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She shrugged. “That episode made me stronger. I can’t change anyone’s opinions, but I sure as hell won’t let them screw me just because they think they can. That’s my truth.”
Wolfe didn’t move. She locked her gaze with his and waited. His fingers fisted, and she watched as the memories struggled to surface—watched his internal struggle—and the control he used to compose himself. He clenched his jaw.
“I’ve been to hell. I got out. I’m never going back.” Wolfe swallowed. “I had no place to go, so I tried to steal from Sawyer and got caught. Most rich guys would’ve locked me in jail and pressed charges. Instead, he offered to take me in. Gave me a job and a chance to learn the business. He didn’t even know anything about me, yet he gave me more than anyone had in this lifetime. A chance. you can trust me because any other way is back to hell.”
“Is it just about a job? or something more?”
Again, he gave her the priceless gift of truth. “It started as the job, but now it’s more. We’ve been together almost a year now. He’s the smartest man I’ve ever met, and he’s fair.” He ducked his head and his voice broke. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Her chest hurt, so she breathed carefully, kept her face impassive, and nodded. “you won’t. you show the skills of someone much older and wiser, and you’ve seen the other side, so you’ll never take anything for granted. you’re the type of man I want on my team.”
He looked up. Nodded. She caught the tiny smile on his face as he sat back down in the chair, making his own decision to stay. “Grazie.”
Damn, she liked him. Bristly and honest and real.
“Prego.”
“Julietta?”
“yes?”
“What’s the name of the guy who hurt you? Maybe someone should pay him a visit?”
Startled, she laughed with delight at his sudden protectiveness so ingrained in the male species. Another thing to like about him—once he trusted, he’d be loyal to the core.
“No worries. Michael allowed the charges to be dropped for a good reason. Let’s just say my older brother knows people. At least the exec’s hospital stay was quite short.”
“Good.” He gave a half grin. “Italians are definitely the best in the area of payback. I’ve watched the Godfather and Goodfellas a bunch of times.”
She was still laughing when her employees streamed into the room. They threw odd glances at both of them as they took their seats and waited for her to speak. Julietta moved to the head of the table and smiled.
This was going to be fun.
Chapter Eight
Sawyer did a quick survey of the rooms to make sure everything was in place. The Bulgari Milano hotel was perfect for their first encounter, offering an old-fashioned luxury that was both visually and physically arresting.
The sitting room was intimately set up with a Brera stone fireplace, and the rich woods of teak and oak blended with deep vanillas and buttery colors that soothed the senses. The refined elegance of the eighteenth-century palazzo reminded him of Julietta. The display of ornate jewels and tasteful antiques throughout the suite added an extra touch. The open carved archway led to the bedroom, where a magnificent canopy bed dominated the room. Ice blue silk pillows matched the ridiculously expensive thread count of the pulled-back sheets, and the glass doors opened to a private balcony that overlooked the gardens. A bottle of champagne chilled in the silver bucket across from a tray of finger foods to keep any hunger at bay.
He hoped he’d finally elicit a different type of hunger.
Anticipation bit through him in sweet agony and stiffened his cock. Their negotiations over this night still turned him on. He’d never met a woman so worthy of pleasure. The sharpness of her intellect was as much of a turn-on as her luscious body. A body she didn’t know how to use or to take pleasure in. The dom in him howled to release such a prize and claim it for himself.
The possessiveness surprised him. He’d shared women before without a thought—not to hurt them but to make sure he didn’t restrain them with false expectations. Sawyer realized long ago he’d never be whole enough for a healthy, long-term relationship. With a past filled with abuse, neglect, and mental games, there was nothing pure or good in him to offer. He made sure women knew there was no future going in so he never gave fake hope. But since Julietta, his inner caveman broke out with a primitive impulse to mark her as his.
He’d just have to get over it.
Still, he couldn’t believe he’d persuaded her to spend the night. When she calmly informed him he’d only get a few hours and she’d leave before dawn, the need to claim her till morning shocked him to the core. Usually it was the other way around. A rueful smile touched his lips. Guess he got a taste of the other side. And it sucked.
A knock sounded on the door.
His fingers tingled as he opened it and wondered if she’d obey his first request. His scrawled note with the gift box probably intimidated her. Had he gone too far? Sawyer flung open the door.
Instead of a trembling lover, he faced a pissed-off ice queen.
A scowl settled on her brow. “you actually think women like wearing this crap? Do you know how humiliating it is to have people think you’re not wearing anything under your coat? I got stares from the taxi driver and doorman.”
She stalked in wearing a short cream-colored wool coat.
Stiletto heels. Black stockings. And not much else.
Loose mahogany waves fell past her shoulders and continued to her waist, emphasizing the nakedness of her col-larbone, teasing an onlooker to try to take a peek. Her skirt was so short it disappeared under the hemline and gave the impression of erotic hide-and-go-seek.
oh, yeah. She obeyed perfectly. His gaze roved over her with pure greed, even as he fought a grin at her entry. She was so different from any other woman—he was endlessly fascinated by the twist of confidence and vulnerability she exhibited.
“you didn’t like the stares of the other men?” he chal-lenged. “Doesn’t it make you feel desirable? Sexy?”
“Dirty,” she quipped, dropping her purse on the chair and glancing around. She obviously wasn’t ready to lose the coat. “Puttana?”
He poured her a glass of champagne and crossed the room. The scent of rich coconut and mocha drifted from her skin. “Slut, huh? Ah, you are judging by society’s expectations again. Why shouldn’t a powerful woman want to be a slut in her own bedroom? Such a negative connotation for a woman who demands pleasure and will do anything to get it.” His words caused a delicate shudder to rip through her body. Good. She liked the verbal images, and it reached her on a deeper level.
