Curve Struck (A Celebrity Stepbrother Romance) by Christa Wick Page A

o'clock.
    In three years of working in the industry, the situation was a first for her. She was positive her weight had cost her jobs -- whether because the people responsible for hiring didn't think she could hustle as much as the gig required or from equally ignorant assholes who didn't want the aesthetics of their set spoiled. But all the extra curves and jiggly bits had also provided a level of immunity against sexual harassment.
    Until now.
    Maybe the interest Declan was showing Melanie had cast a sort of competitive glamour over her as far as Strake was concerned.
    "What do you say, baby?" Strake took another step forward, his hips leading the way.
    "I say you need to stay on the other side of the table," she answered coolly.
    Oblivious to her rejection, he took another step forward. She turned away from the table, her gaze picking a safe route to the door he had closed when he came into her workspace under the pretext of checking on her progress.
    He snatched at her wrist, seizing it in a rough grip. Intent on more than just stopping her retreat, he jerked her to him.
    "You think this table is strong enough for you to sit on while I fuck you?"
    Seeing his mouth zero in on hers, she brought her hand up sharply. Aiming to slam her palm in his nose, she wasn't fast enough. She caught him under the chin and pushed up. With her fingers near his lips, Strake tried to suck one into her mouth, grossing her out before anger and fear took over.
    "Let go of me!" she screamed.
    Grabbing her other wrist, he twisted her arms until they were behind her back and his hips were pushing at the curve of her stomach.
    Bile rose up in her mouth.
    "I bet you've got a tight pussy." He pumped his hips against her once and she felt the thin pencil of his erection between the layers of fabric separating them. "If you won't give it up for Bain, then you're not like most girls your size. Most fatties will give it up to any man willing to drop his pants."
    "When you let go of my arms," she growled. "It better be to run."
    Laughing, he tried to nuzzle at her neck.
    She snapped at his ear before screaming again.
    "Let go of me!"
    "Scream all you want," Strake taunted. "You'll be moaning for me to come back when I'm through fu--"
    The office door burst open. Strake jerked his head toward the intruder, his expression flashing from annoyed to terrified as he saw Declan charging at him, head down and the muscular arms outstretched.
    Releasing Melanie's wrists, Strake tried to peel back. She brought her hands up and slammed both of them against his chest, knocking him backwards. Declan adjusted his charge, dropped one arm and wrapped the other around Strake's neck in a chokehold, bringing the man to his knees.
    Melanie stared, stunned twice over. First at the attack and then at Declan's rescue.
    "Stop," she said, starting with a whisper before repeating it more loudly as she grabbed at his arm. "Stop!"
    Strake looked at her, eyes bulging as his face mottled red and purple.
    "Unless you tell me you wanted that," Declan growled. "I'm going to wring his fucking neck."
    Her tone gentled and she stared into Bain's furious gaze. "I didn't want it, but you have to stop anyway. Think it through, the cops--"
    "Are going to haul his worthless ass away for assault?"
    She shook her head, tugging lightly at Declan's arm as Strake's eyelids started to flutter shut. "Where there are cops, there are reporters...especially if there is a dead body."
    Digging his fingers in Strake's hair, Declan withdrew his arm from around the flagging man's neck. Bain glared at her, the muscles on his arm tight and flexing.
    "He's going to do this to someone else."
    Holding back tears, she nodded. "You know he won't go to jail, even with both of us testifying. It probably wouldn't even go to trial."
    Strake had too much money and power in Hollywood. He'd say she and Declan were colluding, that it was Declan who had made the marks on her wrist. He'd tell a thousand different lies and, best