Mama Conte snorted and cut her hand in the air.
“Nonsense. As I tell you all the time, you need more outlets besides work. Dinner with friends and family are necessary in this lifetime. Money and success are not everything.
Happiness is.”
Julietta crammed another cracker stacked high with pepperoni in her mouth to keep herself from screaming.
Sawyer steepled his fingers and watched. Humor danced in his eyes. “I agree,” he said slowly. “In fact, I told Julietta I’d love to spend more time with her on a personal basis. I don’t know too many people in Milan.”
She swallowed the dry crumbs and barely fought off a choking fit.
“A wonderful idea. From now on, you will join us for dinner on Sundays. I’m sure Julietta will make time from her busy schedule to introduce you to some of her friends.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes widened. Mama placed heaping bowls of man-icotti and fresh salad in front of them and beamed. “Isn’t this wonderful? Now both of you. Manga.”
Sawyer winked and picked up his fork.
…
“Why are you bothering me?”
They sat on the back terrace with cups of cappuccino and a plate of freshly baked honey almond biscotti. open and airy, with a view of the lagoon-type pool and lush gardens, the wrought-iron furniture added to the old-world appeal of Mama Conte’s villa. Terra-cotta pots lined the colorful cobblestones and burst with various herbs and fruit plants, just waiting to sprout at the first sign of spring. The last sting of winter hung fiercely on, but the bite in the air cleared Sawyer’s lungs and sharpened his instincts. The mountains shimmered in the distance, and the sound of bubbling water from the sculptured marble angel soothed his ears. He propped up his legs on the opposite chair and dipped the cookie into his coffee. “I’m not. your mother likes me.”
She rolled her eyes. “My mother likes everyone. She’d invite a serial killer to supper.”
“Nice.”
“What really happened between you and Mama? It feels like there’s something else you both aren’t telling me.”
oh, there was. Not that he’d confess such a big piece of his past. Mama Conte had saved his life and put him on a new path that changed everything. The memory of their most recent encounter flickered before him.
She’d come to see him when he scored his first big coup with La Principe Hotel. Proud of what he had accomplished with her help, drunk on the victory of leading a life he only dreamed about, he’d treated her to lunch, and then he’d taken her in his arms for a gentle hug. He spoke in Italian to her and made a vow—a sacred promise from his very gut and soul—and whispered in her ear.
“La devo un grande debito. Se lei mai ha bisogno di me, farò che lei chiede.”
“I owe you a great debt. If you ever need me, I will do whatever you ask.”
He intended to honor that promise if the opportunity to do so ever came. Sawyer stuffed back the memory. “Let’s just say I knew immediately she was an extraordinary woman. Must run in the family.”
“Look, I don’t want our relationship blurring from business to personal. I’ve told you over and over, though you seem not to listen. I’m not interested.”
“So you did.” He swung his head around and studied her. He loved the slight vulnerability she showed today. In her casual clothes, with her hair blowing loose and sexy, she looked approachable. young. Her bare feet were tucked under her legs, which seemed tiny for such a tall woman.
The ice queen image was packed away for a bit, and he wondered at the raw need rising in his gut. He ached to tug her onto his lap, clasp the back of her head, and feast on those pale pink lips. Thrust deep until moans were ripped from her throat and she begged for more.
The woman was a mass of contradictions. Savvy busi-nesswoman. Bad-ass motorcycle rider. Sweet and domes-tic in her mama’s kitchen. When she had shrugged off her sweater during dinner, he had spotted a purple lace strap beneath that conservative T-shirt, and he’d gone hard in-stantly. Holy crap, the woman wore sexy underwear.
Somewhere, underneath all that proper restraint, lay a hidden temptress dying to escape. He bet she wore thongs.
Probably a matching violet. Would she be bare and shaven?
or hidden by a silky triangle of dark hair, trying to mask her secrets?
“Hello? earth to Sawyer?” She snapped and scowled in his direction. “Why do you have that weird look on your face?” The woman shifted and he caught a flash of cherry red toenails. Not clear gloss or conservative peach. Fire-engine red. yep, he was a complete goner.
“Just thinking.” He reached out and caught a section of her hair. It rippled and clung to his fingers like a lover.
Strands of fiery wine threaded through the brown and played a sexy game of peekaboo. “your hair is beautiful. So long and silky.” He loosened his grip and allowed the locks to drift softly back to their position. His fingers brushed her cheek. “And your skin is flawless. Golden and smooth. If I ran my tongue over you, would you taste like chocolate and coconut?”
Her breath hitched, but she never surrendered. “Here we go. Are my eyes like dark pools of desire, awaiting you to drown in them?”
Sawyer shook his head. Damn, she was sharp. “Not bad.
I was sticking with the chocolate reference, so I was going to go with cocoa.”
Her lip twitched. “overdone.”
“Maybe. I’ve been thinking about your br**sts a lot, too.”
“Hmm, let me try. Milky globes of flesh?”
“Awful, just awful. No, they’re high, firm, with long, sen-sitive ni**les that push against your bra. I’ve been dream-ing of the color, though. Pale pink like cotton candy? or ruby red like a delicious strawberry?” Her eyes dilated, and he took advantage by trailing his finger along the line of her lips, pressing against the pouty curve with his thumb. Like a doe caught in the middle of a grassy field, she held perfectly still and waited, as if sensing danger. “I imagine they’ll swell and tighten when I take them between my teeth. I’d enjoy biting your ni**les, Julietta. Sometimes the edge of pain blurs into pleasure and takes you higher. I’d like to explore that edge with you.”
“Stop—”
“Why?” He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in. His breath rushed over her moist mouth, and the blood rushed to his dick in cranky demand. “Hasn’t a man ever told you what he wants to do with you? Verbal foreplay is key in getting a woman ready. The brain is the greatest sexual tool, and many don’t use it to its potential.” His other hand dropped to her jeans-clad leg and stroked over her knee. “your legs were made to wrap around a man’s hips as he thrusts deep. Long and muscled, with those pretty red toenails. except I may ask you to keep on those high heels you love so much. I think I’d enjoy the sting of your heel in my thigh as you demand your pleasure.”