Being Me (Inside Out #2)(3)

“Chris.” My voice cracks on his name, because damn it, my eyes are burning. How have I gone from living the past few years so unaffected by what is around me to the opposite in a matter of weeks? “I . . . I wish you were here.”

“I am here, baby,” he says, and I think, I hope, I hear a note of his own emotion etched deep within his words. “I’m at your front door. Open up.”

I blink in confusion. “I thought you were in L.A. for the charity event.”

“I was and I have to fly out again in the morning, but I had to see you. Open up and let me in.”

I am stunned. I’ve worried all day over his silence. Feared he’d shut me out, as I had him last night. “You came home just to see me?”

“Yes. I came just to see you.” He seems to hesitate. “Are you going to leave me outside?”

More of that emotion I try not to feel erupts inside me, and the burn in my eyes threatens to become tears. He came to see me, went out of his way, to fly here from another city, even after the way I’d reacted to his confession at the club last night. “I’m not home.” My voice is barely audible. “I’m not and I want to be. Can you please come here?”

“Where is here?” he asks, sounding as urgent as I feel.

“A few blocks away. At a Stop N Buy store by the storage unit I told you about.” I can’t bring myself to say Rebecca’s name and I don’t know why.

“I’ll be right there.”

I open my mouth to give him directions, but the line goes dead.





Two




I’m out of my car the instant I see Chris’s Porsche pulling into the parking lot, and the chill I feel when I step outside has nothing to do with the cold air blasting from the nearby ocean, and everything to do with what had happened back at that storage unit. I hug myself and watch him drive toward my silver Ford Focus, and my heart thunders in my chest. Suddenly, I am nervous and insecure, and I hate this part of me I cannot escape. What if I’ve read his visit wrong and he’s here to end what’s between us? What if my reaction to his big reveal last night at Mark’s club has convinced him of what he’s so often declared? That I don’t belong in this world, in his world.

The 911 slides sleekly into the parking spot next to mine, and I try not to think about it being the same car my father drives. My father is the last person I should have on my mind, yet he’s been in my head these past few weeks and I don’t know why. I’m off-kilter, my mind all over the place, shaken by the night’s events and my fear of what will happen with Chris.

I watch Chris exit the car, and just the sight of him towering over the roof of the Porsche sets my pulse to racing all over again. He rounds the trunk, and dressed in black jeans, biker boots, and a leather jacket, his blond hair spiking to his collar, he looks rumpled and sexy, and oh so ruggedly male. His long strides mimic the same urgency I feel, and I launch myself in his direction.

The few steps between us feel like an eternity before I am finally in his arms, wrapped in the warm cocoon of his embrace, his powerful body absorbing mine. The battle of the night before is gone as if it never existed. I melt into the hard lines of him, sliding my hands beneath his leather jacket, and inhaling the wonderful sandalwood and musk scent that is so wonderfully Chris.

In an easy move, he maneuvers me to the side of the car, where the wall hides us from the sight of the people coming and going into the store. “Talk to me, baby,” he orders, studying me in the dim, barely there glow of some kind of parking lights on the Porsche. “Are you okay?”

My eyes meet his and even in the deep haze of the shadows I feel the connection between us, the depths of his feelings for me. Chris has layers I don’t pretend to understand, but he cares about me and I want him to see what I failed to show him last night. I want to understand him. I want him, all of him, including those parts I made him feel I can’t deal with.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Now that you’re here, I’m okay.”

I’ve barely spoken the words when his mouth closes over mine, and I can taste his urgency, his fear, which I recognize now as my own, a fear that after our visit to Mark’s club, we’d never be here, like this, again. I arch into him, drinking in his passion, instantly, willingly consumed by all that he is and could be to me. A dark seed of something that started back in the storage unit, or maybe last night in the club, tries to surface, something my mind refuses to accept. Desperate to escape what I do not want to face, I do what I never dare, and lose myself in the moment. I feel myself sinking deeper into passion, lost in the heat burning low in my belly, the desire spreading slick and hot, between my thighs. There is nothing but the slide of Chris’s tongue against mine, the taste and scent of him, the feel of his hands molding me possessively against his body. I need this. I need him.

I shove my hands under his shirt, absorbing the hot feel of taut skin over hard muscle, pressing closer to him. A rough sound of desire rumbles in his chest, and I revel in his pleasure, his desire for me, at the way his hands slide down my back, over my backside, before he pulls me hard against his groin. I lick into his mouth as I feel his erection thick against my stomach, and something just snaps inside me. I don’t care where I am. I don’t know where I am. I just want Chris. I cannot stop touching him, tasting him. We are all over each other and I am lost. And still, it’s not enough to keep that dark seed at bay. I need something . . . more. I need . . .