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So the only memento from the best night of her life would be her memories. The way Jared kissed her, touched her, moved inside her.
Sighing, she went to the side of the bed, wishing she could stay. No way would he show up at her studio later, would he? She doubted it. Her leaving while he slept would piss him off.
But she had to do it this way. Otherwise, she’d fall for him a little more. And that would be a disaster.
Sheridan leaned over him and brushed a kiss to his forehead, breathing deeply his lingering cologne, a unique, slightly woodsy scent. And then she slipped through the door, closing it quietly behind her. Sneaking off in the early morning toward the convention center parking lot, where she could climb into her car, drive back to her apartment, and nurse her wounds before heading to the studio.
Because she’d been irrevocably changed by one Mr. Jared Quinn.
Chapter Four
The ringing bell above her studio door at precisely nine o’clock was the first indication things were about to get weird.
Pushing away from her desk, she emerged from her studio space to find a slick-looking suit-wearing guy striding toward her, a pleasant smile on his face.
“Hey, Sheridan, great to meet you. I’m Harvey Price, publicist for the San Jose Hawks.” Mr. Slick stuck his hand out toward her, startling her by knowing her name. “Jared told me all about you.”
She shook Harvey’s hand, her tired brain trying to process what he just said. “Nice to meet you. Um, so Jared
told you about me?”
“He sure did. All good things, of course.”
The bell rang again and in walked the man in question.
Riveted to the very spot she stood, she drank Jared in, shock coursing through her at having him here. She couldn’t believe he’d shown. And why did he bring the publicist?
Jared approached her, wearing low-slung jeans and a navy blue polo shirt that had a small Hawks emblem embroidered on it. His hair was still damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and he looked a little tired but still gorgeous. Whereas she was sure she looked like absolute ass. “Hey, Sheridan.”
“Hi.” Did he hate her for ditching him? She’d felt sorta rude for doing it but, God, she had to make her escape. She’d probably still be naked, in that bed, wrapped around him if she hadn’t.
“Got somewhere we can talk a little more privately?” Harvey flashed a suspicious smile and she wondered what he was up to. Had Jared brought the publicist for damage control purposes? God, had someone found out about last night’s steamy encounter?
“We could go to my desk. I’ll grab some chairs.” She nodded toward her studio in the back of the building. “Follow me.” Nerves clanged in her belly as the two men fell into step behind her. She could literally feel Jared’s presence. Overwhelming. Intoxicating.
“You’re probably wondering why we’re here,” Harvey said the moment both men sat across from her. He grinned, his teeth brilliantly white. “I must confess, I’ve done some research this morning and I like you, Sheridan Harper. I like you a lot. And I know all about your situation.”
She frowned. “My situation?”
“Business has been a little slow lately, right? And you’re sitting on this amazing piece of property directly on Ocean Avenue.” He glanced around, taking in the tiny studio space. “I’m sure you’re offered all sorts of money for this spot on a weekly basis.”
More like daily. Everyone wanted to put in an offer on her studio, but she refused them all. “It’s not for sale,” she mumbled.
“Oh, I understand. Sentimental value and all that.” Harvey waved his hand. He probably didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. “What if we made you an offer you couldn’t turn down? One that would ensure you could keep your quaint little studio and grow your business. Plus, you’d get an inordinate amount of publicity, which could really put your work as an artist on the map. Everyone would know who you are, Sheridan. And I mean everyone in this entire country, possibly even the world.”
Her heart rate picking up, she glanced in Jared’s direction, seeing a stoic, noncommittal expression on his face. An eerie vibe slithered down her spine and she wondered what the heck was up. “What are you talking about?” she asked Harvey.
Leaning toward her, his dark eyes met hers, his expression serious. “I’ll tell you, but you have to sign a non-disclosure form first.”
“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Jared muttered, shaking his head.
She looked from one man to the other, and watched as Harvey pulled a folded piece of paper from within his jacket and handed it to her, accompanied by a slender silver pen. “Sign it and I’ll tell you everything.”
Sheridan unfolded the crisp, cream-colored piece of paper, glancing over the brief paragraph that basically stated Jared Quinn would sue the pants off of her if she so much as breathed a word of what they were about to discuss. Which only intrigued her more.
Curiosity had always killed the cat. She had to know what this was about. Without hesitation she clicked the pen and signed the blank line with a flourish.
Harvey schooled his expression, seriousness emanating from him in palpable waves. “Jared needs your help, Sheridan. His image is in tatters, and the new owner of the San Jose Hawks is most displeased with the entire team and what they seem to represent.”
