Jennifer McKenzie - Tempting Donovan Ford

“A few times. The coq au vin blanc is amazing.”

Since the coq au vin blanc happened to be one of Julia’s favorite dishes, she couldn’t knock his taste. She inclined her head. “Thank you.”

“And the fact that you’re not making life easy for my brother is just one more reason to like you.”

No, she decided, eyeing Owen Ford. She didn’t like him—she loved him.

Owen’s smile deepened, showing off his dimples. “He’s used to getting his own way. Being the boss. Always has. It’s good that you’re standing up to him.”

Julia opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn’t standing up to Donovan so much as standing up for herself, but another voice spoke first.

“Owen, what are you doing here?”

Julia turned to see Donovan behind her, arms crossed over his chest. She hadn’t realized quite how broad his shoulders were. Not that she should be noticing now.

Owen’s tone remained easy, a noticeable difference from the tightness that edged Donovan’s. “Just checking in.”

Donovan frowned and looked from his brother to the pretty receptionist and back again. “Well, if you’re all done checking in, perhaps you could do some work.”

Julia felt a twinge of sympathy, but the loaded statement appeared not to bother Owen. “Sure thing, boss. Bailey.” He nodded at the receptionist. “Julia.” He kissed her on the cheek and then exited the offices.

Julia watched him go, wondering what all that was about. She hadn’t been kissed goodbye by someone she’d just met since her time in France, but somehow Owen pulled it off. Maybe because it felt genuine. He was the kind of person who liked people and was comfortable sharing easy affection. She liked it. She liked him.

“Julia.” There was a low growl in Donovan’s voice. She turned and took his outstretched hand, noting that it wasn’t nearly as warm or friendly as his brother’s handshake, and yet unlike Owen’s handshake or kiss, Donovan’s touch sent an arc of attraction through her.

Why? Why, after all these months of being perfectly content to focus on the restaurant and her staff, being satisfied with the occasional night of flirting when out with Sasha, was she suddenly finding her hormones waking up? And why were they waking up for him?

Seriously, she was going to kill Sasha for ever mentioning the attraction and planting that seed in her head. Because, yeah, she totally wouldn’t be attracted to Donovan at all if Sasha hadn’t brought it up.

Julia batted away the thought. Even if she were interested in pursuing the lure of Donovan Ford, now was not the time. She followed him as he led her down the hall, decorated with a few discreet black-and-white photos and a flashy starburst mirror, and into an equally glossy office with a wall of glass overlooking the city street.

“Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?” He turned to look at her and the attraction flared again.

“Water, please.” Something to cool the fire within her. She needed to focus—and not on Donovan Ford.

He nodded and procured a bottle from a small fridge built into the mirrored sideboard along one wall. The glass he handed her was heavy crystal. Julia recognized the style as Baccarat tumblers. No plain or inexpensive glassware for the Fords.

She took a seat in the visitor’s chair across the desk. No cheap imitation leather or rough, scratched wood, either. The seat looked like glass, but despite its cold and unbending appearance, was surprisingly comfortable. She’d bet it cost more than anything in her apartment except her chef knives.

Donovan lowered himself into the chair across from her and put down his tumbler without taking a sip. “I’ve had my lawyer look over your suggested changes.”

Julia had taken his advice and contacted a lawyer to look over the original offer. Actually, he’d been a former boyfriend of Sasha’s who had agreed to do it as a favor. Probably because he hoped Sasha would give him a second chance if he did. He’d been thorough and proactive, determining what it was that Julia wanted and then figuring out how she might get it. He’d had some excellent suggestions, including the addition of a codicil that would provide her rights of first purchase should the Fords decide to put the property on the market.

It wasn’t shares or ownership of any kind, but it was something. And since Donovan had, both in person and again through his own lawyer, made it clear that shares were not on the table, it was the best she was going to get.

Of course, she’d asked for a hefty raise for herself and the staff, too. Judging from what they’d paid for the location, the Fords had money to throw around. She saw no reason why her team shouldn’t share in it.

“You’ll see here—” Donovan used the same silver pen he’d had at the restaurant to point to the term in question “—we’ve dealt with your request regarding ownership.”

Julia scanned the words, parsing the legal jargon to understand the actual meaning. She looked up at him. “Just to be clear here, you’re agreeing that I’ll be given rights of first purchase?”

Everything else was flexible to Julia. Her salary, hours, benefits and other perks were things she could compromise on, but pushing forward for ownership was not.

“Yes. Should we decide to sell the property, you’ll be given the right to meet the asking price first.”

Julia nodded. “And I’ll have six weeks from that time?”

“Four.” He angled the pen toward her, a subtle hint to take hold of the instrument and put her name on the page. “We have to consider that a third party may withdraw their offer if they have to wait too long.”

She accepted the proffered pen. The metal was warm from his hand and smooth to the touch but impersonal. So different from her kitchen knives, which seemed to absorb a piece of her whenever she used them. They were all sharpened a certain way, worn down in a certain spot. It was one reason all serious cooks had their own set, which they were loath to share. Julia didn’t even let other people clean hers.

She pressed the nib of the pen to the page. This was it. She either signed now or forever held her peace. Her lungs felt swollen, as though she’d sucked in a huge breath and forgotten to let it go. Yes, this was it, and in her opinion, there was really only one option.

Julia signed quickly and handed the pen back. Donovan’s fingers brushed against hers, hotter than the metal. Suddenly, that metal didn’t feel quite so impersonal. Her eyes darted up to meet his. He smiled and she felt a flicker of interest rise up, tamped it back down and looked at his hands instead.

Hands were safe. They told a person’s story without words.

Donovan gripped the pen, lightly but firmly. In perfect control. And made a series of long, artful swoops as he added his name to the document. A man who wasn’t afraid to be noticed, a man who wasn’t afraid to demand it as his due. He wouldn’t be the type to hide in the back, away from the lights, wouldn’t be afraid to ask for what he wanted and expect to get it.

She took note of the scar on one knuckle and the thickness of his fingers. Donovan’s hands weren’t sleek and buffed, not polished within an inch of their lives. They didn’t look long and elegant like those of a pianist or a doctor. They were manly hands. Ones that looked as if they’d be just as confident swinging a hammer or using a saw as signing a life-altering contract. And strong. And sexy.

Julia looked away and tried to pretend that wasn’t her stomach doing a long, slow flip-flop and her brain wondering if those hands could hold a woman’s body just as easily.

* * *

SASHA MET HER at the door when she walked into the kitchen, a splotch of sauce on the shoulder of her white chef’s jacket. “So? Everything go okay?”