Page 27 of Remember Me
“No. They’re at their house in Aruba.”
Sheldon wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.Slob.“Tell your father to call me when he gets back in town. I have a hot TV project cooking.”
“I will. Where are you staying?”
“At the Mercer downtown. Come by later. I’m having an after-party.”
She smiles flirtatiously. “I’ll be there.” Her crystal-green eyes roam the crowd of art collectors. “Listen, I’ve got to schmooze. I’ll see you later, darling.” I watch as she pecks a kiss on his cheek, and they part, each working themselves into the crowd.
I move on, plucking a glass of champagne from one of the white-gloved waiters along with an hors d’oeuvre. A cheese puff. Hungry, I snag another and move into a corner, intimidated by these glamorous people. Stuffing the crusty pastry into my mouth, I catch sight of him, standing across the room in front of a colorful abstract painting. The most beautiful man I’ve ever set eyes on.
A tad older than me, he’s tall, dark and handsome, but not in the traditional, fairy-tale way. Unlike all the clean-shaven middle-aged suits here, his chiseled face is laced with a sexy layer of scruff that hints at a riot of dark hair beneath his adorable beanie. Dressed in all black, his lean, athletic body sports faded ripped jeans, beat-up Doc Martens, and this ridiculously sexy leather bomber jacket over a Springsteen T-shirt. He’s downtown cool. A bad boy.
Our eyes lock. Holy cow. He’s staring at me. I behold him like a work of art. Despite the distance between us, I can feel his magnetism. An attraction like none I’ve ever felt. My body reacts in a way I’ve never experienced—heart palps, shortness of breath, and tingles all over. It’s so heated I contemplate taking off my coat.
He loosens his wool scarf and a cocky, crooked smile curls his lips. It’s almost a teasing smirk. Telling me it’s suddenly hot in here.
It is!
I nervously sip my champagne. What’s my next move? Flipping around, I face a painting so I don’t have to deal with Mr. Swoonworthy.
My breathing shallow, I absent-mindedly stare at the canvas. A Jackson Pollock. Estimated Sale Price: 1-1.5 million dollars. Nothing compares with the masterpiece I just beheld. I can still feel his eyes on me. My temperature is rising; my pulse is in overdrive.
Moments later, a warm breath licks the nape of my neck. A pair of strong arms circles my waist, trapping me. My heart skips a beat; goosebumps pop beneath my coat. Oh God! Is it possibly him?
“Sweetheart, you’re more amazing than any painting here.”
It’snothim! The voice is gruff with a thick New York accent. I recognize it immediately. Sheldon Greenberg. The scent ofhis putrid cologne drifts up my nose and nauseates me. To my horror, he thrusts a hand under my coat and gropes my breasts.
“Mmm,” he hums as he squeezes them.
“Please stop!” I squirm, but he holds me prisoner, gripping my waist with one arm.
“Please . . . you’re hurting me!”
“Relax, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”
On my next desperate breath, he corners me against the wall, pressing me so hard against it that the plastic tumbler I’m holding crushes in my hand. A sharp pain slices through the base of my thumb as it slips out of my fingers. The pain is fleeting, overpowered by my need to get away from this monster. No matter how much I writhe, trying to fight him off, I can’t break free of him.
Caging me with his weighty body, he shuffles his hand down my torso, until it reaches the waistband of my skirt. Digging his stubby fingers beneath my pantyhose, he travels further south.
“I bet you have a pussy that belongs in a catalogue,” he growls. His erection presses against me. Frightening me. Sickening me. Bringing me to tears.
My face smooshed against the wall, I cry out as loud as I can, “Please stop!”
“Let go of her, asswipe!”
A new voice! On my next harsh breath, I’m freed. I whirl around and find Sheldon sprawled on the floor, face down. My hero glares at my assailant with frightening intensity. His piercing blue eyes as razor-sharp as shark teeth. An unnerving snarl curled on his lips.
“She’s mine.”
His husky voice is intense. Forceful. Commanding. Possessive.
“If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you.” Greenberg staggers to his feet and stumbles away, not looking back at the ravishingman with the badass jeans and leather jacket, who just rescued me.
Ignoring him, my hero cups his hands on my trembling shoulders. “Are you okay?” His voice is now soft with a touch of gravel. His eyes, two exquisite sapphires, glittering with concern.
“I’m fine,” I reply, still shaken. “Thank you.”