Revealing Us (Inside Out #3)(18)

I suck in a breath, touched deeply. “I know I am,” I reply softly. “And you know I am. We’re all that matters.”

He encloses me in his arms. “You’ll know even better, after we go down there and I introduce you to Amber.”

I’d rather meet Amber later, when I’m on more even footing. “But I’m in your shirt and you’re only wearing pants.”

His lips curve. “If that doesn’t make a statement, then I don’t know what does.” He motions to the door. “Let’s get rid of her, then shower and go to bed.”

The determined look in his eyes says it all. We’re going to do this. “I’m not going to like this,” I warn.

He smiles and kisses my nose. “It’ll be a lot less painful than being naked on all fours in the middle of a rug while you stare at her.”

I cringe and press my head to his chest before giving him a sheepish look. “I really did that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, baby.” He grins. “And you looked good doing it.”

I might have blushed at that comment, but the memory of why I’d frozen in that position hits me hard. I’d been stunned by the contrast of my dark hair and Amber’s light blond hair, my untouched skin, her tattoos. “We’re very diferent.”

He runs his hands down my hair and captures my gaze with his. “That’s a good thing, Sara.” In his usual elusive style, he says nothing more. He simply laces his ingers with mine and pulls me toward the door.



Anxiety ripples through me as he all but drags me down the stairs toward the living room, but he pauses at the bottom of the stairs and we stare at the rug. My mind goes to the moment that I kneeled down in the center, naked and vulnerable, and completely willing because it was with Chris. Heat rushes up my neck and my cheeks lush.

Chris cuts me a sideways look, his eyes twinkling with the mischief I’ve come to expect from him. “Like I said. I’ll never look at that rug the same way again.”

His mood is contagious and I smile back. “It’s a very comfortable rug.”

His lips curve into a sensual smile. “It is with you on it.”

I lush, and the gleam in his eyes says he notices. He leans in and brushes his lips over mine, his voice low and thick. “We have many rooms to explore together,” he promises, and then motions me to our right.

The lightness in the air vanishes and my stomach knots, but I manage an agreeable nod. Reluctantly, and only because he is so adamant this is important, I let Chris lead me to the stairwell heading to the kitchen. Trying to remain composed on no sleep and a heck of a lot of emotional overload, I focus on everything but the potential Amber disaster before me, like how much I love the way the kitchen sits above the living area like a loft. I can’t wait to explore the entire house.

I’ve taken only one step up when a whif of the familiar scent of Chris’s favorite French cofee hits me. Tension settles hard in my belly. Obviously Amber feels right at home here.

I force down the negative feelings, reminding myself that this is not the day to make assessments. It’s a day to go to bed and rest.

Chris and I reach the top of the stairs and my attention is riveted on Amber, sitting at a gorgeous stone island, her silky blond hair draped over her slender shoulders. She’s the center-piece of a gray and black modern kitchen, with stainless-steel appliances and a long line of gray-wash cabinets above the counters that have a splattered-paint look. She looks gorgeous, her pale skin pure perfection, and I’m excruciatingly aware of my day-old smudged makeup, and the heaviness of my dark brown hair that says I need a shower.

“I picked up freshly ground Malongo,” she says of the cof-fee brand Chris loves enough to bring to the States with him, and lifts a white mug with steam rising from the top. “I’ll pour you a cup.”

She’s looking at Chris and talking to Chris. This is not starting out well.

“We’ll get our own,” Chris says, pulling me around the island toward the cofeemaker and stopping by the counter. “I want to show Sara her new kitchen.”

“Her kitchen?” she queries.

Chris turns toward her and pulls me under his arm, beside him. Her legs are crossed, her toes painted bright red to match her shoes. “That’s right,” he conirms. “Sara lives with me now.

What’s mine is hers.”

Amber’s gaze immediately goes to my inger in search of a ring, and a sharp pang of discomfort pinches my chest. I shove my hand behind my back, out of sight, but I feel sideswiped 69



again at the idea of marriage. We’ve never even talked about it, and that hits me hard.

Chris snags my hand and pulls it between us. “I should be so lucky,” he replies, as if Amber has spoken her silent question, his voice low and emotional.

Has Chris just said he wants to marry me? In front of Amber?





Seven


Stunned, I turn to face Chris, my hand settling on the warm wall of his bare chest. “What?” I ask, certain I’ve misunderstood.

We’ve never talked about marriage, but I ind I can barely breathe waiting for his reply. Chris as my husband? I’ve never dared to consider it really happening.

The look he gives me is both tender and hot at the same time, illed with the promise of far more than the next sexual adventure we both forever crave. “Don’t look so surprised, baby.”