If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(68)

He isn’t going to allow me to escape this car without having his way with me. Of this, I am certain. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to be the girl who never lived in the moment. Alive, I’d told him, about what he makes me feel, and he does. I take the glass from him and down it.

He laughs low in his throat. “A little liquid courage?”

“Yes,” I confess.

“Is the wine satisfactory?” Eric calls out.

Chris sets the glass down, still teasing me mercilessly. “Is the wine satisfactory, Ms. McMillan?”

I glower at him through the thralls of near orgasm, my voice throaty and affected. “It’s…exceptional.”

“Excellent,” Eric approves jovially. “We’re approaching the entry to the vineyards now.” He begins telling us about the history of the territory, but I do not comprehend his words. It is all I can do not to moan as Chris’s thumb teases my clit and he slides a second finger inside me. The ache inside me expands and blossoms. I am going to have an orgasm in a limo with the driver practically watching. This can’t be happening.

“If you look to your right, you’ll see an important piece of the chateau’s history, Ms. McMillan,” Eric says. “Do you see the pond?”

“Yes,” I manage in a choked voice without looking. My body clenches around Chris’s fingers and spasms. My teeth sink into my lip and I turn to the window to hide my face, for fear Eric might glance at me in his rear-view mirror. He’s still speaking, telling me a story. I am oblivious to anything but the shattering of my body.

“Isn’t it a wonderful story?” Eric asks, wrapping up whatever he’d been saying.

“Yes,” I manage again, capable of speech but barely. “It’s delightful.”

“Isn’t it?” Chris asks, dark, heated mischief dancing in his green eyes as he strokes the slick folds of my sensitive flesh and slowly pulls out his fingers.

His eyes meet mine and hold my stare and he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them dry. “Delicious,” he murmurs and my body clenches one last time at the brazenly sensual act.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying the wine,” Eric proclaims.

Chris and I blink at each other and we erupt into laughter. I do not know how I have gone from dark forbidden passion to this lighter shared moment with Chris, but I do know one thing for sure. I have never felt more alive.





Chapter Twenty-Four





After a forty-five minute tour of the vineyards, I have had a glass of wine and I’m feeling a bit loose-limbed and warm all over for reasons aside from Chris’s wicked ways. I’ve enjoyed the tour and learned far more about wine on the drive than in all my studies on my own.

The limo arrives at the Chateau and it is truly a nineteenth-century castle, with green vines traveling the stone walls, and massive arched wooden doors almost as high as the structure.

“It was remodeled in the seventies,” Eric tells us, “and the entire two hundred and fifty-six acre property was converted to a modern wine-making facility.”

I follow Chris as he slides across the seat and pause as Eric turns to me, and I see him clearly for the first time. He is in his mid-fifties with greying hair and sharp blue eyes that miss nothing.

“Thank you for such a wonderful tour, Eric.”

He inclines his head. “My pleasure.” I cringe at the choice of words, because though his well-schooled features give nothing away, this man is too sharp not to know about the pleasure in the backseat. “Enjoy the Chateau. Ms. McMillan.”

Chris has long ago shed his jacket and he tosses it onto a back seat before exiting the car. I follow him out and understand why the jacket is staying behind. It’s still a warm day despite the five o’clock sun creeping lower in the sky, a complete turnaround from the chilly city on the ocean I’ve come to love.

I slide my hand into Chris’s to allow him to help me out of the car, and I am amazed at the zip of electricity up my arm from such a simple contact. My eyes meet his and I know he feels what I do, and I’m almost certain he too is surprised by how readily we impact each other. But then two lost souls searching for an escape should connect, I reason.

With a cautious tug of my skirt, I stand up and Chris’s lips quirk in a way that tells me he is thinking of what we’d done in the back of the car. I am, too.

His hand slides to my elbow and we head through a massive wooden door that seems more movie fantasy than real life. We step inside the chilled foyer with its high ceiling and stone walls.

An employee greets us, a pretty woman in her twenties, with long, blonde hair, and a curvy petite figure shown off in a pale pink suit. Her gaze lingers on Chris with admiration. I have a thing about blondes. I always have. Well, since high school when my best friend, who was of Swedish ancestry, caught every guy’s eye with her natural long, white-blonde hair and curves in all the right places. I was ‘cute’ and she was beautiful. This guide makes me feel cute.

“I’m Allison, Mr. Merit,” she announces, offering him her hand, which he accepts. “Such an honor to have you here. I’ll be taking you on a tour of the Chateau.” She flicks me a look, but doesn’t extend her hand. “Welcome to our establishment.”

Chris slides an arm around my waist, almost as if he senses my sudden insecurity. “Thank you, Allison. This is Sara and she’s the reason I’m here today. I want her to learn why this place is special.”