Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Merger

Sawyer snorted. “I studied boxing for years. It’s more than just punching a lousy bag. It’s about balance, flexibility, controlled power.” He remembered sparring in that hole of a gym. He did the shittiest jobs so the men would keep him around. Cleaning bathrooms, washing disgusting towels, taking punches as a sparring partner, all in the hope of a few hours of staying in a place that made him feel safe.

Practicing for hours in order to make sure he survived on the streets. “I’ll teach you.”

The kid’s head swung around. Suspicion gleamed from his eyes. “Why?”

Because he needed something to help him empty out the pain. Because he had to start living and stop just existing. Because Sawyer didn’t know what else to do to reach him.

He shrugged. “Because I get bored by myself. I’m here by five a.m., then I go back to shower and change for work.”

“Five fucking a.m.?”

“you like your beauty sleep, huh? No wonder you’re a bit soft.”

The snarl was back, but this time it came with a spark.

“you wish. Fine. I’ll join you, but just because you need a challenge, old man.”

Sawyer grinned and tamped down the impulse to squeeze the boy’s shoulder. He’d learned a few months ago touching was off-limits to the kid. “Welcome to the Jungle”

pounded through the room. Sawyer threw the bottle across the room and made a perfect dunk shot into the garbage.

“Let’s get back to work.”

They left the gym together.

Julietta stared out the window and looked at the gray, misty scene before her. Motorbikes whipped in and out of the roadways and fought with the crowds. Almost lunch-time. Many people held cups of cappuccino in hand, smok-ing furiously and ducking their heads from the drizzle of rain. The Duomo rose in the distance, and for a moment, she wished she were one of her younger sisters. Venezia would bound toward the elaborate shopping galleries and get lost in Prada, Armani, and Dolce & Gabbana. Carina would take a stroll on the uneven pavements, nibbling on a buttery pastry and enjoying the scene before her, rain and all.

She bit back a sigh and glanced at the massive stack of papers on her desk. Not her. She’d eat again in her office, soothe some cranky egos from the board since allowing Wolfe to be her liaison in the project, and crunch numbers.

The advertising plan needed to be nailed down soon in order to prepare for a quick opening. Sales were down in Firenze for some strange reason, and she needed a conference call with the chef.

She pressed her palm flat against the cool pane of glass and thought again of the other offer before her.

one night with Sawyer.

It had been nearly a week since their encounter. Five full days of no close interaction—just a glance from the end of a conference table. Five days since he touched her and kissed her and boldly propositioned her with sex. Her rational mind raged at his crudity and obvious dismissal of the polite rules of society and work.

The other part of her relished the dark freedom.

She turned from the window and adjusted the few frames on her desk that kept getting misaligned. What was wrong with her lately? Usually work satisfied every aspect in her life. During yesterday’s meeting, she found her gaze attached to Sawyer. especially the tight ass muscles his custom Calvin Klein suit enhanced. And damned if he hadn’t turned around and given her that dirty little smile. Like he knew what she was thinking. Imagining. Fantasizing about.

And what he refused to give her until she agreed to his ridiculous terms.

So embarrassing.

She told herself over and over he played a game of ego and ruthlessness. Why did he want to give her an orgasm so badly? Why did he care? And yet . . . the lure of one night with him taunted her sanity. Maybe if she gave him the opportunity, everything would go back to normal? Couldn’t it be a win/win for her?

She paced back and forth and analyzed the details.

Maybe there was room for negotiation. He’d do his best to give her physical pleasure, and if she couldn’t . . . well, climax . . . she’d have full control over the bakery’s terms in Purity.

Asset number one.

Sure, it could be a bit awkward, but she’d already warned him about her inability to relax, and a few hours of being uncomfortable would be worth the reward. Her mind sliced through the options and switched to devil’s advocate.

What if she did have an orgasm?

Her belly dipped at the tantalizing image of pleasure.

Well, that would be great, right? Maybe she’d finally get her head back in the game of business. After all, couldn’t one orgasm last her a long time? Kind of like inventory.

Her body would be more loose, she’d have the satisfaction she was normal, and she’d move on. yes, he’d still retain full rights of final approval. Unless . . .

What if she raised the stakes? Made it more difficult for him to achieve his goal?

After all, if he was able to rise to the new terms, she’d deserve to lose. Her gut said it’d be an impossible task for him to accomplish. even if he managed to get her to slide over the cliff once, he’d never, ever make her come twice.

right?

She tapped her fingernail against her bottom lip and scanned all possibilities. Could she get him to agree? yes, challenging his ego and giving him an unreachable goal would call to his sense of dominance. A shiver raced down her spine. And she knew he’d be dominant in private. Just the way he’d restrained her wrists and gotten that gleam of lust in his eyes made her wet. She sensed he’d go for the new terms and lose. Maybe she’d get one orgasm and score the contract also.

Win/win.

As if her thoughts conjured him up, her secretary buzzed her. “Mr. Wells is here to see you. Can I send him in?”

Julietta tamped down the girly impulse to check her hair and makeup, though she hardly wore any, and cleared her throat. “yes, please.”

She didn’t have a magic door, so she settled back in her burgundy leather chair, straightened herself to full height, and pretended to be engaged in her folders. He entered silently, as if he practiced burglary in his spare time, and the only way she knew he was in front of her was the pull of his body heat and the delicious smell of spice he carried on his skin. She lifted her head, a polite smile on her face, and froze.

He was so gorgeous. Would she ever get used to that face?

His smoke-gray cashmere coat set off a red plaid scarf and the golden halo of his wavy hair. His tall, lean length held a restrained strength she found both appealing and intimidating. As if he didn’t need to show off for anyone because he possessed the real thing. The slash of his scar only emphasized the graceful lines of his face, reminding her that underneath his civilized, graceful veneer, something savage lurked. Her throat grew dry as she tried to find some spit and found it had disappeared. Without missing a beat, Sawyer crossed the room, propped two hands on her sprawl-ing mahogany desk, and leaned in. Butterscotch eyes delved straight into hers without hesitation or apology. As if he’d been patiently waiting for her answer and was now done.

“Well?”

Some weird noise squeaked from her throat. She dropped the folders she was holding and rallied. “Well, what?”

His lip quirked. “Have you approved the final layout?

The builders need to set up the proper space for equipment for the pedestrian store.”

Disappointment tweaked at his focus on business.

Stupid to believe he’d come here for something else. She shook off her thoughts and squinted in consideration. “I prefer the right corner. Studies have proven that locations in lobbies propel more impulse buys.”

“Not in this case. La Dolce Maggie owns the same spot in the Venetian and sales are rocketing.”

“This isn’t America,” she retorted. “Milano is a hard city to conquer, especially with a hotel with American in-fluences. you may get the tourists, but pastry buyers prefer a window shop on the right.”

His teeth flashed from the wolfish grin. “Perhaps. But I already have a use for that prime space. you can make it up in other ways—you don’t have to rely on passersby for main profits any longer.”

Irritation pricked her nerves. “An interesting but com-pletely inane opinion.”

one golden brow arched. “Inane, huh?”

She smoothly continued. “The impulse buyer hap-pens to bring a high level of profit we don’t want to lose.

especially since, as you Americans like to say, we have our eggs in one basket.”

“But it’s a hell of a basket.”

The wicked curl of seduction tipped his words. She ignored it, but her heart pounded anyway. “Perhaps. Though a bit small.”

His bark of laughter startled her. Julietta fought a flush of pleasure at her ability to make him laugh. He drew his hands back and slowly unknotted his scarf. Slid off his coat and hung it neatly on the back of the chair. Why did this basic stripping of outer clothes affect her like this? As if she was in his private bedroom waiting for the finale. Her gaze probed his clothes as she wondered what type of body he sported beneath the thin fabric. His muscles seemed tight in all the right places. When he’d pinned her against the wall, everything felt rock hard and powerful.

“Now that was an interesting thought,” he murmured.

This time, she blushed. Hurriedly ducking her head, she pretended to neaten the pile of papers before swiveling the chair around. The massive desk hid most of her body and gave her a layer of protection she badly needed. “So, can we adjust our original location?”