West Of The Sun by Edgar Pangborn (children's ebooks free online TXT) 📕

Matt strode across the room like he owned the place, swaggering his hips and moving his arms dramatically. A petite woman entered the room, blushing at Matt as he passed by.

“Mr. Jackson, you are expected at the Tower in twenty minutes,” she said in her strong New Yorker accent.

Harry rose to his feet and checked his watch again.

“I still have time,” he muttered to himself. “Thanks, Amy. Please get my publicist on the phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry clasped his hands together and shrugged in his tailor-made suit jacket. He hated wearing a suit. In fact, he was known to turn up on the red carpet in a pair of denim jeans and a relaxed chambray shirt. As a producer, he got away with the style, but attending an event at Lincoln Center had strict requirements. The cheapest seats were over $400, and with the sizeable ticket price, a formal dress code came with it.

His meeting ran over as usual, forcing Harry to send Benjamin to collect Julie from her apartment. He stood outside the entrance to the opera, a dozen cameras flashing repeatedly, blinding his vision. A babble of chatter filled the air, but he didn’t care. He was so used to the attention, it was as if they were not even there. Minutes rolled by as Harry waited patiently, looking up at the starry night sky. He counted the twinkling lights one by one, seeking out the constellations he recognized. His eyes were tracing out the Big Dipper when a familiar rumble of an engine pulled him out of his thoughts. The flashing lights were no longer facing him but on the black Rolls Royce that had come to a halt outside Lincoln Center. Harry’s face lit up as his heart rate accelerated. His driver Thomas, a tall slender man with very little hair atop his head, gracefully got out of the vehicle and walked to the back door. Excitement and intrigue buzzed through the paparazzi as they anticipated who it might be. Thomas looked over and offered an expectant smile; Harry nodded to him to carry on.

Harry’s breath caught in his chest and his heart thumped against his rib cage. One long bare leg appeared, then another, as the pair of gold-glittered stiletto shoes sparkled in the street lights. Her long cream gown flowed down as she exited the car and the shoes disappeared from view. Thomas’ narrow frame partially obscured Harry’s view as he watched a slender hand grasp the sleeve of Thomas’ black jacket.

“Who is she? Who is it?” one of the reporters asked loudly to the others. The clicks of the cameras buzzed along with the multiple questions from the paparazzi. As if one giant spotlight beamed down on the woman, Thomas moved aside, and Harry wanted to fall to his knees.

She is breathtaking.

The cream-colored dress hugged every curve of her body. A slit to the side revealed the lower half of her right leg, and the V-neckline showed just enough flesh to make any man sweat.

But Harry was not looking at her body anymore, he was transfixed under her gaze—sure that she could give him any command and he would willingly obey. He was utterly charmed. Her eyes were two glowing amber flames. Intense, and inviting. The curve of her lips rippling upward until her cheeks were plump like strawberries he wanted to savor. The image sent tingles down Harry’s spine. He gulped so loudly, he was sure it could be heard even over the noise of the paparazzi. With an air of entitlement, they barked questions at Julie. She didn’t owe them anything. Harry stepped forward automatically and offered his arm to her.

“Hello,” she said softly, sliding her hand through the crook of Harry’s elbow and squeezed his bicep. He flexed under her touch, his muscles tightening instinctively. Her hair was swept up into a loose bun with wispy flyaway hairs framing her porcelain face. Long thick lashes fluttered as her eyes darted around the intrusive paparazzi.

Harry thanked Thomas and sent him on his way; he bowed in response and returned to the car. Benjamin must have exited the car and was now standing still, holding open the doors and nodded to Harry as he and Julie walked past.

“Joseph and Martin are already inside. The box is ready for you,” he said in a low voice, now they were out of earshot of the press.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement and rested his hand on Julie’s; the warmth of her skin against his made him weak. He wanted to caress her face with his hands and grasp the back of her neck. Wild fantasies crossed his mind momentarily until Harry mentally shook himself.

Get a grip.

Harry guided Julie into their private box, and they settled down in the plush velvet cushioned chairs. They had a perfect view of the stage and the sea of people in the audience below. Harry turned to Julie and watched her stare at the theatre with her mouth hanging open.

“Have you been to the opera before?”

Julie looked at him, as if surprised by his question.

“No, never,” she replied. Then after a thoughtful moment she corrected herself. “Once, but I was only a child. I hardly remember it.”

Harry sensed there might be a story there. But before he could probe any further, the lights dimmed and the orchestra erupted into song.

Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off her, as she stared at Catherine Fisher, a world-renowned opera singer, who entered the stage to a round of applause. Catherine was a star and the reason why the show had been sold out for months.

The music was enchanting. The melody rose and fell following a whimsical, beautiful story, floating up to the tall ceiling, lifting the energy. Harry’s head was fuzzy, not only with the music but seeing her hand resting on the arm of the chair, so close to Harry’s wrist. His fingers twitched as he wrestled with the urge to take her hand in his. He leaned in