Page 4

"Give them back!" Tears spilled down my face, my voice cracking.

"Seriously, babe," Freckles waved the photo around, "if you're trying to seduce a guy, you should at least lose twenty pounds first—"

Suddenly, a hand entered my field of vision. Long fingers, defined knuckles, veins raised on the back. A snake-head ring in dark green glinted on the ring finger, marking him as someone different.

The hand casually gripped Freckles' wrist. What looked effortless froze him in place.

"I thought NYU educated future leaders, not sewer rats who get off on bullying people."

A magnetic voice with a low Sicilian edge detonated behind me without warning. Not loud, but wrapped in suffocating authority.

"Who the fuck are you? Mind your own—" Freckles snarled, even tried to swing with his other fist.

"Taylor, shut up! You fucking idiot, shut the hell up!"

Scraggly, who'd been grinning at the show, went ghost-white. He yanked Freckles back hard. I was still on my toes reaching for the photo, and his elbow shoved me off balance. The next second, I lost it completely.

Oh, shit.

The world spun. The weightlessness of falling backward made every hair on my body stand up. My brain already played the disaster reel—me sprawled on carpet soaked with God-knows-what, my stomach and thigh fat on full display, those damn photos trampled underfoot while everyone howled with laughter—

But the pain never came.

An arm locked around my waist, another hand caught my back, and I was pulled into a solid chest.

Time stopped.

A scent—fig, cedar, and faint tobacco—immediately overpowered the nauseating beer smell in the air.

The chest against my back was alarmingly hard. The muscular forearm banded around my waist made my thirty-six-inch middle feel almost delicate.

Above me, steady, burning breath brushed my hair. A weak electric current shot straight from my lower back to my tailbone, making my knees buckle.

I lifted my head stiffly.

God...

The man holding me—even from this angle, the worst possible angle to see anyone—was devastatingly handsome. He looked like he'd stepped out of a European aristocracy painting. Silver-gray hair swept back, temples touched with distinguished white. Deep features carved sharp shadows in the dim light. Under his high-bridged nose, storm-gray-green eyes looked down at me.

The moment our eyes met, his gaze traveled from my red, tear-stained eyes down past my chest straining against the sequined dress, lingered on my thick thighs exposed by the micro-mini, then returned to my face. Something shifted in his expression.

Holy crap. God, God.

My blood boiled instantly. Shame and panic made me struggle like I'd been electrocuted. "Let go—let me go!"

I flailed, trying to escape his grip, but my stilettos buckled again, and I pitched forward.

He didn't release me.

He didn't even blink. The hand at my waist slid down deliberately, boldly landing on the very top of my thigh, steadying my falling body.

"Stand still, girl." His low, raspy voice crashed against my ear, hot breath raising goosebumps down my neck.

The sensation of a strange man's hand on my upper thigh made my whole body go weak. I shoved him hard.

This time, he didn't stop me. He released his grip on my outer thigh and dropped his arms.

But the scorching heat of his palm felt branded into my skin, burning through the thin fabric all the way to my scalp. I staggered back, my spine hitting the cold, hard hallway railing. Gasping, I frantically yanked down the sequined dress that kept riding up.