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She glimpsed the man he was hiding behind walls—the walls of his past he refused to share. Julietta thought about the night he’d confessed some of his past. She knew how difficult it was for him to revisit the nightmares. The precious gift meant more to her than anything. He recognized her broken vulnerability and tried to give her something to ease her. Sawyer had an amazing capacity to give, but it was twisted up with so many bad things, he’d learned to run away.
Setting the plate of pasta in front of him had changed her. In such a simple act of servitude, she realized how much more she wanted from him. How much more she craved to give.
She wanted to be the woman he leaned on, laughed with, trusted. Being in the midst of her family, surrounded by relationships that were real, tempted her to reach out for more. Did he want more, too? And if she was finally brave enough to give him the truth, would he reject her?
As long as nothing was spoken aloud, they’d be able to continue. She could still have his companionship and his physical attention on a daily basis. Why screw it up by saying three lousy words? She wasn’t as brave as her siblings.
Her awkward experience with relationships only confirmed her inability to connect with men. Maybe that’s why her mother had to force her into this marriage under the guise of business, because she sensed Julietta’s inward cowardice in regards to love.
Pathetic.
She never heard his footsteps. His hands pressed down over her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. Julietta breathed in his scent, her hands wrapping around his while she clung to what he could give her. His body. Night after night. Some part of him would always belong to her, as much as she belonged to him. He made her say the words before he slipped inside her, words she’d give freely, without sensual torture.
She’d give Sawyer Wells her very soul if he asked.
The sexual chemistry burned and sizzled between them.
Her body softened, her thighs parting to allow him immediate entrance. She sensed his nakedness; his erection nudged the cleft of her bu**ocks in demand for more. She waited for the games to begin—the dark twisted world she craved, of dominance and submission, of raw nerves and bared lust.
He turned her slowly. Cupped her cheeks. Took her mouth.
His tongue claimed her with slow thrusts that began the dance. She opened and allowed him to tug off her robe. The fabric slid to the floor in a pool of silk. His hands cupped, caressed, but she didn’t need any foreplay—the whole evening spent in his company had weaved its own spell. His finger sank into her swollen wetness and dove deep.
Sawyer lifted her without breaking the kiss. Her legs wrapped tight around his hips and with one slow slide, he buried himself inside her.
Home.
She welcomed him, clenching around his shaft. This time, there was no play, no teasing nips or confessions wrung from her lips. There was only the hitch of his breath, the rock of his hips, the strength of his hands, the sweep of his tongue. She shattered around him, never breaking her grip or the connection, and he spilled his seed inside her without the barrier of a condom, his teeth bruising her tender lips in a primitive masculine claim of possession.
Still inside her, he walked to the bed and eased them down, never breaking contact. The truth hovered on her lips, but she was too afraid to speak. The whisper of her name was the last thing she remembered.
Chapter Fifteen
Sawyer lifted his beer and clinked it against Max’s. The frosty brew slid cold and clean down his throat. “Salute.
Been too long, man.”
“yeah, since Vegas. When you tried to seduce my wife.”
“If I hadn’t pushed you to make a move, you never would’ve been married. Just call me Cupid.”
“yeah, I’m still not feeling all warm and fuzzy with that one.” His friend slid two more beers down for Michael and Nick, who were embroiled in a lively debate of Gucci versus Prada. He jerked a thumb at them. “They’re going to ruin our reputation as real men. What the hell happened to football versus baseball?”
Sawyer gave a wicked chuckle. “Let’s just call them me-trosexual. They’ll want to kick our asses.”
“What’s that?”
“you don’t want to know, man.”
The Brera district held an eclectic mix of hot clubs, bars, and restaurants. The real night crowd began coming in around ten, but the after-work crowd poured in around five for an aperitif to celebrate the end of the day. Sawyer rarely put in time for socializing, especially at the local hot spots, but after touring Purity and spending a few hours sketch-ing out his plans, it felt good to relax and hang with his old friend. Max was one of his closest male acquaintances, and Sawyer recognized an honesty in the man along with the dry humor that spoke to him. After a fight on a Greek yacht over some random woman, they’d forged a bond that had only strengthened since Max had met and married Carina.
“How’s married life treating you?” Max asked.
The loaded question gave him pause. “Good.”
His friend raised a brow. “Why do I think there’s something deeper going on here? you’re not the type to rush into a wedding, since the word commitment used to give you a nasty rash. Love at first sight?”
He wished he could confess the truth. He was one hot mess. Making love to his wife last night had transcended their usual bedroom games. Things were changing, fast, and the slippery slope kept inclining in a mad rush to toss him off. Sawyer took another sip of beer. “Something like that.”
His friend stared at him long and hard. “you know you can talk to me, right? I know Julietta is Carina’s sister, but if I thought you were a piece of shit I would’ve boarded the plane ASAP to break it up. I saw you together. She’s the one.”
Sawyer raised his gaze, startled. “What makes you say that after a few hours?”
Max shrugged. “A connection. The way you look at each other. And you seem different. Less—”
“What?”
“Haunted.”
Sawyer jerked. He opened his mouth to respond, but Michael and Nick slid into the booth with their beers.
“What are we talking about?” Michael interjected.
Max rolled his eyes. “Women. What else?”
“Bunch of pansies,” Nick muttered. “Hey, speaking of women, aren’t we running late? We’re supposed to pick them up at five, right? Who has a watch?”
The other two men glanced at their designer Zannetti watches. “yeah, we’ll finish our beers and head back,”
