If I Were You(Inside Out 01)(53)

I glance at the perfectly formed omelets not yet filled and folded. “Looking pretty darn master chef to me.”
He glances at me; his eyes alight with good humor. “Now you’re giving me performance pressure.”
I snort. “You and performance pressure don’t compute.”
His lips quirk but there’s no denial to follow. He’s confident. Whatever is beneath his skin, whatever the damage, it’s not made him insecure.
He holds up some veggies before dumping them into the omelet. “Onions and peppers?”
“Why not? I’m already without a toothbrush. I’m lethal.”
He laughs, a deep rumble of manly hotness that does funny things to my chest. I am hungry for him, not the omelet. “Call the front desk if you want,” he suggests. “They pretty much operate like a hotel. You want it. They get it.”
“Oh.” I am surprised but pleased. “How do I call them?”
He motions to his left. . “The phone on the wall behind the fridge goes direct to the front desk.”
Elated with idea of a toothbrush, I move to the phone and lean on another small counter, intending to pick up the receiver, but I hesitate. “Who should I tell them I am?”
Abandoning the food, Chris steps in front of me and his big, wonderful body is framing mine, his hips intimately pressed to my hips. I am instantly aroused but then I’m fairly certain I’ll stay that way with this man.
“Who do you want to tell them you are?” There is no mistaken the challenge beneath his words.
Oh hell, he’s having another mood swing, and we’re walking on the dark side again. I’m going to get whiplash at this rate.
My fingers curl on the hard, warm wall of his chest. He’s testing me and I’m not playing his game. One thing I’ve learned since leaving behind my father, and yes — Michael – is that I am me. I can be no one else, nor do I plan to try for Chris, no matter how hot the man is.
“I don’t want to tell them anything,” I say. “It’s none of their business.”
He studies me, his expression unreadable, but I have a sense of being in the eye of a hurricane. My read on his reaction to my reply is a big zero.
“When I said I don’t bring women here, Sara, I meant ever. As in no one.”
This is another out-of-the-blue remark; I assume it relates to the call downstairs in some random way yet to be explained. These are some choppy waters I’m wading in and I’m wondering if I need to swim to shore, as in the one called ‘my own apartment’.
“Yes,” I reply. “You’ve said that and if you keep telling me that I’m going to decide it’s your way of telling me to leave.”
“I’m telling you because I want you to understand how much I want you here.”
“Oh.” He wants me here. On some level I know this, but having him say it surprises me and pleases me far too much for my own good.
“I want you to want to be here,” he adds.
Surprised yet again, I sense rather than hear a hint of vulnerability in his voice. I tilt my head and study him. Yes. He’s uncertain and I get the idea that isn’t something he’s used to feeling.
“I do,” I whisper. “I want to be here.”
“Good.” He strokes two fingers down my cheek, and slides my hair behind my ear, sending chills down my neck and spine. I am overwhelmed and my body quakes. I have never in my life responded like this to a man and I’m trying to understand what it is about him that speaks so deeply to me. I’ve known good-looking men. I’ve known talented, gifted, and powerful men. But none like this one. None so complicated, none so compelling beyond reason.
“You aren’t going to like all that I am, Sara,” he murmurs darkly.
“Another warning?” I admonish him. “You’re above quota, at which point warnings become ineffective.”
“Not a warning. I’m done warning you or you wouldn’t be here.”
“You’ve issued any number of warnings since we arrived last night.”
“Yes,” he concedes. “I suppose I have. So I might as well give you one more.”
“The last one?”
“Not likely.”
“The last one today?”
He ignores my hopeful question. “Nothing has changed, Sara. I’m still not the guy who’ll give you a white picket fence.”
“Thank goodness.”
“I’m as far from white picket fences as you can get. Sooner more likely than later, you aren’t going to like everything you find out about me.”
My fingers uncurl on his chest, slowly splaying over the hard muscle. ”Does that mean you’re offering me an invitation to find that out for myself?”
He squeezes his eyes shut and seems to struggle for an answer before he looks me in the eye. “Against my better judgment, and because I’m seemingly powerless to stay away from you.”
Chris Merit is powerless to stay away from me?
“What happens between us stays with us, Sara,” he states, before I can formulate a reply. “I need to know you understand that. I’m an inherently private person and I have my reasons for that and they aren’t going to change. Don’t let my casual friendships around the neighborhood, and the high rise building with room service, give you an impression otherwise. I choose who knows what about me and the staff here helps me keep it that way.”
I wonder if he’s been burned as I have by letting the wrong people into his life or is he smarter than I have been. Does he just never give them a chance? “I like that you’re private. In fact, if you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here, Chris.”