Julietta didn’t read it over. She folded both papers into four quarters and placed one under her mattress. Then she trudged to the kitchen. Whipped out a stainless steel bowl, grabbed a match from the drawer, and lit the paper.
The edges blackened and curled. She fanned her smoke detector and watched the list disappear. Her lips formed the silly chant to earth Mother, and her cheeks burned in humiliation at the act. She was going to kill her sister for making her an idiot, but at least she’d kept her vow. A few deep breaths and nothing was left in the bowl except for scattered ashes.
An odd sense of doom came over her. Her heart skit-tered. Why had she written such a list? She should’ve stuck to clear, cold qualities in a mate rather than the stark need pulsing from every word on that paper.
Didn’t matter. No one would know or suspect. And since earth Mother wasn’t talking, Julietta was safe.
She grabbed her phone, punched the power button, and hammered out her message.
It’s done. Now leave me alone.
A second passed. A smiley face popped up on the screen.
Thank goodness. Now she’d get back to her life and put the whole episode behind her.
Julietta ignored the emptiness that clenched her gut, and she pumped up the volume on the television to break the silence.
Julietta adjusted the knot in her sage green scarf, smoothed down her skirt, and opened the gilded double doors. She walked to the receptionist’s desk, where a matronly woman took her name and told her to have a seat. Hmm, surprising.
She’d expected a young starlet in killer heels who rocked her boss’s world at lunchtime. Shame on her for assuming.
Perhaps Sawyer Wells would be a pleasant surprise.
She shrugged out of her lime green trench coat and settled her briefcase on the floor. The ringing of phones drifted in the air as she took in the lush corporate surroundings of Wells enterprises. The giant logo of a scripted [email protected] hung in polished brass on the front wall, and the reception area had comfortable leather chairs and royal blue carpet. The massive main desk was of glass and boasted a variety of high-tech equipment along with assorted drawers and com-partments for organization.
Julietta had done her homework, but it hadn’t given her much. A quick call placed to her brother-in-law Max informed her Sawyer was a friend of his, true to his word, with razor-sharp business skills. His name was well-known in the hotel industry where luxury hotels courted him to run their establishments for certain lengths of time. Sawyer stepped in, turned the businesses around, and gracefully removed himself without another word. His main head-quarters was housed in New york, but ten months ago a brand-new satellite office appeared in Milan. Uneasiness rumbled through the business industry as rumors exploded.
She bet even the famous Hotel Principe di Savoia kept a close eye on the man. His record was impeccable, and he possessed the golden touch to change a crumbling resort into a treasure trove.
The mysterious phone call had taken her completely off guard. Why would the biggest hotel connoisseur request a meeting with her at nine-thirty on a Monday morning?
She’d tried to gain further information, but a curt voice had informed her there would only be only one opportunity to meet with Sawyer, and he’d explain the terms of the meeting in person.
Julietta despised secrets and business cloaked in mys-tery. She had agreed to the meeting, but had immediately begun digging. Funny that such a powerful man who traveled the world bailing out expensive hotels seemed to have no past. Almost as if he’d been a ghost until his mid-twenties. The last decade showed his steady rise in power, and other than the gleeful press regarding his colorful love life, nothing else interested her. An endless line of women was expected when it came to rich businessmen. She couldn’t care less who he slept with or when. She only cared about what he wanted with her company. Unfortunately, Max had only advised her to take the meeting, vowing he knew nothing about his friend’s intentions.
“you may go in now, Ms. Conte.”
Julietta smiled and grabbed her Pineider briefcase. She was led down a short hallway to a heavily carved cherry-wood door. She reached for the knob, but the door swung open without a sound. A shiver raced down her spine, and she hesitated. odd—she felt that if she crossed the threshold, her life would never be the same. Almost like being invited into a haunted house by the owner, who craved your soul.
“Come in.”
The husky drawl whispered against her ears. She took the necessary three steps in. The door swung closed sound-lessly behind her.
Her hands clenched around her briefcase. What was wrong with her? Usually she dominated a meeting from the first moment, but she stood rooted to the floor staring across the room at one of the most powerfully sexual men she’d ever seen in her life.
No wonder his receptionist was a grandmotherly type.
There wasn’t a woman alive who could work for him without getting tongue-tied and stumbling over herself in an effort to please him. His inner sanctum was decorated in dark wood, wine reds, and rich gold trims. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves took up the wall behind him with endless leather spines amidst odd figures and sculptures in vari-ous materials. Smooth marble, gleaming silver, twisted copper. The left wall was painted red and displayed an assortment of art with an erotic flavor. She longed to study the artwork closer but tucked that information to the back of her mind for future reference. His sprawling cherry desk took up half the room in an effort to intimi-date. His chair must have been elevated for a dominating visual impression, because there was no way a man could be that tall. Perched on his red leather throne, he studied her with an assessing air that stripped her of niceties and social barriers, somehow leaving her bare. exposed. And a bit vulnerable.
His wavy blond hair held so many shades of color, the light danced and played on the strands as if lighting up a halo. That halo brushed his shoulders and tempted a woman to twist her fingers in its length as he ravaged her.
She catalogued his features in an itemized list: Gracefully curved brows. High, defined cheekbones. Strong chin with a bit of a cleft. An angel or God himself must have given him those eyes, because they seemed almost pure gold, splinter-ing radiance and piercing past the surface straight to the core. As stunning as hidden treasure, those eyes saw things no woman wanted revealed. Julietta bet most females had little choice in the matter. This man took what he wanted and how he wanted without apology.
Then the angels shot screaming up to heaven and aban-doned him to hell.
His mouth was a carved, sensual feast with a wicked sneer that spoke of hot sex and no rules. A brutal scar took up the right side of his face, hooking from brow to chin. The line was clean. She imagined the slice of blade as it tore open skin, and she tried not to show any sympathy. This man didn’t need it.
The hard twist of good and bad played to women like the Pied Piper. A cold awareness rippled her nerve endings.
Good thing men didn’t affect her. She’d be burnt toast before they even negotiated on whatever the damn meeting was about. Julietta straightened her shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “Good morning, Mr. Wells. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She closed the distance between them and stuck out her hand. He stood and grasped her hand in his. The hand-shake was impersonal while being too intimate. His skin was warm and rough to the touch, and he engulfed her hand as if claiming her body on his own terms.
Startled at her bizarre thoughts, she withdrew first and didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath. Those gorgeous lips curved upward in a half smile. She didn’t know if he was amused or pleased. either way pissed her off. Julietta immediately sensed the man was accustomed to winning.
Comfortable in his own skin. And entertained by mankind, as if humans on a stage put on a show in which he refused to partake. Hmm. She needed to go on the offense quickly.
Defense would bore him to tears and get her nowhere.
Julietta took a seat, crossed her legs, and settled back in the chair with a relaxed sense of camaraderie she didn’t feel.
“I see you like games.”
He cocked his head. The flare of surprise soothed her temper. “Depends on the game.”
She offered a cool smile. “Chess.” She pointed to the beautifully carved figures of a king and queen flanking a shelf of impressive leather books. The carved ivory and ebony pieces held exquisite detail and bespoke a man interested in mental challenges. “They’re quite beautiful.”
Sawyer rested his elbows on the polished surface and steepled his fingers. She refused to cower under his stare that threatened to shred the surface. When he finally spoke, his deep voice cloaked and stroked dark places she didn’t realize she owned. “Do you play?”
“No.”
“Why?”
She spoke in a clipped voice. “Games don’t interest me.
I prefer a straightforward exchange of information for mu-tual benefit.”
He quirked a golden brow. “yet you are the Ceo of a powerful company. Surely you must acknowledge there must always be a winner and a loser.”
Ah, yes, he loved to spar. A deep satisfaction hummed through her. How rare to be able to match wits with a man who was completely unafraid. Most cowered under her chilly words or blustered like idiots to get a point across. No, she preferred a subtle wit as fine and sharp as a samurai’s sword. She danced just out of his reach with her answer. “If you do your job well enough, your opponent won’t even realize he’s lost.”
“I disagree. If your opponent is worthy, he will always face the truth that one party tops another. The queen must be stolen in order to win all.”
She clicked open her briefcase as if bored now by the turn of conversation. The ruffle of papers cut through the pulsing silence, and she realized her palms were damp.
How odd. Not nerves. Something else she couldn’t quite pin down. “Queens may be sacrificed. She’s the power player, but it all rests on the king. With a smart enough backup plan, the queen doesn’t have to destroy the entire board.”
His eyes darkened. oh, yeah, no way could a woman work for this man. He should be the poster board image of what to avoid in teenage pregnancy. The balance between light and dark was just enough to tempt a female to jump over the edge of reason, no matter how hard the recovery from the fall. Fortunately, Julietta despised heights and avoided them at all costs. “I thought you didn’t play chess,”
he murmured.
“I don’t.” She raised her chin. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t study the rules. Just in case.”
His low laugh slid through the room and stroked between her legs. She acknowledged her body’s physical reaction even as her mind remained detached. “you are a fascinating woman, Julietta Conte.” His tongue rolled over her name and gave it a whole new meaning. Normally she cringed in the boardroom at the mention of her birth name.
Too many men used romance and intimacy to demean women in business. But Sawyer combined respect with a leashed sensuality, keeping her off-balance. “I’m glad I followed my instincts to give you the first opportunity to work for me.”
She closed her briefcase and settled it back on the floor, then thumbed through the file in a deliberate power play.
“While I appreciate being first in line, I would have preferred knowing the details of the offer. I do hate wasting my morning on a deal not worthy of my time. I’m sure you understand, Mr. Wells.”
“Sawyer.” He rested his chin on his fingers. “After all, I already met most of your family. Am good friends with your brother-in-law. The least we can do is be on a first-name basis.”
“Fine.”
“Say it.”
She looked up. “excuse me?”
An odd tension stretched between them, as if a pre-liminary game was being played, and she didn’t know the stakes. “My name,” he instructed softly. “Say it.”
Julietta blinked. Warmth flooded her body and made her skin itch. Her tummy dropped, then settled. She didn’t want to and opened her mouth to gloss over the whole weird exchange, but found herself responding to his command. “Sawyer.”
His name stumbled across her lips and she cursed herself for the move. Satisfaction and something deeper flickered over his face, but he only nodded in approval. “Thank you.”
She cleared her throat and refocused on the file. “Now that we’re properly acquainted, I’d appreciate moving forward. It seems your reputation precedes you.”
“In a good way, I hope,” he drawled.
“Mostly.”
Another short laugh. “you are quite different from any-one else in your family.”
She ignored the throbbing wound and managed a tight smile. “In a good way I hope.”
He frowned and leaned a bit closer. “Did that comment bother you? I only meant your focus proved an asset for Michael. your sisters weren’t meant to take over the family business. everyone is lucky to have you.”
The wound softened to a slight bruise. Why did he seem so concerned about upsetting her? As if he held the ability to poke at her secret insecurities without the drive to expose and hurt? As if he just wanted to
know
.
“of course I’m not bothered. I consider myself lucky to run La Dolce Famiglia. I don’t think I realized you had met most of my family.”
The harsh lines of his face softened into affection. “Max and I ran in the same circles and we became close. He’s told me about Venezia, and I was lucky enough to meet Carina in Vegas last year. I attended their wedding.”
The memory of her sister’s quick nuptials flickered past.
She hadn’t had the time to fly in and had always regret-ted not being there. Mama was the only one in the family able to witness the exchange, but the idea of Sawyer seeing such an intimate ceremony bothered her. “Interesting,” she murmured. “And my mother?”
All expression smoothed out to a blank canvas. “I had the pleasure of meeting your mother many years ago. I respect her greatly.”
There was a story behind his words, but she figured he was a master at secrets. Julietta motioned to the manila folder in her lap. “It seems you have the advantage. My research began when you started taking over hotels and transforming them into profitable entities. There’s no mention of family, birthplace, or anything else. Almost as if your life before twenty-three never existed.”