by Sybil Bartel
The first rays of a promise of a new day broke past the ocean’s border and a kaleidoscope of orange, yellow, red and pink burst from the horizon.
I didn’t realize I’d dropped to the floor and pulled my legs up, hugging them to my chest.
I didn’t know I was falling apart as the sky exploded with beauty.
Tears dripped down my cheeks as two large, bare feet appeared a second before a billionaire bodyguard sat down next to me.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper-cried.
His arms resting on his knees, his head turned toward me, he stared into my eyes like he knew every fear and regret that was eating me alive.
I wanted to lean into him. I wanted to run away. I wanted his arms around me, and I wanted to forget I’d ever laid eyes on him.
But when he spoke…
“You’re beautiful.”
I wanted my heart back.
THE SUNRISE LIT UP HER hair and face. Looking lost and vulnerable, she all at once crushed me and took my breath away.
It was the only excuse I had for dropping my guard and telling her she was beautiful.
But I couldn’t let it go any further.
Forcing myself to look away from her tears and the raw need in her eyes, I stared at the ocean. “Are you in pain?”
“No.”
“Why are you sitting on the floor?” I’d never sat on the floor in the penthouse just to sit. Push-ups, sit-ups—yes. Sitting like this? No.
“I was trying to feel grounded.”
Her voice, quiet and sad, made me glance back at her.
She turned away. “Your compliment just ruined that.”
I wouldn’t apologize. “I’m not going to lie to you.”
“Aren’t you?” she accused, bringing her gorgeous eyes back to me. “I’m here. Isn’t that lie enough?”
“How is protecting you a lie?”
She turned back to the sunrise again. “I don’t belong here.”
“You’re right.” I kept my word. I didn’t lie to her.
Her gaze snapped to mine.
“But not for the reasons you think,” I explained.
“And what reasons do you think I’m thinking?” she challenged.
“I know you grew up in the foster system, and I’m a Savatier. That makes you uncomfortable.” I’d seen her expression when she first walked into my penthouse.
She let out a half laugh, half snort. “Don’t mince words, say what you mean, why don’t you?”
“You don’t belong here because you’re married.” I waited a beat, but she didn’t comment or look at me. I laid out the rest of it. “And what I’m feeling, I shouldn’t be feeling for a married woman. It has nothing to do with where you came from.” I didn’t give a shit what her last name was or that she grew up without privilege. I’d watched my father cheat on my mother every chance he got over the years, and I’d sworn to myself I would never end up like him.
She didn’t say a word.
Tired, guilt-ridden, frustrated, I stood. “Get some sleep, Genevieve.” God knew the painkiller I gave her should’ve knocked her out by now. I turned toward my bedroom.
Her voice, small and vulnerable, hit me square in my chest. “I can’t sleep.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them, their guns….” She trailed off.
I told myself not to.
I told myself to walk away.
But I hadn’t made one smart decision since I’d poured her a whiskey.
I walked back and scooped her up. Folded like a child, her knees fell over my arm and her hands entwined around my neck. I took the first full breath since I’d stepped into my penthouse. Carrying her to my bedroom, laying her on my bed, I told myself this didn’t make me a shit person like my father.
When I crawled in behind her, gently slid my arm under her head and brought her back to my chest, I told myself it was for her comfort.
When she let out a long breath, I justified my actions as the right decision.
“Go to sleep, Genevieve.” It took everything I had not to touch my lips to her skin. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Including myself.
“You already did,” she whispered.
She was right, and I knew it, but it still cut like a knife. “I’m sorry.”
“The carjacking wasn’t your fault,” she said, even quieter.
The entire night was my fault. “Close your eyes,” I ordered, putting just enough force into my tone.
“Okay,” she breathed, submitting to my command.
Ignoring the desire pounding through my veins, I catalogued the feel of my arm around her waist, the swell of her hips covered in my bedding, and the rise and fall of her breathing as I watched the clock on the nightstand.
Then I allowed myself five minutes just to feel.
She was beyond anything I’d ever expected. She smelled like hospital, antiseptic and my T-shirt, but she also smelled like woman. Not cloying perfume, but purity. Sunrises, red hair, green eyes, ivory skin, she smelled like she belonged to someone else, and nothing I’d ever wanted. She smelled like everything a Savatier wasn’t, and I wanted to sink inside her.
But she’d lied to me.
My five minutes up, I forced myself to close my eyes.
As if she knew the exact moment I did, she whispered into the dark, “Goodnight, Sawyer.”
I inhaled everything that was her. “Goodnight, Genevieve.”
MY MUSCLES STIFF, MY BODY sore, my skin too hot, I opened my eyes.
Groggy, as if a haze had descended over me, I fought to focus my eyes, but when I did…
Holy shit.
My head on his shoulder, my arm across his six… oh God, eight-pack, and my leg embarrassingly thrown across his thigh. Late afternoon light filtered in from where the curtains didn’t meet all the way and highlighted every hard angle and ripped muscle on his body.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked, jerking back.
“Don’t be.” His arm under me, his hand around my waist, he tightened his grip. “Stay.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I tried not to look, I did, but I couldn’t help myself. His impossibly long, impossibly huge hard length, barely concealed in his workout shorts, rested mere inches from my leg over his thigh.
One hand under his head, his biceps bulging out of his T-shirt, his eyes closed, a five o’clock shadow dusting his face—he wasn’t handsome. He was a god. A gorgeous, blond-haired, blue-eyed, so out of my league god.
His hand coasted over my hip. “How did you sleep?”
Like the dead. “Good.”
He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Your head?”
Not pounding nearly as much as my heart. “It’s okay.”
His stare as intense as it always was, but somehow different, he rolled to face me. Lifting his free hand, he brushed my hair off my shoulder, then ghosted a finger across the back of my neck. “May I?”
May he what? Touch me? My neck? My staples? My hair? My body? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I bit my lip and nodded.
“Roll over,” he commanded, using a tone that made my insides liquefy and my mind go blank.
Closing my eyes, not knowing if I was more afraid or turned on, I did exactly as he told me.
His gentle touch swept across my back as he pushed my hair out of the way. Then a single finger barely coasted over where my skin felt pinched. “How bad does it hurt?”
Not nearly as bad as the ache between my legs or the crushing feeling in my chest. “I’m okay.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It doesn’t feel good,” I admitted.
He let out an exhale. “After I feed you, I’ll give you another pain pill.”
I didn’t want another pain pill. They made me feel sad and out of sorts and groggy in a way that didn’t make me feel safe—not while I was around him. Because despite what my traitorous body was saying, that I needed to climb on top of him and force myself on him until he kiss
ed me senseless, he was right about one very important fact—I was still married, and Sawyer Savatier was better than that. He didn’t deserve a woman too pathetic to cut ties with an almost ex-husband who’d never wanted her. He didn’t deserve a woman who couldn’t make it on her own, emotionally or financially.
Sawyer Savatier wasn’t only the heir to a multibillion-dollar real estate empire, he was a war hero. He deserved more than someone like me.
Regretfully, I moved away from his touch. “It’s okay. I don’t need one.”
As if knowing my emotions were spiraling, his hand landed on my arm. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t and still say what I had to say. “I need to go. If I can’t go home, I’ll find an out-of-the-way hotel.” And hide. Forever.
His thumb that had been caressing my arm stilled. “Why?”
“You were right,” I admitted. “I shouldn’t be here.”
He dropped his hand and his voice turned instantly formal. “My apologies.”
Regret swelled, and I fought stupid tears of frustration. “Don’t. Don’t be nice to me, not like that.” I swung my legs over the edge of the softest bed I’d ever slept on and stood. Vertigo hit, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t need your guilt or your sympathy.” My hand waved pathetically around his bedroom. “This… this is all you. Not me.” I sucked in a breath. “And that’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you.”
“Genevieve.” He dropped his voice to the one he’d used last night. “Turn around and look at me.”
Don’t do it, I told myself. Just walk away. One foot in front of the other. Spare bedroom. Get your stuff, get dressed, and walk out. He couldn’t force me to stay here. That’s all I had to do. Walk out.
“Genevieve.” Lower, darker, he said my name like a warning.
And this time, I couldn’t ignore it.
I turned.
And then I saw it.
Blood. Smeared and dried, on his pillow, some on his sheets, all of it staining his perfectly perfect snowy-white bedding.
“Oh God,” I choked out, my hand going to my mouth before frantically reaching for the pillow and sheet. “I’ll wash these. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I still had blood on my neck, or that my cut was still bleeding. I never would’ve laid down on your pillows if I did. I didn’t mean for it to get all over. Oh God.” I grasped the pillow.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he moved. Quick, sure, his hand shot out and he gripped my wrist and pulled.
Gasping, I stumbled.
But I didn’t fall.
Because his movements, unlike mine, were perfectly coordinated.
Pulling me onto his lap, bringing my hand around his neck, he cupped my face. His nostrils flared, and the control he so diligently held on to crashed around us. “Stop,” he bit out angrily. “I don’t give a shit about the sheets, you hear me?” He stared into my eyes. “They’re just sheets.”
I kissed him.
Awkward and fumbling, I pressed my lips to his and did what I’d wanted to do since I’d first laid eyes on him.
But that’s as far as I got.
The second my lips touched his, he took over.
Except he didn’t kiss me.
Holding my face, angling me into his touch, he took my mouth, slid his tongue in, and he claimed me.
Oh God, he claimed me.
A growl ripped from his chest and vibrated his throat.
Then he surged like he’d been starving and I was his last meal. Gentle, dominant, hot, forceful, he swept through my mouth and explored every inch like he was kissing me to remember me. Like he was kissing me because he couldn’t get enough of me. Like he was kissing me as if he’d been waiting his whole life for me. Everything that had been missing in every kiss I’d ever had, I felt in his.
Sawyer Savatier didn’t just kiss me.
He ruined me.
Gripping my face, dominantly holding me where he wanted me, he pulled back only to stroke once more through my mouth, tasting me like I wanted him to taste me everywhere.
My hand settled in his short, soft hair, and I leaned into him, needing more. I wanted every touch, every stroke, every thrust and every grind that his kiss promised.
But I didn’t get it.
I didn’t get any of it.
His hand on my face slid to my jaw, and he pushed me off his mouth until his hard eyes met mine.
My heart dropped.
Gone was the man who’d brought me to bed last night.
Back in his place was the man who caught my tablet from falling out of my arms and told me to take up drinking.
Unwavering and unforgiving, his stare cut into me. “That’s only going to happen once, understand?”
Rejection and shame crawled up my neck and exploded across my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, mortified and fighting tears.
“You’re staying here where I can protect you. You’re not going to a hotel, and you’re not going home, and you will continue to stay here until we find out who was behind the carjacking. You will rest, you will stay safe, and you will concentrate on healing. That’s it. Questions?”
Sucking my swollen lower lip into my mouth, his taste on my tongue, I shook my head.
Grasping me by the waist and setting me on my feet, he stood. Then he took my chin and angled my face up to his. “Do not apologize to me again. Understood?”
My heart thumped against my ribs in complete denial that his touch was anything but alpha, but I nodded.
“Words,” he demanded.
“I will not apologize to you again,” I recited like a lost schoolgirl.
“You’re staying here,” he reiterated.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Despite wanting to run away from him and my own embarrassment, I was trapped. I didn’t have any close girl friends I could crash with, and I wasn’t about to show up at Brian and his new girlfriend’s doorstep. And as much as I wanted to leave, he was right. A hotel wouldn’t be as secure as his palace in the sky, and going home while some gang member had my purse and wallet and address was probably not a good plan for longevity.
“Words,” he repeated, gripping my chin tighter.
“I’m staying here,” I whispered, giving in, hoping for the softer Sawyer to come back.
But he didn’t. The cold Sawyer nodded once and dropped his hand. “Go shower. I’ll make dinner.”
I TURNED ON THE OVEN, then yanked shit out of the fridge as I called Luna.
He answered on the first ring. “Still no updates. We haven’t found the SUV, the serial number on the gun you gave me was scrubbed, and none of my contacts know anything.”
Shit. “Did you try her cell phone?”
“Yeah, nada. Goes straight to voice mail, and I can’t track it.”
Damn it. “We still don’t know how they disabled the tracking on the Escalade?” I threw two potatoes in the oven.
“Anyone with half a brain can disable the system that comes with the vehicle, but my secondary system? I still don’t know how they managed it. They would’ve had to look hard for it. So they either destroyed the vehicle, or maybe….” Luna trailed off.
André Luna never trailed off. “Or maybe what?”
“They’re using a signal jammer.”
“Those are illegal.”
“I know. Which doesn’t make me happy thinking someone has one and is using it. That makes my job a hell of a lot harder.”
Maybe that was the point. “The Escalade could’ve been the target. What better way to test out a signal jammer than to try it on one of your company vehicles?” The gangs all knew who Luna was. Hell, he’d grown up with half of the members. They usually steered clear of us, as we did them, but they all knew our vehicles.
I heard him pound away on his computer keys. “GPS is still offline. Same with her cell phone. So yeah, those fuckers could be messing with me.”
“What’s the range on one of those things?”
“Depends on the signa
l strength.”
“Create a larger perimeter around the last known location in northwest Miami and let’s do another search.” They had to return to their home turf eventually.
“We already did that twice. I did a third run myself. At this point, even if we did find the vehicle, do you know how many gang members are in that area? Toss a coin, you’ll hit a hundred of them.”
“I don’t need a hundred. I just need one.”
Luna scoffed. “You think the threat will stop if you take out the one pendejo whose mask she ripped off?”
He was starting to sound like Preston, and I didn’t like it. “It’ll be a start.”
“And then what? We both know how this goes.”
“She didn’t witness a murder.”
“You think in their eyes that matters?”
So I take out all fucking four of them. “I’ll handle it,” I ground out.
“No,” Luna clipped. “You won’t. I will.”
My nostrils flared with an inhale. “I’m not letting this drag on.”
“What are you gonna do, Savatier?” he asked, purposely using my last name. “Go on a killing spree?”
“If I have to.”
Luna sighed. And when he spoke again, his tone wasn’t the tone of my boss. “All right, look. We had this conversation when I hired you. We both know what comes with your last name. I’m fucking lucky, hell, I’m honored to have you at my six, but we agreed. If the day ever came where the tables were reversed and I needed to protect your interests, there wasn’t gonna be any question. I make the hard decisions. You have more to protect. We both know no matter how much you dislike your padre, one day it’s gonna be your name behind that empire. As much as you think you want to play bodyguard forever and walk away from that, as your friend and your brother, I’m not gonna let that happen. And I’m sure as hell not gonna let some gangbangers destroy a good man’s name. You hear me?”
My back teeth ground. “I’m not going to run his company.” My sister could have it.
“If you think he’s gonna leave it all to your sister, you’re dead wrong, amigo.”
I didn’t give a shit what my father did. “Are you done?”
“No.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m making you a promise that I’ll handle this. You’re not getting your hands dirty. Period. That said, in the bigger scheme of things, I’ve got thirty-seven active jobs running right now. I’m on this, I want my vehicle back too, and I want those pendejos to know they can’t fuck with me. I will make an example out of who did this, but I’m doing it my way. Hang tight. Take care of the chica. I got it on this end.”