Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) (15 page)

“You already tried spreading lies years ago.” Sierra’s voice shook. “Why should your threats bother me now?”

“Because you have a whole hell of a lot more to lose now. A very rich husband who values the good name of his family, for example. You’ve married into a much wider circle of acquaintances and business associates than you used to have as a student.”

“Blackmail, Grant?” Sierra’s hand shook as she accepted champagne from a passing server’s tray and took what she hoped looked like a casual sip. “It sounds as if you want something from me in exchange for your silence.”

He laughed, and Sierra was chilled by his response. “No, I’ve already gotten what I want. The knowledge that, at any time I want, I can blow the whistle on you so fast it will tear your world apart. Tonight? Tomorrow? A year from now? You’ll never be able to relax. Just imagining your anxiety is revenge enough for me.”

“Is your ego so fragile that one rejection from a woman years ago can motivate you to do such damage?”

Unmoved, he misquoted. “Hell hath no fury like a man scorned. Particularly when it’s by a nonentity like you.” With that he turned and left her, alone and shaking, next to the dance floor.

Ten minutes later, huddled in a stall in an out-of-the-way ladies room three floors above the ballrooms, Sierra fought back a full-fledged panic attack. She’d left the room wanting to be alone until she could calm down. She sucked in a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly, knowing she was in danger of hyperventilating.

This panic episode was a bad one. She hadn’t experienced one like this since she was a student.

She hadn’t been prone to such attacks before becoming the victim of the Townsends’ virulent form of manipulation and harassment, but they had lasted for some time after. Still, she thought she’d put both the attacks and the Townsends behind her long ago.

Wrong.

She gulped in more air.

Father and son were a rotten gift that kept on giving. Besieged by anger and fear, the hard-won confidence of the years between college and the present slipped away. A few tears of rage trickled down her cheek.

She wasn’t eighteen anymore. She would get through this. She took another shaky breath, held it, and let it out very slowly, trying to slow her pounding heart. Wiping her face, she wondered how she could ever have found anything appealing about William, even for a moment. Yes, she’d been young and hadn’t known him long, but she’d utterly failed to read his character and his father’s. Her misgivings about her inability to judge men rushed back to her and filled her with dread.

Grant’s threats were ugly. From the beginning Michael said he wanted a woman of impeccable personal and professional credentials for his wife to satisfy Connor’s ideal profile of a daughter-in-law. He’d gotten exactly that, too—but if Michael and others were treated to Grant’s version of her involvement with him and his son, Sierra would emerge as a woman of questionable ethics who exchanged her sexual favors in return for advancement and financial compensation. Grant would noise that about town until her reputation was in tatters.

Again.

Not the wifely image Michael hoped she would project. And, as it happened, the exact kind of woman she knew he despised. He mentioned his dislike of gold-diggers early on, had even protested when Sierra had observed that outsiders might believe her to be one. He’d pointed to their contract as unorthodox proof that she was actually honest and professional. How might his opinion change if Grant chose to spread his ugly lies?

But it didn’t matter what Michael thought of her personally. What mattered more was the image that being his wife helped him convey to his father and to the world in which they moved. Grant could tear that image to shreds with one simple phone call to him or to the press and, by association, tarnish the Donovan name as well.

What would happen then?

The whole point of the marriage would be shattered. Instead of an appropriate bride, Michael would find himself married to a woman whose reputation was a personal and professional liability. Connor would be devastated.

Of course, that would be all the more reason to end their marriage quickly as they had planned. Sierra winced at the irony.

The resulting narrative would be a change in script—not at all what Michael had in mind when they’d struck their bargain. He might even view the change as grounds for nullifying their contract before its completion and before she had earned the remainder of her fee.

Mind racing, Sierra considered the consequences for Claddagh and her mother. While the pub’s immediate financial problems were solved by the initial influx of cash from Michael and their house was no longer in danger of repossession, she and Grace required the rest of the money in order to grow its business. Those plans would be dashed.

She shook her head to clear it, breathing deeply through her nose once again, then releasing the air in a whoosh. She could handle that if it happened. She’d handled worse. But for reasons she didn’t want to examine, she kept returning to the fear of what Michael might think of her if Grant went to him.

She’d hate to lose his respect. If she’d ever had it in the first place.

All her insecurities were on high alert.

Who really knew how things looked to Michael? She’d agreed to a contract marriage in exchange for money. It was business, yes. She and Michael both stood to benefit from it, and she’d tricked him into nothing.

But it was a cold deal for the sake of profit. Then she’d violated the spirit of their business contract by going to bed with him. Never mind that he’d been an equal participant. What did that say to him about her professionalism? Or lack thereof? Wouldn’t it make Michael more inclined to believe anything Grant might tell him now?

Why did she care so much? Yes, she valued her integrity. Her father had lacked that quality, but thanks to Grace, she’d grown up with a healthy respect for it. Grant couldn’t rob her of her principles, but he had the potential to ruin her good name in the eyes of people who had come to matter to her.

In Michael’s eyes
.

She couldn’t bear that.

Footsteps entered the ladies room. Her breathing was a little better, and her heart had slowed to a more regular beat. She’d be missed at the reception soon if she hadn’t been already.

She plastered a smile on her face and emerged from the stall, hoping she could repair the ravages done to her makeup by her panic attack.

Nothing escaped Michael’s keen appraisal. He raised a brow when he saw her face. Surrounded by guests, however, he chose to say nothing.

For the present.

Following the reception, she settled into a chair in Michael’s Nob Hill penthouse to relax. Thank God she and Michael wouldn’t be thrown together on a honeymoon. After the stress of a long and strange day, she could barely keep her eyes open.

They’d both neglected their jobs throughout their engagement. Rafe covered for Michael at DEI when necessary, and Bruce ran interference for the higher-ups at McKinley for Sierra. But Michael seemed to chafe at his time away from the family firm. Before their wedding they’d agreed they would go to work on Monday, as usual. If this didn’t suit the image of a deliriously in love, just-married couple, so be it. The deed itself was done.

“If people ask why we aren’t taking a honeymoon, we’ll say we prefer to be alone in our favorite city to traveling somewhere else,” Michael said.

“Won’t people also expect us to find a house that suits us both?” Sierra asked. “They might think it’s strange we’re living in your apartment?”

“I doubt it. There’s more than enough space for two, and this is a valuable property.”

It took up an entire floor in one of San Francisco’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Sierra wanted to dislike it, figuring Michael for someone who would opt for lots of black and white, steel, and chrome. Instead, its rooms were light and airy, with notes of color provided by the modern art on the walls and area rugs spread on top of Berber carpeting. Plenty of books, personal knickknacks. and family photos were in evidence. It didn’t feature the traditional style of the Sea Cliff house or the coziness of her mother’s home, but it was a far cry from the sterile environment she’d imagined Michael might inhabit.

She’d never been there before this evening.

A pile of recently read newspapers lay in a corner. “I thought you said you weren’t here much.” Sierra said.

Michael shed the jacket of his tux and retrieved a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon he’d filched from the Excelsior. He popped the cork and poured her a glass, leaning back on a sofa opposite her. “I’m not. I travel a lot for business, but when I come back, I want a real home to return to, not some impersonal showcase.”

“Right. Of course.”

Silence.

“You looked beautiful today,” he said. “You coped well with the crush of people this evening. I haven’t told you that yet.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s not as if you have to compliment me like we’re a real married couple.”

An angry look settled on his face. “You’re always assuming everything I tell you has some ulterior purpose. I never say anything because I have to, Sierra. As for being really married, I should think that today would have banished any doubts you might have on that score.”

“Touché.”

“Are we dueling, then? I hope not.” He was in a strange mood.

She shrugged and winced, toeing off her heels, and said nothing.

After a moment, Michael moved from the sofa and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. He took one of her stockinged feet in his hands, resting her leg on his thigh, and began to massage it, rotating her ankle.

A shot of desire traveled from her toes to her core. Within seconds the energy in the room became charged. The months of restraint and remoteness since the night at the Hermitage dropped away as if they had never existed.

“Wh-what are you doing?” managed Sierra. Beneath the halter neck of her gown, she wore no bra. Its neckline hadn’t permitted one. She felt her nipples tighten with each movement of his hands.

The massage moved from therapeutic to erotic. He brought her foot between his thighs, near his crotch, as he continued his ministrations.

“What do you think I’m doing?” His gaze became slumberous.

“If it didn’t violate the terms of our contract, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

Michael smiled. “I’d say we violated our contract that night in Napa, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. And as I recall, we agreed to forget it happened and move forward with our original terms. You said it was a mistake.”

He brought her foot into the juncture of his thighs.

Oh my God. He was hard. Desire uncoiled in her, and her breath hitched.

“Technically speaking, it would violate nothing at this point,” he said, his voice a sexy promise. “We’ve accomplished the first part of what we set out to do with our parents. We’re married. And while we had a verbal understanding about no sex, that’s not actually part of the contract.” He paused and smiled. “I double-checked.”

Holding her gaze, he slid a hand up her calf underneath the hem of her gown. It traveled to the tops of the sheer lacy thigh-highs she wore until he reached her bare flesh and stroked it. He left a blazing trail against her skin.

Then, without warning, he asked, “Sierra, who exactly is Grant Townsend?”

Chapter Ten

“Grant Townsend?” She sounded like a parrot.

Or like a guilty defendant on a witness stand.

She tried to ignore the fact that Michael was still massaging the softness of her upper thigh. Without success. “Why are you asking?”

“Because you turned white when he came through the receiving line with Lydia and then later when he danced with you. You were upset and disappeared for a while. I want to know what about him bothered you so much.”

He’d been watching. Of course he had.

“Nothing” Sierra pulled her leg from Michael’s grasp and stood up, the hem of her gown sliding down around her ankles. The intimate mood was broken. “I was just on edge from the day, and I wasn’t thrilled about seeing your ex-girlfriend, that’s all.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Lydia was never my girlfriend. I’ve told you that. And if something wasn’t bothering you earlier, something certainly is now. A moment ago you were relaxed. Now you’re up in arms.”

“There you go again with the fight metaphors.” It was she who was picking a fight, but she didn’t want to talk to Michael about Grant now. Not before she’d figured out how to handle the threats that he’d made against her. Against them.

Michael was silent a moment, then stood. “It must be pretty bad if you can’t even talk about it.”

“What must be bad?” Her tone was shrill but she couldn’t help it. “For no reason at all you’re convinced there’s some deep dark secret I’m hiding. You have a very active imagination.”

Michael stood. Hands on hips, he stared at her. “A simple question about someone who comes to our reception has got you pretty riled up. I’m not imagining that!” He went to the bar and poured some whiskey into a glass. “You know, we’ve never discussed our past relationships. It didn’t seem necessary, given the nature of our agreement. But now I’m not so sure.”

“So now you think mine might need discussion?” She was overreacting and behaving like a harpy. Once again she felt sick.

“What is with you tonight? I ask a simple question and you get upset. Why does the very mention of his name turn you into an emotional wreck?”

Maybe because that’s exactly what she was. All it had taken was seeing Grant again, and she felt as disempowered and victimized as she had in college. Her fears and anxiety triggered, it felt impossible to regain perspective now.

Sierra avoided Michael’s searching gaze. She could tell the truth, but what if he didn’t believe her? She couldn’t bear that. She just shook her head.

“Can’t you tell me what it is? How bad can it be?” Michael’s voice broke into her thoughts, more gently now.

She made one last bid at self-protection, fear causing her to lash out. “Why am I the one who’s supposed to reveal all here? Do you think you’ll find out I’m just like your mother? That my involvement with the Townsends somehow makes me exactly like her?” Horrified, she stopped. She’d trodden too close to her own fears and also overstepped the line with Michael. They’d barely talked about his mother, but she knew Carol was not his favorite topic. Jen had filled her in on some of the old San Francisco gossip about Connor’s first marriage and the damage she’d done to both father and son.