Sawyer gave no guarantees, but he was truthful. For now, she wanted to throw caution away and engage in a heady, passionate affair that might lead to more. It was time she took a chance on a man who made her experience emotions she never believed possible. The next time she saw him, she’d be clear about her intentions.
With a satisfied smirk, she rose from the desk and kicked off her shoes. She’d go nuts if she had to look at the crooked angle one more moment. Julietta dragged over the cream-colored chair and climbed up. She stretched out her fingers but only brushed the edge. Hmm, the furniture was heavy enough that if she stood on the top wooden arch of the chair she’d just be able to right the painting. She yanked up her skirt a few inches for better reach. Propping one hand against the wall for balance, she stepped up, wobbled, and clutched the edge of the heavy gilded frame. one inch. Two. one more toward the right and— “What are you doing?”
The familiar voice boomed through the room. Startled, she scrambled for footing, slipped, and fell back into nothingness.
The automatic yell of fear died on her lips as strong arms broke her descent. The breath whooshed out of her as she slammed into a hard muscled chest. He staggered back one step, two, then righted himself. She looked up and fought the immediate urge to cover that sensual mouth with hers. Mio Dio, he was physically perfect. A face straight from heaven, with lips blessed by the demons.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His brows drew together in a fierce frown, and eyes as golden as buried treasure shot sparks of anger. “Can’t you ask for help with anything? Are you so much a control freak you’d rather break an ankle than let a man move a goddamn painting?”
Her gratitude died in her throat. Julietta found her footing and broke out of his embrace. Shoulders thrown back, she carefully slid on her heels and shot him a glare. “Why?
Is it easier for a man to move a goddamn painting even though he’s the same height as me? Because I’m taller than most of my employees. I don’t have a penis, though, so that must make a difference.”
“oh, for God’s sake, I meant ask anyone! How about your secretary holding your legs so you at least have a spotter? or does that compete with your ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ crap?”
She gazed back at him in icy stillness. “I was just straightening a painting, Sawyer. Not trying to prove a point for equality of the sexes. Maybe you should ask yourself why you’re so pissed off you can’t control my actions?”
He spit out a humorless laugh and shoved his fingers through his hair. of course, that only gave him the tousled, right-out-of-bed look that curled her toes in her sensible pumps. “Do you always have a smart-ass answer?”
“I always have an answer, period. Why are you so upset?”
He muttered something under his breath. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
She studied the faint lines under his eyes and the strain around his mouth. Her anger burned away, and she took a step closer. “Mi dispiace, can I help with anything?”
She reached out to touch his arm, but he took a hasty step back. She stared at him. A cold ball of dread settled in the pit of her stomach at his inability to meet her gaze and the panic on his face. obviously, he didn’t want her to touch him. Which meant— “I thought about what you said last night.” The words seemed forced from his lips, but she made herself stand still and listen. “I think you were right.”
She refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him believe he meant something to her. Julietta forced a smile.
“I’m so glad. I was afraid it would be strange between us, and this deal is more important than a—what do you Americans say—a roll in the hay?”
His gaze lifted and pinned her. He looked deep, saw the lie, and accepted it anyway. Sawyer nodded. “yes. Thank you for putting up with me. I promise not to make you un-comfortable again.”
“of course. Are we still meeting today at three?”
“yes.”
“excellent. Thanks for coming to say this in person.”
“you are welcome.”
The excruciating politeness hurt more than knives rak-ing blood. Desperate to get him out of the office before a fissure broke in her facade, she turned and grabbed a file from her desk. “I better get back to work. See you later.”
She tore through pages where words blurred and heard the door open.
“I’ll never forget those two nights together, Julietta.
your gift to me was—priceless.”
He left. Julietta looked at the painting, now perfectly straight, and suddenly knew why she never took risks in her personal life.
…
When Sawyer got the call, he originally planned to give her an excuse and say he couldn’t make it. After all, he wasn’t lying. His schedule was packed tighter than a woman’s luggage. The last thing he needed with his sudden emotional upheaval was seeing her in the center of the storm. Hell, no. Unfortunately, she was just as stubborn as when he’d first met her, and she’d forced his hand in the only way he’d never refuse.
She’d simply told him she’d be waiting.
Sawyer grabbed for his patience while she served him a cup of strong espresso, less than twenty-four hours after he’d walked out of her home. After many minutes of polite chatter, Mama Conte finally sat across from him, took a sip of her brew, and leveled her gaze.
“I want you to marry my daughter.”
Sawyer looked around for the camera. Son of a bitch.
He’d seen Punk’d on MTV, but hadn’t it been canceled?
Betty White’s candid camera spoof was about old people.
or maybe this was a modern day version of Scare Tactics?
A grin curved his lips. “Sorry, I know about these shows.
you’re not getting me.”
A frown marred her brows. “What shows?”
His grin faded. Come to think of it, why would anyone want to tape this anyway? “I’m sorry, I think I misunder-stood. Did you say you want me to carry your daughter?
Carry her where?”
“Sawyer Wells, do not play stupido with me. I want you to marry my daughter Julietta. The one you are sleeping with.”
A strange squeak emitted from his lips. He’d heard the sound before—usually from weaker men who’d just realized they’d been outwitted and outplayed for food, shelter, or money. odd, he’d never been driven to make the sound before now. Kind of pathetic. reminded him of those mob movies like Goodfellas where the patsy rolled over and whined like a girl while he got the shit beat out of him.