If I Were You (20 page)

He barks out a laugh, his eyes twinkling. He knows I’ve
mimicked his words when he’d asked about my father. “My father was an
accomplished musician and well paid for his craft. My mother was Danielle
Wright — as in the founder of the cosmetic line that still exists today.”

Holy crap. He inherited a fortune on top of what he makes
himself. “Do you
own
Danielle Wright Cosmetics?”

“I’m not a boardroom kind of guy. I sold out years ago and
re-invested in things of more interest.”

Stunned does not describe what I feel. “You’re filthy rich,
aren’t you?”

He laughs. “It depends on how you define filthy,
sweetheart.” He wiggles a brow and opens the door to the Porsche.

“You don’t seem that rich. I mean, clearly you have money,
but you don’t act like it.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.” He
doesn’t look insulted though, more entertained.

I study him a long moment, trying to see something I’ve
missed in him. Some hint of what makes him like my father, or Michael—who rides
my father’s coattails and acts like he’s successful on his own--but I see
nothing. He doesn’t treat people like they are beneath him. In fact, when he’d
given me the clothes, he’d acted like wearing them was a favor to him, not an
honor he’d bestowed upon me.

I lean forward, push to my toes, and kiss him on his sexy,
perfect mouth. “It’s a compliment, Chris. In every way possible.” I pull back
and see a flicker of surprise on his face before I slide into the car, letting
the soft leather absorb my weight. He said I was never what he expected. He is
never what I expect. And when Chris slips behind the wheel, and revs the engine
of the 911 into a soft purr, I do not think about the car’s connection to my
father. I revel in how utterly male and sexy Chris is as he maneuvers the sleek
vehicle onto the highway.

We are weaving through several side streets and Chris cranks
up the radio to the old AC/DC song ‘Back in Black’ and I laugh. “Old school
rock n’ roll? I guess it goes with a Mustang obsession.”

“I use music to paint by. This one reminds me of a
particular work I created not so long ago.”

“Every piece of art has a song attached?” I’m thrilled to
see inside his creative process.

“Some pieces I play the same song over and over. Some I have
a collection of songs I use.”

“And this song goes to what work?”

“A ‘Stormy Night‘ San Fran  piece I sold at auction last
year.”

We begin to cross the Bay Bridge and I am growing curious
about our destination, but not as curious as I am about Chris. “A Dark Sea ,” I
say, knowing exactly the work he means.

He casts me a sideways look. “You do know your art and
artists, don’t you?”

I smile and sink lower into my seat, wondering if I will
truly know this artist. “It sold for an astounding amount of money, Chris.”
Seven figures.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It did.”

I turn to face him, studying his profile. “How does it feel
to have people pay seven figures for your creation?”

“Like validation.”

It’s not the answer I expect. “Surely you’re well beyond
needing validation?” He steers the car out of the city and onto a major
highway.

“I create in solitude and then take whatever I put on the
canvas out to the world. And not all of my work sells for big money. A lot
doesn’t.”

“You make millions a year on your art, Chris. That’s big
money.”

“It’s not about the money. I donate most of it anyway.”

“You donate your art proceeds?”

“That’s right.”

“To whom?”

“Some years back, I was talked into an event held at the Los
Angeles Children’s Hospital and it was pretty mind-blowing. All those brave
kids, and the parents who were dying inside right along with them. I knew I had
to do what I could to help and I have since.”

He donates his money to save dying children. There are so
many layers to this man — deep, dark, wonderful layers. I know he’s fucked up.
I know he’s damaged. I know this need to help children must call to some part
of him that’s raw and bleeding. Which part? 

“Have you guessed where we’re going?” he asks, before I can
find the words to express how much I admire what he’s doing.

I glance around and realize we are on highway 29 North.
“Napa Valley?” And it hits me he’s taking me to a winery to show his support of
my career.

“Have you ever been?”

I laugh. “No. I wasn’t kidding when I said I have zero
knowledge of wine. Well, I guess now I can say I have some knowledge but not
much.”

“We’ll fix that,” he promises.

My lips curve. I’m going to my first winery. I’ve always
thought it would be a neat thing to do. “I’m excited, Chris. Thank you.”

He grabs my hand and kisses it, cutting me a mischievous
look. “I’m looking forward to having you alone and well wined.”

I bite my lip. “Chivalry will get you everywhere.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“You didn’t sleep much,” he comments. “Maybe you should rest
your eyes so you can enjoy our getaway.”

“What about you? You slept less than me.”

“I slept enough. Rest, baby. This is the one place you can
count on me letting you sleep this weekend.”

My lips curve. “Sounds like I should take a nap.” I let my
eyes shut, the soft hum of the car vibrating through me, and Chris at the
wheel. I find I am more relaxed than I have been in a very long time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Wake up, baby. We’re almost there.”

I blink to feel Chris’s gentle hand on my arm. “Where?”

“The hotel.”

“I don’t remember closing my eyes,” I admit. “How long did I
sleep?”

“Half an hour, out cold.”

I sigh and sit up, aware of the hollow moan of my stomach as
I stretch and bring the scenery into view. I gape at the miles and miles of
beautiful green mountains and countryside. “It’s gorgeous. Absolutely
spectacular.”

“The Mayacamas Mountains. And yes, they are.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t shown up in your artwork.”

“I’m not a landscape guy. You know that. I can’t believe
you’ve never been here. You’ve lived in San Francisco since college, right?”

I nod. “Yes. I just…it’s the out of sight, out of mind
thing.” And a teacher’s pay, I add silently, as my eyes light on a gorgeous
hotel property and the name on the sign.
Auberge du Nuit,
the hotel for
the rich and famous, like Chris. I remember reading about it in a magazine I’d
tossed in the trash because it was torturing me with all I couldn’t do and
see. 

“I’m going to put an end to that out of sight, out of mind
thing, baby. Just you wait and see.” He whips the vehicle onto the long
driveway and I shove aside the tension his words create. I’m not going to think
about adjusting to him being gone, and he will be gone. For once, I’m living
for the moment, and for the dream I am chasing.

The instant the Porsche is under the awning at the front
door, a bellman in a sharp black suit opens my door. I step out of the car and
Chris does the same on his side.

“Good to see you, Mr. Merit,” the bellman says in greeting.

Chris rounds the hood and tosses the keys at him. “Don’t go
on any joy rides, Rich.”

“No sir,” Rich agrees, grinning, and Chris slides him a tip
I’m pretty sure is a hundred dollar bill. One sixth of my weekly pay for
parking the car. “Luggage is in the trunk.”

“I’ll have it up right away, sir,” Rich assures him. “Are
you doing an event at the gallery I haven’t heard about?”

“Not this time,” Chris replies. “For once, it’s all
pleasure.” Chris laces his fingers in mine and waves at Rich.

We head toward the check-in desk. “A show?” I ask, unable to
douse my curiosity.

“They have a gallery on the property.”

My eyes light up. “It seems wine and art go hand-in-hand.”

“A little too much for my taste,” he mumbles under his
breath and it’s not the first time I’ve gotten a negative vibe from him about
the association.

We are treated like royalty at the front desk, or rather
Chris is. I am warmed by the way he keeps me close to his side, always touching
me, as if he can’t stand not to be with me.

By the time we step onto the elevator, headed toward the
penthouse suite and he leans against the wall, pulling me against him, my hips
to his, I am all melted butter, and dripping chocolate. Yes, it’s a silly
saying Ella had used when she’d first met her doctor, but it’s fitting.
Ella
.
I miss her, and wish I’d hear from her, but Chris strokes a hand down my back,
molding me closer, and my mind is pretty much mush.

He nuzzles my neck. “I cannot wait to get you alone.”

My hands settle on the hard wall of his chest and I peer up
at him. “I thought we had reservations.”

“We do.” He pulls my ear to his lips again, and I know there
must be cameras and recording devices. Of course, there are. “Which is why I’m
going to fuck you hard and fast. We’ll go slow later.”

I gasp at the wicked words and my sex clenches, wetness
clinging to my panties. Hard and fast. Oh yes.
Please.

The doors ding a warning and open. Chris takes my hand and
all but drags me down the hallway. The walk is eternal, the Alice-in-Wonderland
tunnel of forever, before he slides a card through the door lock and we are
inside. Before I can blink, I’m against the wall, with Chris pressed
deliciously against me, his thick erection nuzzling my belly, his mouth devouring
mine.

I moan into his mouth, the taste of him rich with desire,
hungry for me. Me. That’s what makes me hottest of all, beyond his hands
stroking my body, palming my breasts and nipples. How much I taste his desire
for me. How much I feel his need.

“No one has ever made me lose control the way you do, Sara.”
The confession is sealed with another scalding kiss, and oh yes, I am melting.

A knock sounds on the door. “Bellman.”

“Fuck,” Chris hisses, pressing a hand to the wall, and I
sense him reaching for control, and have this sudden desperate need to keep him
from finding it. This sudden certainty that the only way I will ever know this
man as I want to is to take his control.

“Come back later,” I call out, and press my lips to Chris’s,
my hand sliding down his hip and around to cup his shaft, stroking the thick
ridge through his jeans.

He growls low in his throat and pulls his mouth from mine,
and his eyes are dark pools of turbulent passion. He’s mad. Holy shit. He’s
furious. “Losing control and you taking it from me are two different things,
Sara. You won’t ever take it from me.” He shoves off the walk and stalks to the
door and opens it, whistling to get the bellman’s attention. 

Frozen to the wall, I feel shell-shocked. The dark Chris,
the dangerous damaged Chris I keep forgetting exists, is back. What just
happened to set him off?  And damn it to hell, why does it turn me on when it
shouldn’t?

The bellman is in the door with our bags and I haven’t
moved. I feel his eyes on me and I know I must look a disheveled mess. Somehow,
I focus on the room, bringing the amazing detail into focus. Vaulted ceiling
encase me and to my right is a living area and full kitchen. A California
King-size bed is to my left, a stucco fireplace in the corner in front of it,
and beyond that a private patio overlooking the mountains.

The hotel door shuts and Chris locks it. My heart is
thundering in my chest. I can’t look at him. I don’t think
he wants
me
to look at him. I don’t know why. It’s just a feeling.

He rolls my suitcase to the center of the room and unzips
it, pulling out a pair of cream-colored strappy high heels he drops on the
floor, and a pale yellow chiffon dress he lays on top of the case when he
closes it. “Put them on.”

I force my eyes to his. “You want me--”

“Yes.” I wet my dry lips. Okay. He wants me to dress up.
Sounds like a good excuse to escape and regroup and boy, does regrouping sound
appealing. I walk to grab the dress, intending to head to the bathroom,
wherever it is.

“Right here,” Chris says. “Where I can see you.”

I gape and try to clarify again. “You want me--”

“Yes. I want.”

He sits down on the bed and I realize he intends to watch me
undress and dress again. This is about control, about him demonstrating what he
has and I do not. He needs it. He needs it on some deep level, and I am not
going to deny him. For reasons I’ve yet to understand, giving Chris control
doesn’t bother me, but I know in my heart, it keeps me at a distance. This is
his wall, his barrier, his great divide; I am beginning to wonder if I can ever
conquer his barriers. Right now though, I’m happy to let him conquer.

I swallow hard, my throat like sandpaper, my body wet and
wanting. I am aroused by this and everything Chris does. I reach for the dress.

“No,” he orders. “Undress first.”

I nod and lean against the wall to unlace my boots, and pull
them and my socks off. He stares at my pink-painted toes and good lord, he
makes even that hot. I reach for my pants and unlace the strings holding them
closed before sliding them down over my hips and down my legs, leaving the
expensive, gold-jeweled cream-colored panties in place. 

My shirt comes next and I pull it over my head and toss it
to the floor, standing before Chris in only my bra and panties.

His gaze sweeps over me, hot and heavy, his eyes dark,
hooded. “Everything.”

I blanch. “But--”

“Everything. I want to be able to get to you when I want
you. And we’ll both know I can anytime, anywhere.”

Heat rushes over my skin at the implication. He means to
have me in public. I should be appalled. I should say no. Instead, I am weak in
the knees with desire. I slide my fingers into the thin strings of my thong and
slide it to the floor.

Chris’s gaze follows the path they take, his stare traveling
my skin, touching me with such heat that it might as well be his hand. I step
out of the panties and have no intention to stand there and wait for his next
command.

I unhook my bra and toss it at him. “Happy now?” I
challenge.

He arches a brow and I think I might see a hint of a smile
on his lips, maybe. Perhaps not. “Don’t test me, Sara. You won’t like the
results.”

“Or maybe, I will.” Maybe I’ll push his control. Maybe I’ll
get inside him and tear down the wall.

“You won’t.” His words are hard and too certain to be
comfortable for me.

He pushes to his feet though, and I silently cry out with
joy. Touch me. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. He saunters over to me
and stops out of reach. He scoops up the dress, his eyes raking over my body.
My nipples pucker under his scrutiny, tight balls of aching need and I pray for
his mouth on me sooner, not later.

He hands me the dress. “Put it on.”

Put it on? Without him touching me? He can’t be serious.
“Right now?”

“Right now.”

You know I have to punish you.
Rebecca’s words come
back to me. He’s punishing me, absolutely torturing me. Making me pay a price
for daring to take control. But deep down, I come to a conclusion. I came close
to breaking through his wall or he wouldn’t be doing this. It’s this
information that makes the torture bearable.

I take the dress, and I notice he is careful not to touch
me. I pull the chiffon material over my head and the silk rasps over my nipples
and skin. I am so ultra-sensitized I think I could come with one touch of his
mouth in the right place. And I believe there would be many right places at
this juncture in time.

The dress falls into place and Chris’s eyes never leave
mine. “The shoes.”

I slip them on and he walks around me, giving me a careful,
penetrating inspection before stopping before me. “Beautiful, baby. You look
stunning.”

My chin lifts. “But not stunning enough to fuck right now.”

“More than enough to fuck, just not yet.” He leans in, his
lips by my ear, but he is careful not to touch me anywhere else. “Because when
I do, you’ll be so hot and wet, you’ll be mine to do with what I want. And
believe me baby — I want plenty.”

“You’re punishing me.”

He looks at me and his eyes soften as he brushes his
knuckles over my shoulder. Goosebumps lift all over my skin. “Does that feel
like punishment?”

More like pure bliss. “No.”

“Then you have your answer.”

***

We step into the hallway and Chris takes my hand, his eyes
meeting mine, and I know he can see the sweet relief washing over me at his
touch. His green eyes dance with amber heat and he leads me down the hallway,
all masculine sensuality and raw power. I am insanely into this man. He pushes
every button I own, in all the right ways. Every second I am with him, I feel
more alive.

Another couple waits by the elevator, and we step inside
behind them. Chris leans against the wall and pulls my back against his front.
I soften against all his hardness, and his fingers curl around my waist, where
they begin a slow caress. My nipples pucker against the thin material and I
become ultra-aware of how naked I am underneath the dress.

The man across from me glances down, stroking my chest with
a stare that makes me want to smack him for the woman he is with. I turn in
Chris’s arms, giving the man my back. “Where are we headed?”

“In light of recent events, I thought food before wine
seemed a good idea.”

“Yes. Please.”

The elevator dings and we let the other couple exit first.
Chris takes my hand and I hit the elevator button to hold the door. “I need to
go upstairs.” I glance down at my dress, my nipples puckering too obviously.

His lips quirk. “I already planned to have the hotel bring
you a shawl and a coat to match the dress in case the evening gets chilly.”

Relief washes over me. “Thank you.”

“You just let me take care of everything tonight.”  He pulls
me under his arm and I let go of the elevator button as we step into the lobby.
Let Chris take care of everything. It is a thrilling, dangerous idea, I cannot
help but crave.