If I Were You
Page 24

“I don’t. Just you.” And suddenly his mouth is on mine, his tongue pressing past my teeth, stroking me until I’m mindless. We are all over each other, touching and kissing, and I barely register the robe falling away.
“Damn it, woman, you are making me crazy,” he groans, pressing me against the wall, his fingers caressing my breasts, teasing my nipples, his mouth already devouring mine.
I can feel him shoving down his pants. “Hurry,” I plead. “I need-“
He kisses me. “Me too, baby. Me too.”
And then somehow, he’s inside me. Oh God. Yes. He’s inside me, thick and hard and I’m no longer on the ground or against the wall. He’s lifted me and my legs are wrapped around his waist. He is thrusting into me, pulling me down on top of him, pushing me so that I’m leaning so far back I feel like I might fall; only he has me. His arm is around my waist, his powerful body pushing into mine, his hot gaze raking over my breasts, and he has me. He won’t let me fall and that knowledge, that certainty that comes from some place deep inside, allows me to let go. I let myself feel and not think. I am lost to the passion, to the moment, and the push of him inside me, the pleasure of him stretching me, is more than I can take. An orgasm ripples through me with a sudden, intense blast, my body clenching around his. He groans with the impact and God, that groan is hotness personified. I feel the wet, warm heat of his release and I am past my release, and clear-headed enough to revel in the beauty of his face etched with the pleasure I am giving him. I am spellbound by the sight of him, hanging on every second of his release, watching the tension in his features slowly ease into relaxation.
He pulls me close and buries his face in my neck and just holds me for long seconds, still standing, holding my weight and his. My gaze goes to the window and I am aware of the blue sea and gorgeous city beneath us. Of the feeling of sanctuary I’ve found here and nowhere else, if only for a short while.
Slowly, Chris slides me to the ground and offers me a paper towel which I demurely accept, feeling a wave of shyness. Yes indeed, I’m a contradiction these days. Chris fixes his pants and then grabs the robe and pulls it around me.
“I’d like to take you somewhere and show you something I think you’ll like,” he says. “Overnight, if you can?”
Overnight with Chris? The idea thrills me more than it should and I remind myself this is a hot fling. Enjoy it while I can. Don’t get attached. Don’t fall for him. “Where?” I ask.
“Is that a yes?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Then it’s a surprise but you’ll like it, I promise.” He glances at a clock. “But if we’re going to do everything I want to do, we have to get going.”
“I have to go home and shower and get clothes. I don’t even have a shirt to wear out of here.”
“You can use my shower, and you leave clothes to me.”
“Chris-”
He picks me up and I yelp. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to the shower. Me Tarzan. You Jane. Do as I say.”
I laugh at his silliness, and think that he’s the contradiction. All rough, tough manly man and a gentle bear at the same time.
We pass the coffee table. “Wait! I need my purse.”
He backs up and leans down enough for me to grab it. I snatch it. “My skirt-“
“I’ll get you clothes,” he says, charging up the steps from the living room to the foyer by the elevator and down another hallway I hadn’t even noticed, and then up a winding set of stairs that ends in his bedroom, which is spectacular. A massive black bed on a pedestal with an incredible view I only get to see in passing before I am deposited on the white marble floor of a bathroom the size of my bedroom.
“I’m leaving you here and shutting you inside because if I join you, we won’t leave anytime soon.”
I open my mouth to object but it’s too late. He kisses me quick and hard on the mouth and then steps out of the room and shuts the door behind him. I am alone in Chris Merit’s bathroom and all I can do is smile.
Chapter Twenty-One
I use Chris’s soap and shampoo; it has a sandalwood musky smell that reminds me of him, and makes me wish he’s in the shower with me. Images of the things we’ve done together, the conversations we’ve shared, pour through me as the hot water pours over me. Chris confuses me on every possible level. Or maybe I’m confused anyway. Until this past week, I’d convinced myself I had life figured out. Did I let my father beat me by leaving everything behind? Part of me says no. I escaped with my own identity. I stood up for what I believed in. My love of art had been like my mother’s, a frivolous hobby, not a career. My role would have been like my mother’s, that of servitude to my father, and in my case, also Michael.
Another part of me, well, it grimly says that I ran rather than stood up to my father and demanded he accept who and what I am, not who he wanted me to be. I’d always hoped my mother would stand up for herself, and what had I done? I’d simply left. I’d run. Chris is right. No wonder I wanted to hit the man. He’d made me see the bitter, hard truth of my actions. He’d made me wish I’d been braver, made me see I’d lost five years of my life I can never get back. Still, I don’t want to see my father. I don’t want his damn money. I can’t be certain I’d have stayed in my current state of mind, but I would have fought for my dream, rather than hiding from everything. Wasn’t that the entire reason I left? To be me? I inhale and let it out. Me. I don’t know myself.
My stomach is officially in knots and I turn off the water. I did run. I can’t deny it. Damn it to Hell, I’m furious with myself. But I can create my own life and success now that I’ve decided to try. Resolve forms deep in my soul, where I’ve not felt anything for a long while…until Chris. I am going to embrace what is before me, including this weekend with Chris. Chris is my escape. This new job is my hope.
Pushing open the glass doors, I wrap myself in a fluffy white towel I’d found in a cabinet and wish for my clothes. Chris might dig up a shirt for me, but I’m sure he knows I need more for the weekend. We’ll have to make time to stop by my place, and the idea bothers me. My place. My little hole in the wall the size of Chris’s bedroom and bathroom. It shouldn’t matter but somehow it does.
Stepping to the vanity mirror, I find the hair dryer easily since it’s sitting on the shiny white tiled counter. Hair products are crucial though and I pull open the spacious medicine chest to hunt some down. Chris’s electric shaver, and various toiletries, including cologne and lotion are inside. No hair products. He has such great hair, and it’s as long as his chin, so it must require gel or some kind or product.
I start to close the cabinet, and hesitate, picking up the cologne, and spraying it in the air, drawing in the familiar scent of Chris, warm and wonderful, and strong in ways I’ve never experienced before. If you think the guy trying to protect you instead of walk all over you is the one trying to run your life, you’re just as f**ked up as I am. Ah yes, I think. Exactly. I am. So is he. We are destruction waiting to happen to each other; he’s a drug, as Rebecca had called the man in the journal, I’m already addicted to.
I shake off the thought and return the cologne to the cabinet. Still without hair products, I decide to focus on my makeup. Grabbing my purse, I pull out the journal to get to my makeup and set it on the counter, staring at it like it’s some exploding device. “Where are you?” I whisper softly, but I’m not sure I’m talking to her or me. I am lost in her life, and I wonder if I want to be found? Does she want to be found wherever she is? Has she escaped into a new life like I have?
With Rebecca on my mind, I focus on creating a soft, natural look with my makeup and I finish with lip gloss. With no hair products, I turn on the dryer, and wish for some straightening serum. Ten minutes later, my hair is dry and a bit wild. I’d kill for a flat iron right now.
I drop the towel and grab the robe, wrapping it around me, ready to find my clothes. I pause at the medicine cabinet and open it again, reaching for Chris’s cologne and squirting it all over me. Inhaling, I draw in the spicy scent and smile. I like smelling like Chris.
Tentatively, I pull open the door to the bathroom and Chris is nowhere to be found, but the bedroom door is open. My bare feet touch the hardwood floor and my gaze settles on the massive bed. On top are a good seven or eight bags, all from two high-end brand name stores I know are in the building next door. On the floor is a woman’s Louis Vuitton travel case which would sport a $2500 price tag.
My throat goes dry and my chest hurts. I walk toward the items and when I reach the bags I see they are packed with clothes, shoes, and even, yes, bath items and a flat iron. A very expensive flat iron that puts my bargain special to shame.
I’ve been in the shower maybe forty-five minutes and somehow he’s pulled off an entire shopping spree. Or rather, he called downstairs and the staff jumped through hoops. These are expensive items, thousands of dollars expensive.
My heart begins to thunder in my chest. These are all stores I used to shop at. Stores I enjoyed. Sure, I left the money behind, but a more humble life hasn’t been easy. I’ve found a place to store away the hunger for more, along with everything else associated with my past. I’d convinced myself I was fine, that I don’t need these things. That I didn’t care. But staring at these bags, there is an ache inside me, and I know it’s not simply about nice things. It’s about everything I left behind, about how easily that old life forgot me, even if I didn’t forget it.
“Anything you don’t like we can take back when we get back to the city.”
I turn to find Chris standing in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, looking sexy and all man. “I can’t take these clothes, Chris.”
He pushes off the doorjamb. “Of course you can.”
“No. No, I can’t.” I feel panic rising inside me.
He stops in front of me. “Sara-“
“I just want to run by my place and get my things.”
“I made us reservations someplace special. We have more than an hour’s drive. We need to get on the road right away.”
“Chris.” There is desperation in my voice I can’t suppress. ”I can’t take these things.”
“Sara, baby, if it’s about money, that’s not an issue. I want to spend it on you.” He slides his hands to my cheeks, framing my face. “You’ve spent five years without the nice things you grew up knowing. Let me do this for you. I want to do this for you.”
“Chris--”
“You can’t tell me you don’t miss these things.”
“I do fine with the simple life.”
“That’s not the point. You have to miss these things.”
Denial is on my lips, but he’s watching me closely, and he’s too smart to not see the truth. “Out of sight, out of mind. It’s how I cope, not like this.”
He runs a hand through my hair. He’s gentle and I fight the urge to lean into him, aware it will lesson my position. “You think I’m going to get you used to nice things and then leave.”
“I know you are, Chris.”
He presses his forehead to mine, strokes my cheek. “I told you. You’ll be the one who’ll run away, not me.”
Me? Run away from him? He keeps saying that and now more than ever, it confuses me. Mr. No White Picket Fence, and no relationship, is sounding like he’s in this to stay and I’m not. His actions and words don’t compute and there is deep-seated need inside me rising and taking shape. A relationship with Chris beyond sex is becoming far too appealing to be safe. I don’t want to fall for him. I don’t want to convince myself there is more between us than there is. “Chris--”
He kisses me, a long, deep, drugging kiss that leaves me panting. “Get dressed, baby.” He nuzzles my neck and pulls back, a surprised look on his face. “Are you wearing my cologne?” And the erotic heat in his eyes burns away my objections about these gifts.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I like smelling like you.”
The yellow flecks I adore in his green eyes burn nearly orange. “I like you smelling like me.” He kisses me again, his tongue stroking mine in a deep, seductive caress before he sets me away from him. “Get dressed before I don’t let you.” He turns and heads out the door, shutting it behind him.
I stare after him, feeling dazed, and my confusion ranks as perpetual. He really wants me to have these clothes, I realize. And more so, it feels like he wants me to have them to please me, not him. Though I’d not allowed myself to have the thought upon seeing the bags, deep down I’d feared he was trying to make me fit some acceptable mold before taking me to a public place he knows well. I’ve been there, done that, lived in the place where I had to meet standards to be seen in public.
But no. I don’t believe Chris needs me to fit some perfect image to be on his arm. I felt his sincere desire to do this for me. Emotion wells inside me. This is the first time since my mother died that I truly feel cared about. It matters to me. Chris is beginning to matter to me. I have to take the gifts.
My gaze falls on the bags. Maybe I do need these things. They will motivate me to study and earn a place at Riptide. It’s not like before, when there was no hope of extra income. Yes. I am good with this. Chris is helping to motivate me.
Nevertheless, there’s a knot in my stomach as I go through the items and pack the suitcase, finding several dresses, a pair of boots, several heels, lingerie and toiletries. The lingerie is beautiful and expensive, and my blood heats thinking of wearing it for Chris. Since we are traveling and I have no idea where we’re going, I decide to go casual since Chris is in his typical biker gear.