“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.