If I Were You (22 page)

There is a edge of danger in the air; the risk of the driver
catching us is all too obvious. I have never done anything like this in public
and it frightens me, but what is most shocking is how it excites me.

I sip the blood-red liquid and Chris’s finger slides inside
me. My gaze goes to the seat in front of me, but I cannot see the driver and he
cannot see me. Though I feel as if he can.

Chris drinks from the glass again and then holds it to my
lips. “Another,” he commands softly, tersely.

He isn’t going to allow me to escape this car without having
his way with me. Of this, I am certain. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to
be the girl who never lived in the moment.
Alive
, I’d told him, about
what he makes me feel, and he does. I take the glass from him and down it.

He laughs low in his throat. “A little liquid courage?”

“Yes,” I confess.

“Is the wine satisfactory?” Eric calls out.

Chris sets the glass down, still teasing me mercilessly. “Is
the wine satisfactory, Ms. McMillan?”

I glower at him through the thralls of near orgasm, my voice
throaty and affected. “It’s…exceptional.”

“Excellent,” Eric approves jovially. “We’re approaching the
entry to the vineyards now.” He begins telling us about the history of the
territory, but I do not comprehend his words. It is all I can do not to moan as
Chris’s thumb teases my clit and he slides a second finger inside me. The ache
inside me expands and blossoms. I am going to have an orgasm in a limo with the
driver practically watching. This can’t be happening.

“If you look to your right, you’ll see an important piece of
the chateau’s history, Ms. McMillan,” Eric says. “Do you see the pond?”

“Yes,” I manage in a choked voice without looking. My body
clenches around Chris’s fingers and spasms. My teeth sink into my lip and I
turn to the window to hide my face, for fear Eric might glance at me in his
rear-view mirror. He’s still speaking, telling me a story. I am oblivious to
anything but the shattering of my body.

“Isn’t it a wonderful story?” Eric asks, wrapping up
whatever he’d been saying.

“Yes,” I manage again, capable of speech but barely. “It’s
delightful.”

“Isn’t it?” Chris asks, dark, heated mischief dancing in his
green eyes as he strokes the slick folds of my sensitive flesh and slowly pulls
out his fingers.

His eyes meet mine and hold my stare and he brings his
fingers to his mouth and sucks them dry. “Delicious,” he murmurs and my body
clenches one last time at the brazenly sensual act. 

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying the wine,” Eric proclaims.

Chris and I blink at each other and we erupt into laughter.
I do not know how I have gone from dark forbidden passion to this lighter
shared moment with Chris, but I do know one thing for sure. I have never felt
more alive.

Chapter Twenty-Four

After a forty-five minute tour of the vineyards, I have had
a glass of wine and I’m feeling a bit loose-limbed and warm all over for
reasons aside from Chris’s wicked ways. I’ve enjoyed the tour and learned far
more about wine on the drive than in all my studies on my own.

The limo arrives at the Chateau and it is truly a
nineteenth-century castle, with green vines traveling the stone walls, and
massive arched wooden doors almost as high as the structure.

“It was remodeled in the seventies,” Eric tells us, “and the
entire two hundred and fifty-six acre property was converted to a modern
wine-making facility.”

I follow Chris as he slides across the seat and pause as
Eric turns to me, and I see him clearly for the first time. He is in his
mid-fifties with greying hair and sharp blue eyes that miss nothing.

“Thank you for such a wonderful tour, Eric.”

He inclines his head. “My pleasure.” I cringe at the choice
of words, because though his well-schooled features give nothing away, this man
is too sharp not to know about the pleasure in the backseat. “Enjoy the
Chateau. Ms. McMillan.”

Chris has long ago shed his jacket and he tosses it onto a
back seat before exiting the car. I follow him out and understand why the
jacket is staying behind. It’s still a warm day despite the five o’clock sun
creeping lower in the sky, a complete turnaround from the chilly city on the
ocean I’ve come to love.

I slide my hand into Chris’s to allow him to help me out of
the car, and I am amazed at the zip of electricity up my arm from such a simple
contact. My eyes meet his and I know he feels what I do, and I’m almost certain
he too is surprised by how readily we impact each other. But then two lost
souls searching for an escape should connect, I reason.

With a cautious tug of my skirt, I stand up and Chris’s lips
quirk in a way that tells me he is thinking of what we’d done in the back of
the car. I am, too. 

His hand slides to my elbow and we head through a massive
wooden door that seems more movie fantasy than real life. We step inside the
chilled foyer with its high ceiling and stone walls.

An employee greets us, a pretty woman in her twenties, with
long, blonde hair, and a curvy petite figure shown off in a pale pink suit. Her
gaze lingers on Chris with admiration. I have a thing about blondes. I always
have. Well, since high school when my best friend, who was of Swedish ancestry,
caught every guy’s eye with her natural long, white- blonde hair and curves in
all the right places. I was ‘cute’ and she was beautiful. This guide makes me
feel cute.

“I’m Allison, Mr. Merit,” she announces, offering him her
hand, which he accepts. “Such an honor to have you here. I’ll be taking you on
a tour of the Chateau.” She flicks me a look, but doesn’t extend her hand.
“Welcome to our establishment.”

Chris slides an arm around my waist, almost as if he senses
my sudden insecurity. “Thank you, Allison. This is Sara and she’s the reason
I’m here today. I want her to learn why this place is special.”

His hand resting on my waist is possessive,
protective.
My throat thickens with his actions. I feel as if no one else exists when I am
with Chris and no one has ever made me feel this way. My fear of cute verses
beautiful fades away.

We begin the tour and as we stop in various tasting rooms,
stucco and stone walls, and rich culture everywhere. We end the tour in a wine
cellar that is chilly and I am suddenly aware of my barely there dress and lack
of undergarments.

Allison leads us towards the stairs and before we follow,
Chris pulls me close, blocking her view with his back. “Cold?” he asks, molding
me close, and his hand glides up my ribcage, under the shaw, to caress my
breast, and tease my already puckered nipple.

“Not anymore,” I confess breathlessly.

“You look beautiful tonight, Sara. I can’t stop thinking
about all the things I’m going to do to you when the opportunity presents
itself.”

When the opportunity presents itself
, not when we get
back to the room.
Control.
This is all about control and I’d almost
taken his earlier tonight. He didn’t like it and he’s making damn sure I know
I’m at his mercy. While I sense how much he needs this control, and I am
aroused by this side of him, there is a deep part of me that screams in
protest, that will not let go of what I’ve spent five years fighting for —
my
own control.
  

“Maybe you should think about what I am going to do to you,”
I challenge.

His eyes darken, heat, and he surprises me by leaning down
near my ear and whispering, “I’ve been thinking about it since the day I met
you.”

I expected some power play, and maybe it is that and more,
because my reaction is white hot arousal. My heart races wildly and heat rushes
through my blood. When he pulls back and draws my hand into his, leading me
toward the stairs, I am aware of the raw masculine power radiating off of him,
of my absolute burn for this man.
Yes.
He has control and I cannot wait
to give him more. This is a power play and he’s won.

***

We reach the top of the stairs to be greeted by an older
couple who look as if they’re in their mid-sixties. The woman is dressed in a
simple blue sheath and the man in black slacks and white button-down collar
shirt.  

“Chris! It’s so good to see you, son,” the woman says. “It’s
been too long since I’ve seen my godchild.” She hugs Chris like she is a mother
seeing her child for the first time in years, and without question, there are
deep ties here.

The man hugs Chris next. “We don’t see you enough, boy.”

Chris pats him on the back and releases him. “I know. I’ll
work on that.” He wraps his arm around my waist. “Mike and Katie Wickerman, I’d
like you to meet Sara McMillan.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Sara,” Katie beams, offering me
her hand. She is pretty with sleek grey hair and a friendly smile. 

“Thank you,” I say, sliding my palm against hers. It is warm
and so is she. I like her. “I’m excited to be here.”

“Welcome, Sara,” Mike chimes in eagerly. “About time he
brings a woman around.”

I blush and shake his hand, but he pulls me close and hugs
me. He leans back to inspect me. “Let me look at you. No. No, you don’t look
like a wine virgin to me.”

My cheeks heat further and I laugh. “I guess the excellent
Cabernet I had in the limo saved me.”

“Broke your cherry, aye?”

I laugh and so does Chris, who pulls me under his arm and
leans near my ear. “I thought I did that.”

“Mike!” Katie chides. “She doesn’t know you well enough to
get your sense of humor.” She motions us forward. “I have a special tasting
room set up for us but we won’t be allowing Mike to taste of the festivities.”

We fall into step behind Katie and Mike. “They like you,”
Chris whispers.

“Godchild?”

“They were close friends of my parents and they never had
kids of their own.”

I inhale at this announcement, stunned to realize Chris has
done more than bring me some place he doesn’t bring other women. This is a
piece of his past that I didn’t think he would allow me to see, but he’s let me
inside his world, at least this tiny part.

My steps are a little more anxious as we enter a room with a
huge wooden table spanning several feet, with a dozen or so chairs on each
side. Fruit and cheese trays are displayed in the center of one end of the
table.

Chris and I sit side by side and Katie and Mike sit down
across from us. Katie is studying me with interest and I tie the shawl around
my shoulders, afraid I’ll ruin the ‘virginal’ image I’ve been granted with too
much nipple action. “Chris tells us you’ve recently went to work at a gallery
in the city?” Katie asks.

“Yes. The Allure Gallery downtown where Chris has a
collection for sale. That’s how I met him.”

“I know it well,” Katie comments. “And you were a school
teacher before this?”

I’m surprised by how much Chris has shared with her. “I was.
I am. My degree is in Art and it’s my true love. We’ll see how the summer works
out. My boss says he has high hopes, but seems to think I need to know about wine
to truly navigate the art world.”

Mike knocks on the table. “Right he is. Everyone needs to
know about wine.”

“Chris doesn’t think so,” I dare to remark.

Katie’s gaze falls on her godson. “Then why does the local
gallery serve wine?

“Because this is Napa Valley.”

“Exactly,” she concurs. “Wine and art go together.”

Mike waves at a waiter. “Sounds like the cue to start the
sampling. It’ll loosen everyone up.” He winks at me. “That’s when you really
get to know someone.”

Chris looks amused. “Good thing I don’t loosen up easily.”
He nudges me. “You do though. Are you going to tell us all your secrets over
Cabernet?”

“Hold out for a good year, honey,” Katie whispers
conspiratorially. “Make him pay for your confessions.”

I glance at Chris and he smirks. “Name the year and I’ll
gladly pay the price.”

“I’m not the one who’s lacking in a confessional,” I remind
him. “Maybe we need to get you a case of beer.”

“Not in the Chateau you won’t,” Katie assures us.

Chris leans close. “It’s going to take a whole lot more than
a case of beer.”

Yes
, I think. It will. I’ve opened up to him, but he
hasn’t to me, but I am here, with what amounts to his only family, and again I
think —
it matters.
I don’t allow myself to think about how I’ve gone
from an escape to looking for things of consequence or where that may be
leading me.

Time becomes inconsequential as I taste wine after wine,
nibble cheese, and listen to Mike and Katie tell me stories about how they got
started. It only marginally surprises me to learn they met his father through
the big Paris 1976 tasting that put them, and Napa Valley, on the wine map.

“Chris’s parents traveled with us for moral support,” Katie
explains. “Danielle - Chris’s mother — she was like a guardian angel. I swear
that woman had a way of making a person smile, even the Paris locals who didn’t
want us Americans in the competition couldn’t resist her charm.”

It’s hard to gauge Chris’s response to Katie’s memories of
his mother with him beside me, but I wish I could. Too soon, more wine samples
arrive and the conversation shifts. My window into Chris’s family life has, at
least for the time being, closed.

With each wine we taste, I listen to stories about how Katie
and Mike crafted the flavors down to the soil, the climate and processing. They
sprinkle stories of the rich and famous who have visited the Chateau, and
acquired each variety.

“Chris is always our number one star, though,” Katie
declares.

Chris snorts and sips from his glass. “I’m just-”

“A famous artist,” I finish for him and kiss his cheek.

He runs his hand down my hair and kisses my forehead. “Me,”
he says, staring down at me. “I’m just me.”

I smile, feeling the effects of quite a lot of wine. “ Hmmm.
Yes. Just you.”

He arches a brow. “What does that mean?”

A waiter approaches, and Katie and Mike chat with him. I
lower my voice. “I like ‘just you’.”

Chris’s eyes darken. “Do you now?”

My lips curve. “Yes.”

“He’s just like his mother,” Katie comments, drawing us back
into the conversation and we turn to acknowledge her as she adds, “Humble pie,
that woman. You’d never know she was an heiress to an empire any more than
you’d know Chris is an acclaimed artist.”

“And his father was an arrogant ass,” Mike grumbles, “but I
loved the guy.” He pushes to his feet. “Son, that reminds me. I want to give
you something before I forget.”

I glance up at Chris, searching his face for a reaction to
the comment about his father. He responds to my unspoken question. “He
was
an arrogant ass, baby.” He strokes my cheek. “Behave. I’ll be back.”

“Of course,” I assure him. “I’ll only be asking Katie to
share all your deep, dark secrets.”

His expression tightens. “And she won’t have the answers.”

“Oh, I might have a few tidbits to share,” Katie pipes in
playfully. 

Chris does not look pleased but he pushes to his feet
anyway, and slides into a good-natured grumble to match Mike’s of, “Women,”
before he saunters away with his Godfather.

Katie rests her elbow on the table, chin on her palm.
“You’re good for him.”

“I…am?”

“Yes. You are. The boy is so damn guarded that it’s worried
me, but he’s different with you. Relaxed. It does my heart good to see someone
finally breaking through to him. He had a hard time growing up, but I’m sure
you know that.”

This little jewel of information has me eager for more. I
open my mouth to ask more detail but Allison rushes forward and whispers into
Katie’s ear. “Oh dear. Sara dear, I have a problem I need to attend. I’ll be
back soon.”