Charley didn’t waste time second-guessing. She threw herself forward, the unexpected move buying her a momentary reprieve from his clutches, but then he was right back in her face again, hauling her against the brick wall of his chest as he kicked the door shut behind them.
The door didn’t slam, though.
Someone caught it.
“Is everything all right in here?” A smooth, deep-voiced English accent wrapped around her like a hot bath, and when the man it belonged to stepped inside, Charley gasped.
It was him. Her fantasy man from the lobby.
Perfect timing, hot stuff.
He took one look at the scene—giant asshole manhandling her like a rag doll, her belongings scattered on the floor—and his body went rigid.
“Renault Duchanes,” he said, his tone so dark, Charley’s skin erupted in goosebumps.
But that was all it took. One word, one look, and the asshole released her.
“You two are… acquainted?” The creep—Duchanes—stepped away from Charley like she was radioactive.
Ignoring the question, her man turned to her and held out his arm. “They’re almost ready to start the bidding, love. Shall we?”
Love?God, the sweet seduction in his voice made her ache.
She took the offered arm, surprised at how firm his forearm muscle was, thick and taut beneath a soft wool suit jacket.
Duchanes narrowed his eyes, but Charley wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling them out. Flashing a smug smile, she said to her man, “You were right, honey. These auctionsdobring out the douchebags.”
“I warned you.” He winked at her, but when he turned back to the other guy, it felt like someone sucked all the air out of the room.
Tension simmered between them. Clearly, they knew each other. Clearly, they weren’t friends. They seemed to be having an entire conversation with nothing more than dirty looks and threatening scowls.
Finally, Duchanes backed off, exiting the room with grunt of annoyance.
Charley blew out a breath, her heart rate slowing back to normal.
“Are you hurt?” the man asked, crouching down to pick up her things.
“I’ll survive. That asshole a friend of yours?”
“He won’t bother you again.”
“Better fucking not.” She reached out to collect her purse and the taser, the slightest brush of his fingertips sending a zing of pleasure up her arm. “Prick wasthisclose to getting fifty thousand volts up the ass.”
She kept the taser in hand, just in case.
The man chuckled and shook his head, and Charley snapped her mouth shut, stashing the Jersey girl back inside. She was supposed to be a wealthy art collector, and art collectors didn’t go around tasing random creeps at auctions or cursing like scrappy bitches in front of polite company.
Shit, shit, shit.
Tonight wasnotgoing according to plan.
“Thanks for the save,” she said, searching for a way to break free of his heated gaze. “I should… check my messages. My boss is… messaging me.”
Smooth, Charley. Real smooth.
Cringing, she traded her weapon for the phone, turning it back on vibrate. A dozen notifications flooded in from Rudy, but there was a text from her sister too—no note, just a picture of a huge cucumber strategically positioned between two shriveled avocados.
“Your boss sends you pictures of erotic vegetable art?” the man asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone.
