No in Between (Inside Out #4)(60)

“And don’t you make excuses for me. That’s denial—the very thing you swear destroys anyone it touches.” I try to duck under his arms.

He shackles my leg with his. “No one’s making excuses. That’s not how I operate and you know it.”

“You must wonder when, and where, I’ll have an attack again.”

He shakes his head. “You’re creating a problem that doesn’t exist, but know this. If you have another attack, I’ll be there to catch you.”

“This is exactly what I didn’t want. I don’t want you walking around trying to catch me.”

“That’s what we do, baby. We catch each other. I’ve accepted that with my meltdowns; now you have to accept it with this. I’m not entertaining any other version of who we are together.” He runs a gentle finger down my cheek. “Understand?”

While his tone is hard, his eyes are not. He means what he’s said. He really doesn’t seem to be letting this new knowledge cloud how he sees me, or us. “This is where you agree with me,” he encourages.

“I do. It’s what I want, too.”

“Good. Now tell me what happened with Michael.”

“He says he’s staying until the trial. And the real kicker? He says he’s doing this to protect me and my father.”

“A way to intimidate you with the threat that he’ll smear you in court.”

“And a desperate play to get back in my father’s good graces, which is exactly what I told him—right before I screamed ‘f*ck you’ at him a few times.”

He gives me a deadpan look. “You screamed ‘f*ck you’ at Michael?”

“Several times, quite fiercely. And considering it was in a very public place, not one of my most shining moments.”

“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “you did need to make sure you got your point across.” His lips quirk in that sexy, kissable way, and the tight ball of tension in my head dissolves into laughter.

“Yes,” I agree. “I guess I did.”

His hand settles possessively on my hip. “You kicked some ass today on all fronts. David was laughing his ass off at the way you called him and put the detective on the spot.”

“Did you hear that Grant used me to start a fight next door?”

“Yeah, I heard. Interesting development. I wonder what they know about those two that we don’t.”

“He gave nothing away to me. He made me think he wanted to know more about Mark and Ricco.”

Chris brushes some hair from my eyes, his mood doing one of those dark shifts, his fingers lingering on my cheek before falling away. “Your panic attack last night means nothing, Sara. Fighting back today, does. It proves you’re putting the past behind you. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” I say, realizing as I speak that he’s right. “The panic attack scared me because it made me feel out of control, but that’s not how I felt with Michael today. Not at all. I’m not the same person I was when I was with him, or even a month ago. Or even before that last night in Paris. Because of you. Because of us.”

“Us,” he repeats.

“Yes.” I confirm that bond we share. “Us.”

His fingers flex into my backside where they’ve settled, and his gaze lingers on my mouth. When it lifts, his stare is as hot as I suddenly feel. “I want to f*ck you right here and now,” he shocks me by announcing.

“Oh no,” I say quickly. “Not here. We can’t.”

“We can,” he assures me, and his fingers begin to inch my skirt up.

My hand goes to his, stilling his actions. “No,” I insist. “Not here, Chris. And the hearing has already started; we have to be ready to deal with the results.”

“It’ll take a while to end,” he says, his fingers tunneling into my hair as he drags my mouth a tantalizing breath from his. “Didn’t we just decide it’s better to focus on what we can control? And I choose to control all the things I can do to you while we wait for David’s call.”

“Chris—” His lips brush mine, a featherlight touch that sends a rush of sensations along every nerve ending in my body. “You’re so unfair.”

“How’s this for fair?” He turns me and walks me backward until I hit the desk. “I’m going to f*ck you right here, right now.” His hands go to my waist and he lifts me, setting me on the desk and caressing my skirt up my thighs. “Any objections?” He opens my knees and fits his hips between my legs, nestling the thick ridge of his erection in just the right spot.

“Since you put it that way,” I say, sounding as breathless as I feel, “no objections.”

His dangerously perfect mouth quirks and he leans in, nuzzling my neck, my arms wrapping around his neck. His tongue flicks wickedly over a delicate spot behind my ear that he somehow makes me feel in the deepest part of my sex. My thighs clench his hips and his hand cups my breast, strokes my nipple, and my lashes flutter, lowering. And then somehow, I’m staring over his shoulder at the painting of the roses resting on the ground.

Unbidden, random entries from Rebecca’s journal flicker into my mind. I can almost hear her voice in my head, feel her need for Mark in my need for Chris. Because of this room, which was her office. It’s their place, their past. It’s Mark’s loss and pain and Rebecca’s murder. It’s them, not us. A desperate need to escape rushes over me, and I shove my hands against Chris’s chest. “Wait,” I say, straightening. “Wait, Chris. Wait.”