If I Were You(Inside Out 01)(45)

He turns and heads back toward me, two pizza boxes in his hands, and all I can think of is being pressed against the window with him doing naughty things to me. I amend my prior thought. He absolutely hits all my hot buttons times ten. I refuse to clutter up a good thing with emotions and thoughts of tomorrow. When I was in this man’s arms, he pushed my limits and left no room for anything but what he was making me feel. I am instantly hungry and pizza isn’t what I crave. It’s him, and a desire to feel what he made me feel not so long ago.
He lifts the boxes in his hands. “They brought us two. If you’re going to the bathroom, go now. Trust me. It’s the best pizza on the planet when it’s scorching hot.”
I grin. “On the planet?”
“You bet, sweetheart, and I’ve done a lot of eating in Italy.”
Laughing, I quickly scurry away, and dart into a spare bathroom where I flip on the light to reveal a room so luxurious it makes my master bath look like a porta potty. The darn thing even has a sunken tub. Out of the blue, my chest tightens and I lean against the door, forgetting my hunger and my urgency. This life, Chris’s life, the expensive everything around me, was my life when I was growing up, and I’m apparently having a rare flashback to the past. A part of me misses the girly things like a fancy bathtub, soaps, and perfumes, but I quickly remind myself, there’d been a price for those things. Chris is a different story. He earned this life, he owns it and deserves it, and I know my desire to do the same has the Riptide ‘carrot’, as Chris had called it, enticing me. It’s my chance to ‘earn it’, or a tiny piece of this life Chris lives, myself.
I shake off my thoughts and quickly use the bathroom and wash up, checking myself in the mirror in the process. My lips are bare and swollen and my brown hair a wild mess. Not surprisingly, I look thoroughly f*cked, but remarkably better than I remember looking in a long time. Fucked. Not made love to. I smile into the mirror. I like the freedom this new me is experiencing. It’s sexy. He’s sexy. I feel sexier than I have felt in my entire life.
“Hurry, woman!” Chris shouts out and I laugh and exit the bathroom.
“Why do women do hurry so poorly?” he asks, as I join him on the couch.
“Why do men do impatient so well?” I counter, and my nostrils flare with the wonderful scent of baked bread, spices, and tomato sauce.
“Because you teach us impatience.”
I snort. “Like you men are teachable? I don’t think so.”
He opens the lid of one of the boxes and the cheese is bubbly and yummy looking. “That looks and smells so good. I’m not even going to be embarrassed to let you see how much pizza I can put back.”
He offers me a plate and I happily fill it will a large slice. “You don’t look like you can put down more than a slice or two.”
“Obviously, you know the right things to say to a girl, especially after she’s, ah, been naked.” I smile, less embarrassed with this man than seems possible considering his hot, famous, status. “But I assure you I can.” I take a bite and moan. “Oh…hmm.”
“Good, right?” he asks, and takes a bite of his own slice.
“So good,” I agree, snatching a napkin from the roll he’s set on the coffee table. “I’ll be jogging a few extra miles this week but it will be worth it.”
“You’re a runner?”
“It’s my cardio of choice and I can do it at home. I’m not much into group activities and I hate the gym crowd.”
“There’s a private gym on the fourth floor. It’s one of the reasons I picked the building.”
“You have the whole floor. I’m shocked you don’t have a gym here.”
“I use the space for my studio which I’ll show you when we finish eating.”
I’m going to see Chris Merit’s studio and I am reminded of what a superstar is. “You don’t act like a famous person.”
“I don’t think of myself as a famous person.”
I finish my pizza and set the plate down, my hunger curbed enough to find him far more interesting. I pull one leg onto the couch. “But you are. You have to know you are.”
He shrugs and grabs another slice of pizza for both of us. “I’m just me.” He hands me my plate.
Absently, I accept the pizza. “You are one of the youngest, most successful living painters in the world. You’re brilliant, Chris.”
“And because I know you truly admire my work, that matters to me. Believe me, there are plenty of people who want to be close to you for the wrong reasons when you’re in the spotlight.”
I take a bite of my pizza and consider him. He’s already reaching for another slice. I’m still considering him when he takes a bite.
He arches a brow at my attentiveness. “What are you looking at me like that for?”
“You don’t like people to know you’re famous.”
“I don’t go around announcing it.”
My brows knit together as I start to piece together something. Or I think I do. “Wait. Do you intentionally use your father’s photo for public forums?”
A slow smile slides onto his lips and he disposes of his plate and motions to the box. “More?”
I set my plate on the table. “Not yet. You didn’t answer my question.”
He turns to face me, his leg on the couch as well, and scrubs his jaw, looking busted. “Yes. I’ve been known to slip in his photo here or there.” He winks. “Fooled you, didn’t I?”
“Your father looks like he’s in his forties in the photo. I assumed you’d aged poorly.”