If I Were You(Inside Out 01)(51)

He doesn’t laugh as I’d hoped. His hand freezes on my sleeve and his gaze lifts. “I’m no saint, Sara. I’ve told you that.”
“Yes,” I agree tartly. “You have. Repeatedly.”
“But you won’t listen.”
“I’ve heard every word you’ve said.”
“Maybe I haven’t said enough.”
Exactly, I think. “You haven’t said anything besides stay away and don’t go.”
His brows dip a moment before his lips curve into a smile. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“Not with you it seems. Or…hmmm…when I’m drinking.” I cringe with the memory of the night before. “The wine got the best of me after you left last night. I marched up to Mark and told him that I didn’t want to be involved in whatever your…well…” I press my fingers to my forehead. “I can’t believe I said this.”
His brows lift. “Now you’ve got me curious.”
I drop my hand and dare to repeat the out-of-character words I’d spoken. “I told him I don’t want to get in between whatever the ‘cock-fight’ is you two have with each other.”
Chris barks out laugher. “I would have loved to have seen both of your faces when you blurted that one out.” He motions toward the kitchen. “Come. I need to feed you, woman.” He reaches for the pizza box, apparently without any plan to explain or deny the ‘cock-fight’. Why? What is it with these two?
“Bathroom,” I say, pointing the direction of the room I’d used the night before. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
He grabs me and pulls me close, his breath trickling warmth on mine, “Just so we’re clear, Sara. There is no in between.” The air crackles with electricity, and I am sure he will kiss me and I burn for a taste of him. My body quakes inside and out. Please. Now. Kiss me.
I am hanging on a thread when he turns me to the bathroom before smacking me on the ass. I yelp with the unexpected swat, and unbidden, with a rush of heat and memory of him doing the same thing the night before to my bare butt. His lips press near my ear. “Go now. It’s never a good idea to keep a starving man waiting, Sara. You’d be good to remember that.”
I suck in a breath and have no idea why, but I launch myself into action, as if I must follow his command, stopping only to grab my purse when I spot it on the ground. He is still behind me, watching me, tracking my every move. Every inch of me is tingling and warm with awareness, responding to his hot gaze, responding to his words, to his touch. Why is his hand on my backside so damn erotic? How can Chris redefine everything I know of myself in a matter of days? And what the heck did he mean ‘there is no in between’?



Chapter Nineteen

Description: butterfly

Shutting myself inside the bathroom, I lean against the door and let out a breath, replaying Chris’s whispered warning. It’s never a good idea to keep a starving man waiting, Sara. Another one of his warnings lurks in the depths of the sensual promise of some kind of erotic punishment if I don’t hurry up and…well, I don’t know what, but I’m pretty sure I want to keep him waiting and find out. My lips tilt up. He really is doing a poor job of scaring me away. Mark’s big on punishment. Unbidden, and with a sharp twist in my gut, Amanda’s words come to my mind. For the first time since the wine had fed my boldness with my new boss, a cold blast of proverbial ice water douses the sizzling heat Chris has coursing through my veins. While Mark had agreed money was king and I was secure, I’m worried. Will I be punished? Have I ruined my chance at Riptide? My chance at a future when this fling with Chris ends?
Confusion twists inside me. Chris has ensured I have a nest egg I can use to create a future in the field I love, but he’s also potentially jeopardized the opportunity already before me. How do I thank him — and I need to - while I also ensure he doesn’t cross the same line again? I’m clueless, truly clueless, and it seems an impossible balancing act, while I’m in Chris’s apartment, in his robe, and wishing we were both naked again. I have only one real option. Enjoy having breakfast cooked for me by this sexy brilliant painter, and look for the right opportunity to bring this all up. I have to find one because I have to thank him for the commission he’s ensured I will receive.
I inhale and let it out, facing the truth deep inside me that I suppress all too frequently. While I’ve accepted life with limited resources, the chance to have some money, to chase my dream, is exciting. I’m almost afraid to believe it’s true until I have the money. And Chris…Chris did this for me. I owe him more than a verbal thank you, and I can think of all kinds of ways I’d like to say thank you. If he’ll let me. For someone who comes off so friendly and warm, the true Chris is cautious and guarded.
Suddenly, I am eager to find my way back to my complicated artist - well, mine if only for a while — and I shove off of the door and look at myself in the mirror. Oh good gosh, I look like a creature from ‘Fright Night’. My hair is a wild mess, and my makeup is non-existent except for mascara smudged under my eyes. Great. I’m with the hottest man I’ve ever known and raccoons have crawled through my hair and settled under my eyes. And I’ve spent so much time thinking, Chris is going to come looking for me.
Digging through my purse, I search for my brush, and freeze at the sight of one of Rebecca’s journals. I swallow hard as I remember the exact entry inside that I’d awakened dreaming about this morning. No. More like reliving. I swallow hard at how vividly I’d conjured another woman’s words into fantasy while Chris stood nearby, perhaps overhearing my sighs, moans, and who knew what else.