On my next harsh breath, someone was gripping me by the neck and pinning me to the ground. Dazed, I gazed up at my assailant. He was a greasy, pimply-faced thug with bad teeth.
“Bitch!” he growled, pulling out a pocket knife. My eyes grew wide as he flicked open the blade and pointed it at my chest.
“What do you want?” My voice shook.
“Back off, you little cunt.”
He lowered the knife closer to my heart. I wanted to scream, but my vocal chords were frozen.
Still holding the blade two inches above me, he grabbed my messenger bag and dumped the contents onto the pavement. He snatched my wallet and my cell phone, and with a bang of my head to the concrete, he ran off.
I lay there stunned, my head ringing.
“Honey, are you okay?” The words whirled around in my head. After blinking my eyes several times, things came back into focus. A buxom African American woman was crouching beside me. I sat up slowly and rubbed my sore head with one hand. My other hand was a bloody mess; my skirt was torn, and I ached all over. I looked down at my stinging knee. There was a huge gash on it, and blood was dripping down to my ankle.
The kindly woman helped me gather the contents of my bag. My sketchpad…little book of sayings…keys…and some pens and pencils. And the bag of Mrs. Blumberg’s rugelach, which I’d forgotten to give to my mom. Tears stung my eyes.
“Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?” asked the woman.
I shook my head. “Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?” I asked, my voice shaky and desperate.
She whipped out an iPhone from her large purse and handed it to me. I googled two words and handed her back the phone. Tears were streaming down my face.
“Honey, are you sure you’re okay?”
The expression on her face was one of genuine concern. After my vicious assault, it was reassuring there were still good Samaritans in this world. Philadelphia was still, after all, the “City of Brotherly Love.”
I nodded. “Could you please tell me how to get to Center City?”
“That’s a couple of miles downtown,” she replied. “My car’s parked across the street, and I’m headed that way. Can I give you a ride?”
I was touched by this stranger’s kindness. With my head throbbing and body aching, I accepted her offer. She also handed me a tissue so that I could clean up my bloody hand and knee. The wounds bled right through it.
Ten painful minutes later, the woman dropped me off in front of an imposing glass-and-steel tower. I thanked her for the lift, and after insisting she accept Mrs. Blumberg’s homemade pastries as a small token of my appreciation, l let myself out of her SUV.
Barely able to push the revolving doors, I dragged myself into the building. Shaking, I was vaguely aware of people staring at me. Some gaped while others cupped a hand to their mouths. I must have looked beyond terrible…frightening. A bloody, disheveled, torn-up mess. I staggered up to the alphabetically listed tenant board. My eyes scrolled down the listings until they landed on the “G” section. Golden International—36th floor.
The elevator ride to his office felt like an eternity. Why did he have to be the last stop? I tried to hide in a corner, but couldn’t avoid the horrified faces of people who boarded along the way. I felt faint.
At last, the elevator reached my destination. The doors slid open, and I stumbled into a sky-high palace of sparkling glass, shiny marble, and sleek black leather. Several suits were seated in the lobby, but were too engrossed in magazines or their digital devices to notice me. I staggered up to the receptionist’s desk, a streamlined console behind which “Golden International” in gold and black letters blazed on the stark white wall.
The receptionist, an attractive blonde in her late twenties, wearing earphones, took one look at me and gasped. I thought she would call security had I not managed the words, “I need to see Mr. Golden.”
“Do you have an appointment with him?” she asked suspiciously, her fingers reaching for the phone.
I swiped at my tears with my dirty palm, the one that wasn’t bleeding. “Please tell him that Sarah Greene is here,” I begged. Please.
She pressed three buttons on the phone. I prayed it was the extension of Ari’s assistant and not security.
“There’s a Ms. Greene to see Mr. Golden,” she said. “He may wish to bring security with him.”
I cringed. Never in my whole life had I felt so mortified and demoralized. My hip roared with pain, and the scrapes on my limbs stung like fire. I glanced down at my torn up knee; it was still bleeding like crazy. My entire calf was now a bloody mess.
Two familiar long legs marched into the lobby. He was perfectly groomed, as always, in an expensive light gray suit, crisp white shirt, and silver tie. My burning, teary eyes met his.
“Jesus Christ.” He sprinted over to me.
My body began to convulse with sobs. Anguish, raw and ruthless, shook me.
Just as I thought I might collapse, he swept me into his arms and carried me away, holding me tight like a child.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, and buried my tear-soaked face into his shoulder. My body heaved against his taut chest. His intoxicating, manly scent rushed into my nose, assuring me that I was safe again in his strong arms.
I had no idea where he was taking me until his voice, firm and authoritative, said, “Miss Thatcher, no phone calls please.” His office.
Gently, he laid me down on a white leather couch, placing a pillow under my head. My bleary eyes were not yet ready to take in my surroundings. Sobs kept wracking my body.
He sat down beside me on the edge of the sofa, cradling my head in one arm and caressing my tumbled hair with the other. Alarm flickered in his beautiful blue eyes.
“Saarah, tell me what happened?”
The soft sound of my name on his lips soothed me. But words stayed trapped in my throat. Despite my condition, I noticed that I’d gotten blood all over the lapels and collar of his suit.
“I ruined your suit,” I spluttered.
“Stop it. I have ten more just like it. Just tell me what happened.”
“Someone attacked me,” I sobbed.
“Did he—?” Rage filled Ari’s eyes. I knew where he was going and cut him off.
“No, he only took my wallet and cell phone.”
The memory of the vicious assault swarmed me. The wild look in my assailant’s eyes as he pointed his weapon at me. The terror that filled every ounce of my being.
“He had a knife.”
“Oh, baby!” He took me in his arms and cuddled me like a child. He let me cry until the pain that I felt everywhere melted. My sobs dissolved to whimpers as he brushed loose strands of hair off my forehead.
“We should file a police report. Do you remember what he looked like?”
“I just want to move on.”
“But, he could do it again to someone else.”
“Please, Ari, I want to forget about him.”
His face hardened. “Fine.”
Blinded by my tears, I wasn’t sure if he was mad at me or sorry for me. His face softened and tenderness filled his eyes.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Gently lowering my head back on the pillow, he rose to his feet. My eyes followed him as he crossed the room and disappeared behind a door.
My tears subsided, and I mustered the strength to sit up. My eyes took in my surroundings. I was in his corner office—a bigger, more elegant version of the lobby, with floor-to-ceiling windows on every side. Everything was sleek, state-of-the-art, and expensive. It was a modern, high-tech version of his Park Avenue penthouse. Unusual pieces of abstract art lined the walls along with various degrees and awards. There was also a built-in display case showcasing all the skincare products Golden International made. So many were familiar; I’d seen them at my local drug store, not having a clue he manufactured them. What stood out most, however, was his massive blond wood desk. The one antique among all the contemporary treasure
s—a highly polished Art Deco piece that looked like it once belonged on the Titanic. For a busy CEO, there were few things on it. A large, state-of-the-art computer, a single black leather file folder, and several framed photos.
Ari returned carrying a silver tray, with a glass of water and an assortment of first aid items all manufactured by his company. Placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch, he sat down next to me.
“Drink,” he ordered. He held the glass to my lips.
Not having the energy to fight him, I gulped down the cold, refreshing liquid, surprised how thirsty I was. He set the glass back on the table next to the first aid stuff.
“Let me see your hand.” A gentle command.
Slowly, I flipped over my right hand so that my scraped palm was in full view. The blood was already caking.
“Nasty.” He opened the peroxide and grabbed a square piece of gauze. “This is going to hurt.”
After soaking the gauze with the peroxide, he dabbed it on my wound. I wasn’t prepared for the sharp sting and winced.
He smiled. “I told you it would hurt.”
“Aren’t you supposed to kiss the boo-boo?” I asked, pleased that my sense of humor was coming back.
“You’re right.”
Without missing a beat, he gently pressed his warm, velvety lips against the wound. They were more soothing than any balm. I half-expected his expert tongue to roll along it, but instead he began to roll gauze around my hand.
“You’re good at this,” I said as he finished off the dressing with a piece of adhesive tape. “You should have been a doctor.”
“I almost was,” he responded. “I spent a year at Columbia’s Med School but switched over to the Business School when my dad got sick.”
No wonder he knew how to handle Lauren’s suicide attempt. What else didn’t I know about my amazing Trainman?
“I also have a super active kid who takes a good spill every once in a while,” he chuckled as his eyes roved down my body. They lingered on my crotch before stopping at my left knee. “That’s a fine mess.”
I cast my eyes down. It was! The nasty scrape was red-raw, and there were streaks of blood all over my calf.
“Stay still.”
I winced again as he cleaned it up and then bandaged it with a patch of gauze.
“Thanks, Doctor.” I knew I was recovering because that tingly-all-over feeling that I got whenever I saw him was back big time.
His eyes burned into mine. Impulsively, I glanced down at his crotch and could see a tent between his legs that wasn’t there before. The area between my inner thighs fluttered, and my skin heated.
“Well, I’d better be going.” I stood up, but Ari held me back, his two large hands planted firmly on my shoulders.
He furrowed his brows. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Ms. Greene?” he chided.
I thought he might spank me. My body tensed at the possibility, ready and willing. Holy shit! I was ready to submit to him under his scrutiny, his eyes intense and steely. I let out a little squeak.
“You can’t go back on the street in those torn up clothes. You have no money to get home. And for all I know, there’s some mad serial killer on his way to your apartment right now. He has your driver’s license and knows where you live.”
I chewed my lip. He had a point. Thank goodness, my assailant hadn’t taken my keys.
Ari strode over to his desk and pressed a button on his phone. “Miss Thatcher, please use my credit card and pick up some appropriate clothes at Neiman’s for Ms. Greene. I trust your taste. She wears a Size 6.”
“Yes, Mr. Golden,” the voice on the other end said.
“She’ll be back in less than an hour. Neiman’s isn’t far.” He headed toward that other room off his office. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I sat back down on the couch as he again disappeared. Awaiting his return, I could hear water running. Ari shortly reappeared and strode over to me. My eyes stayed on him as he crouched down and began to unlace my combat boots.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he tugged them off my feet, one after the other.
With a glint of mischief in his eyes, he looked up at me. “What does it look like I’m doing? Taking your damn boots off. By the way, where the hell did you find these clunkers?”
Before I could utter a word, he scooped me into his arms yet again.
“Let’s get the rest of you cleaned up,” he muttered as he carried me across his office into the adjoining room.
My eyes grew wide. It was his personal bathroom. But no ordinary bathroom. It was practically a spa, all glimmering white marble and sparkling bronze. There was a toilet, full steam shower, a built-in bath fit for a king, and a floor-to-ceiling window with a view to die for. Ari had drawn me a bath, the sunken tub half-filled.
He gently set me down on my feet. Slowly, he undressed me, letting my filthy, tattered clothes fall to the marble. I stood naked before him, speechless.
“Do you let your new boyfriend undress you like this?” he asked coolly.
Cringing, I lowered my head. I couldn’t look him in the eye.
He tilted up my head with his hand. His piercing blue eyes burnt into mine. “Saarah…”
Oh the way he said my name!
“…I did a little reconnaissance on your boyfriend…”
He spied on Fernando?
“He’s very handsome, very committed…and very gay.”
My heart was beating a mile a minute. I wanted to bow my head in shame, but his grip under my chin was too strong. In fact, he was hurting me.
“Why did you pretend he was your boyfriend?”
I fumbled for an excuse. “Because I was afraid I was getting too involved with you.”
“You have nothing to be afraid of because I’m not afraid of getting involved with you.”
I processed his words as his gaze penetrated me.
“I know that one of your favorite sayings is ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ but don’t ever play that game with me. I don’t mind you playing with toys—in fact, I rather enjoy it—but I will not put up with games.” Fury filled his eyes.
I was shaking. Tears seared my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice small. Right now, the real reason for the masquerade, as justified as it was, didn’t matter.
“Good,” he grumbled. “Don’t do it again or I’m going to have to punish you.”
He said it like he meant it, but then he softened his grip under my chin and, before I could blink, smashed his lips into mine. Surrendering, I parted my lips and let his tongue search mine. The kiss was wet, fierce, and passionate. Releasing my chin, he pulled away and tore off his clothes. All six-feet-three of his gorgeous, golden nakedness stood before me, his magnificent cock engorged and erect. He drew me against him, wrapping his sculpted arms around me. I folded my arms around his tight torso, and leaned my head against his warm chiseled chest. His hardness pulsed against my throbbing sex, and his heart beat with mine. We were sewn together. One.
“Oh, my beautiful princess, I’ve missed you,” he whispered into my ear. “Ben’s missed you too.
“I’ve missed you both too,” I whispered back. More than words can ever tell you.
He nuzzled my neck, his sensuous velvet lips unlocking every erogenous zone. “Oh, baby,” he breathed, “if anything ever happened to you…”
His voice, I swear near tears, trailed off. The love this gorgeous man felt for me overwhelmed me. I ran the fingers of my bandaged hand lightly through his silky hair and the other across the muscles of his back. Beneath my fingertips, I could feel the horrible scar left behind by the psycho bitch. I rubbed it gently. A caress. The words of my mother echoed in my head. Fight for what you want. And for who you want. “Ari, I’ll never leave you again,” I whispered. “Never.”
“Oh, Saarah,” he moaned. “I want you to be mine. Only mine.”
The rock-hard length between his legs pulsated against me. I was aching for it to be inside of me.
As lustful yearning burned through me, he gathered me in his arms and gently lowered me into the tub.
“Keep your knee up and your hand out of the water,” he whispered in my ear.
I did as he asked, positioning myself so that my wounds wouldn’t get wet, and then let out a loud “aah.” It felt so good. The bubbling hot water of the Jacuzzi tub soothed my bruised body; my aches and pains melted away. Ari crouched down beside the tub, grabbing an oversized sponge. He lathered it up, and gently washed away all the bad memories of the afternoon. I closed my eyes, inhaling the intoxicating, rich scent of the surely expensive soap and relishing each warm, sudsy stroke. I bent my neck forward to let him wash the nape and raised it like a swan to let him wash the sensitive area beneath my chin. I was his violin and he the master, his bow sliding across the strings of my body. The music in my head was sad. Almost haunting. Kind of like the John William’s score for Schindler’s List. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I mourned for all those who had survived and for all those who hadn’t. I was born to be a survivor.
As tears continued to stream down my face, Ari gently lifted my injured hand to his lips. He kissed it and then sucked each finger. Just like on the train. Except this time he was sucking out all my pain and infusing me with love.
Letting the sponge fall into the gurgling water, my healer gracefully stepped into the massive tub, taking a place opposite me, stretching his long, muscular legs on either side of me. His enormous cock was erect, hard, and ready. He wrapped his strong arms around me and dove under the water between my bent knees. His tongue found my pussy, stroking and washing. I moaned with ecstasy.
Coming up for a breath, his head powered through the water. I beheld his breathtaking face, all wet and glistening, his hair slicked back. His eyes smoldered with desire. He was mine and I was his.
As I soaked him in, he cupped my breasts in his hands. Pinching my nipples, he twirled them in smooth, little circles. Closing my eyes, I could feel my buds grow long and hard. I arched my back as the erotic pleasure he was giving me beamed to my core. Oh, the power of this god! Still working my nipples, he languorously laved his tongue up my arched neck, brushing it up and down along the area where it met the underside of my chin—that hyper-sensitive area of my neck where he showed no mercy. I let out a loud breathy sigh. Oh, how he knew me!
Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) Page 7