Being Me (Inside Out #2)(43)

Chris grabs a leather bag and begins loading them inside. “The PI wants to see them.”

“We can’t just let him have them.”

“Jacob’s copying them and then locking them up for us.”

“You trust Jacob?”

“Completely. I had him checked out before I hired him for some private work for the charity.”

“But what about Rebecca’s privacy?”

“If we end up going to the police, the journals are as good as public record. Better to let the PI check things out completely.”

“Does the PI think we need to go to the police?”

“All I know is he needs more to go on, and he’s hoping the journals and your insight from basically living Rebecca’s life will help.”

My eyes go wide. Am I living Rebecca’s life? The idea sends a wave of nausea through me. I’m trying to find myself again, to create the life I always wanted. Have I simply lost myself in Rebecca’s?

I think of the man who’d stolen her identity and I stare at Chris, thinking about how he’s consumed me, and I reject the comparison of him to the Master in the journal. Chris has helped me face myself. He’s forcing me to face the past.

? ? ?

After I apply for my passport, Chris pulls the 911 up in front of several big-name retail stores only a few blocks from the gallery and parks at a meter. I frown. “Where’s your bank?” I ask, since he’s told me that’s where we’re headed.

“Around the corner. I thought we’d shop first.”

“For what?”

“You need a dress for Saturday night.”

“I have something at home.” A pathetic dress, but a dress.

His fingers slide into my hair and he pulls my mouth to his, caressing my lips with his. “I’m buying you a dress. You can pick it or I will.”

“I don’t need—”

He kisses me and his tongue is a delicate whisper gone too soon. “You do and so do I.” He lets me go and gets out of the car, and I don’t think he’s talking about the dress.

By the time I shove open my door, Chris is beside me, offering me his hand. The instant my palm touches his, a sharp pang of awareness rushes through me. “You know,” I start to say as I stand directly in front of him, “I don’t like—”

“Spending my money,” he finishes. “But I like it enough for both of us.”

“You don’t have to spend money on me. I love—” I stop, astounded at how easily it had slid to the tip of my tongue.

His gaze sharpens and he steps closer, his arm wrapping my waist. “You love what, Sara?” he prods softly.

I am on the verge of a confession better made in private. “I love . . .” I pause, torn about what comes next. “Being with you.”

His eyes dance with mischief and his lips curve. “I love . . .” He pauses as I had. “Being with you.”

My eyes go wide. Have we just confessed our love? Surely not. “You love . . . being with me?”

“Very much,” he assures me, and slides his fingers between mine. “And Saturday night I’m going to love peeling off the dress you’re about to buy. I’m imagining it will get me through the torture of my monkey suit.”

I laugh. “I can’t wait to see you in your monkey suit.”

My mood is light and spirits high as we walk into the Chanel store that I adore but have avoided since becoming a struggling teacher. Chris releases my hand and I start wandering the store. A long, slim-cut, emerald dress catches my eye and I walk toward it; the color reminds me of Chris’s eyes when he’s in that dark, dangerous place I’ve come to crave.

I stop in front of it, admiring the silk material, and I can’t help reaching for the price tag. Chris’s hand slides around mine. “Don’t even think of looking at that.” I tilt my head back to look at him over my shoulder. “Try it on,” he orders.

“Yes, Master.”

He laughs. “Like you’d ever allow that.” I gape at the implication that he would, and he smiles wickedly, then lowers his voice. “I don’t want to be your Master, Sara. I just want you to do what I say.”

I snort and pick up the dress. “Good luck.” He glances at it and back at me, and I glower. “I like it. I’m not trying it on because you told me to.”

“Of course.”

Strolling away, I grab several more dresses before heading to the dressing room, only to find Ava standing at a rack near the entry, looking gorgeous in a pale blue dress with a belted waist.

“Sara!” she exclaims and hugs me. “What a small world.” She gives Chris a nod. “I see you know how to take good care of a woman.”

My face heats and Chris’s hand slides to my back, silently soothing the burn of the comment. “Hello, Ava,” he offers in a taut greeting.

Ava runs her hand down the green dress. “Oh, this one is going to look gorgeous on you. I have some time. I can’t wait to see you in it.”

Chris turns to me. “Why don’t I leave you to shop and I’ll run to the bank. I’ll leave a credit on the account. Buy whatever you want. We have a good hour before we have to leave for our appointment. The restaurant we’re meeting at is a few blocks away.”