Instead, he made a bargain. Got the charges dropped.

Then offered the kid a job where he could keep an eye on him.

Sawyer never thought it would work. After all, this kid was surly as hell and full of scars. He was a minefield ready to explode or implode. He traced the paperwork to a boy named Vincent Soldano who had been linked to numerous foster homes and a list of complaints. At eighteen, he was now on his own with nowhere to go. Sawyer got him a room at the hotel he stayed in and offered to train him as his assistant. Hell, he figured the kid could at least learn to file, copy things, and be a general errand boy. With his full black hair, blue eyes, and classic features, he’d polish up nice in a suit and tie.

Sawyer shook his head at the memory.

Oh, yeah, he remembered that polite conversation all right. Vincent had nodded and told him he’d give him his answer in twenty-four hours. When he returned the next day, he had a gold ring piercing in his brow, a snake tattoo around his neck, and he had shaved off half of his hair. He confronted Sawyer with a snarl and a comment that changed Sawyer forever. “This is what you’re really getting. I’m fucked up now inside and outside. Do you still want me now?”

Sawyer realized it was both a challenge and a plea. His gut lurched as he glanced at the kid’s freakish appearance and admired his stubborn spirit.. “You can never touch drugs or I throw you out. And no stealing. That’s nonnegotiable.”

“I’m not a user. And I won’t steal from you.”

The truth gleamed in those blue eyes. And Sawyer gave him his answer. “Yes, I still want you. We need to buy you some clothes. You start tomorrow.”

Sawyer figured he’d get him on his feet and the kid would move on. eight months later, they were still together, with a fucked-up relationship both of them were afraid to probe.

He had tried setting him up with a shrink, but the kid almost bailed on him, so Sawyer decided just to keep him close and see what happened. Looking at his homemade gym, he realized he might be able to show Wolfe another way of slaying the monsters. He chugged the rest of his water and slammed it back on the bar. “Come with me; I need a spotter.”

The gold bar in Wolfe’s eyebrow caught the light as he arched it. “No, thanks.”

“Don’t think you can pull your own weight?”

His lips twisted in a snarl. “I could take you any time, old man.”

Sawyer grinned and tossed him a pair of shorts and a tank. “Prove it. you may wear some pretty jewelry, but I don’t think you can lift.”

His taunt worked. The kid disappeared to change, then trudged to the bench press. Sawyer noticed he didn’t wear the tank, but had replaced it with a long-sleeved tee that covered his arms. Wolfe loaded on the weight, lay back on the bench, and put his gloved hands elbow width apart.

“Count it down.”

He did a full set, rested, then did another. They switched on and off, while the sounds of classic Guns N’ roses blared around them and drowned out any attempt at conversation.

They worked the circuit together, pushing, pulling, grunt-ing, and sweating, until Sawyer’s mind was clear and his body exhausted. He threw Wolfe a bottle of water, and they guzzled it down with sheer greed. “you did good,” Sawyer said. “Those skinny arms surprised me.”

Unbelievably, the kid half smiled. Sawyer realized he’d rarely, if ever, seen any type of emotion cross Wolfe’s face.

especially a hint of laughter or happiness. Sawyer’s heart did a weird little flip that almost embarrassed him. “I’m surprised a man your age can still box.”

Sawyer snorted. “I studied boxing for years. It’s more than just punching a lousy bag. It’s about balance, flexibility, controlled power.” He remembered sparring in that hole of a gym. He did the shittiest jobs so the men would keep him around. Cleaning bathrooms, washing disgusting towels, taking punches as a sparring partner, all in the hope of a few hours of staying in a place that made him feel safe.

Practicing for hours in order to make sure he survived on the streets. “I’ll teach you.”

The kid’s head swung around. Suspicion gleamed from his eyes. “Why?”

Because he needed something to help him empty out the pain. Because he had to start living and stop just existing. Because Sawyer didn’t know what else to do to reach him.

He shrugged. “Because I get bored by myself. I’m here by five a.m., then I go back to shower and change for work.”

“Five fucking a.m.?”

“you like your beauty sleep, huh? No wonder you’re a bit soft.”

The snarl was back, but this time it came with a spark.

“you wish. Fine. I’ll join you, but just because you need a challenge, old man.”

Sawyer grinned and tamped down the impulse to squeeze the boy’s shoulder. He’d learned a few months ago touching was off-limits to the kid. “Welcome to the Jungle”

pounded through the room. Sawyer threw the bottle across the room and made a perfect dunk shot into the garbage.

“Let’s get back to work.”

They left the gym together.

Chapter Seven

Julietta stared out the window and looked at the gray, misty scene before her. Motorbikes whipped in and out of the roadways and fought with the crowds. Almost lunch-time. Many people held cups of cappuccino in hand, smok-ing furiously and ducking their heads from the drizzle of rain. The Duomo rose in the distance, and for a moment, she wished she were one of her younger sisters. Venezia would bound toward the elaborate shopping galleries and get lost in Prada, Armani, and Dolce & Gabbana. Carina would take a stroll on the uneven pavements, nibbling on a buttery pastry and enjoying the scene before her, rain and all.

She bit back a sigh and glanced at the massive stack of papers on her desk. Not her. She’d eat again in her office, soothe some cranky egos from the board since allowing Wolfe to be her liaison in the project, and crunch numbers.

The advertising plan needed to be nailed down soon in order to prepare for a quick opening. Sales were down in Firenze for some strange reason, and she needed a conference call with the chef.

She pressed her palm flat against the cool pane of glass and thought again of the other offer before her.

one night with Sawyer.

It had been nearly a week since their encounter. Five full days of no close interaction—just a glance from the end of a conference table. Five days since he touched her and kissed her and boldly propositioned her with sex. Her rational mind raged at his crudity and obvious dismissal of the polite rules of society and work.

The other part of her relished the dark freedom.

She turned from the window and adjusted the few frames on her desk that kept getting misaligned. What was wrong with her lately? Usually work satisfied every aspect in her life. During yesterday’s meeting, she found her gaze attached to Sawyer. especially the tight ass muscles his custom Calvin Klein suit enhanced. And damned if he hadn’t turned around and given her that dirty little smile. Like he knew what she was thinking. Imagining. Fantasizing about.

And what he refused to give her until she agreed to his ridiculous terms.

So embarrassing.

She told herself over and over he played a game of ego and ruthlessness. Why did he want to give her an orgasm so badly? Why did he care? And yet . . . the lure of one night with him taunted her sanity. Maybe if she gave him the opportunity, everything would go back to normal? Couldn’t it be a win/win for her?

She paced back and forth and analyzed the details.

Maybe there was room for negotiation. He’d do his best to give her physical pleasure, and if she couldn’t . . . well, climax . . . she’d have full control over the bakery’s terms in Purity.

Asset number one.

Sure, it could be a bit awkward, but she’d already warned him about her inability to relax, and a few hours of being uncomfortable would be worth the reward. Her mind sliced through the options and switched to devil’s advocate.

What if she did have an orgasm?

Her belly dipped at the tantalizing image of pleasure.

Well, that would be great, right? Maybe she’d finally get her head back in the game of business. After all, couldn’t one orgasm last her a long time? Kind of like inventory.

Her body would be more loose, she’d have the satisfaction she was normal, and she’d move on. yes, he’d still retain full rights of final approval. Unless . . .

What if she raised the stakes? Made it more difficult for him to achieve his goal?

After all, if he was able to rise to the new terms, she’d deserve to lose. Her gut said it’d be an impossible task for him to accomplish. even if he managed to get her to slide over the cliff once, he’d never, ever make her come twice.

right?

She tapped her fingernail against her bottom lip and scanned all possibilities. Could she get him to agree? yes, challenging his ego and giving him an unreachable goal would call to his sense of dominance. A shiver raced down her spine. And she knew he’d be dominant in private. Just the way he’d restrained her wrists and gotten that gleam of lust in his eyes made her wet. She sensed he’d go for the new terms and lose. Maybe she’d get one orgasm and score the contract also.

Win/win.

As if her thoughts conjured him up, her secretary buzzed her. “Mr. Wells is here to see you. Can I send him in?”

Julietta tamped down the girly impulse to check her hair and makeup, though she hardly wore any, and cleared her throat. “yes, please.”

She didn’t have a magic door, so she settled back in her burgundy leather chair, straightened herself to full height, and pretended to be engaged in her folders. He entered silently, as if he practiced burglary in his spare time, and the only way she knew he was in front of her was the pull of his body heat and the delicious smell of spice he carried on his skin. She lifted her head, a polite smile on her face, and froze.

He was so gorgeous. Would she ever get used to that face?

His smoke-gray cashmere coat set off a red plaid scarf and the golden halo of his wavy hair. His tall, lean length held a restrained strength she found both appealing and intimidating. As if he didn’t need to show off for anyone because he possessed the real thing. The slash of his scar only emphasized the graceful lines of his face, reminding her that underneath his civilized, graceful veneer, something savage lurked. Her throat grew dry as she tried to find some spit and found it had disappeared. Without missing a beat, Sawyer crossed the room, propped two hands on her sprawl-ing mahogany desk, and leaned in. Butterscotch eyes delved straight into hers without hesitation or apology. As if he’d been patiently waiting for her answer and was now done.

“Well?”

Some weird noise squeaked from her throat. She dropped the folders she was holding and rallied. “Well, what?”

His lip quirked. “Have you approved the final layout?

The builders need to set up the proper space for equipment for the pedestrian store.”

Disappointment tweaked at his focus on business.

Stupid to believe he’d come here for something else. She shook off her thoughts and squinted in consideration. “I prefer the right corner. Studies have proven that locations in lobbies propel more impulse buys.”