Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Merger

Her body softened on his lap, and all the signs of her arousal flared to life. It took every ounce of power in his being to accept her kiss on her terms, but when she finally lifted her mouth, the surprise in those dark eyes told him more than he’d learned about her so far.

oh, yeah, she was afraid. of him. of her reaction. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. But she didn’t know what to do with it, and there was a major blockage in the way of her physical reaction, as if she didn’t allow herself to ever slip over the edge of not being in control.

Another piece of the puzzle slid into place.

She drew back. Her tongue slid over her bottom lip and probably caught his taste, since her body gave a tiny little shudder. Sawyer realized that chaste kiss was sexier than an openmouthed, tongue-mingling mating, because it was the first time she’d given him something on her own.

He swore she’d be giving him a hell of a lot more.

“okay? Satisfied?”

“yes.”

She hesitated, as if not trusting him to give up so easily.

But she quickly pulled herself together, scrambled off his lap, and began packing up the bag. “We better go. It’ll be dark soon.”

He didn’t answer. They threw out the trash, walked to their bikes, and donned their gloves. “Thanks for letting me ride with you. I’ll express the page to your office and have my assistant come get it when you’re done.”

“Fine.” She tried to stuff her glorious hair back into the helmet, and Sawyer caught the tremble in her fingers. “I assume you’ll stick with your word and not bother me again in a—personal way?”

“No.”

Her head shot up. “What?”

He rocked back on his heels, enjoying the hell out of her. “I said if you didn’t respond to that kiss, on your terms, I’d leave you alone. But you did. you want me just as badly as I want you.”

Her mouth dropped open, then closed with a snap. She fisted her hands. “I didn’t respond! I told you I’m not interested in taking this relationship into the bedroom, and you need to respect that. Porca vacca, you are unbelievable!”

He grinned. “That kiss proved a lot of things, including your interest. Something’s holding you back though; I’m just not sure what it is. But your comment made a lot of sense to me. It’s not about having balls.”

“Huh?”

He gave a wink. “It’s about going the distance. Which I intend to go with you. See you Monday.”

He slid onto his bike, revved it up, and roared down the pathway, leaving her standing by the castle in the dying sun with a shocked look on her face.

Sawyer stared at the current shithole, which used to be his pristinely kept kitchen, and tamped down his impa-tience.

Again.

Soda spilled on the counter. A bag of chips open and growing stale by the hour. His gleaming stainless steel stove smeared with some type of dark liquid and spots of burnt cheese. His boots crunched on the white marble floors as he shoved the chips back in the cabinet, recycled the soda bottles, and dragged a sponge over the stove.

Didn’t parents usually count to ten when they were about to explode? okay, he liked his place clean, but he was a guy, and even this was tough. ever since the kid moved in, his already thinning patience stretched to epic proportions.

The original plan to stay at a hotel didn’t make sense. He’d be in Milan for a while and needed to oversee each part of the construction of Purity, so he decided to rent an apartment close to headquarters. Back in New york, his new apprentice stayed in an adjoining suite at a five-star hotel, so they both had privacy but remained close enough so Sawyer could play guardian. of course, the benefits of a hotel included constant maid and room service, so he rarely worried about the state the kid kept the room or if he was properly fed.

When he got to Milan, he decided to rent the luxurious loft and move the boy in with him. After all, he was too young to trust alone, though he acted like a twist of an old bitter man and a young biker gone bad. And the space was pretty damn big, which should have meant plenty of room for both of them.

Wrong.

Sawyer threw the sponge back in the sink and wondered for the billionth time if he was nuts for getting a kid he didn’t know off the streets of New york City moved in with him, and involved in his business. After all, he had enough on his list of things to do without including helping a homeless teen with a sarcastic wit who challenged him at every turn. Maybe it was the angry, lost look in his eyes that dragged Sawyer back to his past and made him want to prove someone could give a shit in this world. That maybe he could help and make a difference. God knew his foster brother Danny had never gotten that chance.

Sawyer only planned to assist Wolfe for a few weeks and get him on his feet. Instead, eight months rolled by, and Sawyer made no move to get rid of him. of course, the teen proved to be wicked smart and a big help in getting Purity off the ground. Before long, Sawyer decided to hire him as a permanent fixture as his assistant and see what happened.

If they didn’t kill each other first.

Sawyer made his way past the living room—decorated in simple masculine tones of beige and brown and currently strewn with dirty underwear, jeans, and socks—and followed the smell to the back room. Silence greeted him, but he knew the iPod earbuds were stuffed in Wolfe’s ears, so he’d hear nothing anyway. Instead of knocking, Sawyer pushed open the door.

A pair of surly blue eyes stared back in rebellion.

Sawyer ignored the look and tapped his ear in a demand for the kid to take the earbuds out. Vincent, now named Wolfe, shifted on the bed and muttered a curse. ripping the bud from his right ear, above which his hair was shaved, he glared. “What?”

“How about cleaning up your mess?”

A snort. “you got a cleaning lady, so why do you care?”

“She only comes once a week, and it already smells.

ever hear of a hamper?”

“you leave your stuff out.”

Sawyer refused to sigh; it was so cliché. “yeah, but not clothes that are breeding. I’m letting you crash here so you don’t have to pay for a room. The least you can do is buy food once in a while.”

Wolfe’s response was a long sigh. “Sure. Sorry.”

“Why don’t you get out of this place for a while? Take a walk. Shop. Do something.”

The kid looked at him as if he’d won the dummy award of the year. The gold hoop in his brow and in his ear winked in mockery. Why did Sawyer suddenly feel like shuffling his feet? How could a nineteen-year-old boy intimidate the crap out of him? He reminded himself to be patient.

Patience and understanding would eventually allow him to win. The kid had been through a lot, and he was supposed to be helping. “Why? So I can wear those ridiculous clothes you bought me and parade myself around like I’m some kind of designer toy? or sip espresso and pretend I’ve got my shit together to score a supermodel? No, thanks. I’ll stay here.”

Sawyer glanced at his regular uniform that rarely changed. Faded jeans with a hole in the knee. Battered black boots. White T-shirt. The matching leather bomber jacket completed the look of bad-ass, young Johnny Depp wannabe in the current century. Not that he cared what the kid wore, as long as he cleaned it up a bit for the office. He tried to change the subject. “you don’t have to wear the clothes if you don’t like them. I thought you’d enjoy getting out to explore. your Italian is amazing—you picked it up faster than I ever did.”

“It’s a sissy language.”

Sawyer bit back a laugh. The kid was a pisser. “Fine. Stay here, but don’t steal my last bottles of Peretti—you’re still underage. And don’t use my house as a base to get women.

Did you contact the sales team for me on those issues I pointed out?”

“yeah, it’s done.”

“Thanks, Vincent.”

The name slipped from his lips before he remembered. Hot blue eyes narrowed with rage, and the boy’s fists clenched. Sawyer stood still, as the kid battled with his inner demons. Demons Sawyer knew way too much about.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” the kid hissed. “ever. My name is Wolfe.”

He threw his hands up. “Sorry. Still getting used to it.”

Sawyer turned on his heel and left the boy alone. Shit, talking to him was like crossing a viper pit. one wrong step and you lost a fucking leg. He must have been crazy to think he could make some sort of difference. even worse, he’d had a big enough ego to drag the kid from New york all the way to Italy to show him the business. They shared no blood. Didn’t owe him a thing. And the kid—Wolfe, as of now—had stolen from him, then spit in his face when he threatened his ass with jail time.

The legal court records stated his name was Vincent Soldano. Three months ago, the boy told him he would no longer answer to the name and requested to be called Wolfe.

The significance of his appeal burned deep and stirred bad memories that Sawyer still battled. Hell, he’d done the same exact thing. remade himself and taken a new name in an attempt to start fresh. Creating a new identity helped him let the old crap go. Still, he occasionally slipped and the old name Vincent escaped. He needed to try harder to remember.

A half smile tugged at his lips. But damn Wolfe had fire in the pit of his belly. Sawyer realized immediately fire like that took a person one of two ways: toward a life of crime where a sharp brain and some decent skills could score money to deaden enough of the pain. or to the high road.