman. He seemed well acquainted with Michael, greeting him with a friendly word. The two men spoke briefly and Michael appeared to know his way around the hotel. He guided Sierra to a bank of elevators to the left of the reception area.

A thought occurred to her as they stepped into the elevator that would take them to the top floor. “Your family owns this property, doesn’t it? I’d read that the Excelsior had been purchased and restored within the past few years, but I didn’t pay attention to the details at the time.”

“Yes. I wanted to return it to its former beauty but also to attract a new clientele. That’s where the restaurant comes in. Bijou is a blend of traditional and California cuisine.”

They were welcomed at the front desk by an attractive woman a little older than Sierra. “Good evening, Mr. Donovan. We have your table waiting for you and your guest.”

“Thanks, Tanya. How’s business?”

“Excellent, as usual. Juliette has put a couple of new dishes on the menu you might like to try, but I’ll let Jean tell you about those.”

“We’ll look forward to it.”

With little fuss, they were led to a secluded table that boasted a beautiful view of San Francisco by night, sparkling in the clear night air many floors below.

“It’s lovely,” Sierra said as Michael held the chair for her. She took in the postage-sized dance floor and the tiny, unobtrusive jazz combo. It was playing soft music that was a perfect accompaniment to both the few couples entwined on the floor and the nearby diners. She glanced around and noted with relief that she was appropriately dressed for her surroundings.

Michael caught her look. “You have nothing to worry about. No one could take their eyes off you when we walked in just now.”

She quelled the flutter in her stomach. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Compliment me in private. We have a contract, and we want to create a certain impression, but it doesn’t mean you have to tell me things you think I like hearing.”

“
Do
you like hearing them?” Michael asked with interest.

She shrugged. “They’re unnecessary, that’s all.” In her experience, compliments from men were usually a form of manipulation. They made her wary.

The maître-d appeared to tell them about the menu and the evening’s offerings. Sierra selected an
avocat crevette
for her appetizer, with a
hachis parmentier
to follow, while Michael elected to try one of the chef’s new specialties, a twist on classic
bœuf bourguignon
. Juliette was new to Bijou, a young female chef in a culinary profession men still dominated. She’d tweaked the Bijou’s venerable menu and given it her own flair, according to positive local reviews.

So DEI engaged in business ventures that supported women. Another point for the eldest son who now headed it up.

After checking with Sierra about her preferences and choosing a wine in consultation with the sommelier, Michael returned to his theme, undeterred. “You’re a beautiful woman, Sierra. Why shouldn’t I compliment you on how you look?”

She shifted in her seat and took a sip of the delicious Napa valley red. She’d expected an exclusive French wine list, but it included a selection from different regions and countries. “Perhaps I’m not used to compliments.”

“I find that very hard to believe. There must be many men who appreciate your beauty. Or, for that matter, your brain and your skills. Are you averse to compliments from everyone about your appearance, or just from men?”

“Goodness, why the third degree?” Sierra attempted a light tone, but it was brittle instead. “Maybe I just don’t like feeling as if people want something in exchange for the compliments they give.”

“Ah.” Michael took a sip of his own wine. “A cynic. You’re rather young to have developed such a quid pro quo attitude, aren’t you?” He paused. “What was your upbringing like?”

“Let’s just say that my background is a great deal less privileged than yours and leave it at that, shall we?” Sierra didn’t like the line in which the conversation was leading at all, and she sharpened her tone. They might have a business deal for the next year, but it didn’t give him the right to pry further into her past than he’d already done. She wanted to leave it dead and buried.

Still, they were there to create an impression of harmony. Romance. She swallowed her irritation.

“Do you object to my privilege, as you call it? To my wealth?” Michael fingered the stem of his glass. She was relieved he had chosen to change the conversation a little.

She sighed, feeling churlish. “I might, but I don’t, no. Not really. For one thing, it would be pretty dishonest of me to resent the wealth that allows you to pay me so handsomely and that’s saving my home and my family’s business. For another, it’s well known your own family has worked hard over generations to build its assets, and there’s nothing wrong with financial reward in exchange for honest labor.”

“You’re saving your house and Claddagh. Not I. I’m simply compensating you for the honest labor, as you call it, you’re doing for me.” He studied her face. “And with which you still don’t feel comfortable, I see.”

Sierra grimaced. “I’ll get over it. Not only did I sign the contract, Murdoch has already made sure the transfer has gone through for your first payment.”

Of five hundred thousand dollars.

“The bank stopped its harassing letters and phone calls instantly.” She paused while their appetizers were served and then continued. “So, while I may not like our arrangement, I’ll adjust. I appreciate it, and I’m grateful.”

“I don’t want your gratitude, Sierra.” Michael’s tone was acerbic.

“What do you want, then?” she asked. “For that matter, since when is gratitude offensive?”

“Since it determined your response to me.” Michael surveyed her over his plate and took a bite of the beef.

Sierra gaped. “My response to you? I have no response to you!”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly true.

“That is, nothing other than a professional’s interest in her client.”

Liar.

Michael smiled. “I meant that, of course.” He looked at her. “What else did you think?”

Clever comebacks were not her strong suit. “Well, then you’ll have to explain because I don’t understand.”

He dabbed his lips with his napkin and then leaned forward. “Aren’t we supposed to be creating the impression of two people in love? Who are quite probably lovers? No, make that definitely lovers, because if we were in love, you would be in my bed and rarely leave it.”

She could feel the heat stain her cheeks and took a sip of her wine. “There speaks an expert, I presume?”

Michael grinned. “Some redheads look stunning when they blush. You’re one of them. And stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not.” She was a terrible liar. “You seem to speak with authority. If you’ve been in love before, why haven’t you married? It’s a natural question.”

He shook his head. “I saw the destruction love can cause when it’s one-sided or with the wrong person. And also the pain that results from loving and losing the real thing. It’s made me very cautious. But trust me when I say that if I were in love with you, we’d be together in every sense of the word.”

Oooooh
.

“So what’s your point?”

“Your attitude toward me is exactly what it would be if I were sitting in a meeting room at the consulting firm you work for. As professional, cool, and detached as it would be if I were any client.”

“You are my client!”

“But not a run-of-the-mill client, you’ll agree. Our agreement has particular terms, and to fulfill your end of the bargain, you’ll have to be a great deal warmer toward me in public if anyone is to believe our relationship is a love match leading to marriage. We’re on an accelerated time frame here.”

Sierra quailed. It was one thing, however extraordinary, to have agreed to marry Michael Donovan for a finite period of time with a definite end date. It was another thing to have agreed to act a role she did not feel and could not imagine.

She must have been nuts.

Or desperate.

What would Michael Donovan’s real fiancée be like, if he had one? How might she feel in his company? How would she act? “It wasn’t I who dreamed up this arrangement. If you felt I might have difficulty measuring up, you shouldn’t have hired me in the first place.” Sierra’s tone was defensive. “For your information. I haven’t had an extensive relationship history. By choice. Forgive me if my performance doesn’t live up to your expectations!”

She’d left out some key information about her past, but she was angry. Anyway, her past was none of his business.

Michael had nothing to say to that, and she resumed her meal, which was delicious. After a few minutes of silence, she lifted her eyes from her plate and found him watching her.

“Now what?” She put her fork down with an inelegant clatter.

“I’m thinking we’ll have to put in a little time bringing you up to speed, that’s all. But I suspect you’re a quick study.” All at once he grinned. “Think of the next phase of this evening as background research.”

They spent the next couple of hours relaxing in pleasant conversation. Michael ordered in advance the chef’s signature chocolate soufflé to share as a conclusion to their meal, and Sierra found again that he was an attentive and amusing companion. He regaled her with tales of his brothers’ growing up, some of his business and travel experiences, and appeared to enjoy her laughter at some of his funnier tales about a world about which she knew very little. Sierra also knew nothing of what it was like to grow up with siblings. Jen was the closest thing she had to a sister, and that still wasn’t the same thing.

She was glad he had given up asking about her past, though she didn’t think for a moment he would let the topic rest forever.

At last she sighed with pleasure, put down her fork, and leaned back in the chair. “That was delicious, but I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Ah!” Michael replied. “But we’ve ordered soufflé!”

She looked at him in mock horror. “So we have. What were we thinking?”

She’d had three glasses of wine in the course of their meal and was feeling mellow. Perhaps even the tiniest bit tipsy, although Michael had made sure that her water glass had been kept as full as her wineglass. She smiled at him now.

“Part of my master plan,” he replied. “Soufflé takes a while to prepare, so in the meantime, we’ll have to work up an appetite with a little dancing.”

Sierra stiffened, her smile vanishing. Throughout their meal she had been aware of the jazz combo’s unobtrusive music and of the few couples sharing the tiny dance floor. The atmosphere was slow and sensuous.

“Um, I don’t dance,” she said. “Seriously, I’m a klutz.” She wished she hadn’t drunk the wine. She had the distinct impression it was best to deal with Michael Donovan sober.

“I don’t think there’s much skill involved in this kind of dancing.” His voice was dry.

Yeah. That was the problem. Slow-dancing with Michael after some wine and a couple of hours of great conversation? Not a good idea. She didn’t trust attraction or her instincts when it came to men, and the easiest way to solve that problem was to remove men from her radar completely. Michael Donovan included.

Except on a professional basis.

****

God, she was sexy.

Michael looked at the woman across from him, dressed in her form-fitting black dress with the string of pearls around her neck and knew suddenly that he wanted nothing so badly for dessert as he did her. Just a taste perhaps, the feel of her in his arms, but he wanted that very much.

What harm would it do?

What was it about her that was so alluring? Was it simply that she represented a change of pace from the usual women he escorted, most of whom would have been eager to dance and to use it as a way of seducing him into more intimate contact? In contrast, Sierra looked like she wanted to run at the mere suggestion.

But he didn’t think it was just novelty that made her so attractive to him. She was different from other women he knew. She didn’t flatter him. She was smart and direct. He admired her determination to step up to a difficult situation to help her family and solve her problems.

He told himself he simply wanted to hold her in his arms and find out more about she might respond to him. A natural male reaction to an attractive woman.

That was it. Sue him.

“Come on.” He stood and held out his hand. “Consider this part of your background research into playing the professional role of loving girlfriend.”

The couples on the dance floor weren’t engaging in complicated dance moves. In fact, as near as he could tell, they were using dancing as an excuse to be as close to each other as public decency would allow.

Great minds think alike.

“A fate worse than death?” he inquired, as she didn’t take his hand.

“Don’t be silly.” She rose—a little unsteady. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if I step all over your feet.”

He suppressed a smile. He wouldn’t take advantage of her tipsy state. Except to hold her close.

They threaded their way through the tables to the dance floor, which was situated at a tactful distance from the diners. There were only three other couples on the floor. Because it was so small and the lighting was dimmed, the ambience was intimate.

Michael turned her to him, brought her arms up to his neck, and put his arms around her waist. “You think too much, you know that?” he said. “Just try to relax and move with me. I won’t eat you.” With that he tugged her to him.

Some tension left her body.

Better than nothing.

And then they were moving together.

Damn. The soft press of Sierra’s body, the brush of her thighs, acted like an aphrodisiac.

His desire ratcheted up a notch when she put her arms around his neck. He brought her body against his, eliminating the space between them.