Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

But now he was angry.

Honesty compelled her to admit she was the one at fault. The unexpected prospect of spending the night with him had rattled her and pushed her to overreact. Because of the undeniable desire for him that she was having trouble denying to herself? Sierra chewed her lip.

Their mutual desire had been instant. She’d been uncomfortable with that. But it meant that they were able to create a believable impression of a couple in love.

The attraction had grown during their date at Bijou. She remembered the passion they’d shared on the dance floor. In the secluded privacy of the chauffeur driven car.

She’d been an active participant that evening.

She had to admit that Michael had been nothing but kind in his behavior toward her, both before and after their shared intimacies.

Even when the attraction had flared between them again at the cocktail party, he’d taken care to shield her and steps to protect both her reputation and his own when they had been discovered by Lydia on the veranda.

And that was the crux of the problem. Not so much the sexual attraction. After all, they were both adults and it was no crime. No, what terrified her was the fact she liked Michael. As a man. As a person. William and his father had thought money entitled them both to a woman’s body. The sex with William had been coercive and mediocre at best. Men like her father and the Townsends had soured her and scared her off relationships.

But Michael seemed to be the exact opposite of William. In striking their business deal, he’d specified clear terms and boundaries intended to protect them both and to avoid emotional or sexual exploitation.

It was liking him that made her so antsy now. Michael seemed to be a great guy. But history had proven her judgment flawed, just as it had her mother’s.

Furthermore, liking played no role in their contract. Mixing business with pleasure had been a disaster where William had been concerned. She wouldn’t make that same mistake twice. She was old enough to know better now.

She recalled her declaration to the entire dining car not to go to bed with Michael that night.

It’s not as if he’d even asked.

He had a normal male reaction to a surprisingly intimate, unexpected moment between them during lunch. And what did she do? She’d behaved like an immature teenager. All in all, her track record for the day was pretty dismal.

It was time to get a grip.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of Michael and Sierra’s two bags and Grace’s picnic basket. With some relief she turned away from her thoughts and ushered in the bellhop, who pointed out a disguised mini-fridge where she could store perishables from the hamper. He showed her the workings of the deep tub in the tiled bathroom and handed her the guest portfolio outlining the resort’s attractions.

Determined to relax, she unpacked the basket. No sense in letting perfectly good food go to waste. They could repack it the next day, and Grace would be none the wiser that her plans for a romantic picnic in Napa Valley hadn’t been realized.

Cold roast chicken, deviled eggs, tortellini salad with prosciutto, and fresh strawberries. A thermos of coffee. Two beautiful vintage napkins matching a colorful mid-century tablecloth. Plates, utensils, carefully wrapped wine glasses.

It would have made a lovely, casual early-evening spread somewhere on a hillside overlooking the valley or in a nearby park. She’d scotched that with her bad temper earlier.

She ran a hot bath, adding a handful of lavender bath salts to the water. A bottle of complementary wine chilled in the fridge. She poured a glass, shed her clothes, and grabbed the guest portfolio.

Since they were there for the duration of the afternoon and evening, she’d enjoy the Hermitage’s attractions. It was time to salvage something of the day. Easing into the hot, scented water with pleasure, she leaned back and opened the folder.

Four hours, one bath, and a host of spa treatments later, Sierra felt like a new woman.

She returned to the room wrapped in a soft white robe and matching slippers, just as the sun was setting. Boneless and more refreshed than she had been in weeks, she placed her key card in the lock.

And ran smack into a freshly showered Michael, clad only in lightweight sweatpants that rested low on his hips. Startled, he reached to steady her as she stumbled against him, and for a moment Sierra was bought close against the warmth of his bare chest with its dusting of dark hair. He smelled of soap and a tang of citrus, and something that was his own unique scent.

Sierra jerked away, and he dropped his hands. Moving back into the room with an innate male grace, he slung the damp towel into the bathroom. “You look as if you’ve been enjoying yourself.” His tone was neutral, his expression guarded.

She strived for a similar tone. “I took your advice and decided to check out the hotel.” Dear God, she didn’t know herself anymore if the mere sight of a bare chest sent her pulse racing. “How was your meeting?”

He cleared his throat. “Good. Productive.”

She snuck a peek at him as she opened her case and then wished she hadn’t. He was staring at her, and she looked away, pulse still skittering. There ought to be a law against how sexy he looked, half dressed and still damp from a hot shower.

They were spending the night together whether she liked it or not, and it was time to clear the air. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and faced him, tightening the belt of her robe. “Look, Michael, I’d like to apologize for my behavior earlier. Our bargain, the engagement—everything has me rattled these days, and I don’t even know how to act. I behaved badly. I’m sorry.” The words came out in a rush. It was an effort to meet his eyes but when she did, she saw reluctant admiration and the glimmer of a smile on his lips. Also something that looked a little like surprise. There was a slight pause and then he nodded.

“Apology accepted.”

She relaxed a little, and he continued. “You know, I expected our arrangement to be simpler than it’s turned out to be.”

Astonished, Sierra asked, “What part of it did you expect to be simple? The one thing I knew was it wouldn’t be easy at all!”

He shrugged. “I thought it would be a business deal like any other. Unconventional, yes, but straightforward, governed by a contract.” He paused. “I hadn’t really bargained on—this.”

“This?” In an instant, her air supply diminished.

It was happening again.

“Don’t back down now, Sierra. It doesn’t become you.” His words were a challenge.

She was an adult. She could do this. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I thought you felt our attraction would serve our role-playing. That’s what you suggested at our first meeting.”

There was silence.

“Brava.”

“For what?”

He smiled. “For naming the elephant in the room. For admitting the desire we both know is there.” He shook his head. “Ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away.”

She strove for a practical tone. “True, but talking about it when we’re half-dressed probably isn’t going to help, either.”

Uh-oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned that.

“Ah, you noticed.” His smile grew. “Only I see it differently.”

“Oh?”

“You see us as half-dressed, while I see—”

“What?”

His tone deepened. “You. As half naked.”

Her nipples tightened. She’d walked right into that one. Michael naked. She must not think about that. Must. Not. Go. There.

“I can fix that, then,” she managed, striving to be casual. “I’m going to get dressed, and I suggest you do the same.”

At his sudden laugh, she grabbed her overnight case and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door.

“Coward!” he called.

Fifteen minutes later, after donning a light summer skirt and a white tank top, putting some order to her unruly red curls, and applying a light dusting of makeup, Sierra emerged from the bathroom. Michael was on the veranda, golden in the waning light of the day. Like her, he, too, had dressed. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans and a white T-shirt. To her surprise, he was setting out the food Grace had packed.

“It seems a shame to waste it. Why not have our picnic here and enjoy the view instead of going out again?”

“Why not? I’ll help.”

An implicit truce in place, they finished prepping the table in friendly silence. Michael answered a knock at the door. “I ordered a bottle of wine from our cellars here for dinner.” He grinned. “Since we never made it to an actual winery today because one of us was in a bad mood.”

She refused to rise to the bait. “One of us was.” Sierra handed him a corkscrew “What a good idea.”

He chuckled. “You know, you’re pretty good company when you chill out.”

“Why, thank you. You’re not bad yourself when you’re not acting like an autocratic dictator.” Her smile took the sting out of her words.

This time it was Michael who declined to react. “Seems we’re both learning to give each other the benefit of the doubt, then.”

“Seems like it.”

He poured them each a glass of wine and raised his. “Shall we have a toast, then?”

“Sure.” Sierra was game.

“To us. And to greater understanding.” He clinked her glass, raised his to his lips, and held her gaze as he swallowed.

God, he had a beautiful mouth.

“To greater understanding.” She chose to ignore the gleam in Michael’s eye as he recognized her omission of the first part of his toast.

Two hours later, a sleepy Sierra surveyed the remains of their al fresco meal and sighed. “That was great.”

They’d savored the food and found a surprising number of things in common to talk about. Michael had proven himself again to be an entertaining conversationalist, skilled not only in talking but in listening. This evening Sierra had opened up more, and she felt grateful for the camaraderie they’d managed to establish. Surely that would make things easier between them as they dealt with each other over the ensuing months.

“Yes, it was.” He gazed at her across the table. “But judging from the clock and your yawns, it’s time to hit the hay.”

“I suppose you’ve noticed there’s only one bed in this room.” Sitting back in the chair, she felt proud of her casual remark.

“Am I supposed to be gallant now and suggest sleeping on the floor with a blanket?” Michael inquired.

“It would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” she allowed, keeping a straight face.

He looked appalled, and she laughed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to do that.”

“No?” Michael looked interested.

“It’s a king-sized bed. It seems to me that there’s more than enough room for two.” She attempted a nonchalant tone.

He waggled his eyebrows her. “Why, Ms. Callahan, are you suggesting we invite a third party?”

She threw her napkin at him. “Not at all, Mr. Donovan. You stay on your side, I’ll stay light-years away on my side, and I think we’ll do just fine.”

Only it wasn’t that easy once it came down to it. For one thing, her case contained no sleepwear, unless she counted the black scrap of French silk Jen and Nora must have slipped into in with the clear goal of igniting banked fires.

There was no way Sierra would wear that. She settled for the tank top and panties.

Before slipping under the covers, Michael stripped off his shirt and jeans, leaving only a pair of thin black boxers. He was going to keep those on, at least.

She hoped.

She got under the covers and turned on her side away from him, without waiting to find out, ignoring her brief glimpse of a strongly muscled male thigh.

Tired though she was from the day, any chance of sleep fled the moment she felt the mattress next to her give a little. Michael got into bed and snapped off the bedside lamp, leaving only light from the window to cast some faint illumination.

An age passed, or perhaps it was only ten minutes. Michael cursed under his breath.

“This isn’t going to work.” He sounded strained.

“What isn’t?” She remained taut and still.

“You lying over there like a marble statue and me lying here all hot and bothered.”

He didn’t just say that.

“I don’t think this is the best time to discuss it…” Sierra said, only to gasp as Michael reached across the brief expanse of bed between them, rolled her toward him onto her back, and slung one of his legs over both of hers.

“I agree,” he said, his tone still taut. “Believe me, it’s not discussion I have in mind.” He trailed hot, stinging kisses down her neck. “We’ve been fighting this all day,” he muttered. “Watching you eat food from my fork was incredible. Feeling your hand on me when you spilled your water almost made me come unglued.” He braced himself on a forearm, one hand cupping her cheek and the other slipping under her tank top to mold a bare breast. “And lying here next to you without touching you is pure torture. It’s all I can think about. Tell me you think about it, too, Sierra.”

“I do,” she whispered. Because she did. And right now she wanted Michael so much she thought she’d shatter. Never had she felt a fraction of this kind of desire with William.

“God, you’re responsive,” he groaned, slipping a leg between hers so she could feel the full extent of his arousal.

She lifted her hips, then shifted to cradle him between her thighs, and he shuddered. She pulled his head down and met his mouth with hers.

She was lost.

He took her mouth in a deep kiss, their tongues meeting, and she went up in flames. She pressed the heat of her desire against his rock-hard erection through the thin cloth of their underpants, seeking release. In another moment she would explode.

“Wait, babe.” Breathing hard, he pulled back, his hands now cupping her face. “Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to go so fast.”

She stared up at him in the semi-darkness. “Yes,” she gasped, lifting against him again, but he resisted, pulling away a little. Rolling onto his back, he brought her with him so she was tucked against his side with his arm around her.

What had just happened? Had she done something wrong?

“No, don’t tense up.” He soothed her, and she relaxed. “You don’t have a lot of experience at this, do you?”