Tempting Donovan Ford

by Jennifer Mckenzie

He cleared his throat. “How’ve you been?”

  Julia ran her thumb up and down the stem of her glass and didn’t look at him. “Just tell me whatever it is you couldn’t say in front of Owen.”

  “You in a rush?” He’d meant it as a joke, but saw from the tension in her shoulders that it wasn’t. She was in a rush. To get away from him. That stung like a surprise punch to the nose.

  “I’m not looking to linger.” She pushed the glass away.

  All right, then. He couldn’t blame her. “I want to explain. About what happened.” He ached to touch her. “I realized some things.”

  Finally, she looked up at him. But there wasn’t anticipation or hope in her eyes. No, it was more straight-up disillusion. “If this is some ‘Come to Jesus’ moment you’ve had, that’s great. But I don’t want to hear about it.” She slid toward the opposite side of the booth.

  “Julia.” She stopped sliding. Donovan ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe this isn’t the right place. Can we go somewhere quieter?” Somewhere that didn’t have his brother standing on the other side of the room, watching them like some Papa Bear ready to come to the rescue.

  But Julia didn’t need rescuing. “No, Donovan. You can tell me now or I’m leaving.”

  He didn’t wait. She was already edging her way down the booth away from him again. “I want you to come back to La Petite Bouchée.”

  “I already told you that I’m not interested in being another employee.”

  “Not just as chef.” He took a deep breath. It had taken some time to work out the details, but he had. The truth was that although he’d come to love the restaurant, it was only because of Julia. Without her, the restaurant meant nothing to him. It was a box of brick and mortar. “I want you to have it.”

  Her eyebrows popped up and she stopped moving. “Have it?”

  “Own it.”

  “What are you talking about?” She peered at him. “Are you drunk?”

  “No.” He’d never been more sober. “The restaurant is yours. It always has been.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Was that true? Donovan didn’t think so. She might put on a brave face, but he noted the flicker of hope in her eyes, the hurried intake of breath at his words before her icy mask had fallen back into place. “It is. So how can we make this happen?”

  It wasn’t exactly the way he’d envisioned this conversation, but then, he hadn’t expected to see her tonight, sitting in the bar with her hand on his brother’s cheek.

  He forced his fingers to uncurl. Owen and Julia were friends. Nothing more. And it would be just like his brother to have engineered the scene just to get under his skin. To Donovan’s consternation, Owen had taken Julia’s side in this whole mess and told him on more than one occasion that Donovan was an idiot for letting her go.

  Julia swallowed. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “This is a bit of a shock.” She pushed her hair out of her face, exposing that long, slim neck.

  Donovan curled his fingers into his palms, this time to keep from touching her. “But you still want to buy it, right?”

  She looked down. “I’m not sure.”

  Now he was the one experiencing a bit of a shock. After everything, her quitting and breaking up with him, refusing to talk to him because of the restaurant, now she wasn’t sure she wanted it? “What’s changed?”

  Julia shrugged. “Nothing. And everything.” She slid the rest of the way out of the booth and stood up.

  “You’re leaving?” Of all the reactions he’d thought she might have, leaving hadn’t been one of them.

  She nodded, her dark hair spilling across her shoulders. “I don’t see any point in staying.”

  “But...” He’d thought they’d talk about it, determine options, price and, once he’d made it clear there were no strings attached, he’d ask if he could see her again.

  “I have a lot to think about.”

  He swallowed all his questions, all his thoughts. She was right—she did have a lot to think about. “So you’re going to consider it?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to buy it. I’ll let you know.”

  She walked off, stopping only to give Owen a hug before sauntering out without a backward glance. And Donovan knew because he didn’t take his eyes off her until she was out of sight.

  * * *

  OH, GOD. JULIA felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Had felt that way since Donovan had informed her last night that La Petite Bouchée could be hers if she wanted it.

  But that was the million-dollar question: Did she still want it?

  She flipped the pancakes on her griddle and checked the crispness of the bacon, her mind on her dilemma. Accept Donovan’s offer and whatever that entailed. Oh, sure, he said there was nothing hidden, but she wasn’t a fool. They’d be doing business together, which meant contact, and they’d always be linked even if it was just that she’d bought La Petite Bouchée from him.

  Or she could turn down the offer. No restaurant. No relationship. But the freedom to start fresh wherever she wanted. She wouldn’t even have to stay in the city.

  But the thought of leaving Vancouver held limited appeal. Sure, she’d be able to avoid Donovan more easily. But she’d risk losing Sasha and Owen, along with the rest of the team at La Petite Bouchée, whom she planned to scoop once she had her own restaurant. And she’d definitely lose her investors, who were strictly interested in a local purchase.

  “Egg Whites is here. Three-egg, vegetarian. No bacon. Whole wheat.” The server made a verbal fire rather than entering it into the ticket machine.

  Julia knew this was just because they liked razzing her about her fancy friend and his fancy order. When she’d told Owen his nickname in the kitchen, he’d howled with laughter. The Sun Café wasn’t the kind of place to have egg whites or anything heart smart on the menu. It was the kind of place you came after a night of drinking to soak up the excess alcohol or to indulge in something fatty and delicious before going on a two-hour run to burn it all off.

  “Egg whites,” she called back to acknowledge the verbal ticket. She checked her pancakes, turned them onto a prewarmed plate, added the bacon, a dollop of whipped butter and a mint leaf and placed them in the pickup window with a ding of the bell. “Order up.”

  She always found something satisfying about hitting the bell. A sense of completion of a job well done. And it was just fun to give it a sharp smack on a busy morning.

  Julia finished the rest of her orders and then dished up Owen’s breakfast and pulled off her apron. He always arrived at the end of her shift so she could sit and visit with him.

  She carried the plate and a fresh carafe of coffee, her eyes scanning the room until she found him.

  He wasn’t alone.

  “Donovan.” His name felt awkward in her mouth. Or maybe that was just the flush of nerves warming her face. At least she’d have a good excuse if either of them noticed. She had just been standing over a sizzling griddle.

  But no one mentioned her cheeks or the spot of pancake batter that dotted her shirt, somehow finding its way past her protective apron. She wished now she’d left it on as a guard against whatever was about to happen.

  She set the plate in front of Owen. Cups and saucers were already on the table, and she flipped three over and poured the coffee before sitting down in the chair across from Donovan. She’d selected it with the intention of sitting as far away as she could, but she wondered if that had been an error. Because now she had to look at him.

  Her lungs tightened. “I haven’t decided anything,” she told him, hoping he might scuttle off to a business meeting or really anywhere but here.

  Donovan nodded. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m here. Owen mentioned—”

  “He followed me,” Owen said. “I didn’t invite him.”

  Donovan frowned at his brother. “I called you to see if we could meet this morning and you said you were coming here.”

  “You’ll note there was no invitation exten
ded, just a factual recitation of my morning plans.” Owen shot her an apologetic look.

  Julia drank her coffee. Owen had nothing to be sorry about. It was a free country and Donovan could come into her workplace as a patron if he wanted.

  “Regardless—” Donovan’s tone made clear that he no longer wanted to discuss how he’d arrived at the diner “—I hoped I might have a word with Julia.”

  “I think we covered that last night.” She put her cup down carefully so it didn’t rattle the saucer. And she’d given his offer further thought since then. But it wasn’t as simple as it had been three weeks ago. When she’d thought she and Donovan had something special. When she’d thought she could trust him.

  “I have more to say.”

  The way he looked at her made Julia feel as though there was no one else in the room. No customers chowing down on bacon, eggs and hash browns. No coworkers who were certainly wondering who the guy with Egg Whites was. No Owen watching the subtlety of every move.

  Just her and Donovan. The way it had been.

  Suddenly, she just wanted to get away, but she feared that would create more problems instead of solving them. So she stayed where she was, back pressed into the nubby material of the chair, and reminded herself to breathe.

  But Donovan didn’t say anything. He simply sat there sipping his coffee and studying her between glances that were clearly intended to hurry his brother along. Owen, contrary as ever when it came to Donovan, refused to be rushed. He was slow to fork up each bite and made a point of savoring every morsel.

  “You’ve outdone yourself, Jules.”

  She refrained from rolling her eyes at the over-the-top praise since he was only doing it to support her. “Glad you’re enjoying it.”

  “I am. I so am.” And judging from the small smirk in his brother’s direction, Owen wasn’t only enjoying his egg whites.

  But eventually, the egg whites were eaten along with the toast, and the coffee carafe was emptied.

  “Done?” Donovan asked. It was the first thing he’d said in fifteen minutes.

  “The food.” Owen leaned back and patted his stomach. “But I still have to digest. It’s not safe to leave on a full stomach.”

  “That’s swimming. You’re done.”

  “I think I’ll stay.”

  But this time Donovan didn’t scowl. He faced his brother. “I need to have this conversation with Julia privately.”

  She heard the plea in his tone and Owen must have, too, because he turned to her and asked, “Okay?”

  Julia wasn’t certain, but she nodded anyway. Donovan wasn’t going to let her go without saying his piece. It was best just to let him say it.

  Still, the coffee in her stomach roiled when Owen exited the diner, leaving her alone with Donovan, his offer and the unwanted attraction that still simmered between them.

  Well, she wouldn’t give in to it. Not even if he begged. The image of Donovan on his knees between her thighs flashed through her head. Okay, maybe if he begged. But she would still have to think about the offer of sale of the restaurant.

  She took a slow breath and focused on the reason he was here, the reason she was, too. “I’ll just tell you now that I’m still thinking about your offer, but I haven’t made a decision. So if this is another high-pressure sales job, we can both go.”

  His eyes were dark and watchful. She saw his hand flick toward her and then drop back into his lap as though he’d thought better of the situation. “It’s not about the restaurant.”

  That image flashed through her mind again, sent color back into her cheeks. She tried to cover it with a sip of coffee.

  “It’s about us.”

  Julia put the cup down, forgetting to think about the clatter, the tremor that rocked through her at his words. “There is no us.” She certainly hadn’t forgotten that. The easy way he’d chosen business over her.

  He didn’t argue, just studied her, which was more powerful than any rebuttal could have been. She was glad the cup was safely in its saucer or else she might have been wearing the coffee instead of drinking it.

  She wanted to rise up like a powerful goddess of the sea, and walk away, but she felt glued to her seat, to her own indecision and his stare. “What do you want, Donovan?”

  “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “Actually, we don’t. Which is why I’m asking you to clarify.”

  For a moment, his eyes darkened, filled with that deep heat that had always preceded him lowering his head for a hot kiss or peeling her out of her clothes. She felt the pull of desire, the one that she wished she could snuff out as easily as flicking off the gas flame on a stove. “I want you.”

  Julia’s breath caught. She shook off the inclination to go to him, to touch and hold and allow him to kiss away all her hurts. “I’m not a product available for purchase.”

  “No, you aren’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

  She didn’t say anything. She wanted to look away, to look at anything but him. Her eyes stayed locked on his.

  “If that’s not an option, then I want you to have La Petite Bouchée.”

  Julia swallowed. She really needed a sip of that coffee, but her shaking hands made that impossible. She clasped them together in her lap, digging her fingers into the backs in an attempt to gain hold of her roiling emotions. “I told you I need to think about that.”

  “Why?” There was no underlying note of whining or irritation in his question. Just simple curiosity.

  “Because I do.” Because she feared that accepting the offer would be accepting him, too, and she didn’t know if she could handle that. He’d burned her once. Could she trust him not to do it again?

  “Julia, La Petite Bouchée is your dream.”

  But was it? She’d been thinking about that, too. Yes, La Petite Bouchée reminded her of her mother, of the loving relationship they’d had. But did she really need the restaurant for that? She had her memories, her photographs, her love of food. All of those were part of her mother’s legacy. “You know, I’m not sure that it is.” She saw his blink of surprise. “I want to own a restaurant, yes. That dream hasn’t changed, but I’m not sure it needs to be La Petite Bouchée.”

  He scratched the side of his jaw, then shook his head. “I’m not buying it. You love that restaurant.”

  “Buy whatever you want. I’m not for sale.”

  “Is that what you think? That I’m trying to buy you?”

  She hadn’t, not consciously, but now that he’d put it out there, she wondered if that hadn’t been hiding in the back of her mind, just waiting for a chance to surge to the forefront. She shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Donovan. I’m only telling you my own thoughts on the matter.”

  “If not La Petite Bouchée, then what? You have something else lined up?”

  “No.” She couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. “But I will. My investors are motivated and we’re actively looking for the right space.”

  “I’m offering you the right space.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand you. A month ago, this was all you wanted.”

  “A month ago, I thought you trusted me. I thought we were a team.”

  “We were.” His hand moved across the table and this time he didn’t stop. She didn’t meet him halfway, not even a tenth of the way. She leaned back in her seat, staying out of range unless he were to get up out of his seat and come around. He didn’t pull back, just remained in the same position, palms facing up, a silent plea for her. “We could be again.”

  She steeled her heart. “No, Donovan. We couldn’t.”

  “We could.” His eyes caught hers and held. Reminded her of how he’d made her feel like something precious. “I’ve missed you. I want to fix this. All of this.”

  Her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly to prevent tears from rising. “I can’t do this, Donovan.”

  “Do what?”

  “This.” She waved a hand between them.
“All of this. It clouds my judgment. I need to figure out what I want on my own.” Maybe if she’d done that in the first place, considered her own wants and needs instead of simply assuming that she needed to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she wouldn’t be in this situation now.

  “You’ve had almost a month.”

  She nodded. “I know. But I need more time.”

  “Julia.”

  She held her breath, afraid that if he pushed, if he came around the table and took her in his arms, she’d crumble. She’d let those raging emotions—the ones that reminded her she loved him, too, and that people made mistakes and that everything from his body language to his actions showed that he was being sincere—take over.

  But he didn’t. He simply watched her, his expression so open and transparent that she’d have to actively choose to ignore what was there. “How long?”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in and her heart to start beating again. “I don’t know.” She really didn’t. Her mind was so frazzled that she couldn’t think. A minute, a day, a decade? “I’m sorry, Donovan. I’d tell you if I knew.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  But it didn’t feel okay. And sitting there, his gaze on her, knowing that all she had to do was reach out to have everything she’d wanted so badly only a few weeks earlier, scared her. Because what if she’d been wrong a month ago? What if his presence, so prominent and potent, had confused her into making the wrong choice?

  Suddenly, her flippant remark to Owen about heading to Paris for some R & R didn’t seem so crazy. In fact, it was starting to sound pretty good.

  True, she was saving up to ensure a larger piece of whatever restaurant she decided to buy, but more important than that was making sure she chose the right restaurant. And with La Petite Bouchée back in the game and Donovan pushing hard, she wasn’t sure she could make an unbiased decision. Not in Vancouver, where it was too easy for him to find her.

  And although he’d indicated that he’d give her time, Donovan Ford wasn’t the type to sit back and let things happen. No, he’d be in there directing and guiding to ensure the outcome he wanted. She knew he would. The same way he’d slowly inserted himself into her life until it seemed he’d always been a part of it. He’d do it again. And she’d let him because she still loved him.