he aware he was holding a piece of me? In fact, he held all of me hostage when he took possession of my sculpture.
“Are you going to tell me what you need to fix it, or should I call M Gallery?”
“Please,” I said, faltering. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Don’t insult me further, I understand the piece. I bought the damn thing.” He went to the table and gingerly set the broken shards down. I felt an unexpected sensation of loss, like he’d severed a connection.
“It’s raw and brutal in its beauty,” he continued, placing his hands on the waistband of his jeans, which sat low on his hips. He stated it as a widely-known fact. “It’s your best work.”
“Thank you.” He made me feel off-balance, and it became worse as he approached.
“You and I both know you have no options here.”
And I didn’t. There was no way to win. The space between us was too small, and his azure eyes were claustrophobic.
“I won’t repair it only so you can destroy it.”
“Excuse me?” Anger swelled in his expression.
When I subtly shifted backward, he stepped forward, bringing us chest to chest and his hot breath rolled over my face.
“I know what you are, Mr. Rafferty. You prey on other artists’ work.”
“I remember that I asked you not to insult me, but I don’t know what I expected. I’ve seen the video. I know following orders isn’t your thing.”
“Oh my God!” I gasped.
I tried to flee, but he seized my arms and his grip was a vise. “You don’t know me, just like I don’t know you. So stop presuming my reputation or things from my past make up who I am today, and you know what? I’ll do the same for you.” He released me with a shove.
I stared at him with shock, not from being manhandled, but from his words. It was exactly what I wanted from the art community. I’d made terrible mistakes and atoned for them, both legally and otherwise. Perhaps . . . not completely. I’d atoned for most of them.
Did Alec Rafferty see some of himself in my sculpture? Was it his new beginning as much as it was mine?
He smoothed a hand over his clean-shaven face as if considering something. “Let’s try this again.” He extended a hand. “I’m Alec. Just Alec.”
I swallowed thickly. “I’m Jessica.”
It was another zap to my system when he clasped my hand in his firm handshake, only this jolt was a million times stronger. He was a live wire. Electricity poured through the connection of our palms. The spark was too powerful to ignore, as much as I was desperate to.
I wanted his beautiful, artistic hands on my body, touching me with the same delicateness he’d done with the sculpture petals.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jessica.” He continued to hold my hand and used his free one to motion to my sculpture. “This isn’t what I paid for. How do you recommend I proceed?”
His words were professional and friendly, but his tone had an edge of warning, hinting his patience was nearing an end.
I chose to make my stand. “Tell me what you’re going to do, and I will fix it. You have my word.”
His grip squeezed the bones of my hand together. “Your word? We just met, I don’t know you.”
His refusal meant only bad things were in the future. His hand on mine had felt wonderful at first, but now it was uncomfortable. “Let go of me.”
He blinked slowly, and released his intense grip. I yanked away like he’d burned me.
“I won’t be sending it back, Jessica.” He drew each consonant out of my name. Jess-i-ca. “Correct it, and I’ll tell you what I have planned.” This time his smile was blatantly evil. “You have my word.”
I didn’t believe him.
His phone buzzed from his pocket and was snatched up. “This is Alec.”