When Sawyer picked him up, Wolfe waited for him to call off the whole deal.
Sawyer didn’t. The man took him to Italy and gave him the opportunity to learn the hotel business. Sawyer built Purity, the luxury hotel chain, beginning in Milan, and Wolfe had learned everything from the ground up. But the man had given him much more than a job and some security. He took him into his life and his heart. When Sawyer finally met and fell in love with Julietta, they both welcomed him and created a family together.
When Sawyer asked him to get a college education so he could eventually run the Purity location in New York City, he’d agreed. The rest of the Conte family took good care of him during his school years, like an adopted family. Who would’ve known he’d meet the third most important person in his life at a family dinner? Gen treated him like an equal from the first. She cared about the man he was becoming, not the dark, twisted creature he’d lived as in his past. Their friendship bloomed through college and just kept getting stronger.
Gen let out a throaty groan and his thoughts got dragged back to the kiss. He’d only meant to prove a point before he took off to batter the hell out of her ex-fiancé. Instead, he got sucked in, forgetting it was a lesson, forgetting they were more than the physical. His instincts kicked in, along with the testosterone, and all he’d been able to concentrate on was the softness of her body underneath his, and her delicious scent that always made him half-drunk. Who else smelled like fresh wildflowers and Ivory soap? He was used to exotic perfumes meant to seduce. Instead, her simplicity beat through her kiss, an honest reaction from her gut that intoxicated him more than any Playboy bunny or supermodel could. The hitch in her breath, the fullness of her breasts, the easy way she’d spread her legs in greeting as if he belonged inside her.
Wolfe gritted his teeth and fought for control. This could never happen again. He’d play it as if they were both drunk, emotionally wrung out, and impulsive. Hell, he’d never even bring it up again. Maybe she wouldn’t remember. He’d never forgive himself if any part of their relationship changed or got weird from the kiss.
His tongue dragged over his lower lip and caught her taste. He squeezed his eyes shut and burned the memory into his brain for safekeeping. For those lonely, horrific nights when he craved something beautiful to help him get through the hours in the dark.
When his breathing was regulated, Wolfe slipped his hand from hers and stood up. She frowned in her sleep and rolled a bit, as if reaching for him. He left the bottles outside, figuring he’d clean up in the morning, and easily scooped her up into his arms. She was a perfect bundle of feminine softness, and her head buried against his chest in complete trust.
His stomach lurched but he managed to carry her to the cabin, get her inside, tuck her carefully into bed, and pull the covers up to her chin. He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Those pale pink lips quirked upward in a sleepy half smile.
How anyone would want to hurt her was beyond him. Wolfe swore to get to the bottom of that mess and find out what really happened. Definitely some type of abuse. She’d kept her secrets well. Almost as well as he did.
He shut the door, stripped off his clothes, and lay on the mattress. His body twitched with leftover energy and sexual arousal, but eventually the events of the day took their toll.
Sleep settled over him, an uneasy and fickle companion he didn’t trust.
VINCENT SOLDANO HATED HIS mother.
Unfortunately, he also loved her, feared her, and would do pretty much anything for a smile or a kind word. He’d learned early when to bother her and when to stay far away. The white powder was king, father, and all things holy. He could deal with the sugarlike substance. The needles. Even the occasional backhanded slaps or screaming sessions.
What scared him was the men.
He shuffled toward the front door, his palm already sweaty against the broken knob. The house was barely a shelter, just a few walls, leaky roof, and endless weeds choking the broken pavement outside. Two windows were taped up. They lived on Happy Street, on a dead end. When he was first learning to read, he thought it was good luck. He figured out quickly it was one of God’s bad jokes played just on him.
Vincent stepped into the house. The room was empty. Relief buckled his muscles, so he moved fast. Who knew how long he had before the strangers would troop in and the noises would start? He placed his one book on the folding table and began scouring the refrigerator and cabinets for something to eat. Mama’s bedroom door remained tightly shut.
He flicked off the band of cockroaches scuttling in the sink, chugged a glass of water, and found an old granola bar with chocolate chips. Score. He ate it slowly at the table, savoring every bite, and flipped through his math book. He missed school a lot, but when he was able to go he found it easy. Especially anything with numbers. He’d just look at a page, shut his eyes, and then be able to recall the entire thing from memory. He swung his skinny legs, making a note to try and wash up tonight, and then heard the squeak.
He froze. Looked up.
The man stared back at him with a funny grin on his face. “Hey, little dude. Didn’t hear you come in.”
Fear choked him. He didn’t know why. Just realized a few years back that the men were bad, and they wanted to do things that made his stomach hurt. He tried hard to look mean, but he figured it didn’t go over well when the man grinned wider and took a few steps closer.
“Where’s Mama?”
The man’s hair was straight, slicked back, and looked greasy in the few rays of sunlight that poured through the broken window. He was tall, wore jeans and a T-shirt, and had eyes that reminded him of a shark. Like Jaws. Grayish, flat, and kinda cruel.