Ruthless Read online

  “Sawyer isn’t my last name,” he interrupted.

  Caught off guard, for once I didn’t say anything.

  He kept staring at me. Then a glimmer of anger flashed across his face. “Savatier,” he clipped, not pronouncing the r. “Sawyer is my first name.”

  My jaw dropped.

  His name rolling off his tongue with disdain did nothing to camouflage the beauty of the exotic-sounding surname or its significance. Savatier Enterprises. Savatier Holdings. Savatier Center for the Arts.

  I closed my mouth and forced myself to swallow.

  Savatier Stadium.

  I swallowed again.

  I was a fool. All night, in my nervousness around him, I’d pathetically name dropped, talking about former clients and the events I’d planned. I’d even stupidly asked if we knew any of the same people because one of the few questions he answered for me was to tell me he was from Miami.

  “You’re….” I cleared my throat. “You’re Sullivan Savatier’s son.” The elusive, never photographed, military hero son.

  A shadow fell across the sharp angles of his face and his jaw ticked. “Yes.”

  He looked just like him. I knew it. I knew it. But I couldn’t believe it. The Savatiers were billionaires from real estate, big real estate, all over south Florida. From high-rises to the new sports complex for the professional football team, they owned any property worth owning. The Savatiers were the closest thing to American royalty.

  And Sawyer Savatier had just asked me to dinner.

  The Sawyer Savatier.

  “YOU’RE….” SHE CLEARED HER THROAT. “You’re Sullivan Savatier’s son.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

  “But you’re a bodyguard.” She said bodyguard like it was shit. “Why would you be doing this-this”—she waved her hand around—“body guarding, party cleanup stuff when you can be doing… whatever it is your father does?”

  My jaw ticked. “I am not my father.”

  “Ohh-kay.” She quietly drew the word out before pointing over her shoulder. “I’m just going to… go.” She abruptly spun and reached behind the bar, picking up a bright yellow purse that was half the size of a damn combat loadout.

  Christ. “Genevieve.”

  She froze for half a second. Then she turned to me, and a big, fake smile spread across her pretty face as she hefted her bag over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “You like burgers?” A diner a few miles away was the only place I could think of that would have lemonade. But the more important question was why the hell I wasn’t walking away.

  She laughed, and her purse slid off her shoulder. “Who doesn’t? But that’s not the issue. I don’t need a burger.”

  That was exactly the issue. “You’re eating.” I took her heavy purse off her arm. “Let’s go.” My hand landed on the small of her back, right below the dip in her dress that showed off too much of her smooth skin.

  She stiffened. “Really, Mr. Savatier, you—”

  “Sawyer,” I corrected, hefting her bag that was twice as heavy as it looked.

  “Right.” In a rare moment of stillness, she clasped her hands across her tablet and phone and looked up at me for three seconds. “I can’t go to dinner with you.”

  Jesus. This was a first. “I’m not asking you to bed, Genevieve.” Not yet.

  Her face flushed bright red. “Okay.” She held a hand up and laughed as she dropped eye contact. “Pretty sure you already made that crystal clear. I don’t need any more clarification.” Her voice turned quieter. “I got it.”

  Fighting for patience, I exhaled. The fact that getting her lemonade was taking precedence over me hitting my bed for a solid five hours should have had me questioning my sanity. “Self-pity is indulgent. It’s dinner, and I’m driving. It’s not a date.” I was an asshole for throwing that last part out, but she’d pissed me off when she’d turned me down after finding out who I was.

  “Fine.” She shook her head and the curl fell over her face again. “But I’m driving myself there.”

  I wanted to argue, but I didn’t. Taking the win, I led her across the lanai, through the kitchen and out the front door. For the first time all night, she didn’t babble as I took her to her car and opened the driver door. In fact, she didn’t say a word. I handed her purse back, and her head practically disappeared inside as she dug around for her keys.

  She was a fucking mess. She needed a search party to find anything, she dropped everything, and I’d never met another person who talked more than she did. She was the opposite of me in every single way. Yet here I stood, watching her dig through her purse.

  When her keys rattled for the third time, I took her bag. Shoving my hand in, I palmed them on the first try and held them and her purse out to her.

  “Oh.” She put her cell and tablet in her purse as I held it, then she took it and her keys. “Thanks.” She blew out a breath and the errant curl shifted.

  I wanted to fist a handful of her hair. “Do you know where Mel’s diner is?”

  Her head bobbed with a yes as she said, “No.”

  I frowned. “No, you don’t know where it is?”

  “No, I can’t do this.” Her expression earnest, she clutched her keys and her purse to her chest. “I’m sorry.”

  This wasn’t the military, and she wasn’t my subordinate. I couldn’t order her to share a meal with me. Schooling my expression, I clipped out a response. “Understood.” I tipped my chin at her car. “Get in. I’ll make sure you get home.”

  Her head was shaking and her curls were bouncing before I’d finished my sentence. “Not that either.”

  I studied her for a moment. Her eyes weren’t blue or green or brown, but a combo of all three. Her lips were full, her features were delicate, and she really was stunning, but she looked nervous as hell, more so than she had all night. Instinct kicked in. “Where do you live?” Who did she live with?

  She laughed uncomfortably. “Nowhere a Savatier would step foot in.”

  “This is about an address?” I shouldn’t have told her my last name. Her reaction wasn’t unique. Women usually acted one of two ways when they realized who my family was. They either wanted a piece of me at any cost, or they did exactly what Genevieve was doing right now—they backed the hell off.

  The latter was rare.

  Which was why I was still standing here.

  She made a derisive sound. “You think it isn’t?”

  “I don’t presume.” The Marines had taught me not to.

  She let out a sigh. “Well, Mr. Savatier, maybe you should. Even if you do have a regular job for now, okay, not regular or even common, but still a working-class job, you’re still a Savatier.” She got behind the wheel of her beat-down Grand Cherokee. “Good night.” She jammed the key into the ignition and turned it.

  It clicked, then nothing happened.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, pumping her foot on the gas and trying again.

  Still nothing.

  “Come on.” It looked like she was getting dinner after all. “I’ll take you home after we eat.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “You can just give me a jump. I know I need a new battery. I mean, I need lots of things, so it could be something else, but still. You’re not even going to look under the hood?”

  “No.”

  “But… you were a Marine.”

  I didn’t reply. I took her purse off her lap.

  Making no move to stop me, her frown deepened. “You carry a gun.”

  I held my hand out.

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “You’re an ex-Marine billionaire bodyguard who not only comes from the wealthiest family in Florida, but you work for the best personal security firm in the business, and you can’t fix cars?”

  “No,” I lied.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m pretty sure you went to college.”

  Online degree while I was enlisted. Engineering. But I didn’t tell her that. “I’ll have someon
e take a look at it.” I’d text the guy my boss André Luna brought on after one of our last jobs. Luna had him sitting at base watching security feeds twelve hours a day while he finished vetting him. He’d probably jump at the chance to get out of the office.

  “Who?” Genevieve asked suspiciously, taking her keys out of the ignition.

  “His name is Ty.” I helped her out of her Jeep.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Another Luna and Associates employee.”

  “Another bodyguard?”

  Not bothering to correct her terminology, I led her to my company vehicle. “Yes.”

  “Is he as good-looking as the rest of you?”

  My jaw ticked at her last four words. Two other Luna and Associates guys, Tyler and Collins, had been here on the assignment all night, as well as two men, Dane Marek and Jared Brandt, who we’d served with. We were all ex-Marines, and we all knew how to handle ourselves. I wasn’t surprised she’d noticed the other guys, but I didn’t like it. “I’m not a connoisseur of men’s looks.”

  She smirked. “You don’t look in the mirror each day?”

  I opened the passenger door of the Escalade. “Your indirect compliment isn’t necessary.”

  “I can’t compliment you? Not that I was being indirect. I’m pretty sure I talk too much around you to be indirect about anything. And I’m definitely sure you look in the mirror every day.” She gave me one of her small, nervous laughs. “I don’t need to tell you you’re good-looking.”

  I’d bet my bank account she talked too much all the time. Ignoring her comments, I helped her into the SUV. “Keys.” I held my hand out.

  She dumped them in my hand without making contact. “For the record, I could’ve called for a tow myself.”

  “Now you don’t have to.”

  She leaned back in her seat, and her shoulders slumped. “I don’t even know why I’m letting you talk me into this.”

  Because she was tired and probably hungry. “Because you know I’ll handle it.” And this woman needed help.

  Her stomach growled, and she laughed outright as her hand landed under her full breasts. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

  And completely unacceptable. “I’m taking you to eat.” I shut her door before she could protest.

  Striding to the Cherokee, I stashed her keys on the rear tire, then pulled my cell out as I walked back to the Escalade and sent a text to Ty, asking him if he knew shit about cars.

  He texted back immediately.

  Ty: Fix your own damn Range Rover

  I fired off a response.

  Me: Not my vehicle. Green Grand Cherokee. It’s parked in the driveway at the address of the assignment I was on tonight. Won’t start. I need you to handle it. Keys are on back left tire.

  He replied as I got behind the wheel of the Escalade.

  Ty: Whose Jeep?

  Me: Just get it fixed. Let me know what I owe you.

  Ty: It’s fucking 3 a.m. What do you expect me to do?

  I sighed.

  “Problem?” Genevieve asked.

  “No.” I started the SUV and responded to Ty.

  Me: Probably the battery. Figure it out.

  I glanced at Genevieve. “What’s your address?”

  She hesitated then rattled it off.

  I sent the address to Ty and told him to deliver the Cherokee to her place after he got it running. Tossing my cell onto the center console, I threw the Escalade into drive.

  “So, what are the chances you’ll take me directly home?” she asked quietly.

  “None.” I pulled out of the driveway. “I’m taking you to eat first.”

  I GAVE UP PROTESTING AND stared out the window at the quiet, dark streets of Bal Harbour before Sawyer drove over the bridge and off the exclusive island.

  I kept my mouth shut for five whole minutes before I couldn’t take his silence anymore. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes.” His deep voice rumbled around the quiet interior of the giant SUV as his scent filled my head with thoughts I had no business thinking.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I dared to ask.

  “No,” he answered immediately with no intonation.

  I couldn’t handle his emotionless responses to every question I’d fired at him today. I didn’t know what that meant. I’d seen him frown plenty of times. I got it, I was irritating him, but then why was he so insistent on taking me out to eat at three o’clock in the morning of all times? It didn’t fit. Nothing about him fit.

  His suit was custom made, his hair was perfectly trimmed, the five o’clock shadow he sported was magazine cover model sexy, and his shoes cost more than I made in a week. He spoke with a courtesy that went beyond manners, his watch was a Vacheron Constantin, and he smelled like money and sandalwood.

  Everything about him was refined.

  Except it wasn’t.

  His muscles were bigger than any man’s I’d ever seen in the elite social circles of Miami’s upper crust. They were bigger than any man’s I’d ever seen, period. He carried a gun in a holster under his left arm, his eyes never stopped scanning, and his clipped, emotionless responses to my questions weren’t out of boredom or irritation alone, they were guarded.

  His intensity, the set of his shoulders, the way he clasped his hands in front of him and stood with his feet slightly apart, all of it was guarded.

  But when he actually made eye contact and looked at me?

  That was all predator.

  Every move he made, every word he said, it was calculated.

  Inhaling, I breathed in the intoxicating scent that was all him. Then I asked another question because I literally had nothing to lose. “If you aren’t asking me out on a date, then why are you taking me to dinner?”

  For two whole heartbeats, silence filled the SUV.

  Embarrassed, uneasy around him, I laughed. “Okay, forget I asked.”

  “I like your eyes,” he replied quietly.

  Heat flamed my cheeks, and I blinked.

  Thankful for the dark interior of the Escalade, I swallowed past the sudden dryness in my mouth. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” Pulling into the packed parking lot of the diner, he expertly eased the giant vehicle into a spot. Then he threw the gearshift into park, scanned the other parked cars, and pulled the key out of the ignition. “Wait there.”

  Exhaling after he got out, I whispered to myself. “Holy shit.”

  My door opened, and his stark blue eyes met mine. He wordlessly held his hand out.

  Not a date, not a date, I silently chanted as I took his hand.

  His huge fingers engulfed mine, and awareness shot up my arm, zinging through my body. Giddiness I couldn’t squash fluttered in my stomach, and I smiled.

  His gaze tracked the movement of my lips, but he didn’t return the smile. Holding my hand with purpose, he helped me out of the SUV as his other hand landed on the small of my back.

  My feet hit the ground, and I stumbled in my five-inch heels.

  He pulled my arm at the same time as he stepped against me, and I fell into his chest instead of on my ass on the pavement.

  “Oh God,” I gasped.

  “You’re all right.” His breath touched my skin, fluttering a strand of my hair.

  A tremor went up my spine, but this time I didn’t laugh away my nervousness. Leaning against him, feeling his hard body support me, having his arm around my waist—oh God, I didn’t want to move. Ever.

  “Thanks,” I breathed, not trusting my balance enough to step away.

  As if reading my thoughts, he stood perfectly still as his chest rose and fell three times. Then he shifted, and his quiet voice filled my head with wayward thoughts.

  “Inside,” he commanded, stepping to my side. “Let’s get you dinner.”

  “Okay.” One touch of his hand, one feel of his body against mine, and the last of my resolve to push this dominant, alpha man away disappeared into the southern Florida nighttime humi
dity.

  Dropping my hand but keeping his palm against the small of my back, he led me across the packed parking lot and opened the door of the diner as he took me inside. Giving his first name to the hostess, ignoring the way her blatant gaze dragged over his biceps, he then corralled me in a corner and stood with his back to the other people waiting, effectively caging me in.

  I would be a total liar if I said I didn’t like every single second of his protective dominance. But I had to remind myself I wasn’t his client and this wasn’t a date.

  “So….” I craned my neck to look up at him. “Have you eaten here before?”

  He scanned the afterhours clubbing crowd without actually looking at any of the women in dresses and skirts that barely covered their asses before he brought his gaze to me and stared a moment. “Yes. You?”

  “I’m not really the clubbing type. I don’t usually go out to eat at three a.m.” Or ever. Dining out alone wasn’t on my short list.

  He nodded once in acknowledgment, then his gaze cut to a group of drunk, rowdy guys who walked in.

  He moved to his left a few inches.

  The shift of his tall body was slight, but the implication was huge. In protective bodyguard mode, he blocked me from the guys.

  I couldn’t stop myself, I smiled.

  He frowned. “What?”

  The hostess came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Perfectly straight, long brown hair, model thin, a full face of makeup, she smiled flirtatiously at him. “Your table’s ready.”

  He tipped his chin at her, and my smile dropped. No matter how many meals I skipped, I’d never be like her. My curly hair had a mind of its own. I didn’t have a seductive bone in my body, and makeup wouldn’t change my pale skin or fire-engine-red blush.

  Oblivious to my thoughts and shortcomings, Sawyer’s hand landed between my shoulder blades and he guided me a step in front of him as the hostess led us to a booth.

  Looking up at Sawyer, completely ignoring me, the hostess dropped the menus on the table. “Your waitress will be right with you. Let me know if you need anything else.”