If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(27)

I snatch up the few napkins I have beside me and wipe the table to salvage my computer before it becomes a victim of my shaky hands. Task complete, I squat to attend my dripping wet shoe and the floor.

“Looks like you need these.”

The familiar voice tingles along my nerve endings and blood rushes to my cheeks. No. Please. Do not let this be happening. He squats in front of me, and my gaze locks on his powerful thighs where his hands rest. Strong, artistic hands that are holding napkins for my spill. Slowly, my gaze lifts to find a set of alluringly green eyes belonging to Chris Merit staring into mine. Once again, this famous, gorgeous man is squatting on the ground in an effort to help me recover from a mishap.

“You have the most amazing knack for showing up to witness my acts of clumsiness,” I accuse.

His lips curve and his green eyes twinkle with specks of yellow. No. More like light flecks of gold shimmer. “I prefer to think of it as a knack for coming to your rescue,” he declares huskily and winks, before he proceeds to wipe up my mess. Oh good God. I’ve made Chris Merit my janitor. And, he winked at me. I can barely breathe.

He stands up and heads to the trash, moving with a confident male grace that is momentarily spellbinding. I’m frozen in place. I can only stare at him in wonder. Which, I realize, snapping to my senses, is not a good thing when I am in a skirt and squatting on the ground.

I pop to my feet and then have to lift my foot and swipe a remaining wet spot off my shoe. I’ve just dropped the used napkins inside the empty cup when he returns and stands by my table. Close to me. Really close. A spicy, wonderful scent teases my nostrils, and stirs longing inside me. I love how this man smells and I have a new found liking for faded jeans and biker boots I doubt I will ever lose. And try as I might, I cannot help but remember him holding the leather jacket he’s wearing today around me the other night.

“Ah, thanks,” I manage to say, sounding as frazzled as I feel. “I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” His eyes are warm, and remind me of summer green grass, his voice rich with sincerity. “I think you’re adorable.”

“Adorable,” I repeat, my tone deadpan. “Not what a girl wants to be.” It’s what a man calls a kid sister, or the girl he doesn’t want to date. Not that I thought he wanted to date me. I don’t know what I thought, what I think now.

“Then what does a girl want to be?” There is a teasing tone to his words that matches his expression.

Beautiful. Sexy. I want to be either or both to this man, but I wouldn’t dare to say such things so I settle on, “Not clumsy.”

“You’re interesting.”

“Interesting?” I query. What is it with him and Mr. Compton and the whole interesting thing? It has to be an artsy thing I’m out of touch with. “I…well. I guess that’s better than clumsy.” I’m not sure it’s better than adorable. I just don’t know.

“You still don’t like that choice of word.”

“It’s…fine.”

“You inspired me to draw you.”

“The adorably interesting and clumsy inspiration,” I say, feeling self-conscious, but then quickly feel bad about the remark. I soften my voice and add, “But thank you. I’m flattered you drew me and I was absolutely breathless when I opened the envelope.” I can’t contain my silly smile. “Now I own a Chris Merit original.” My brows dip. “Unless you want it back?”

He laughs. “Of course, I don’t want it back.” He hesitates. “You like it?”

Is there a hint of uncertainty in his voice, deep in those gorgeous eyes? Surely not. He’s made millions off of his work. He can’t have an uncertain bone in his spectacular body.

I press my hand to my racing heart and pat it. “I love it.” Unfortunately, my heart isn’t the only thing in high gear. My stomach growls and not softly. In fact, it’s loud. Very loud. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel my cheeks, once again, flush red.

A soft, sexy laugh slides from his lips. “Hungry?”

I dare to look at him and feign ignorance. “What gives you that idea?”

“Just a guess,” he teases. “But since I’m starving, I was hoping you might be, too.”

He gives me a hopeful smile that I feel clear to my toes. He’s smiling at me, but not laughing at me. I like this about him, the way he makes me ultra-aware of him, but somehow comfortable, too.

My stomach growls again and I laugh. “Oh my gosh, I do believe I am hungry.” I shake my head. “You have a way of finding all my weaknesses.”

“If food’s a weakness then I have it, too. Do you like Mexican? Diego Maria’s is a few blocks down the road. It’s a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place but it’s good eating. I hang out on their patio and sketch some afternoons.”

“Do they serve wine?” I ask.

“They’re more of a beer and tequila kind of joint.”

“Good, because I don’t even want to see wine on a menu for the next hour.”

“I take it Mark is still trying to force the wine thing down your throat?”

“If you mean, Mr. Compton, then yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Mr. Compton, my ass.” He lifts his chin at me. “You in for Diego Maria’s?”