Being Me (17 page)

I purse my lips. “Don’t assume the worst of me next time.”

“You mean the journal.”

“Yes,” I say in agreement. “It hurt that you thought I would lie to you.”

“I’m sorry. I would never hurt you on purpose.”

None of the many dominant males I’ve known in my life would apologize so easily. To me, this speaks of confidence, not weakness.

“My reaction wasn’t about trust,” he continues. “It was about how crazy it makes me to think you might judge me by other people’s actions.” Then tenderness lightens his eyes. “I don’t have to leave until late tomorrow. I know what your first reaction is going to be, but hear me out. I’d like it if you could work it out to fly back with me.”

I open my mouth to object and he kisses me, his tongue stroking mine in a slow, sensuous caress. “Hear me out,” he repeats.

“You convinced me.”

“To come with me?”

I smile. “To hear you out.”

“There are a number of big names involved in the activities over the next few days who I know Mark would salivate to get as clients. Your going is an investment for him.”

“Like who?”

“Maria Mendez. She’s never shown her work with Allure. I think she can be convinced to donate a painting and use Riptide to manage the sale. Nicolas Matthews, the New York Jets star quarterback, will also be there. While he’s not an artist, I believe getting a Riptide donation would be as easy as handing him a football and pen to sign it.”

The possibility of going on this trip with Chris excites me. “You think it’s enough to get Mark to support me going?”

“I know it is.”

“Because you know Mark?”

“I know Mark far more than I wish I did.” He rolls off the bed before I can dig for more information, and walks in all his bare naked beauty across the room to snatch up his pants. He holds up his cell and tosses it to me.

I grab the phone. “I don’t have his number memorized.”

“Auto-dial number four.”

“You have Mark on auto-dial?”

“The price of doing business with him is that I can never get rid of him, and since he donates to my charity I don’t want to.” He saunters toward me, all male grace and confidence, and joins me on the bed again. “In case you need further incentive to take off work, I’m meeting with the PI tomorrow and you can come with me if you’re free.”

I punch the auto-dial. “Merit,” Mark says tightly when he answers the line.

“Actually, it’s me,” I say.

“Ms. McMillan. I guess I know why I haven’t received my phone call after your meeting with Alvarez. You’ve been occupied.”

Oh crap. “I left my phone in my coat, but anyway, it didn’t go well. He says there’s a reason you’re aware of, and that’s why he won’t do business with you.”

“Then why did he see you?”

“To try to recruit me away from you.”

Chris arches a surprised brow and I nod to confirm it really happened. He scrubs his jaw, and I can tell he’s not pleased.

Mark’s silence tells me the same of him and it seems to stretch eternally. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him I am loyal to Allure. Speaking of Allure, I have another opportunity.” Nerves get the best of me, and I begin a long spill about the event and the guests and Riptide. “And you see—”

“Enough, Ms. McMillan. Tell Chris he’s done a good job of arming you with reasons for me to agree, but make sure you bring me back clients.” He hangs up without saying good-bye and I hold out the phone and stare at it.

Chris laughs and takes it from me. “Stop looking like it will bite.” He pulls me beneath him. “I believe I owe you an orgasm or two.”

“Six,” I correct. “One for every time you spanked me.”

His eyes twinkle. “Five. You had one already.”

He leans in to kiss me and I press my fingers to his mouth. “If you make good on this, you can spank me again.”

“I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge.” His mouth covers mine and I am quite certain that no matter what the final number is, this is a challenge I can’t lose.

•   •   •

Three orgasms later, I am naked when Chris carries me to his bathroom and sets me on the edge of the sink. Chris heads to the towel closet and I study the dragon tattoo, thinking about the wounded, lost teen he’d been when he’d gotten it. How young was he when he entered the BDSM world, and what is he keeping from me?

“Have you ever had a reaction to the adrenaline rush like I did tonight?” I ask, hoping to get him talking.

He freezes as he’s about to toss the towels over the top of the shower, and it’s clear I’ve hit a nerve. “No,” he says, completing his task, and glancing at me before opening the shower. “I told you. I’m always in control. I take people for the ride. I don’t go on it myself.” He turns on the water.

“But how do you do that and have someone inflict . . . pain? Isn’t that what you said you need?”

“Needed,” he corrects, walking over to me and lifting me off the counter. “And sex is never involved.”

“You just have someone beat you?” I choke out, appalled.

“It’s past history,” he says, pulling me toward the shower and inside, the warm water enveloping us. He molds me to him and stares down at me. “If I need to get lost, I’ll get lost in you.” His mouth comes down on mine, and the kiss is laced with the torment and pain he never lets me see. He is so much more damaged than I’ve imagined, and I wonder what I have yet to discover about my talented, beautiful artist. I wonder if I will ever
truly reach him, if I will ever truly be enough to stop the pain inside him. If I dare love him for fear I won’t be . . . but then, it’s too late. I already do love him and I yearn to tell him so, to have him feel the same way. But there are other things I must confess first—things sure to bring me more pain than the whip he’s vowed to never use on me.

I do not like public floggings, but I don’t have a say in the matter. He is my Master, and I’ve agreed to do as he bids. It’s better than when he shares me, though. I hate it when he shares me and I don’t care that he says it’s to please me. It pleases him, not me, as do the many watchful eyes I endured tonight. The flogging went on endlessly, with me tied to a post while he circled me, paying equal attention to every part of my body. When it was over, my nipples were sore, my back raw, and my backside red. I was upset. I do not know why tonight was different than any other night, but it was, and I was. And then . . . he was
.

I am not sorry it happened. It pleased him, and after the flogging he seduced me as perfectly as he’d punished me. And as I sit here writing this, I love him more than I ever have, but I can’t help but wonder what price I will pay for such an emotion. He’s made it clear there is no room for such things in his life, and mine too, for that matter. He believes claims of love complicate life and
make people react irrationally. He says there is no such thing as love, only different shades of lust
.

I blink awake with Rebecca’s journal entry in my head, and the soft glow of light in the room drags me from the hauntingly provocative entry. The dream fades, and my lips curve as I realize that Chris is holding me. His body is curved around mine, one of his gifted, artistic hands on my hip, and for once I’m not thinking of his talent on a canvas, but his skill at pleasing me. A girl could get used to falling asleep after being thoroughly sated and waking up with a big hunk of hot man wrapped around her.

“I like you in my bed. I think I’ll keep you here.”

My smile widens and I turn around to face him, finding his hair a sexy, rumpled mess partially because of my fingers. “It’ll be hard to catch our flight from bed.”

“I mean ever. Move in with me, Sara.”

I blanch. “What?”

He caresses my cheek. “You heard me. Move in with me.”

“You’ve only known me a few weeks.”

“I know enough.”

But he doesn’t. “You didn’t even invite women to your bed before me and you want me to live with you?”

“They weren’t you.”

I am warmed by his words, tempted to dive into a deep blue sea of risk with Chris, and I would, if not for my secret. “Chris—”

“Don’t answer now. Think about it over the weekend.” His cell phone rings and he rolls over to grab it from the nightstand. “Morning, Katie.”

I sit up against the headboard at the mention of his godmother and watch as he hits the remote control to open the electronic blinds over the window. Slowly, the gorgeous glow of the San Francisco skyline comes into view but I can’t appreciate it. I am reeling from the knowledge that I am out of time. I have to tell him everything and I am not ready.

“Yes, she’s here,” Chris replies to Katie.

My gaze goes to Chris. “Katie says hello,” he informs me.

“Hi Katie,” I call out, touched by her asking about me, and doing my best to seem cheerful when I’m holding it together as well as shattered glass.

“I’ll have to see what Sara’s schedule is and see when we can come out,” Chris continues to his godmother. I’m thrilled at his assumption that I’ll be by his side, until he adds, “I won’t head back to Paris without stopping out to see you.”

Paris
. I wouldn’t believe I could be more shaken this morning than I already am, but that one word does the job of a jackhammer. All my assumptions that this invitation meant something are crushed. The journal entry I woke to screams in my head.
He says there is no such thing as love, only different shades of lust
. I can’t help but wonder if Chris feels this way, too. How can he ask me to move in, to change my entire life, when he’s going back to Paris soon? All for what? A few weeks of hot sex? It’s enough to shred my heart.

Tossing aside the blanket, I climb out of the bed, snatching Chris’s shirt I’d worn during a late-night kitchen raid, and the earthy, male scent of him sizzles through me when I pull it on. But then, why wouldn’t it? Hot sex is his expertise.

I rush across the room and I can feel Chris’s eyes following
me, and I pray he doesn’t pick up on my frazzled mood. Seconds before I escape, his hand comes down on my arm, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I hear, “Let me call you back, Katie.”

Chris turns me to face him and I’m at the disadvantage of him being breathtakingly naked. “I have to go back for the holidays and my charity commitments,” he explains, as if I’ve asked a question. “I want you to go with me.”

I shake my head, knowing this will lead to certain pain. “I—”

“Have a job,” he completes for me. “I know. Do you have your birth certificate?”

“At my apartment, but—”

“Good. We’ll run by there and grab it so you can apply for your passport today.”

“I can’t just leave.”

“There are amazing opportunities in Paris and I can help open those doors for you.”

“My entire life has been about what someone else got for me. I don’t want to repeat that scenario. I won’t.”

“You’re afraid to count on me.”

“I’m afraid of not being able to count on me.”

There is a hint of emotion in his stare before his expression becomes unreadable. He drops his hand from my arm. “I understand,” he states, his voice monotone, his expression impassive.

I think I’ve hurt him, and reality slaps me in the face. I’ve let myself think of him as some kind of demon, to avoid the real demons of my past.

In two small steps I am in front of him, wrapping my arms around him, and pressing my cheek to his chest. “I don’t think you realize how much I care about you, or how easily and badly
you could hurt me.” I lift my head and let him see the truth in my face. “So yes, I’m scared to count on you.”

Tension eases from his body, his expression softening. He runs his hand over my hair and there is gentleness in his touch. “Then we’ll be scared together.”

“
You’re
scared?” I ask, surprised by such a confession.

“You’re the best adrenaline rush of my life, baby. Far better than the pain you replaced.”

For the first time, I think that maybe, just maybe, I am all Chris needs.

•   •   •

An hour later, I’m standing at the kitchen sink, sipping coffee, while Chris talks to one of the charity organizers on the phone in the other room. I am still reeling from his invitation to move in with him, my mind tossing around one worry after another. How will I keep my job and identity? Do I need my job to have my identity if I delve into new opportunities? Will any of this matter when Chris finds out I’ve lied to him? Will he understand why I did? Why I’m so ashamed of the truth? If anyone could, I believe it’s Chris.

“Ready to head out?”

Chris saunters into the room and my lips curve at the sight of him. He is wearing jeans and a brown Allure Gallery tee to match the pink one I have on, both compliments of a special delivery from Mark. “I still can’t believe you actually wore the shirt.”

He stops in front of me and that earthy, deliciously Chris scent of his teases my nostrils and tingles through me. “I have my disagreements with Mark but he’s been supportive of the hospital.”

I open my mouth to ask exactly what the disagreements were, but he takes my cup and finishes off the contents. This isn’t the first time we’ve shared a cup but there is this new intimacy between us and I feel it in every part of me. Our eyes meet and I am instantly wet, squeezing my thighs together.