Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

How she would play the role of a girlfriend in love she had no idea. It had been years since William, and even then, she had probably only imagined herself to be in love with him. Her life worked better without a man in it. That much she knew. This scheme, business deal though it might be, was out of the question.

Wasn’t it?

She flashed on the kiss that she and Michael had just shared and shivered. No doubt most women were thrilled to be noticed by him. As eligible men went, he was straight out of central casting.

But she wasn’t most women.

Maybe she could do it, though. For her mother. For herself. In the absence of an immediate payment toward their house and the business in the near term, Sierra’s dreams of the future for Claddagh would have to be put on hold. If they lost Claddagh, those dreams would vanish anyway.

The choice was stark. In fact, there was no choice at all.

Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and let it out. “Very well, Mr. Donov—Michael. Assuming I accept your offer, when would we get started?”

He looked at her a long moment and then replied, “How about Friday night?”

She gave him an appalled expression and he chuckled. “There’s no time like the present, after all, to set tongues wagging about my new girlfriend.” Not giving her a chance to back out, he continued, “Dress in something appropriate for dinner and a night out on the town. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”

That had to be the most unconventional end to a business meeting she’d ever had.

Chapter Three

“You look fabulous.” Jen stepped back from her handiwork and turned Sierra to face the full-length mirror in her bedroom. “This retro dress we found in the Haight is perfect on you, and the shoes and handbag go great with it. You’ll knock Michael Donovan’s socks off.”

Tall, curvaceous, with gray eyes and straight blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, Jen had a great sense for what suited others. Not into clothes herself, Sierra always depended on her best friend for advice anytime she needed an outfit for a special occasion.

Jen’s artistic eye made her tiny boutique, Threads, an up-and-coming success in the competitive world of San Francisco fashion. Panicked at the thought of the meager contents of her wardrobe measuring up to a night out with Michael Donovan, Sierra had called Jen with an S.O.S.

Jen came through for her as she always did, no matter what the problem. She took her shopping to the upscale consignment stores Sierra could afford and lent her a pair of couturier heels and an evening bag from her own shop. Sierra found the whole process stressful but Jen was in her element.

“Socks and all other clothing are destined to stay on tonight, I promise you.” Sierra caught Jen’s eye in the mirror. “I mean it, Jen. This is dinner, nothing more.”

Jen raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right. And that’s why you called me in such a state earlier this week. This is the first time I’ve seen you melt down about what to wear because you were going out with a man.” She brushed a piece of lint from Sierra’s shoulder. “In fact, it’s the time I’ve seen you go on a date in a gazillion years. So no matter what you say, I think tonight is about more than dining.” She smiled at her friend in the mirror. “Imagine. You’re going out with a Donovan. One of
the
Donovans. Who would have thought your boss’s tip would have ever led to this?”

Sierra groaned. “To what? You’d think this was breaking news on CNN or something!”

“If it’s not, it ought to be. I’ve seen photos of Michael Donovan in the society pages and online. He’s hot.”

Sierra remembered how she had responded to Michael’s kiss.

“See?” Jen crowed. “You’re blushing. You are so into this guy. It’s about time.”

Jen and her mother were always urging her to give men another chance. Sierra had been immune to their arguments. In fact, earlier in the week she’d feared her previous lack of interest in men would make it difficult to convince either woman she was bowled over by one man in particular now.

But Jen seemed be jumping to conclusions with alacrity.

“For someone who’s a confirmed cynic herself when it comes to men, you’re getting awfully dewy-eyed and romantic on me.” Sierra tossed the remark over her shoulder as she put on her shoes.

“Oh, I’m cynical about men when it comes to myself, not others,” said Jen. “You know me. I’m counting on you to do the love-and-romance thing for both of us, no matter how much you say you’re not into it. You’re the one who read all those romance novels when we were younger.”

“That was before I knew better. It’s not as if I believe in happily-ever-afters. Given my parents’ relationship and my own history, how could I?” She caught herself. Too many remarks like that would work against the impression she and Michael wanted to create. “Uh, but I guess there’s always hope.”

Jen didn’t seem to notice her lame response. Sierra turned her attention once again to her appearance. The classic little black dress they had stumbled upon that morning had been a real find. It was a vintage designer knock-off, a tailored black sleeveless shift with clean, elegant lines.

Jen clapped her hands. “Very sexy!”

“What is sexy about this dress? It’s something I could wear to the office!”

“Not with that hair and makeup and those shoes, you couldn’t,” said Jen. She had styled Sierra’s hair in a carefully tousled up-do with tendrils escaping here and there. She’d also applied Sierra’s makeup.

Very artfully, Sierra had to admit. Her hazel eyes looked huge, her pale cheeks bright, and her lips were touched with color. She didn’t look like her day-to-day work self at all.

“That’s just great,” Sierra muttered under her breath, fastening a single strand of pearls around her neck that had belonged to her grandmother. “Just ducky.”

“Come on, it’s almost eight o’clock.” Michael was due to pick up Sierra on the hour. “I want to show you off to your mother.” Jen was like a second daughter and had run in and out of the Callahan’s house throughout the years that they had grown up together.

They found Grace sitting in front of a fire in the small living room, relaxing after a long day at Claddagh. A large marmalade cat napped on her lap.

“How do I look, Mom?” Sierra turned for inspection and Grace beamed.

“What a transformation! Jen, she looks wonderful. I’m always encouraging Sierra to make up a little more, enjoy clothes, like you, but she rarely does. You look wonderful, sweetie!”

“Which means, of course, that I look like scrap junk most other times, I suppose,” Sierra teased.

“Nonsense,” Grace replied, her tired face happy at the sight of her daughter. “You’re beautiful. You just don’t play it up very often.”

The mantel clock chimed eight and, as if on cue, there was a strong knock at the door. Sierra felt a clutch of anxiety as she contemplated the evening ahead. “That’s Michael,” she said.

“It’s showtime!” Jen exclaimed, bouncing with enthusiasm.

That was pretty much the size of it. If Jen only knew.

****

The private limo again.

Sierra knew such wealth existed, of course, but affluence of this extent was beyond her experience. She pretended nonchalance when the chauffeur stepped out to hold the door as they came down the front steps of the modest Callahan house. The luxury auto of German engineering had enough leg room in the back seat to allow for easy entry, but in her heels she was grateful for Michael’s support and steadying palm at the base of her spine as he handed her inside.

He settled next to her, dominating the enclosed space, and she couldn’t help but be aware of his dark appeal once more. Evidently when she had agreed to this deal, her immunity to men flew out the window, along with her good sense.

Michael leaned forward to give the driver the address of their destination through the retractable screen between the front and back seats, and Sierra took a moment to catch her breath. It did nothing to steady her, however. Instead she became more aware of the scent of clean male mixed with the merest trace of a very subtle cologne. Maybe she’d have to change her mind about disliking cologne on men. It had always seemed cloying before.

Once they were under way, Michael closed the dividing window. She was unprepared for the frank appreciation in his eyes. “You look spectacular tonight, Sierra. Such a difference from wet young woman I first saw on a sidewalk.”

“I could say something similar,” she replied, not acknowledging an intimate undercurrent to his words.

It was true. He looked mouth-wateringly handsome. His dark navy suit was impeccably tailored, handmade, as were his shoes, and made him seem even more masculine. The white shirt, with French cuffs and monogrammed cufflinks beneath, contrasted with his dark good looks, and the coordinating tie once again brought out the blue of his eyes.

He smiled. “I’m glad I meet with your approval.”

Oh, yes. Did he ever. Not simply in the way he looked, either.

Michael had treated both Grace and Jen not only with courtesy, but with genuine interest during the ten minutes the four of them had chatted. It turned out he’d been to Claddagh a few times, though never when Grace or Sierra was there. That surprised Sierra. Somehow she couldn’t picture him drinking a pint in a neighborhood pub.

On the other hand, it would be a mistake to pigeonhole him or reduce him to a smooth, urbane player. He was more complex than that.

Help
.

“Where are we going tonight?” Sierra asked, striving for a casual note.

“I thought Bijou.” He gave the name of one of the finest restaurants in the city, located in one of its oldest and most elegant hotels.

Sierra was surprised. “I was expecting you to pick a chic and trendy eatery.”

“Do you object?”

“Heavens, no. I’ve always wanted to eat at Bijou but I’ve never been able to afford it.” She laughed. “I figured tonight you’d want us to be spotted by others who’d spread the word that you’re seeing someone. Bijou doesn’t strike me as the kind of place where paparazzi hang out.”

Michael wore an expression of distaste. “They don’t, I assure you. For the record, I don’t go to places with paparazzi. An occasional photo in the social pages of the city paper is inevitable now and then, but that’s about it.”

Sierra raised a skeptical brow. “That’s not what Jen says.”

Oops
.

“No?” He smiled with interest. “So you’ve been conducting your own investigation, have you?”

Sierra smoothed the short hem of her dress without looking up. “You may have your methods of background reportage, but I have mine. I’ll put Jen up against any of your resources any day.”

Michael chuckled. “I knew I liked her. Anyway, we’ll still be noticed at Bijou, and that will help get the word out that we’re seeing each other.”

Somehow in the twenty minutes that elapsed as the elegant town car crossed the city to the restaurant, Sierra was able to relax a little. Aside from the appreciative look in his eyes when he first complimented her, Michael treated her as he would any business associate.

She’d probably imagined the look in his eyes anyway. She hoped so.

Didn’t she?

“I didn’t hear from you this week, so I’m assuming you got the contract from Murdoch and the terms met with your satisfaction,” he said. “Has your lawyer had a chance to look it over?”

Sierra laughed a little cynically. As if she had a lawyer! The only attorney she knew was the one representing the bank that sought to take the business from her and her mother. She said as much to Michael, and he frowned. “Of course. I should have thought of that.” He was silent for a moment. “I could refer you to someone, or you could find your own and send the bill to me. It only makes sense that you’d want someone impartial to check the contract.”

Sierra snorted. “I’m hardly in a position to quibble. I’ve read it, I understand it, and it’s straightforward.” She sighed, adding, “It’s a little difficult not to feel like a prostitute under the circumstances, selling myself to the highest bidder.”

To the only bidder.

The temperature in the car instantly dropped twenty degrees. “What an insulting comparison,” Michael said, his tone suddenly silky. “For yourself and for me.”

Sierra wasn’t cowed. “You don’t think a contract marriage is similar to prostitution?”

“I do not,” he snapped. “I see it as an agreement that exploits no one and benefits us both.”

She shrugged. “I guess it’s easy for you to feel that way when you’re the one paying.”

“Paying a great deal of money, I should add. In exchange not for your sexual services—I believe I made myself clear on that score—but for your assistance for a proscribed period of time in rebranding me from a workaholic, business-obsessed tycoon, to a devoted husband.”

Goodness, his tone was sharp. And mocking.

“I appreciate the distinctions you make, but I wonder how comfortable you would feel if our positions were reversed. Make no mistake, I’ve agreed to this contract of my own free will, and it benefits me and my mother. That’s the only reason I’m willing to do it, but I’m grateful to you for the opportunity.” She turned toward him. “However, you do realize there will be any number of people who assume that I’m a gold-digger, marrying you for your money.” She laughed, but the sound was mirthless. “In fact, they’ll be right about that last part.” She paused. “It’s not a very pleasant prospect to be thought of in that way, even if you and I understand the true terms of our arrangement.”

Michael’s expression was inscrutable. “You’re anything but a gold-digger. I should know. My mother was one. I’ve been surrounded by them for most of my adult life. And I’ve become expert in avoiding them. We have a strictly business deal that works well for both of us.” Then his face lightened. “But you’re right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ll have to put on a particularly good front for all those gossiping people out there.”

“What do you mean?”

He snaked an arm along the back of the seat. “I mean,” he said, looking at her mouth, “We’ll have to make the press and anyone else you’re worried about believe we’re falling in love.”

Before she could move, he had captured her in a kiss very different from the one they shared at Murdoch’s office earlier in the week. This time, rather than deepening the kiss, he kept it sweet and gentle, beguiling.