My sex tightens. I like being ordered by this man. I am craving control myself but yet when he takes it, I am hot and ready for anything. I slide down his length, drawing him deeper into the wet recess of my mouth, craving the moment he will be buried inside me.
“That’s right, baby. Take it all.”
My mouth slides all the way down to where my hand grips him, and I begin to suckle and glide back and forth. The muscles in his legs are locked, and he’s arching into me, the grip on my hair tightening as he does.
I’ve given blow jobs, Lord only knows Michael wanted me on my knees, but I have never been aroused by doing it. I am dripping wet, my nipples are tight and aching, my breasts so heavy and sensitive that I caress one of them myself, trying to find relief.
“Harder,” he commands. “Deeper.”
I increase the pressure and he pumps into my mouth, the salty taste of his arousal pouring into my mouth moments before a low growl escapes his throat and his body jerks. It’s that growl that ripples through me, and unbelievably takes me so close to orgasm. Knowing that I affect him downright turns me on. I taste his release and for the first time ever I swallow willingly, drinking in his release, as I am his pleasure. I want…I want so badly it hurts.
His body stills, the tension in his legs easing, and before I completely process what is happening, I am being pulled to my feet and my shirt and bra are tugged up over my head. The next thing I know I’m against the couch, facing it and he’s pulling my jeans down, but my boots are still on.
He pulls me back against his chest, one hand molded to my breast, the other sliding into the wet heat between my legs. “You liked doing that to me.”
“Yes.” The word hisses from my lips.
“Were you thinking about me inside you, Sara?” His fingers are all over me, teasing my clit, and Oh God, I’m embarrassed by how close I am to orgasm.
”Yes,” I mouth, unable to form words. I am…my body clenches and then spasms overtake me. My knees buckle and Chris’s hand on my breast holds me up. Everything goes black and spots dot the inky space. Lost in the sweet burn of my body, without concept of time, I relax against Chris, and slowly become excruciatingly aware of my pants at my ankles.
His hands caress a path down my arms and he leans me toward the couch, pulling my pants up. My cheeks burn as he steps away from me but he is right back, pulling my shirt down over my head.
He leads me to the couch, and sits down, pulling me onto his lap, and resting his head against mine. How long we sit there I don’t know, but I could sit there with him forever.
“You do know Rebecca was tormented and lost in that entry, don’t you?”
Like me, I think, but I don’t say that. I lean back to look at him. “Yes. That’s exactly what bothers me, Chris. The journals are more than sex. There is this eerie feeling to them. And they tell me at the gallery that she’s on vacation when her whole life is in a storage unit. That makes no sense. Something happened to her and no one seems to miss her.”
“You’re really worried about her.” It’s not a question.
“Yes. I am. If something happened to me, I’d like to know someone would care.”
He tightens his grip around my waist. “Then we’ll find out what happened to her.”
“We?”
“We, baby. I’ll hire a private detective.”
I’m blown away. “You will?”
“If you really think something happened to her, then we need to find out.”
I press my lips to his. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by letting me stay here tonight. We’ll order Chinese or whatever you like and watch a movie.”
“I thought we were going to your place.”
“I think it would do you good to remember this is your world tonight. And me, too.”
“My apartment doesn’t have the luxury you’re used to.”
“It has you, Sara, and that’s all that matters.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Monday morning I rush into the gallery a second before I’m due to work, and I barely contain a smile as I make a note to myself. No showering with Chris before work.
“Morning, Sara,” Amanda says, and she gives me a quick inspection from behind the desk. “You look fabulous. Open your jacket and let me see the outfit.”
I pull back the expensive leather jacket Chris had given me in Napa Valley to show off my simple Chanel sheath in pale pink. One of the many items in my gift bags from Chris, it is elegantly simple, and I love it. I pause outside the offices, in front of her desk.
“I love that dress. The color is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I beam. “A compliment is always a nice way to start the morning.”
“You look lovely, Ms. McMillan.”
I glance up to see Mark standing behind Amanda, wearing a dark pinstriped suit and looking as gorgeous and powerful as ever.
“Thank you,” I manage, wondering why I feel defensive. I’ve been feeling that way too much lately.
Mark’s eyes glint with a hint of what I believe is amusement meant to be at my expense. “Now you have two compliments to start your day.”
“I hope that means it’s a lucky sales day on the floor for me,” I dare.
His lips quirk. “I’m fairly certain it will be. There was a certain client at the party Friday night who says you promised to get him a private viewing of Ricardo’s collection. Big promises, Ms. McMillan, make you, and me, look bad if they are not delivered upon.”
Oh crap. “I thought since you know Ricardo and he displays his art here, we could convince him to allow a visit.”
“Good luck with that one, Ms. McMillan.” He glances at Amanda. “Get her Ricardo’s number, and Ms. McMillan, you’re approved for the sales floor, but it does not dismiss you from the testing you’ll find in your email.” He starts to turn and stops. “If you do pull off this Ricardo meeting—I’ll be impressed.”
I watch him depart, and Amanda peeks over her shoulder. “Ricardo, Sara? Have you met him?”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “No.”
She whistles. “Think Mark on acid. He’s arrogant and intense, and--“
“I get the picture.” I head for the office door and enter.
Amanda rolls her chair around. “Here’s Ricardo’s card.”
I accept it and she lowers her voice, “Ricardo had a soft spot for Rebecca. She’s the one who set up the charity event but he hasn’t given Mark another piece to show since she left. If you can win him over, you really will impress Mark.”
Rebecca. She’s everywhere I turn but I feel a bit of hope in this otherwise grim situation. “Thank you, Amanda. I am going to give it my best.”
She smiles. “Go, Sara. Go, Sara.”
I’ve barely settled into my desk when Ralph appears in my doorway and holds up a sign reading ‘Go Sara’ with a smiley face and then disappears.
I laugh and decide I should dive right in and call Ricardo before I talk myself out of it. I’m about to dial the office phone when my cell phone goes off. I dig it from my purse, and smile when I see the text message from Chris, remembering him adding his number in my phone himself the night before.
I set down the office phone and open the message. Taking a hot shower has new meaning today.
I laugh and type. So does a cold shower.
True. Very true. Can you do lunch?
I start to say yes, but remember Ava. I have a lunch meeting.
Cancel.
It’s tempting but my gaze catches on the rose candle and I think of Rebecca. I’m hoping Ava can tell me more about her. I can’t.
I’ll be starving by dinner.
I roll my eyes in good humor. I like it when you’re starving.
Then I’ll try not to disappoint. I’ll pick you up at eight.
I shove my phone back inside my purse, and dial the office phone, and promptly receive Ricardo’s voice mail. I hang up knowing a message means I have to wait a respectable amount of time to c
all again.
The buzzer on my desk goes off and I answer. “You have your first customer on the floor, Ms. McMillan,” Mark says. “Make me proud.”
I’m thrilled at the challenge. “I will.”
He is silent a beat. “I look forward to being right about you.” The line goes dead and I rise to my feet. So far, this is a good day.
***
By lunchtime, I have one sale, and another potential sale and I’m feeling good. Ironically, Ava has called and chosen ‘Diego Maria’s’ to meet me.
I entered the restaurant to find her at the same table Chris and I had occupied the prior week.
“Sara!” She pushes to her feet, looking petite and lovely in a cream-colored pantsuit, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. I am wrapped in a hug, and I surmise she’s a hugger like I am. I feel a friendship despite barely knowing her.
We settle into our seats and Maria appears at our table. “Welcome back, Señora Sara. I see we didn’t scare you off with the hot peppers?”
“No. That was Chris’s fault, not yours.”
“Ah well, I assume you make him pay for burning your mouth.”
I laugh. “You bet I did.”
She claps. “Excellent. In that case, you lovely ladies get tacos on the house, with sauce on the side.”
Ava arches a brow. “I sense a good story.”
I quickly recount the events of my prior visit and we fall into easy conversation. She tells me all the neighborhood gossip, and I listen for tidbits about Rebecca, trying to find the best way to turn the conversation that way.
Ava lowers her voice. “And Diego. He’s going to Paris, you know.”
“Yes. He told Chris about it the day I was here.”
“He’s going after a woman, this exchange student he met who used to come into the restaurant. But she was just having fun, Sara. I met her. I talked to her. He plans to propose. It’s really quite heartbreaking. Paris makes people get so romantic and silly.“
I think of Ella, who I tried to call the night before, with no success. “You have to tell him, Ava.”
“He’ll kick me out of the restaurant and I love this place.”
I blink. She’s serious. She’s going to let the man get his heart broken over a few tacos. I have to talk to Chris, and see if he can influences Diego.
“And besides,” Ava adds. “Who am I to judge? I thought that hottie rich guy Rebecca was seeing was a player and would dump her in a heartbeat. I warned her off of him and she got angry. The next thing I know she’s off living the good life, while you’re doing her job. You can’t win when you warn people off the person their dating. You just can’t.”
I’m dumbfounded. I’ve never really thought this rich guy existed. I mean, the man in the journal is Mark, right? “You met the guy she’s vacationing with?”
“Once and it was enough to see him as the hot rock he is. A player and for a reason. I’d have killed to have a night with that man. I’m not sure there is a woman on the planet who wouldn’t.”
“Is he an artist?”
She shakes her head. “Some investment analyst in New York she met when she was doing work for Mark. He’s Mark’s friend. That in itself is a red flag. Mark’s as cold as ice and as hot as my coffee. Those who play together, stay together, and single. Or in this case, those who make money together, are...” She laughs. “I don’t know. No smart saying comes to mind, but both those men are all about money. Two peas in a pod.”
Play together? Was it a slip? A reference to sex? Does that mean this man is the man in the journal and he shared Rebecca with Mark?
The ticket arrives and our tab amounts to the generous tip we leave, while the topic of Rebecca is lost. I kick myself for not finding out the boyfriend’s name. We chat on our walk back to the gallery, but it’s chatter, and nothing more. I agree to stop in for coffee the next day and head back to my office.
“There’s a surprise for you in your office,” Amanda beams.
“What is it?”
“Surprise,” she repeats. “Go see.”
I arrive at my office door and stop dead in my tracks when I see the bouquet of red roses. There are roses everywhere in my room, and I feel like a Princess who’s found her Prince Charming. My stomach churns at the sweet scent of the flowers and I walk to my desk on wobbling legs. I can’t bring myself to reach for the card and I settle into my chair and stare at the twelve, unopened buds. Ready to bloom. Suddenly, I have to know who they are from. I grab the card and with a shaking hand I pull out the card.
Because under the rose trees I was a jerk, but a lucky one to have you there with me. - Chris
I cannot breathe. The card, and what’s on it is perfect. My gaze lifts to the painting of the roses and I am haunted by the connection to her. I reach for my cell phone to text Chris but unbidden I think of another journal passage.
He’s hard sometimes, demanding, but he makes me feel protected. He makes me feel special. I think I’m ready to put my fear aside of the things he wants me to do with him, and to take the next step.
I am haunted by more than the roses. I am haunted by the similarities of what she felt for the man in the journal and what I feel for Chris. But we aren’t the same. He’s not the man in the journal. Nothing points to Chris. The paintbrush. No. No. It’s not Chris. Ava said she met the man. She knows who he is.
My office phone buzzes and I jump. “Your morning customer is back to make a purchase,” Amanda announces.
I shove my cell phone into my drawer and push to my feet, welcoming an escape from what I’m thinking and feeling.
I have barely finished with my sale when Amanda tells me Mark wants to see me in his office. With my second sale of the day under my belt, I am feeling less intimidated by the summons.
“Shut the door,” he commands when I enter, from behind his massive desk. “And sit, Ms. McMillan.”
Okay, being comfortable with Mark isn’t an easy thing to do. I figure I’ve used up my good luck with my new boss back somewhere around the ‘cock-fight’ and my last refusal to sit, so I do as ordered and sit down in front of him. Oh yeah, and when my lover-non-boyfriend-whatever Chris is, negotiated me a fifty-thousand dollar paycheck. I think today is a good day to do as told.
Steely eyes assess me too long and I’m about to begin talking too much, when Mark says, “I see you received flowers today.”
Ohhkay. Where in the heck is this going? “Yes.” I tell myself to stop there, but I can’t. “It’s a nice way to start the week and the roses match the gorgeous painting you’ve placed on my wall.” Oh shut up and don’t go there!
“I assume that means you’re continuing your relationship with Chris.”
My defenses rise despite my vow to behave. “I’m not sure why this is relevant to my job?”
“No?”
“No.”
“The man negotiated a commission on your behalf and you don’t know why he’s relevant?”
So much for thinking I’d dodged a bullet. “If this is about money--“
“Everything is about money, Ms. McMillan, and while I have no issues paying you well, I expect to have you all to myself while you are on my territory.”
“What?” My pulse hammers in my chest. “I don’t understand what that means.”
He turns his computer screen around and pushes play and my heart almost explodes from my chest when I see the security feed. It’s me and Chris by the bathroom. Chris touching me. Chris kissing me.
“Enough!” I say, pushing to the edge of my seat.
He punches a key. “Enough indeed.”
“That was inappropriate and it will never happen again,” I quickly vow.
“You’re right. It won’t. Be clear, Sara. This is my gallery and when you are here, or attending to my business, I own you, not Chris Merit.”
“Own me?” I repeat.
“Own you. You bet on it and me, not Chris. And if you think that he didn’t know there was a camera, that he wasn’t trying to power-
play me, think again.”
Chris knew there were cameras? My heart shatters with the implications behind this discovery. Of course Chris knew. This is his life, his world. I should have known. I did know. “I’m sorry.” I want to tell him the wine got the best of me, but I’m afraid he’ll only think it’s another problem I represent. “I won’t let you down again.”
He studies me with those hard, calculating eyes for what seems like an eternity. “Ms. McMillan. Relax. I’m on your side. You’re not getting fired.”
Not getting fired. This is good. This is what I want. I nod, but I am still ramrod stiff.
“Relax, Sara.” It’s an order.
I want to do as he says. I want to show him I’m a good risk, a good employee, but adrenaline is lighting me on fire. I inhale and let it out, and slowly, I force the tension from my body and lean back into my chair.
“We’re okay,” Mark says and there is a gentleness to his voice I’ve never heard. “We have a bright future together.”
“We do?”
“Yes. I believe in you, or you wouldn’t be here, but it’s also my job to protect you and this gallery. You need to understand these artists can be manipulative. They can use the prospect of a special showing, like you want from Ricardo, against you. I need to make sure right now that you know that you need to do nothing to get work for this gallery but be the professional you are. We do not beg, and you do not let yourself get manipulated. Period. The end. These artists know I don’t tolerate that crap and as long as they believe I own you, they won’t believe you will either. So when I say I own you, Sara, I mean I own you.”
He owns me. I am not comfortable with his choice of words, but I doubt my ability to be my own judge at the moment. My gaze lifts to the mural behind Mark that I am certain Chris painted. I’ve trusted Chris. Has he been manipulating me? Using me against Mark? It’s not the first time I’ve had this thought.
“Are we clear, Sara?” Mark prods.
My attention returns to Mark, to the steely strong eyes offering me protection, a good job, a future. “Yes. We’re clear.”
If I Were You Page 24