Less than a week until IF I WERE YOU! I just can’t believe it is finally going to be here. I’ve waited for this book for what feels like a lifetime. I say this because the story was born when Diego, my DH, and I were buying and selling storage units, long before the shows existed.
Oh what an experience that was. Well, DH found a journal in one of the storage units and started reading and from there he was convinced that I had to write a story. And after years of hearing him say this–I finally did.
Looking back, who would have know how buying and selling those units could have influenced my career. I remember the first time we got a until, our house was packed with boxes and we didn’t know what we were doing. All we knew was the furniture was worth money. We took pictures and it sold fast so we had to clean it out. And what did I find? A sex drawer. Oh yes. I did. Can you say GLOVES? There is nothing sexy about cleaning out someone’s sex drawer. You can imagine what might have been in there! I won’t share:) Your imagination might be more fun. In fact, this seems like a good time to share a sexy excerpt to get back to sexy!
Rounding the corner, I enter the hallway, and Chris is suddenly there in the narrow passage with me, pressing me against the wall, his powerful thighs framing mine.
My hand goes instinctively to his t-shirt-clad chest. I am immediately aware of the intimacy of the touch, of my body’s reaction to the man who has betrayed me. “Don’t shove me against another wall and try to intimidate me, Chris.”
“I’m not trying to intimidate you. I was protecting you, Sara.” His hands move to my waist, scorching me, and my reaction to the sizzling touch is instant. I cover his hands with mine, trying to control what he does next, but it doesn’t help. Now, my hands are on his hands and his hands are on my body.
“Call it what you want,” I ground out, “but you had no right to do what you did.”
“He had to know he couldn’t manipulate your dream. Money, and my many resources at your disposal, does that.”
His words knock my anger and my breath away, and confusion consumes me. His actions and his words conflict at every turn. “Why would you help me? You said I don’t belong in this world.”
“Because I won’t watch him gobble you up and destroy you.”
I remember his words, and understand now that he wanted me out of this gallery, not this profession. “Because he’s a dark, messed up, arrogant asshole who will play with my mind and use me until there is nothing else left of me I recognize.”
“And yet you say you’re worse.”
He stiffens and cuts his gaze, seeming to struggle before fixing me in a turbulent stare. “I am, Sara, which is why you should run as far away from me as you can. And I should step back and let you.”
“Then why aren’t you?” I whisper.
His eyes hold mine, and what I see there, the depth of his desire, overwhelms me. He flattens his palm on my belly and I tremble beneath the touch, and he has to feel it too. “Because,” his voice low, seductive, his hand traveling up the center of my body, “I can’t stop thinking about you, and everything I want to do to you, everywhere I want to touch you.”
His hand presses to the swell between my breasts, and my nipples ache with a wish he would touch them. His boldness ignites something sultry and dark inside me, a side of me that defies the good-girl school teacher who is appalled I haven’t stopped this. I want him. I want him here and now, and any way I can have him.
And when his gaze lowers to my mouth and lingers, I know he is thinking about kissing me and I have never wanted to be kissed so badly in my life.
“Do you taste as good as I think you do?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for my reply.
Suddenly, his fingers have tunneled into my hair and he’s dragging my mouth to his. I am all soft submission, yielding to the moment, to the man. I melt into him, welcome the hardness of his body pressed to mine. And when his tongue presses past my lips, a long, wicked caress, I taste his hunger, his need. There is possessiveness to his kiss, to his hand on my back, molding me closer. I am lost in the ache that has become my need for this man, this stranger I cannot resist. He says he’s protecting me; he says he’s dangerous. I am conflicted, and sure I should be angry with him, but I am completely incapable and unable of processing why.
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