If I Were You
Page 16

Remotely, I register voices sounding somewhere nearby, and some tiny part of my mind is aware we could be caught, but I am too lost to care. I do not want to stop kissing him and I am panting when Chris tears his mouth from mine and presses his lips to my ear. He gently strokes my hair, his breath warm on my neck. “Go the bathroom baby, before someone sees us.”
The endearment does funny things to my chest.
He turns me to the door, his hands on my waist, his body framing me from behind, and I can feel him hot and hard against my backside. It is all I can do not to lean into him. He kisses my neck. “I don’t mind who knows what we are doing but I don’t want you embarrassed.”
The voices grow louder, high heels clicking on the tiled floor. Reality blasts through me and I dart for the bathroom door without looking back at Chris.
***
I rush into a bathroom stall, forced to hide until the ladies who have followed me inside the bathroom depart. Sitting on top of the toilet seat, I know I should be reprimanding myself over my wanton behavior, and worrying about my job. Instead, I squeeze my thighs together, all too aware of the dampness clinging to my panties, and replay every stroke of Chris’s tongue against mine. It is a testament to how affected I am by Chris. I am protecting you, he’d said. What he’d done was more like claiming. His hand on mine with Mark, his demand I be taken care of. His following me to the bathroom and pushing me against the wall. His mouth on my mouth.
A full five minutes passes, and the woman chatter amongst themselves and finally leave. I exit the stall and stare into the mirror, barely recognizing the woman in the reflection. My hair is a wild, dark brown mass and my lips are swollen. My eyes are dark with unfulfilled desire.
High heels sounds outside the door and my heart leaps with the inevitable newcomer. I haven’t had time to process what to do about Chris, how to act when I exit the bathroom, but I don’t want unwanted scrutiny either. I smooth my hair and dart for the door and I am shocked at who stands on the other side.
“Ava,” I blink.
“Sara!” She exclaims and I join her in the hallway, only to be pulled into a hug and she announces, “I was hoping I’d get here in time to see you.”
I scan over her shoulder, seeking out Chris, but he is nowhere visible. His absence gnaws at my gut, but I tell myself he’s still here. He’s being discreet.
Ava releases me and I step back, noting how her long, silky black hair is styled with ringlets around her face and she is wearing a red siren dress. “You look terrific.”
“Thank you. I love the excuse the gallery gives me to dress up, but I barely made it. I flew in today.”
“Oh? Where’d you go?”
Her lips curve with mischief. “A little last minute romantic getaway. It was fabulous. Listen, I don’t want to get Mark mad at you. I know you have to work the floor, but how about lunch on Monday?”
Mark. She’d called him Mark when no one else did. “I’d love that,” I say, and remind myself she isn’t an employee of the gallery, so why would she use his formal name?
A few minutes later, we’ve arranged a meeting spot, and I head to the gallery floor. Nervously, I look for Chris and don’t see him. Mary is helping a customer and Amanda and the rest of the crew seem to be hanging out at the front door, bidding customers goodnight. I quickly check in with the few lingering guests, and try not to let my mind go wild over Chris. But it is. He’s gone. He used me to piss Mark off, kissed me, and then left. I am hurt and yes, I am angry all over again. My final customer is all about sampling wine, and this time, I dive right in. I’m going to be fired. I’ve been used and abused and turned on in a hallway I shouldn’t have been doing naughty things in. I have a free ride home. I’m going to drink some damn wine.
By the time the final guests are gone, and I’ve gathered my jacket and purse, the staff is gathering for a cab line at the door. At this point, my head is buzzing and I feel a little queasy. I don’t want to talk to anyone, and I sure as heck don’t want to see Chris or Mark. Not that seeing Chris appears to be an option, but Mark is unavoidable since he’s standing by the door, having what looks like a tense conversation with Ava—or the wine is distorting my impressions, which is quite possible--and the two of them are having a happy chat. Nah. Mark isn’t the happy chat kind of guy. More the whips and chains, and pleasure me baby, kind of guy. Oh boy, the wine has worked me over good and my mind is running a marathon of ridiculousness. Empowered by wine, and feeling quite the daring butterfly, I decide it’s time to go home, and to do so with answers.
Unsteady, but with nothing to lose that I haven’t already lost, I walk right up to Mark. He glances at Ava, a silent command in his look, and even she obeys him, waving to me as she departs. The world does what this man wants. Well, the world minus Chris.
“Am I fired?” I demand, fairly certain no one else is around, which on a non-wine night wouldn’t be good enough. It works just fine for me now though.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest, and studies me with—what?—Interest? Irritation? The man is impossible to read. “Why would you be fired, Ms. McMillan?”
“Because of Chris.”
“Chris made us both a lot of money tonight. Making money is not a terminating offense. Now, using Chris to manipulate me for money would be, but you wouldn’t do that, now would you?”
“No,” I say, and dare to go where I would normally never go, but then nothing is normal about the past few days. “And I don’t want to be a part of the ‘who’s got the bigger sword’ contest you two have going on either. I don’t do cock-fights. I just want to do my job and do it well.”
He chuckles, and I think it’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh. I’m not sure how I feel about my wine induced braveness sparking amusement in a man so difficult to amuse.
“Smart decision, Ms. McMillan. Once you’ve slept off the wine, I suggest you begin studying again. I’ll test you on Monday.”
I open my mouth to protest and he arches his brow. It’s a testament to his natural-born authority that I’ve already come to know that arched brow as a warning. “I’ll be ready,” I state, and with a little rebel left in me, I don’t bother with ‘goodnight’. I head for the door.
“Ms. McMillan.”
I stop at Mark’s command and glance over my shoulder, fearful my escape isn’t as imminent as I’d hoped.
“Pain meds and a bottle of water before you sleep,” he orders.
My boss is dictating my preventive hangover care and I’ve just used the word ‘swords’ in reference to his obvious cock-fight with the man I just made out with in a public hallway. I am truly in an alternate universe.
“Yes sir, Mr. Compton,” I say and continue on my way.
I step into a starlit, chilly night and find Ralph and several of the interns are loading up in a cab. I hold my breath, hoping I won’t be noticed. Now that I’m staying at the gallery, my decision to drink too much jeopardizes the professional image I value. The door shuts behind Ralph and I sigh in relief but a sudden awareness turns my attention to my left.
My breath hitches as I find Chris, now wearing his leather jacket again, and leaning on a fancy black sports car I know is a Porsche 911. I know it’s a 911 because, in an ironic twist, my father will drive nothing else. Chris makes the Porsche look sexy in a way I didn’t think was possible. Not with my history with this car.
His lips curve, and his gaze burns a path up and down my body, and there is no question he’s here for me. He’d come here tonight for me, he’d claimed, but he and Mark clearly have a power play going on, and I became a token in that game tonight.
I start walking toward him, trying my best to appear steady on my feet. Why I thought wine was a good idea, when I never drink, is beyond me. He is watching my every step, and his stare is a hot caress stroking my entire body. I remember his hands touching me, his mouth on my mouth, and sensation builds low in my belly and tingles down my thighs. I want him. He knows it too, but I’ve been played with enough for one night. No, I amended. Enough for a lifetime.
“You left,” I accuse as I stop in front of him, the wind blessing me with a rush of his clean, male scent, and adding to my wobbling legs. I sway toward Chris and his hand settles on my waist, my hip and leg, pressing to his. Our eyes lock, and the instant charge between us all but sets sparks to the air. I am lost. So much for the bravado of being played with too much.
“I’m here now,” he says softly and there is a slight splay of his fingers on my waist.
I should push away from him, but I want to touch him instead. I curl my hand on top of my purse to control myself, the sting of him disappearing still present. “I thought you’d left.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to ride on the bike with your skirt on.”
“We didn’t talk about me riding with you. We didn’t talk about anything.”
“I planned to convince you and I would have been back long ago, but in my eagerness to return, I had a run in with a police officer who didn’t like my speed. He wasn’t forgiving, but I’m hoping you will be.”
My anger evaporates instantly. Not only did he go after a car for me, he managed to get a ticket in the process. A wave of dizziness washes over me and I press my hand to my forehead. “Considering how I feel, I think I should thank you for trading in the bike.” I drop my hand and it ends up on his chest, and his heart thunders beneath my touch. Because of my touch? Do I affect this man as he does me?
My gaze lifts, and the smoldering look on his face tells me I am right. I affect him as he does me. This cool, confident famous artist is reacting to me. ”I’m guessing you now realize I drank a little extra wine after you left?”
“I kind of got that idea.” He pushes off the car, his arm wrapping my waist to steady me and I am aware of every hard inch of him next to me. “Why don’t we go get you some food? I know a great pizza joint, if you like pizza?”
I’m relieved at the simplicity of pizza. “No fancy menu. No wine list. I’m sold.”
“Then pizza it is,” he agrees, and unlocks the door.
Once I’m folded into the soft leather of the passenger’s seat of the car, Chris surprises me by squatting down beside me. His hand settles on top of my leg. “The belt can be tricky sometimes.” He leans over me to pull it across me, his body intimately brushing mine, before he latches me into place. We stare at each other, the shadows dancing across our features. “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
No, but I think he will hurt me and I remember him warning me away from him. I think he believes he will hurt me, too, but there is a current between us, an understanding of a line we’ve crossed, of it being too late to turn back.
His fingers brush my cheek as he pushes to his feet, and shuts me inside the car, the darkness consuming me. I lean back into the plush leather, willing my head and stomach not to ruin this night.
Chris slides into the car beside me and I glance at his profile and I wonder what he thinks of me and my wine fest. “This isn’t like me. I never overindulge.”
“Never say never, baby,” Chris replies and then turns the key, bringing the soft purr of an expensive engine to life.
I absorb those words, staring out of the window without really looking. Rebecca had done things she’d sworn she’d never do for her ‘Master’. I wonder if I could talk to her now, would she agree with Chris? Would she say never say never?
Chapter Fourteen
Chris maneuvers the 911 into the drive of a fancy high-rise building not more than four blocks from the gallery. Before I can question the fancy location being home to a ‘pizza joint’ as he’d called it, a valet is already opening my door.
“I’ll come around to get you,” Chris says with a touch on my arm. He doesn’t wait for a reply, climbing out of the vehicle and disappearing from full view.
I am both charmed and embarrassed at the prospect he believes the extra wine has made me a helpless lush. Worse, it wouldn’t be an assumption completely without merit and this night is exactly why I never let myself lose control. It always backfires.
I unsnap the seat belt about the same moment Chris appears at my door. Holding my skirt down, I slide my legs to the ground, all too aware of his scorching gaze on my legs.
His hand appears in front of me, and I hold my breath, preparing for the impact of his touch, as I press my palm to his. He pulls me to my feet, onto the sidewalk beneath an awning, his hand settling possessively on my hip. The rich sensation of desire spreads through my limbs. I have never in my life reacted to a man this intensely.
Behind me, I hear the car door shut, and the engine rev, before the 911 pulls away. “This doesn’t look like a place that serves pizza,” I comment but I am not looking at the building. It is Chris who has my full attention.
“Two blocks down,” he explains. “We can walk there if you want or we can go upstairs to my apartment.”
Chris lives here, at least when he’s in the States. The implications of our location are clear.
His long fingers curl around my neck, under my hair, and he lowers his mouth to my ear. “Be warned, Sara. I’m no saint. If I take you upstairs, I’m going to strip you na**d and f**k you the way I’ve wanted to since the moment we first met.”
The shockingly bold words ripple through me and I am instantly aroused, squeezing my thighs together. He has wanted to f**k me since we first met. I want him to f**k me. I want to f**k him. Yes. Fuck. I want to give myself permission to forget good, proper behavior and f**k and be fucked. Wild, hot, uncontrollable passion, with no worries during and regrets in the aftermath. I’ve never let myself feel those things. When in my life have I ever experienced such a thing? When has any man ever made me think I could?