Sierra resisted at first, furious he’d use his superior physical strength to dominate her. But as soon as his lips gentled, as somehow she’d trusted them to do, she gave in. Her mouth opened beneath his, and it was she who touched her tongue to his to deepen their kiss.
He was right. Sexually they had no problem at all.
A need too urgent to deny compelled them both, and with a groan Michael slipped a hand beneath the halter of her gown. When he encountered the soft skin of one of her breasts, he tore his lips from hers and moved to kiss and suckle at the tender spot just beneath her left ear.
“God, I want you, Sierra.”
His other hand cupped her one of her buttocks to pull her to him, and she felt his renewed need for her, nudging against her belly.
“Bedroom,” he muttered. He swept her into his arms as if she were a featherweight, kissing her as he carried her down a hallway and kicked open a door.
In the dim light she was aware of masculine, contemporary, yet warm furnishings. Then she could notice nothing but him as he laid her on the bed and came down on top of her. Reaching to the table next him, he turned on a low light, and bent to kiss her again. “Wait.”
He drew back, and with a slight movement to guide him, she eased him off her and onto his back. With a daring she didn’t know she possessed, she straddled his hips. “Let me be on top this time.”
“Be my guest.” His voice was hoarse. She reached behind her to unfasten the neck of her gown and let the panels fall to her waist. His breathing accelerated at the sight of her breasts. “God, you’re beautiful.”
She smiled, loving that he liked what he saw. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she whispered. “Time for them to come off.”
Shirt, belt, socks, shoes, trousers, and boxers landed, helter-skelter around them. Sierra leaned forward then and ran her hands over his bare muscled chest, bending to suckle one of his flat nipples. He jerked beneath her ministrations. “Don’t stop.” The words were half-plea, half-command, and she delighted in his pleasure at her touch.
“I don’t intend to.”
“Now you’re the one wearing too many clothes.” He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her gown to grasp the scrap of lace panties. Instead of pulling them down her thighs, he gave a quick jerk, ripping them off her hips. It was just as arousing as when he’d torn her nylons on their first date, if not more so. But tonight her thigh-highs left her open to him, and he slipped a finger inside her. She gasped at the sensation of him feeling her wet heat and groaned as he sought out the secret center of her pleasure.
“No, not that way. Not this time,” she whispered. “I want you inside me from the start.”
He hardened further beneath her. He reached into his bedside drawer and with Sierra’s help, rolled on a condom. She raised her hips, his strong hands supporting them. With a strangled gasp, she guided his thick length into her, and he brought her down on top of him.
“Dear God, you feel so tight, so hot.”
Although this wasn’t their first time together, she wasn’t sure she could accommodate his fullness. She made a movement to withdraw but he soothed her.
“It’s okay, babe. Relax. We have all the time in the world.” He caressed her breasts, raising his head to suckle at one, then the other. A fresh jolt of pleasure swamped her and unclenched her inner muscles, allowing him to slip further until he was sheathed to the hilt.
Then they were both lost. Sierra leaned back, bracing herself against his thighs, head flung back as she moved up and down on his length. Michael urged her on, eyes dark with desire as she worked them both toward the peak. The subtle sounds of their movements, urgent skin against skin, heightened their mutual pleasure, and the scent of sex filled the semi-dark bedroom.
“Oh, God,” she gasped, pumping her hips. “Oh, yes.” She felt her muscles clench once again just as she reached the start of her orgasm. Michael brought her down hard onto him as he came with her, groaning his pleasure and thrusting into her heat one last time.
****
Early morning sunlight hit Sierra in the eyes. She awoke, her body aching in myriad unaccustomed places. She looked up at the ceiling and blinked. She wasn’t in her own bed in Grace’s house. She wasn’t in Grace’s house at all. She was in Michael’s penthouse.
In his bedroom.
In his bed.
The previous night flashed before her. Quickly she turned her head on the pillow. No Michael.
But on the edge of the table to her left was a thermos of coffee, a mug, and a brief note scrawled in a masculine handwriting. In meetings all day. Turbo-charge yourself with caffeine. See you tonight.
As lovers’ notes went, it wasn’t stellar. Still, as memories from the night before flooded back, she smiled the scrap of paper. Michael had been fabulous. They had been fabulous together.
Danger! A Greek chorus took up residence in her brain.
Sierra jackknifed into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard, sucking in air, Was that really all it took? A scribbled line to turn her insides into mush?
Because whether she liked it or not, as great as the sex had been, that wasn’t the reason she felt so vulnerable and unsafe now. Great sex alone would have been a piece of cake. She was in much deeper than that.
Most people weren’t horrified when realizing they were in love. She was certain, as she tried to calm her erratic heartbeat, that a full-fledged anxiety attack wasn’t a standard-issue response, either. But that’s what she was having now. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
Hell.
Struggling to let out her breath slowly, Sierra fought her flight response to old triggers. She was supposed to be immune. Impervious to men. She’d liked her life free of romantic entanglements. She’d made it her business to avoid falling in love since William, and it had worked
But Michael was no William.
The two men weren’t even in the same ballpark. William was cut from the same petty, vicious cloth as his father, and Michael was a mature man. He was light years away from her experience. She’d been naïve thinking she could remain immune to Michael’s charm—to the man himself—simply because they had a business arrangement only.
No, that wasn’t quite right.
Despite being an adult, she hadn’t known herself well enough to realize how emotionally complicated such a situation would be. More experienced women than she had fallen for Michael. Lydia Foster was proof of that. Why did she think she would be different?
Arrogance, that’s how. And ignorance.
She knew precious little about how to conduct relationships. She was so cautious, so careful, not to expose her emotions to risk. That was always one of her top priorities. Sierra sniffed, furious at her own tears.
Feelings had been there from the start. In Murdoch’s office when Michael revealed himself as a man of principle, constructing a fair, if unusual contract. During their first dinner, when he was dynamic and compelling companion. She knew he was a good brother to Rafe and Gabe and a thoughtful son to Connor. Michael was so much more than a high profile man-about-town. She just hadn’t been equipped to deal with either the image or the man.
A fresh wave of panic clogged her throat. What she’d chalked up to a simple sexual attraction simmering between them had developed into more.
On her part, at least. Sierra sucked in another shaky breath.
The pathetic truth was, she was in no emotional shape to fall in love with anyone. She’d spent years running from romantic entanglements. Real love entailed courage and the ability to risk and to trust another person. She was incapable of both.
Look at what had happened last night. Michael asked her why she was so bothered by Grant, and she turned into a shivering, antagonistic mess. There was simply too much at stake. She couldn’t tell him about Grant until she’d figured out on her own how she wanted to handle the man’s threats. Those were her problems to solve and hers alone.
She was still using excuses to justify
not facing her fears. If she couldn’t be honest with Michael, she could at least be honest with herself. She was scared to death he would believe Grant’s lies. Her fear wasn’t because of their business deal. She didn’t want Michael to nullify their contract before it was over, but that was nothing compared to the risk of losing his respect and good opinion.
When had she fallen so hard for him?
That night in Napa? Their first date at Bijou? Earlier, even? She didn’t believe in love at first sight, so it couldn’t have been during their interview, despite that devastating kiss.
God, she was an idiot. She’d let down her defenses again and look where it had gotten her. What she’d felt for William years ago, for a brief month, was a pale imitation of the feelings she had developed for Michael.
What a mess.
Michael felt nothing for her. As if she’d needed more proof, he’d blown hot and cold ever since Napa. They’d been consenting adults then and last night as well. But sex and a contract was all there was. He’d been very specific from the outset. No complications. No emotional entanglements.
Even if he did care for her, what use would he have for her love without the backing of courage on her part? What was that worth to anyone?
Wiping a last tear away and taking a final, shaky breath, Sierra glanced at the little clock on the bedside table. She was damp and sticky after her second panic attack in less than a day.
There was still time enough for a quick shower before work. Maybe a normal day at the office would help restore her to some semblance of calm.
Work was easy. It was her personal life that was a mess.
****
The whole damn day hadn’t gone well. Michael grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of cold coffee far too late in the afternoon. Despite a slew of meetings his assistant had lined up, he’d been unable to keep his mind on his work. He doubted anyone noticed, but he had. His decreased lack of attention ticked him off.
He blamed Sierra.
Who could keep his mind on international real estate deals and multinational corporations with that woman around?
Desire he could handle, but he hadn’t bargained on falling for her. Yet last night confirmed he’d fallen hard. He hadn’t dated any other woman like her. She was smart. Funny. She refused to be impressed by his social standing or wealth. She had honor and integrity. She was stubborn as hell.
And sexy. Don’t forget sexy.
Sierra was much more like Rafe and Gabe’s mother than his own. Losing Diane had nearly broken Connor, because their marriage had been close and loving. But Connor had recovered. If, God forbid, he lost Sierra, perhaps he’d find a way to move forward also—though he doubted it.
He never wanted to lose her. For any reason.
Not one to ignore realities, Michael released a breath and faced the truth. He wanted a real marriage. Not one of convenience. He frowned and played with a pen on his desk. In arranging their terms, he’d engineered the ironic situation in which he found himself. Sierra had married him for his money at part of the deal. But a business deal was no longer enough for him.
He wanted it all. Strings, commitment.
Love.
He threw down the pen. He hadn’t known how to react after their night in Napa. He’d been a first-rate ass the morning after. He’d left the penthouse early this morning for the same reason.
Coward.
Sierra wasn’t an easy woman to read. She’d been warm and passionate in bed, but prior to that she’d been upset, unwilling or unable to discuss Townsend. Almost as if she didn’t trust Michael. From time to time over the preceding months he’d thought she might feel more for him than desire. After last night he had doubts.
If she cared about him, she’d trust him, right?
“Will that be all, Mr. Donovan?” Michael’s long-time assistant had been with DEI since Connor had been at the helm. Well past middle age, she was superb at her job but very old-school in her manner and form of address. Michael adored her.
He welcomed her interruption now. “Yes, that’s it for today. I’ll leave these files for you tonight to go over first thing in the morning.”
She wore a disapproving look on her face.
He sighed. “What is it, Mrs. Tighe?” She, not he, insisted on formalities, though she’d tell him what she was thinking whether he asked her or not. She spoke her mind, regardless of whether she thought he’d agree. It was one of things that made her an invaluable assistant to both him and his father for so many years.
“Did you or did you not get married yesterday?”
She’d been at the reception, for God’s sake. She knew the answer to that.
“What’s your point?” He avoided her stern look by perusing one of the files on his overflowing desk.
“My point is you might want to think twice about working late tonight, as you seem bent on doing.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, trying and failing to quell her with a look that had silenced many a business colleague. It did nothing to deter her, however.
“You have a wife now, and I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate your coming home late your first night back at a full-time work schedule. Might set the wrong tone going forward.”
Sighing, he sat back in his chair. “Mrs. Tighe, when did you become a relationship counselor?”
She was unfazed. “Mr. Tighe and I have been married for almost twenty-five years. I think that gives me some insight. You don’t want to leave a new bride at home alone to feel slighted.”
“This isn’t the 1950s, Mrs. Tighe. My wife has her own career and works late hours herself, as you often do. She’ll be fine.”
Mrs. Tighe continued to skewer him with a silent gaze.
He closed the folder he’d been holding. “Fine. What do you suggest?”
She arched a brow. “If I have to suggest something to you this early in the game, your marriage is off to a sorry start.”
About to rap out a short response, Michael caught the twinkle in her eye and laughed. Who knew that beneath his executive assistant’s no-nonsense exterior beat the heart of an inveterate romantic? She had no idea that his marriage was a business arrangement only.
Could it be more?
He decided to play along. “Fine. You’ll be happy to know that I’m knocking off for the day. The rest of these files can wait until tomorrow.”
She smiled and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Mrs. Tighe?”
“Yes?”
“Will you call the florist in the courtyard and see if they have any roses left? I’ll stop by on my way out.”
Mrs. Tighe’s face was a study in delight as she left his office.
****
Putting down her briefcase and a bag of Chinese takeout, Sierra wrestled with her new key to the penthouse’s door. Had Michael left her the right one?
It had been a hard day at the office, with Bruce waxing rhapsodic about the reception, Jen and Nora wanting updates at lunch, and an unending stack of work on her desk and phone calls to return. All she wanted to do now was to relax over some food.
“Having trouble?”
The front door swung open and there stood Michael, suit jacket and tie discarded, shirtsleeves rolled up over forearms, wearing an apron.
He looked delectable.
Adorable.
Delectable was hot and sexy and one thing. Adorable involved complicated emotions and was much more dangerous. Together? The combination was lethal. She had to avoid lethal at all costs.
“You cook, too?” It popped out of her mouth.
Michael chuckled and ushered her inside, picking up her briefcase and the takeout. “Thanks for this. We can save it for later.”
Briefcase stashed in the living room and takeout in the stainless steel fridge, Sierra looked around the kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. She realized how silly her question sounded. A man didn’t end up with a kitchen like this unless he cooked. When and where had he found the time? And why?
He ant
icipated her question and held up a hand to forestall her. “Le Cordon Bleu, Paris. A summer during college. At that point in my life I figured it was the quickest way to a woman’s heart and all that.” He grinned and poured her a glass of chardonnay from the open bottle on the long kitchen counter. “I still keep my hand in the game now and then.”
“In cooking or in women’s hearts?” Sierra kicked off her heels and settled on the padded barstool at the counter before she realized that her question hung in the air with unintended significance. At the same time, she spotted a crystal vase at the end of the counter beyond the wine bottle. White roses in artfully arranged stages of bloom, with a single red rosebud at the center.
“For me?”
“Who else?” He watched her reaction.
“I guess there’s the answer to my question.” She strived for a light tone, but her mouth was dry. “You haven’t lost your touch with women.”
He put the finishing details on a chicken Caesar salad, eyes now on his work.
“So how was your day?” Sierra was proud of her casual tone.
“Sierra, are we going to talk about last night?” Plating the salad and handing her a couple sets of cutlery, Michael took a place beside her.
“Talk?” She took a small bite, chewed, and sipped her wine. “No, I hadn’t planned on doing a whole lot of talking. That didn’t go so well last night.”
“I thought parts of the night went very well.”
Some better than others.
“You know, sooner or later we are going to talk about Townsend.” Michael’s tone was soft but inflexible.
“Maybe when you’re willing to talk about your mother, our conversation will go better.” She tried to bait him as a diversionary tactic, as she had the night before.
This time there was no anger in his voice. “Maybe. If and when you can convince me she’s relevant. She’s been dead a long time, and there’s never been any reason to talk about her. I can’t think why you’re bringing her up now, except to change the subject.”
Sierra tried another tack. “Perhaps we should talk about the fact that we went to bed together. Again.”
Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) Page 13
