If I Were You(Inside Out 01)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Description: butterfly

Even with too much wine in my system, and his hand still firmly wrapped around mine, I feel Chris closing off, erecting walls around him as we exit through a side door of the Chateau. We cross a small brick walkway to a wooden bridge that arches over a large pond. The night is upon us, and glowing orange lanterns dangle from poles mounted in the wooden rails, the stars above us dotting the black, cloudless canvas. I inhale the hot air; the cool breeze I’d hoped for to clear my head is nowhere to be found. The stuffy night is suffocating, as is the tension humming off of Chris.
He leads me down the wooden bridge toward a gazebo, and my nostrils flare with the sweet scent of roses. These flowers are haunting me everywhere I go. I can see the greenery entwining the wooden overhang, delicate buds clinging to the leaves. I do feel ready to bloom, ready to go wherever he leads me. That is what Rebecca felt for the man she’d been writing about. That is how Chris makes me feel.
Halfway down the walkway, I stumble and Chris reaches around and catches me, his strong arms circling my waist, my hand resting on his chest.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Fine.” I don’t look at him. This is the second time in a week he’s had to right my drunken footing and it’s embarrassing. I haven’t drunk too much since the day of my mother’s funeral.
Once we’re under the gazebo, he leans on the railing and I almost expect him to set me away from him. Relief washes over me when he pulls me into his arms and folds me against him. I settle my hand on his chest, over his heart, the soft thrum beating against my palm. The buzz in my head irritates me, clouding my ability to gauge Chris’s mood accurately. 
“What’s upset you?”
“Who says I’m upset?”
“Me.”
“Like I said. You see too much.”
I ignore the comment. “Mike seemed eager to give you whatever he wanted to give you. I expected you to return pleased, not cranky like a bear.”
“Cranky like a bear?”
My lips quirk. “Yes. Cranky like a bear.”
He studies me with a hooded look, his lashes thick veils hiding his eyes from my prying gaze. He is beautiful in the starlight--and the wine, or perhaps Chris himself, has washed away my inhibitions.
I reach up and trace his full, sensual mouth that I know can both punish and please, studying him. My fingers travel his face, tracing his high, defined cheekbones, and down to the light stubble on his square jaw. I imagine how the stubble could scrape my bare skin. I am infatuated with his beauty, his talent, his wit…his body. But I want to know the man.
“Talk to me, Chris,” I plead when the silence stretches eternally.
He draws my hand into his and kisses the back. “Not an easy thing to do when you’re touching me.” He slides my hair behind my ear. “Especially when you’ve been drinking and I can’t do any of the many things I planned to do to you while you’re pantyless.”
A slow smile slides onto my lips. “And braless.”
“Thanks for reminding me because I’m not going to push you when you’ve had too much to drink.”
Push me? Please. I yearn to know what that means. “What happened to Mr. I’m-No-Saint?”
“Apparently he comes with limits, namely yours.”
I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about the wine I’ve consumed any longer and the hard lines of his expression tell me I’m right. “My limits aren’t as narrow as you think.”
“I guess that’s yet to be decided.”
My brows furrow. While he’s playful as usual, there is an undercurrent of tension in him that isn’t going away. “What happened with Mike?”
“You’re giving me whiplash, baby. That’s a sudden change of subject.”
“And you’re avoiding an answer.”
“For someone so tipsy, you’re pretty damn pushy.”
“I used the word ‘cock-fight’ the last time I was drinking,” I remind him. “So yeah. I am.”
His lips quirk. “Ah yes. How could I forget?”
“What happened with Mike?” I repeat.
“He gave me something that used to be my father’s. He thought I’d like to have it.”
I’m shocked he’s really answered. Tentatively, I push for more, “But you didn’t want it?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“No.”
“What was it?”
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small laminated card and hands it to me. I study what appears to be a wine judge’s certificate with his father’s name on it.
I glance up at Chris, at the hard set of his jaw, and I feel the ache in him, the turbulence and pain. “Why didn’t you want this?”
“Because Mike and Katie don’t know that wine was my father’s drug of choice. It’s how he tried to forget the day he was behind the wheel of the car when my mother died.”
Air rushes from my lunges. “He was driving?”
“Yes. He was driving and he never forgave himself for letting her die. He hid behind the tasting events and the judging tables, and slowly drank himself to death.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the chest. Chris not only lost his mother that tragic day, he’d also lost his father. “Oh God. Chris. I’m sorry.”
Anger crackles off of him. “Come on, Sara, you of all people know sorry is not what the hell I want to hear.”
“I do. You’re right.” Damn the buzz in my head that won’t let me communicate properly. His sharing this with me is a huge breakthrough. Desperately, I fight the buzz; I try to let Chris know I’m here for him. “If this is the deep, dark secret you think is going to make me run away, it’s not. I’m not going anywhere.”
He barks out in bitter laughter, and turns me so that I am against the rail, his hands framing my shoulders, his body no longer touching mine. Dark Chris is back, and he is harder and edgier than I have ever seen him. His voice lowers and bites like a whip. “If you think this is my darkest secret, then it tells me you have no idea just how dark life can get.”
“How do you know if you don’t try me?”
“You can’t handle it,” he grinds out. “End of story. And you’re not going to get a chance to prove me right. I’ve broken rules with you, important rules I’ve lived by, and you’re the one who’ll pay the price. I’m not going to let that happen.” He pushes off the railing. “We’re leaving.” He grabs my hand and when he sees the card in my palm, he tosses it into the water. My stomach knots as I double-step to keep up and watch the small piece of his father flutter toward the water. My heel catches on a board and I stumble again.
Chris rounds on me and catches me. “And stop drinking too much damn wine.”
I’m appalled at his reprimand, my defensiveness rising to the challenge. “You gave me the wine, you…jerk!”
His hand tightens on my arm and he pulls me close. “Finally you get what I’ve been telling you. Yes. I’m a jerk. The kind of jerk you don’t deserve.” He takes my hand and starts walking, and like the jerk he proclaims to be, his steps are fast and my footing is painfully unsteady.
We round the building without ever going inside, and head to the limo parked off by to the side of the drive. He yanks open the door. “Get in.”
“What about Katie and Mike?”
“Get in, Sara.”
My throat thickens with emotion and I consider refusing, but the world is spinning around me, and not entirely because of the wine. I slide into the car and over to the far window. I watch Eric scramble upright from an apparent nap and straighten.
“Is everything okay, sir?” he asks as Chris climbs into the vehicle.
“We’re ready to return to the hotel,” is Chris’s only answer. He slams the door beside him and this time he does not move to sit beside me.
We are worlds apart.

***

The ride back is short and tense, but it is long enough for the anger to build to a near-explosive level inside me. I have let Chris turn my life upside down in a matter of a week. It’s insane. It’s everything I said I would never let a man do again.
When the car stops I open my side and get out. Eric quickly does the same. “Thank you, Eric, for the tour.” I turn on my heel and let him shut the door I’ve exited.
Chris is waiting on me as I round the trunk, a predatory gleam in his gaze, hot and filled with desire. It pisses me off. I am not prey. I am not a token to be used and played with. I tug the shawl around me and cross my arms, giving him no chance to take my hand, and head inside the hotel.
He falls into step beside me, softly announcing the obvious. “People are watching us. They can tell you’re pissed.”
“How very observant of them.” I keep walking toward the elevator and I know I’m swaying. I’m flipping drunk and that just ticks me off more. It means I trusted Chris to take care of me. I don’t need to be taken care of. I don’t want to be taken care of.
We step into the elevator and he leans on the far wall, watching me. I turn and stare right back at him. His eyes slide over me, a hot caress, and damn it, I hate how much I crave his touch. I hate this power he has over me.
He says nothing. I say nothing. The air crackles with sexual tension but I cling to anger. You can’t handle it. I’m so tired of men telling me what I can and can’t handle.
The doors open and I head for the hallway, and I sway. Chris’s hand slides to my waist and heat darts through my body. “Don’t,” I hiss without looking at him. “Just don’t help me and don’t touch me.”
His hand falls away and I start walking. The hall is long and it feels like an eternity before Chris swipes the keycard to the door.
All the anger I’ve bottled for the past half-hour explodes from me when I enter the room. I kick off my shoes for stability and toss my purse, which I don’t even remember holding, to the ground.
I whirl on Chris before the door even shuts behind him and unleash on him. “You’re making me crazy, Chris. No picket fences, no talking about the past, yet you ask about my past and then you take me to meet your godparents, who you know will tell me about your past. I had no expectations from you besides you whisking into my life and thoroughly f*cking me before going back to Paris. I was okay with that. It’d been five years. I needed sex, not this…this making me crazy thing you’re doing.”
Before I can blink, I’m against him, his hand sliding into my hair, pulling my face to his, his other hand caressing my breast, my nipple. “You want to be f*cked? Is that what you want from me, Sara?”
“Yes,” I whisper but I know it’s not enough anymore, not with Chris. “I want…” A wave of nausea blasts through me and my hand presses against his chest. “Oh God.” I push away from him and he lets me, as I desperately seek the bathroom, and have no idea where it is. Chris guides me beyond the bed and I remotely register entering a smaller room and a light being flipped on but all I see is the toilet.
I drop to my knees in front of it without a second to spare and what follows isn’t pretty. Chris approaches and I wave him off. “Go away,” I choke out. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Forget it.” He goes down on a knee beside me. “I got you like this, I’m going to take care of you while you’re going through it.” He hands me a towel which I clutch eagerly and I can’t argue anymore. I fall into eternal heaves, and he is holding my hair, stroking my back, until I collapse on some shiny white surface I think is the side of the tub.
Chris eases me off of the tub, cradling me against his body. “We need to get you out of this dress. It’s a mess.” He tugs it upward. I am a limp noodle and barely raise my arms to help him pull it over my head.
I am naked on the bathroom floor, and Chris slides his arms under my thighs and behind my back as he picks me up. Clarity begins to come back to me. I put my trust in Chris to take care of me and he is but I am sick all over again thinking of the irony of what has happened.
He pulls back the sheets and settles me in the bed, pulling the covers up, before kneeling in front of me. “Let me get you some water.”
I grab his hand before he can leave. “Chris…me getting drunk on wine after what you told me--”
“You did nothing wrong tonight. I did.”
“No,” I argue, certain, for reasons I’m not clear-headed enough to analyze, that him taking the blame is a problem. “Chris.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m too sick and to weak. “I…we…”
“Rest, Sara. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
The question is, will he be here tomorrow? And should I want him to be? But it doesn’t seem to matter what I should want. I just want to be with Chris.