If I Were You (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

I blink against the morning sunlight in my eyes and swallow
against the dryness in my throat. Awareness comes to me first with the
throbbing of my head, next with the horrid taste in my mouth, and then, with
the warm weight wrapped around me. I’m naked, under a blanket, and Chris’s arm
is draped over my body.

For a moment, I lay here absorbing the implications and the
complications that have become our relationship, remembering the explosive
fight we’d had. The turbulence of that battle fades away in Chris’s embrace.
Because Mike and Katie don’t know that wine was my father’s drug of choice
.
My poor damaged artist. He’s been through so much and thought Mike had meant
well with his gift, instead he’d sideswiped Chris and left him reeling. I’d
been there for the aftermath and thanks to the wine, I’d handled it horribly.

Guilt twists in my empty, aching stomach as I remember
hugging the toilet, with Chris watching me be sick on the very drink that had
destroyed his father. And still, he’d tenderly taken care of me, and been my
hero.

“You’re awake.” The raw, morning rumble of his deep voice
burns through me and I’m amazed at how easily everything about this man affects
me.

“And embarrassed.”

He nuzzles my neck. “You have nothing to be embarrassed
about.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

He tries to turn me and I push to a sitting position,
tugging the sheet with me and scooting against the headboard. “I’m radioactive.
Unsafe until I shower and brush my teeth.” I frown, noting he’s wearing the
clothes he’d had on the night before, a dark blond stubble thick on his jaw. He
looks rough and sexy, his blond hair a wild hot mess. “You’re fully dressed.”

“Because you’re not and I didn’t want to be insensitive to
how sick you were.”

“Oh.” Could he really want me when I’ve just been sick?
Surely not.

“Oh,” he repeats, his lips quirking.

I wet my parched lips and my head thunders as if in
reaction. I press two fingers to my temple, a moan slipping from my lips. “Dear
Lord, I’m hung over. Will this hell never end?”

Chris climbs over my legs and grabs a bottle of water and
some pills. “I called down to the front desk last night and had them bring some
ibuprofen. You fell asleep before I could give them to you.”

Blown away by his thoughtfulness, I touch his jaw, letting
his whiskers rasp against my fingers. “Thank you.” My hand falls from his face,
and tenderness fills me. “I guess you aren’t a jerk all of the time.”

He nips my fingers and gives me one of his charming grins
that always melt me like butter. “But leave it to you to let me know when I
am.”

I swallow the pills. “You can count on it.” My stomach
churns and I imagine I must look green and sickly. “I haven’t been hung over
in…” I catch myself before I confess the five years that is so telling, “in
years. If the art world requires I drink, maybe I’m not meant for this job.”

Disapproval furrows his brow, and he leans back on his
elbow, resting on his side. “The art world doesn’t require you to drink or
understand wine. It does, however, need passionate people like you. I hate that
Mark’s made you feel otherwise and it’s one of the reasons I’d prefer to help
you get other opportunities.”

“Riptide would allow me to make a solid salary, Chris. I
need that if I’m going to make art my career.”

“I can get you a solid salary elsewhere.”

Mixed emotions wash over me. If I depend on Chris now, what
happens later when he’s not around? “I appreciate the help. I do. But I need to
do this on my own.”

“You are, Sara. I wouldn’t help you if I didn’t believe in
you.”

“Having you believe in me means more than you know, but it’s
like you’re unveiling a new piece of work. Making it on my own gives me the
confidence to know I can continue to make it in the future.”

“When I’m gone.”

An ache forms in my chest and it’s all I can do not to ball
my fist there. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it.”

Reluctantly I concede, “I’m alone, Chris, and it was my
choice, but with that choice comes the need to make smart decisions.”

“Do you know how many people would jump to use my money and
resources?”

“You mean how many people would use you?” I don’t wait for
an answer. I don’t have to. Michael was one of those people. “Yes. I do.”

“You continue to surprise me, Sara.” He hesitates and I
think he will say more, but instead, he asks, “How’s your stomach?”

“Queasy.”

“I figured it would be.” He glances at the clock on the
bedside table. “It’s already eleven. We should get up and I’ll order you some
tea and biscuits to try and settle your stomach.”

“Eleven o’clock?” I twist to confirm the time on the clock,
appalled at the hour. “I can’t believe we slept this late.” Regret fills me at
the loss of time with Chris at this wonderful place, and all because of wine.
“Wasn’t I supposed to meet the wine expert? Did I stand her, or him, up?”

“Her name is Meredith and I’ve known her for years. I woke
up around eight and cancelled but she says she can see you at twelve-fifteen,
if you like?”

“I do but…is tasting involved? I’m not sure I can do a
tasting.”

“No,” he laughs, and rolls away from me to stand up at the
end of the bed, stretching his long, muscular body, and good lord, sick or not,
I am not blind to his male beauty. “No drinking is involved.”

“I’m not sure I want to learn about wine anymore.”

“Because you’re hung over. You’ll regret missing the
opportunity when you recover. Besides, Meredith’s a wine expert and yet I’ve
never seen her at any hotel, or gallery event with a glass in her hand. You can
talk to her about how she manages that.”

“She doesn’t drink the wine she talks about?”

He crosses his arms over his broad, stellar chest. “I asked
her that before I booked the training and her reply was that she can’t drink on
the job and keep her professionalism.”

I’m suddenly encouraged by this meeting. “She sounds like
someone I need to talk to.” Unbidden, a memory from the night before washes
over me, and despite the circumstances, it hurts. “Last night...you said you
shouldn’t have brought me here.”

His expression is unchanged but his reply is slow, his voice
softening, “I say and do a lot of things I shouldn’t with you, Sara.”

“Then cancel the training and take me home.”

“I’m not taking you home.” He glances at the clock. “And if
you want to shower and have time to eat before your training session, you
should get up.”

“So we aren’t going to talk about this?”

“Why don’t we talk on the way back to the city so you don’t
miss your session?”

“I’d rather talk now.” Leaving things up in the air,
wondering if today is the last time I will see him, just isn’t how I’m made.

Chris relaxes his posture and sits down beside me, drawing
my hand into his. “Look, baby, we were both wound tight last night. Alcohol and
emotions, they don’t mix.”

I recall the image of his father’s wine card fluttering
toward the pond and his taut features as he told me not to drink too much damn
wine. Emotions. He was overflowing with them because of that card, and while
I’ve already realized this, a new worry surfaces. Does he regret me being there
during a moment of weakness?

“You told me I was making you crazy last night,” he reminds
me, drawing me out of my thoughts, back to a present I’m uncertain of. 

“You are, Chris.”

“Well, you’re making me crazy, too.”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?”

“It’s not about making you feel better. It’s about the
truth. Sara, baby,” he strokes my cheek, “this ‘crazy’ thing you’re making me
feel is the best crazy I’ve felt in a long time. I’m not ready to let go of
you. I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Sara, but please…don’t stop.”

Not ready to let go of me. Those are the words I latch onto,
the inference he will be here with me in the future. “You’re confusing me
again, Chris,” I whisper. “If this is just hot sex, then let’s have hot sex,
and leave all this other stuff out of it.”

“Why don’t we just take it one day at a time and enjoy each
other, Sara? We’ll figure this out together.”

One day at time. Why does that feel so impossible now? And
yet, I want another day with him. I need some alone time, some time at my home,
so I can think straight. Maybe then I’ll find clarity, and decide what it is I
want and need.

“Yes,” I agree. “Okay.”

“Good.” He smiles and glances at the clock. “You need to get
ready if you want to make your session. Wait here a second.” He walks to the
bathroom and returns with a hotel robe and offers it to me. “If I see you walk
naked across this room, you won’t be making your session.”

The primal heat in his stare defies my messy, post throw-up
state, and I quickly slip into the robe. I wasn’t joking about being toxic. Now
is not the time for hot loving, no matter how appealing it might sound. 

I scoot to the side of the mattress and my gaze locks on my
shoes and purse laying in the middle of the floor. Beside them is the journal
which has tumbled from my unzipped purse. Unbidden, panic rushes through me and
I push off the mattress and scoop up my purse and shove the journal inside.

The sound of Chris picking up the phone tells me he isn’t
watching, and isn’t interested in the journal. I’m the only one obsessed with
it, and Rebecca, but I can’t calm the adrenaline flooding my system. My
suitcase is a few feet away and I zip it up and drag it towards the bathroom,
while Chris orders from room service.

The instant I clear the door of the bathroom, I shut it and
lean on the surface. What would Chris think if he knew I’d been reading
Rebecca’s journal? Would he understand? Would he believe me when I told him I
feared for Rebecca? And damn it, if I fear for her, why haven’t I done more to
find her? I’ve gotten so caught up living her life, I’ve forgotten I’m afraid
for hers. Silently, I vow to do more for Rebecca, to find out where she is, no
matter what the consequence to me. And deep down, I know there will be
consequences to what I discover.

***

Hours later, I long ago showered and dressed in black jeans
and a cherry-red top with sequins, a feature which my personal shopper seemed
to favor, and I think I might as well. I spent several hours in the dining room
overlooking the gorgeous Mayacamas Mountains, while Meredith, a very likeable
thirty-something woman, managed to make the vast world of wine interesting and
rather simple. And thankfully, I’d recovered from my hangover enough that Chris
had joined us for one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever been served.

Now though, it’s approaching five o’clock, and the time to head
home has arrived. Chris helps me into the passenger seat of the Porsche and by
the time he’s behind the wheel, I cannot suppress a hint of sadness at our
weekend coming to a close.

I sink into my seat, the grogginess of heavy food and the
aftermath of being hungover weighing down my mind and body. Chris maneuvers
over the back roads to the highway and we fall into a surprisingly comfortable
silence.  

“I have to go to Los Angeles on Tuesday morning,” he
announces fifteen minutes into the drive.

This news punches me in the chest. Chris is leaving and I
knew he would, but not this soon.
But this isn’t Paris
, I remind myself.

“I have a charity event for the children’s hospital over the
weekend, and I’ve committed to a series of events leading up to it. I won’t be
back until Monday.”

Tension uncurls inside me. He’s coming back.

“Come with me, Sara.”

Chris wants me to go with him? I’m surprised and pleased by
the invitation. “I’d love to, but you know I can’t. I have a job.” 

“I can convince Mark--”

“No.” I sit up straight. “Chris, we talked about this.
Whatever is between you and Mark can’t overflow into my job.”

“I’ll get him press for the gallery.”

“No,” I repeat. “Please, Chris. Do not talk to Mark. I’ve
told you. I need to know I can earn this job on my own.”

A muscle in his jaw flexes and I can tell he’s fighting with
himself. “I won’t call him.” He cuts me a sideways look. “Your car is at the
gallery and I live right nearby. If you won’t go, stay with me tonight. We can
stop by your apartment on the way to my place if you like, so you can get some
of your things.”

I’d hoped for some alone time to process what is between us
but the idea of not seeing Chris for days twists me in knots. How has he become
such a part of my life in so short a time?

“Yes. I’d like to stay with you.” I don’t want to go to my
apartment, though, and it’s partially because I don’t want Chris to see how
humbly I live. No, I correct myself. There’s more to it. My apartment is my old
life that I’ve managed to escape for days, and on some level, I fear that I
will never escape fully. I glance at Chris’s profile, his masculine beauty, and
a deeper fear emerges, a fear that I will never truly belong in this life, his
life. But this isn’t suppose to be about me.
Rebecca. Remember how this all
started.
I need the information I pulled from her storage unit to properly
investigate her whereabouts.