If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(28)

I nod and smile and he looks pleased, even relieved? No. That’s silly. I shake off the ridiculous notion and try not to grin like a school girl. I’m going to lunch with Chris Merit and I’ll have the chance to talk to him about his work. He heads to the table he’d been sitting at yesterday and hikes a backpack he’s yet to unpack to his shoulder. Relief washes over me. I did not want to find out he’d been watching me again and I hadn’t been self-aware enough to know.

I quickly pack my red leather bag and am about to slide it to my shoulder when he reaches for it. “I’ll carry it for you.”

My lips twitch. “I really think you should let me carry it. I fear the cute girly bag will blow your cool artist in leather image. Besides, it’s light. I’m good, but thank you.”

With obvious reluctance he drops his hand. “If you change your mind, I’ll happily risk my cool artist in leather image that I didn’t know I had.”

A smile slides easily to my lips. “And I’ll have my phone camera ready if I do.”

He chuckles and the sound of that rough, masculine laughter does funny things to my chest, and well, pretty much my entire body.

We step outside and the cool wind off the ocean screams a welcome and has me grateful my blouse is long-sleeved. I suppress a shiver for fear Chris will offer me his coat again, though the idea isn’t an unpleasant one. I simply don’t understand the dynamic between us and I’m not sure I can be clear-headed with anything that has been on this man’s body touching mine.

We begin the short stroll to the restaurant and I am intensely aware of how close he is, how big he is. I am so confused with this man. He makes every nerve ending I own buzz and yet, I am oddly comfortable with him. There is something beneath the surface I can’t put my finger on, something that defies his easygoing exterior and I burn to understand what it might be.

He cuts me a sideways look. “How’s the gallery stack up to your school teaching so far?”

“I’ve become student instead of teacher, which was really the last thing I expected when I dove into this new adventure.”

“That confident you know your art, are you?”

“Yes. I am. I know my art. I know my artists. Well, I thought I did. I had you pictured as your dad for some reason.”

A smirk plays on his lips, and I get the feeling he’s enjoying some secret joke. “Did you now?” he asks, and motions to the opening in the black steel-encased patio of the restaurant. “We can just grab a table out here and they’ll send someone to take our order.”

Being mid-afternoon, there’s no crowd, and we have a choice of all of the six tables inside the black steel. I head for the one against the railing so we can lean against it and view the Golden Gate Bridge along with miles and miles of beautiful blue water. It’s a view I never get tired of enjoying and as hard as it is in the compact city, I manage to avoid it far too often.

I settle into my seat and the wind rushes over me, pulling a shiver from me before I can contain my reaction. I look up to find Chris standing above me. No. More like towers over me.

“You’re cold.” It’s not a question.

“No,” I assure him. “I love this view. I’m-“ A gust of hard wind overtakes me and there is simply no escaping the impact, or the chattering of my teeth. “Okay.” I hold my hands up in surrender. ”I’m cold.”

Surprising me, his hand gently wraps around one of my wrists and he pulls me to my feet. We are close, toe to toe, and I cannot seem to breathe. In defiance of the chill of my skin, heat forms beneath his touch, and begins to climb a path up my arm and over my chest. He stares down at me, and though his expression is impassable, I can feel the tension curling between us.

Hair blows into my eyes, and he releases my arm, and tenderly brushes the hair from my eyes, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “Let’s go in where it’s warm.” His voice is as gentle as his fingers sliding from my face.

He opens the door for me and I enter, nervously avoiding eye contact, trying to will my heart to stop beating at an impossible pace. Soft Mexican music touches my ears and I see no more than ten tables, only one of which is occupied.

He lifts his chin at the small, two-seater table inside a bay window. It is both out of the reach of the wind, and by my standards, intimate. “Looks like the best seat in the house to me. How about to you?”

I nod my approval. “As long as it comes with a few hot peppers to warm me up, I think it’s perfect.”

“A daring eater, are you?” he asks, as we head to our seat.

“Eating is the one thing I can say with certainty I do without a single inhibition.”

He pulls out my chair for me and his eyes twinkle with evident mischief. “Eating is one of many things I do without inhibition.”

My eyes go wide before I can stop them and he laughs before adding, “Don’t worry. I won’t share the other things unless you ask nicely.”

I sit before I dare to ask what things he’s talking about, surprised by how close I am to taking the bait. “Sounds like a question to ask over tequila, which would never work anyway. I’d be too tipsy to remember your answers.”

He settles my briefcase on the back of the chair and his fingers brush my arm, the silk is no barrier to the sweet friction of this man’s touch. I suck in a breath at the impact, and my gaze is captured by his for several intense seconds.