She gave a delicate shrug. He never needed to know she secretly loved the American classic. “Good thing I’m not there. How’d you get one of those? There were only one hundred made.”
He dropped his voice to a dirty whisper. “I know people. They owe me favors.”
Her spine tingled with anticipation. The hungry look as his gaze roved over her body caught her hard, but she ral-lied. “What do we need to discuss?”
He laughed low. “Nothing at the moment. Where are we going?”
She drew her brows together and tried to be firm.
“Nowhere. We’ll discuss business, and then I’m going riding.”
“Where?”
She shrugged. “Wherever I feel like.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’ll stop for a break and talk business later. you lead.”
Julietta squirmed with the need to wipe the smug look off his face. “I’m trying to be polite here, but you’re making it difficult. I don’t feel like making social conversation today.”
“Who said anything about conversation?”
Her spit dried up and she held back an actual pant.
Those full lips quirked as if he knew her body’s reaction.
“If you can’t keep up, I’m not waiting for you. This is my time,” she said.
His slow grin taunted and pushed all the right buttons.
or the wrong ones. “I’ll admit my surprise at your choice of The Pirate. But can you handle her, little girl? Perhaps I’ll be the one waiting for you to catch up.”
Julietta snapped her helmet down, kicked her bike into gear, and gave him a pitying look. “See you on the other side.”
She took off.
They rode through the city, battled traffic, and finally hit stride. The streets opened up and spit them out as the city rolled by and the gorgeous hills of the Alps shimmered in the distance like a mirage. The sun fought like the king it was and triumphed over the grayness for a few hours. Traffic was lighter than normal for a Saturday, and she headed toward Navigli. Julietta rode hard, pushing the machine into full gear and squeezing out more horsepower. The flash of the road underneath the wheels, the tug of the cold wind in her nostrils, the whiz of vivid blue and green and yellow of the colorful buildings all rose up and mixed together in a symphony of sweetness to her soul. For a little while, on a fast bike, in her beloved land, she was truly free.
They stopped for a break at a small café near the canal and bought lunch. They parked their bikes and stretched their legs in a leisurely walk. The market was open and bustling, and a boat slugged slowly down the water, charm-ing the tourists with an old-world yet Bohemian influence.
Filled with endless trinkets, clothes, food, and jewelry, Navigli boasted one of the most wonderful markets in Milan. In the evening, the place came alive with a variety of hip-hop nightclubs, cafés, and shopping. With sunset approaching soon, the crowds would build, so Julietta stuffed their water and uneaten wrapped food into her saddlebag and took off again.
She gave him credit. Sawyer never said a word.
But his gaze followed every swing of her hips and caught her sneaky half glances. The man’s ass was compa-rable to David’s, and Michelangelo’s statue had brought her to tears.
Julietta looked at the sky. Not too much longer before dark hit. She craved the bite of adrenaline she usually achieved from the closure of a good business deal. But she’d just found another way to get her hit.
Julietta stopped her bike, cocked her hip, and made the offer. “I’m heading toward Castello Sforzesco. There’s a nice open road to let the bikes breathe. Let’s see who gets there first.”
Surprise skittered across his face. “you wanna race?”
“Call it what you want. I plan on welcoming you at the gate.”
He threw his head back and laughed long and hard. The sound was sweeter than Mozart and sexier than Pavarotti.
“you’ve got to be kidding. This baby has more balls than most bikes on the market.”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m sure you both do. See you there.”
Julietta’s skin prickled with anticipation, and the blood in her veins heated and rushed with the challenge.
She took off toward Castello Sforzesco in a race to beat the dying sun and the man beside her. Julietta hated to admit he rode like a pro and handled the meatiness of the bike with a grace most men couldn’t imitate. She’d ridden with many men throughout her lifetime: some family, some friends, some lovers. Usually she was disappointed in the aggression and selfishness of the rider.
Not Sawyer. He respected the power of Claudio Castiglioni’s prized possession, never trying to reach the 196 mph the bike was reputed to achieve, and instead using the mechanics like a lover, coaxing the best with a seductive skill that made her soaking wet between her thighs. He was also a dominant driver, fully in control through each bend of the road, fiercely concentrating on his goal.
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?”