Tempting Donovan Ford (28 page)

Her mother had thrown back her head and laughed. “It’s a taste that grows on you,” she’d said, her eyes twinkling.

And Julia had wondered why anyone would want that awful taste to grow on them. But she smiled now, recalling how her mother had leaned over and hugged her, told her how much she loved her and let her order whatever she wanted off the menu.

It had been a good trip. As all their trips to Paris had been. Walking along the river with her mom, ordering her first coffee the summer she was fourteen, the fresh pastries, and visiting the market. Julia exhaled.

The memories of her mother swamped her. Her laugh, the way she’d looked standing over a stove, stirring her pots, teaching Julia how to find the best and freshest product at the market. Her mother was in Paris. And La Petite Bouchée. More important, she was in Julia’s heart.

Suzanne would have been disappointed in Julia now. That she’d picked up and left other people to handle the situation.

It wasn’t as though she’d been left with nothing when she’d learned that the Fords were keeping La Petite Bouchée. She hadn’t been bounced out without a reference or a paycheck. She’d still had a job.

And the cohesive marketing plan that Mal had designed had pushed her name into the minds of people both in and out of the industry. She was a draw, something that had clearly excited her investors, judging from the increased dollar amount they’d decided to put forward. If that was what she decided to do.

A new space. One that would be hers and hers alone.
She didn’t have to throw everything over and remake herself in a new, strange shape, but she didn’t have to remain stuck in the past, either. She could ask the staff to work for her at her new restaurant. Sasha would come. The others would, too. And they could bring the traditions they’d started at La Petite Bouchée with them.

Assuming they wanted to come back. The guilt she’d been working so hard to rationalize since quitting swept through her. They’d been there for her when her mother died, had welcomed her easily, accepted her leadership and become her family in the process. And she’d repaid them by dropping out of their lives as soon as things got hard. She hadn’t even called or asked Sasha if everyone was okay.

Julia exhaled again. She wouldn’t blame them if they turned her down. A swift and firm “thanks, but no thanks” was probably what she deserved. But that didn’t mean she had to give up. She’d thought her heart, her future, was with La Petite Bouchée and the staff there. But maybe it was elsewhere. Some new location that she’d yet to discover. Maybe with a new team that she’d yet to meet. Except for Sasha. Sasha would definitely come with her.

The remorse eased a little. Maybe she’d made a mistake by walking away from the restaurant without a fight, but it didn’t have to affect the rest of her life in a negative way.

Just because things weren’t working out the way she’d hoped, the way she’d planned, didn’t mean her dreams were over.

She tore off another hunk of bread and smeared on a pat of butter, watching how it melted into the warm softness. Maybe it was being back in the place where she’d really come into her own as a chef. Where she’d learned why the way a food was cut was important, why certain flavors worked together, and rather than just parroting what she’d been taught in culinary school, she’d begun to understand and to change.

She could change. Yes, traditions could be great. They were classics for a reason, but that didn’t mean there was no merit in something new. She could innovate and in doing so, respect the traditions of the past. In fact, wasn’t that what she and Donovan had done at La Petite Bouchée? Blending the old with the new to make something that was both fresh
and
familiar?

Some of the anticipation burbling within her quieted at the thought of Donovan. She didn’t know what to think about him. He’d given her so many things. Name recognition, the ability to shape her restaurant, a welcoming family, his body. But what about his heart?

Julia put down the bread she’d been about to finish, her stomach suddenly roiling. That was the problem bit. She didn’t have his heart, but he had hers. After all her concerns about keeping their relationship professional, making sure she didn’t get her personal life entangled with business, she’d dived in headfirst. Alone.

She rubbed a spot over her right eyebrow. She knew he cared for her. He’d said as much and his actions had backed up his words. But when it was crunch time, when things really mattered, he’d backed away. Left her without a safety net when all he had to do was reach out a hand.

Her breath grew shaky. Maybe it was better to know now, to realize that they were heading in very different directions. He’d go on to run a wildly successful family business and she would continue to grow the name and reputation of her restaurant, whether that was La Petite Bouchée or somewhere else.

She sipped her wine, let the liquid roll around on her palate before swallowing. It was the way of things in Paris. To sip and savor, to make every moment, every breath, count. Julia thought about her life the past two years. Leaving Europe to return to Vancouver, watching her mother die, taking over the restaurant and struggling to keep it afloat before Donovan and his family had come along.

There was a low throb in her stomach, the same mix of pain and pleasure as her life had been. And she realized that maybe she hadn’t come to Paris to figure out her professional life but her personal one.

Any man she was going to be with had to be the kind of man she could count on, one who would do whatever he could to support her as she would support him in return. Not the kind who would tell her that it was just business and let her dreams crumble.

“Julia.” She didn’t turn when she heard her name. There was no reason to think anyone was calling her. She was traveling alone and no one other than Sasha knew she was here. But when the call came again, she swiveled her head.

And for just a moment, everything stopped.

Donovan Ford. In Paris. And coming straight for her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

D
ONOVAN COULDN’T BELIEVE
he’d found her. In a city of over two million with who knew how many tourists roaming about, he’d found her. Julia.

Thanks to Owen—via Sasha—he knew where she was staying and the hotel proprietor had been more than happy to book him into a room on the same floor as Ms. Laurent. The cheerful little man had even recalled what Julia had been wearing when she left that morning.

Not that Donovan saw anything but her face when she turned to look at him, surprise registering in her eyes. She half rose to greet him, then seemed to stall, the surprise morphing into confusion.

He was filled with gratitude to be here. Glad she was only a few feet away and grateful he’d have her in his arms in less than a minute.

The restaurant bustled around them, people waving their hands as they talked, taking small, delicate bites of food, swilling wine and water in equal measures. Donovan ducked through the crowd, avoiding determined servers.

“Donovan? What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” He wrapped his arms around Julia, lifted her to a standing position and held on tight. “Thank God.” Her body tensed and then relaxed into his. Donovan gripped her more tightly, inhaling her scent, feeling the whisper of her hair against his neck, the press of her chest to his. “Thank God I found you.”

She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t lost.”

He disagreed. Maybe she hadn’t been lost in the traditional sense, but she’d felt lost to him. “I wasn’t going to let you get away again.”

She pulled back to look at him, a small frown creating a line between her eyes. “Weren’t you?”

How could she even ask that? Of course he wasn’t. “No.”

“I just needed some time, some space.” But Donovan noticed she made no move to step out of his embrace. Good thing, too, because he wasn’t letting go. “I had to figure things out.”

“I thought you’d go for a walk around the Seawall or Stanley Park, not hop a flight to Europe.”

A smile ghosted over her lips. It gave him hope. That there was still a chance for them. He’d done a lot of thinking on the flight. Had nothing else to do while he winged over North America and then the Atlantic.

“You never answered my question about why you came here,” she said.

She shifted then, leaned back, but Donovan held on for one more squeeze before letting her go. When she sat, he did, too, and took hold of her hand, unwilling to lose contact. “I came to find you.”

“I told you, I wasn’t lost.” That ghost of a smile again. Donovan smiled back.

He reached out to stroke her hair, then the shoulder of her dress, the pale peach material as delicate as gossamer. “Well, no. Not now that I’ve found you.”

Hope lit her eyes and then dimmed. “Donovan.” But she didn’t finish her thought. She glanced away for a moment and then back to him. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Owen told me.”

“Owen?” Her brow wrinkled. “I didn’t tell Owen where I was.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.” He clasped her hand in his. “And I have something else to say. Something that has nothing to do with the restaurant.”

Donovan shuffled his chair closer to her and tugged her hand so she would lean in, would hear everything he had to say. The time was right, the warm evening, the spill of French around them, the scent of good food and the love in his heart so expansive that he couldn’t keep it to himself any longer. When their heads were mere centimeters apart, he reached out to cup her cheek, running a thumb along her smooth, soft skin.

“I love you.”

“Donovan.” Her voice was a breath, a barely heard breath, and although she didn’t respond in kind, he knew. By the darkening of her eyes, the way her mouth opened just slightly, her body turning more fully toward him. She loved him, too. Even after everything that had happened, she still loved him, too. Thank God.

He kissed her then. A light touch of lips that held a promise of more. Of later. Not just tonight, but every night. Because that was what he wanted with Julia. Everything. From this day forward.

“I love you and I want to make a life together.”

She reached out a hand to touch his leg. He loved the way she touched him, firm and strong, the same way she gripped her chef’s knife or hefted a pot from the stove. Julia wasn’t a tall woman and despite the labor of her job, her arms didn’t bulge with muscles, but she was strong. Inside and out.

He didn’t know how many people could do what she’d done. Pick up and move to another continent, make a full life there and then come back to care for a dying parent. To hold a restaurant together while doing so and to keep pushing forward, keep dreaming no matter what happened.

His own father’s heart attack had scared the hell out of him. Donovan could well remember the fear that had climbed up his throat, choking him as they’d waited for the ambulance to arrive. Holding everything together to race over to his mother’s house and pick her up since she’d been in no shape to drive herself to the hospital. And in the waiting room, those long hours ticking by at a snail’s pace while the doctors rushed to save Gus, to keep his heart beating, while Donovan stayed strong, refusing to let his own worries and panic show while the rest of the family crumbled around him.

But they’d had each other. Had worse come to worst, which even now he didn’t like to think about, they’d still have each other. A mother, a brother, a sister, aunts, uncles, cousins scattered around the city and the country who all would have come in their time of need.

But Julia? She’d had no one except the restaurant staff.

“Donovan,” she started. Her fingers pressed hard into his leg as though she was gearing up for something. But her words stalled when the waiter came by and asked if
monsieur
was going to be eating, as well. Donovan nodded. He was starving. They’d fed him on the flight, but the meals were small and with the travel and time change, he felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Julia rattled off instructions in what sounded like flawless French. Donovan could only assume they were since the waiter merely nodded and walked away.

Man, that was sexy. His gorgeous woman, in her beautiful dress, in a restaurant in Paris, speaking French with her hand still on his thigh. If Donovan hadn’t already fallen, that continued connection would have done the trick because it told him everything he needed to know.

She looked at him. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it does.” He lifted her hand, linking their fingers together. “See?”

She pulled her hand free. “I still need to think. And I can’t have you hovering over me, making me all confused.”

He kissed her again. “Would it help if I admitted I’ve been an idiot?” Or what was the term Owen had used? “An asshat?”

A smile peeked out on her face. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

* * *

J
ULIA’S BRAIN WAS SPINNING.
Donovan. In Paris. For her.

She turned her head to look at him as they walked down the long hall of the hotel to the closet-size bedrooms. “How did you know where I was staying?”

“Lucky guess.”

“And you just happened to get a room on the same floor?”

“No, that was pure planning. I charmed the hotelier with my winning smile.” He flashed it at her.

She pretended not to be affected. “And what would you have done if there hadn’t been any rooms available? Set up a tent in the courtyard?”

He tilted his head. “I’d have considered it. Or I’d have asked if you might find it in your heart to share your room.”

She didn’t want to be won over by him. But it was hard—really hard. “Donovan.”

“I love it when you say my name.” He bent to give her a kiss on the side of the neck.

“Stop that.” But she didn’t step away or insist he do the same. Still, she wouldn’t let him in her room when he would have followed. Not even when he gave her the sad eyes. She was stronger than Sasha, who had clearly sold her out. But she wasn’t mad. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she told Donovan and then closed the door before her heart could soften.