Brash for brash, he should’ve won. But Julietta had been racing for years, knew the streets like an old lover, and excelled at weaving in and out through obstacles in the bustling city. She eventually took the lead and held it tight, pushing the limit of speed and agility as the rush burned through her and took command.
When she finally reached the castle, she was a few beats ahead. The towering stone ruins dominated the view, but the quiet park behind the structure was her main focus. She cut off the bike, unfastened her helmet, and waited for him to cut his engine.
Sawyer slid off the now-quiet bike. She waited for his response and prepped for a cutting remark. or a joke. or an excuse.
But he didn’t speak. Just grabbed her saddlebag with their lunch and allowed her to lead him through the cobbled pathways to an open area. The ground was still cold, so they settled for the carved benches scattered amidst the towering trees and picked a spot where the Castello was perfectly positioned for study.
She loved riding along the road where the stunning clock tower thrust into the sky, surrounded by a mass of carved stone. A massive water fountain welcomed visitors in, the multiple streams of water spitting out in the marble circle and catching the last rays of light. The cobbled paths wound in an intricate pattern where tourists could stroll, shop, or grab a quick bite from a market vendor. Being close to such antique beauty reminded her that life was long and many things didn’t last, but the things that mattered would.
Sawyer remained silent, as if he too was under the spell of a good ride. He unwrapped their sandwiches, and they shared the food: hard, crusty bread; fat, salty olives; and the delicious small salami strolghino di culatello, paired with creamy sheep’s milk Gorgonzola blue cheese. The scone with strawberry butter added a bit of sweetness to complete the meal.
Her shoulders relaxed even more and she ate in perfect solitude, looking out at the view. Her mind was finally blank, as if she had just departed from the ashrams of India after a weeklong meditation.
“Hell of a bike for a hell of a rider. Mind sharing how you learned to handle that thing, let alone know what it can do?”
Pride etched her face. “My brother, Michael, raced cars on the circuit. His love of good and fast machinery extended to motorcycles, and I got hooked. He was kind enough not to tell me good girls don’t ride bad bikes, and he taught me everything he knew.”
Sawyer shook his head and took a long slug of water.
“Nice. Most women overcompensate for their lack of brute strength. But you used it to your advantage. It was like watching a poetry slam. Heat and beauty and grace at top speed. What’s the best bike you ever owned?”
“I still have it. The classic Moto Morini three and a half Vintage.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
She leaned forward. “yes way. Bright red, classic lines, and if you ever heard the motor, you’d swear you were dreaming. Took years to restore, and people are begging to buy it all the time.” Julietta pursed her lips. “Like I’d sell to anyone who wouldn’t ride it. That would be a tragedy.”
His gaze dropped and rested on her mouth. Her next breath came at a struggle, but she dug her nails into her palm to ground herself. This man was dangerous, and she refused to mix business with pleasure. even though he had a love and respect for bikes.
“I agree. Beautiful things that are underused is a crime.”
The double innuendo stole her sanity and immediately her nipples peaked to attention. He leaned forward and lifted his hand. Slowly, he closed the distance, obviously reaching out to touch her. Mesmerized by the hunter he was, she took a few seconds to react to his intentions.
“Don’t.” She jerked her chin away. “I thought we agreed to stick to business.”
He lifted his palm up. “Sorry. you have a smear of butter on your cheek. I was just going to wipe it off.”
She ducked her head to hide the faint blush and grabbed a napkin. Again, that distant amusement emanated from his aura. Like he cared. But didn’t. Like he was above all the messiness of emotion and drama, and she was the current plaything. “What was the issue with the contract?”
“Section B, clause three. you forgot to initial.”
She stared at him. “you hunted me down, bullied me into a bike ride, and it was about my signature? our law-yers could have handled the issue in a second.”
“I like to use a hands-on approach. In all aspects.”
Julietta snorted. “Where do you come up with this stuff? It’s like a landmine of a conversation with you, all roads leading to sex.”
That got him. He lifted his brow and shifted his weight on the bench. “Is there something wrong with sex?”
She couldn’t help it. The dare was all over his face, and his desire to play her for a fool using business as an excuse burned within. Julietta moved in slowly and stopped inches from his mouth. His breath caught, then the sweet rush of air from him released over her lips, smelling of mint and sugar and sin. Her tongue slid out to lick her lower lip, and a tiny groan escaped him. Her hand rested on the hard muscle of his thigh and squeezed. “Nothing wrong with sex.
When the situation calls for it.”
His voice dragged like the scrape of gravel. “How about this situation?”
A husky laugh escaped her. “Not gonna happen when we’re working together.”
“you didn’t initial. Technically, the contract is void.”
She caressed upward over the sweep of denim, hit his belt buckle, and slipped her hand under the leather jacket.
This was now fun. Teasing a man and walking away was a game she rarely played, but he needed a lesson. Washboard abs tightened under her touch, and those amber eyes dark-ened. “Still not gonna happen.”
“Care to tell me why?”
She grinned with pure satisfaction, seduction, and a hint of tart. “The one with the biggest balls doesn’t always win, Sawyer Wells.”
He muttered a curse. “So who does?”
Julietta pursed her lips. “The one who can go the distance.”
Satisfaction poured through her. How was that for an innuendo? Heady with getting the last word, she began to pull back out of the danger zone.
Too late.
He moved so fast she never had a chance. With a strength that amazed her, he lifted her off the bench and onto his lap, holding her arms tight at her sides so she was a bit off balance. Her struggle was instinctual but quickly faded under his calm, implacable demeanor.
She had made a fatal mistake.
And now she was gonna pay.
…
The woman was driving him mad.
He was uncomfortably hard, his erection tortur-ing the hard denim and roaring for freedom. The wind caught her scent—full of leather and musk and cocoa— and drenched his nostrils, wrecking his brain and his dick in one effective swoop. Her body was trim yet full, from the curves of her breasts to the lush swell of her rear, now firmly cushioned in the notch of his thighs. Her face reflected the uncertainty of her position and a slight regret at pushing him too far. Good. At least the woman sensed his need to dominate and take. A crazy lust swirled through his system from the mind-blowing twist of hidden sensuality, cool snarkiness, and razor wit of the woman on his lap.
He had almost hit the floor when he pulled up on his bike and caught sight of her. Dressed in bad-ass black leather with thigh-high boots and her hair stuffed up in a red helmet, she was droolworthy. He didn’t know any woman who rode a bike, let alone appreciated them. The way she bore down in their race showed the hard-core spirit of a woman who enjoyed winning, and her ability to pick through every obstacle in front of her without slowing almost made him have an embarrassing situation.