The Marriage Merger (23 page)

“Actually, do me a favor. Sit down for a minute. I’m in a pissy mood and don’t feel like being alone.”

The boy moved into the living area, sat on the silver cushions, and pushed away a fancy blue striped pillow.

Sawyer recognized the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the wrinkled shirt from twisting back and forth in the sheets, and the hollow cheeks. The boy finally spoke. “What’s up? I thought you had a good night.”

“I thought so, too.” A short silence fell. Usually he dis-liked anyone in his personal space, but Wolfe’s presence comforted him. “Had a nightmare. you get them?”

Wolfe shifted on the cushion. “yeah.” He paused.

“What was it about?”

Sawyer studied the boy on his couch and realized how similar to Danny he was. young. Strong. Mouthy. Smart as hell. But with his bare feet and his crazy hair, he seemed so damn vulnerable. So easy to . . . disappoint. Again. He cleared his throat. “Bad stuff. Getting beaten, trying to survive. you?”

Wolfe’s blue eyes turned flat. “Same.”

Sawyer reached for normal conversation, not wanting to torture the kid with a minefield of feelings he still tried to process. “I have to be at the site early in the morning.

Can you sort through the inventory records so I’m set for delivery?”

“yep.”

“Dinner was good, huh?”

“I liked the pasta. Better than any meal in some of those fancy restaurants you go to.”

“yeah, Mama Conte doesn’t fool around when it comes to a meal. How was your conversation?”

He ducked his head. “She was so nice to me.”

“She saved my ass when I was a little older than you.

She’s good people.”

“yeah.”

“The whole family is amazing. And have you tasted any of their desserts? Un-frikkin’-believable.”

“Does it ever go away?”

The question shot through the room like a cannon mis-fire. Sawyer quickly covered his surprise and gazed back at the boy. Lips tight, chin up, something wobbling in his eyes, a gleam of desperation for normalcy, a need to hear the words that it would all go away and he’d be happy for the rest of his life.

A connection fused between them. His chest tightened, and a soul-deep need to take away the boy’s pain blistered inside. God, he wanted to lie. But he knew truth was more important.

“No.” The devastation on Wolfe’s face choked him.

“But it gets better. I swear to you, there will be nights with no nightmares or memories. you’re able to handle more normal stuff. Work helps. Maybe therapy.”

Wolfe sneered. “Did that. No, thanks.”

“Depends on the shrink. Some are decent. I bailed, too.

But we can look around and try again.”

Wolfe nodded. “okay. At least you were honest.”

An image of his brother dead in an alleyway like a piece of garbage rose up and taunted him. Sawyer dragged in a breath. “I’ll always tell you the truth. And I’ll help in any way I can. Day by day. And I know I’m not the touchy-feely type either, but you can talk to me. About anything.”

Wolfe gave a jerky nod. Some of the muscles in his body loosened. “Thanks, Sawyer.”

Sawyer made a fast decision. The hell with it. There’d be no sleep for them anyway tonight. He stood up and motioned to Wolfe. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“My kind of therapy. The gym. Meet you back here in five. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Sawyer trudged to his room to change, preparing for a few rounds at the bag, some on the mat, and a vicious weight competition. His spirits lightened as he looked forward to a few hours of sweat, the blessed emptiness of mind and soul, and the company of a boy for whom he was beginning to deeply care. He grabbed his duffel and headed out.

Julietta studied the tilt of the painting and wondered how it had gotten knocked askew. Her skin prickled as her usual oCD grabbed hold. Carina had sent it to her as a gift, and the image calmed her each time she looked up. She’d decided to put it in her office rather than her home since she spent most of her time here, especially with the subject matter.

Her papa sat at the head of the carved pine table in their kitchen. Plates of food, baskets of bread, and wine bottles were scattered across the surface. A blur of shadows made up the members seated around him, their faces not visible but the target of her father’s stare. His hands clasped in front of him, dark eyes filled with a naked love as he looked at his family. Gray hair carefully combed back from his forehead, his face a mass of lines from both weari-ness and laughter, his long Italian nose dominating his features.

Their relationship had been different. She was defi-nitely Daddy’s girl, but it went deeper, a type of shared understanding between them that La Dolce Famiglia was the backbone of the family’s sweat, blood, and tears. The respect she had for him and the way he worked to make her mother’s dream a reality pushed her to consistently do better. For him. For her. For everyone.

Julietta loved looking at the painting when she was thinking over a business decision or when the employees left for the day and she stayed behind alone. As if Carina knew Julietta needed someone to look after her.

She wondered if Sawyer had ever had that experience in his life.

Julietta had stayed up all night analyzing every detail of their last encounter like a lovesick teen. The way he demanded she deal with him and her emotions. The way he never crumbled or became intimidated by her cool words, choosing instead to look beyond and find the truth. Her head said to stay away, but her body and heart cried out for more.

While she tossed and turned and waited for dawn, an odd truth finally revealed itself. She took many chances in her work world but had never taken one leap in her personal life. over and over she walked away from complica-tions or the threat of unrest in her safe little bubble. Now, all her siblings were happily married, starting families, and she was still alone.

Julietta drummed her nails against her desk and focused on her papa. Would he be proud of her? or would he have shaken his head in regret at her inability to take a leap? Though he’d frown on engaging in a sexual affair with no permanence, Julietta knew she had to follow it through.

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.

What had she said?

“We’re not sleeping together.” Her disappointed look at his lie made him throw his hands up in front of him.

“We’re not.”

“you were the other night.”

Jesus, this was so not happening. Time to man up and take control of the ridiculous conversation. “okay, yes, we were. We did. But now we are not.”

“Why did you stop?”

“This is really none of your business, Mama Conte.” He kept his words firm as if speaking to an unruly child. “We were together and then decided it was best we continue our relationship in a strictly business format.”

She spit into the air. “Bah, business. My daughter has been obsessed with her career since she was young. This was originally a good thing. It taught her goals, responsibility. She grew into a determined, independent woman we all admire. But she is losing her soul for the good of a profit.”

Sawyer stood up. Whoa, this was not the time or place to dissect Julietta’s life. Not with her mother. Not with the strange feelings he had for Julietta still bubbling up with nowhere to go. The hell with disrespect, he was getting out of here. “Umm, this is not my business. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but—”

“Sit down, Sawyer.”

Sawyer sat. Holy crap, was this what mothers did? Used some magic tone like a dom to make their children obey?

She closed her eyes, as if trying to draw strength from above.

When she opened them, a sliver of pure fear trickled down his spine. Mob bosses had nothing on this woman.