One With You

by Sylvia Day

  Personally, I suspected Rick had never broken up with that girlfriend to begin with and had been stringing Ireland along on the side, but then I was cynical about things like that.

  “Oh.” Magdalene’s face softened in sympathy. “Men can be such assholes. Look, if you want to slip out without him noticing, I’ll order a car for you.” She snapped open her clutch and took out her smartphone. “On me. How’s that?”

  “Hang on,” I interjected. I laid out my plan.

  Magdalene’s brows rose. “Devious. Why get mad when you can get even?”

  “I don’t know …” Ireland glanced at the mirror and cursed. She grabbed more tissues and worked on fixing her eye makeup. “I look like shit.”

  “You look a million times better than that tramp out there,” I told her.

  She gave a watery laugh. “I hate her, too. She’s such a bitch.”

  “Bet she’s admired some of Cary’s Grey Isles ads,” Magdalene said. “I know I have.”

  That did the trick. While Ireland wasn’t ready yet to completely write off Rick, she was certainly open to making his date envious.

  The rest would come in time. Hopefully.

  Then again, there were some lessons we women had to learn the hard way.

  We made it back to our table just as a gentleman I assumed was Glen headed up the stairs onto the stage and crossed over to the lectern. I knelt by Cary, setting my hand on his arm.

  He glanced down at me. “What’s up?”

  I explained what I wanted him to do and why.

  His grin flashed white in the dimmed lighting. “Sure thing, baby girl.”

  “You’re the best, Cary.”

  “So they all say.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stood and headed back to my chair, which Gideon pulled out for me. My cake was still there and I eyed it eagerly.

  “They tried to take that,” Gideon murmured. “I defended it for you.”

  “Aww. Thank you, baby. You’re so good to me.”

  He put his hand on my thigh beneath the table and gave it a soft squeeze.

  I watched my husband while I ate, admiring Gideon’s air of calm relaxation as we both listened to Glen talk about the importance of the work his organization did in the city. Whenever I thought about giving speeches on behalf of Crossroads, I got butterflies in my stomach. But I’d eventually get the hang of it, figure things out. I would learn what I needed to know to be an asset to both my husband and Cross Industries.

  We had time and I had Gideon’s love. The rest would fall into place.

  “It is our pleasure to honor a man who truly needs no introduction—”

  Putting my fork down, I sat back and listened as Glen extolled my husband’s many accomplishments and his generous commitment to causes that benefited victims of sexual abuse. It didn’t escape my notice that Chris was watching Gideon with a new understanding in his gaze. And pride. The look he gave my husband was no different from the one I’d seen him give Ireland.

  The room exploded into applause as Gideon rose lithely to his feet. I stood, too, along with Chris, Cary, and Ireland. The rest of the room followed suit, until a full standing ovation welcomed Gideon to the stage. He glanced at me before he walked away, his fingers brushing the ends of my hair.

  Seeing him traverse the stage was its own pleasure. His stride was smooth and unhurried, but it commanded attention. Gracefully powerful, he moved so beautifully it was a joy to watch him.

  He set the plaque they’d given him atop the lectern, his tanned hands in notable contrast to the white of his cuffs. Then he began speaking, his dynamic baritone smooth and cultured, making each word a separate caress. There was no other sound in the room, everyone riveted by his dark good looks and consummate oration.

  It was over too quickly. I was on my feet again the moment he picked up the plaque, my hands clapping so hard my palms hurt. They directed him to the side of the stage, where a photographer waited with Glen. Gideon spoke to them, then looked at me, beckoning me to him with an outstretched hand.

  He met me at the bottom of the stairs, offering his arm to help me navigate the ascent in my dress and heels.

  “I am so hot for you right now,” I told him softly.

  He laughed. “Fiend.”

  We danced for an hour after the dinner was over.

  Why didn’t I dance with my husband more often? He was as skilled and sexual on the dance floor as he was in bed, his body moving with fluid strength, his lead confident and expertly assertive.

  Gideon was intimately familiar with how we flowed together and used that to his advantage, taking every opportunity to slide his body against mine. I was wildly aroused and he was aware, his gaze on my face both hot and knowing.

  When I could tear my attention away from him, I spotted Cary dancing with Ireland. He had scoffed when I first asked him to take dancing lessons with me, but he’d come around and quickly become our instructor’s favorite. He was a natural and he easily led Ireland, despite her inexperience.

  A flamboyant dancer, Cary claimed a wide space on the floor, which made him and Ireland the focus of much attention. He, however, only had eyes for his partner, playing the part of a completely spellbound date to perfection. Even heartbroken, Ireland couldn’t help but be charmed by his unwavering, focused attention. I saw her laugh often, her cheeks prettily flushed with exertion.

  I’d missed that oops moment with Rick I’d hoped to witness, but I saw the result. He was dancing with his girlfriend, woefully unable to compete with Cary in either skill or looks. There was no more smiling or eye-fucking, since both he and the blonde kept glancing at Cary and Ireland, who were clearly having far more fun.

  Terrence and Anne Lucas danced, too, but were wise enough to stay on the other side of the dance floor.

  “Let’s go home,” Gideon murmured, as the song ended and we slowed to a halt, “and put some sweat on those diamonds.”

  I smiled. “Yes, please.”

  We went back to our table to retrieve his plaque and my clutch.

  “We’ll head out with you,” Stanton said, joining us with my mother beside him.

  “What about Cary?” I asked.

  “Martin will take him home,” my mother answered. “They’re all still enjoying themselves.”

  It took us just as long to leave as it’d taken us to arrive, with so many people catching Gideon and Stanton for the first time all evening. I could only say thank you to congratulations, but my mother occasionally spoke with authority, adding brief but incisive comments to things Stanton discussed. I envied her that knowledge and was inspired by it. We’d have to talk about that when the time presented itself.

  The plus side of being delayed for so long was that it gave time for the cars to be brought around. When we finally made it down to street level, Raúl informed us that the limo was only a block away. Clancy shot me a quick smile before he told my mom and Stanton their car was pulling up now.

  Paparazzi waited outside. Not as many as before, but more than a dozen.

  “Let’s get together tomorrow,” my mom said, giving me a hug in the lobby.

  “Sounds good.” I pulled back. “I could use a day at the spa.”

  “What a lovely idea.” Her smile was brilliant. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  I hugged Stanton good-bye; Gideon shook his hand. We stepped outside and the camera flashes burst around us. The city welcomed us outdoors with the sounds of late-evening traffic and the gentle warmth of the evening. The humidity was slowly receding as summer gave way to fall and I looked forward to spending more time outdoors. Autumn in New York was a unique enchantment, something I’d only enjoyed previously during short visits.

  Get down!

  The shout barely registered before Gideon tackled me. A loud crack of sound jolted through me, reverberating off the brick and ringing in my ears. Deafeningly close … Jesus. Right beside us.

  We hit the carpeted pavement hard. Gideon rolled, covering me with his body. More weight as some
one threw themselves over Gideon. Another bark of noise. Then another. Another …

  Crushed. Too heavy. Breathe. My lungs couldn’t expand. My head pounded. Oxygen. God.

  I struggled. Clawing at the red carpet. Gideon clutched me tighter. His voice was harsh in my ear, the words lost beneath the frantic buzzing in my head.

  Air. Can’t breathe … The world went black.

  14

  “Christ. Eva.” I ran frantic hands over her limp form, searching for injury as the driver hit the gas pedal hard and the limo lurched forward, slamming me back into the seat.

  My wife lay deathly still across my lap, unresponsive to my desperate examination. No blood on her gown or skin. A pulse, hard and quick. Her chest lifting and falling with each breath.

  Relief hit me so hard I felt dizzy. I pulled her up tight against me, cradling her close. “Thank God.”

  Raúl barked orders into the mic at his wrist. The moment he shut up, I demanded, “What the fuck happened?”

  He dropped his arm. “One of the photographers had a gun and opened fire. Clancy got him.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Monica Stanton went down.”

  “What?” My slowing heartbeat lurched back into a pounding rhythm. I looked down at my wife as she slowly came to¸ her eyelids fluttering. “Jesus. How bad?”

  He exhaled harshly. “I’m waiting for word. It didn’t look good. You grabbed Mrs. Cross and Mrs. Stanton moved into the way.”

  Eva.

  I held my wife tighter, running my hand over her hair as we sped through the city.

  “What happened?”

  Eva’s soft question as we turned the corner that led to the garage knotted my stomach. Raúl looked at me, his face grim. Only moments before he’d taken a call and met my gaze, confirming my worst fear with a shake of his head and a quietly voiced I’m sorry.

  My wife’s mother was dead.

  How was I supposed to tell Eva? And after I did, how could I keep her safe until we knew what the hell was going on?

  In my jacket pocket, my phone buzzed constantly. Calls. Messages. I needed to get to them all, but my wife came first.

  We pulled into the garage, driving past the guard in the glass cubicle. My foot tapped restlessly on the floorboard. I wanted out of the car. I needed my wife locked down.

  “Gideon?” She clutched at my jacket. “What happened? I heard gunshots—”

  “False alarm,” I said gruffly, my grip on her too tight. “A car backfired.”

  “What? Really?” She blinked up at me, wincing as I pulled her even closer. “Oww.”

  “I’m sorry.” I’d taken her down hard, unable to break the fall for her without exposing her to danger. It had been instinctual, an abrupt response to the urgency in Raúl’s voice. “I overreacted.”

  “For real?” She tried to sit up. “I thought I heard multiple shots.”

  “The death of a few cameras, maybe. A few people got startled, dropped their gear.”

  The car slowed to a halt and Raúl leapt out, extending his hand to Eva to help her. She climbed out slowly and I was directly behind her, scooping her up into my arms the moment I straightened.

  I strode to the garage elevator, waited while Raúl typed in the code. One of his team stood behind us, facing the other direction, his hand in his jacket on his gun as he surveilled.

  Would he be enough if there was another shooter lying in wait?

  “Hey, I can walk,” Eva said, still punchy, her arms around my shoulders. “And you need to answer your phone. That thing’s going crazy.”

  “Give me a minute.” I stepped into the elevator. “You passed out. Scared the shit out of me.”

  “I couldn’t breathe.”

  Kissing her forehead, I apologized again. I wouldn’t feel safe until we stepped into our living room. I glanced at Raúl. “I’ll be out shortly.”

  I took my wife directly to the bedroom, laying her down atop the comforter. Lucky barked in his crate, pawing at the door.

  “That was so weird.” Eva shook her head. “Where’s my clutch? I want to call Mom. Did Clancy freak out, too?”

  My gut knotted. I’d promised to never lie to my wife and I knew this lie was going to hurt her badly. Hurt us. But … God. How the fuck did I tell her? And if I did, how could I keep her home when she’d want to go out and see the truth for herself ?

  Lucky’s plaintive whines only ratcheted up my anxiety.

  “I think we left your purse in the car.” I brushed the hair back from her forehead, fighting the tremor that wanted to rack my entire body. “I’ll have someone get it and bring it up.”

  “Okay. Can I use your phone for now?”

  “Let’s get you settled first. Are you hurting? Bruised?” I shot a glare at Lucky, but that only made him paw the metal bars more furiously.

  She poked at her hip and winced. “Maybe.”

  “All right. We’ll take care of that.”

  I went to the bathroom, pulling out my phone to turn it off. The screen was an endless scroll of missed calls and texts. I watched it go black, shoved it into my pants pocket, and then turned on the taps in the bathtub. Anyone I’d want to hear from could reach Raúl or Angus.

  I tossed a handful of Epsom salts into the steaming water; I knew a bath was a risk considering how rare it was for me to not join Eva when she took one. Still, hot soaks relaxed her, made her calm. I suspected she took naps during the day to make up for the hours our sex life took out of the nights, but she was running a sleep deficit after the weekend.

  If I could just get her to wind down and get in bed, she might drift off. It would buy me some time to figure out what had happened, what risk remained, talk to Dr. Petersen …

  Fuck. And Victor. I had to call Eva’s dad. Get him on a flight to New York as soon as possible. Cary. He should be here, too. Once I had more facts and a support system for my wife, then I could tell her. Just a few hours. That was all I needed.

  I struggled to ignore the sick fear that Eva wouldn’t forgive me for the delay.

  She was letting Lucky out when I stepped back into the bedroom. A laugh escaped her at the puppy’s enthusiasm. The joyous sound, one I loved so much, pierced me like a knife in the chest.

  Kissing Lucky’s head, she looked at me with bright eyes. “You should put him on his puppy pad. He’s been locked up awhile.”

  “I’ll take him.”

  She rubbed Lucky’s head before passing him over. “I hear a bath running.”

  “A soak might do you good.”

  “Limber me up?” she teased. The look in her eyes … It killed me. I almost told her, but I couldn’t get the words past the lump in my throat.

  Instead, I turned away and headed down the hallway to the half bath off the living room, where Lucky’s patch of fake grass was. I set him down on it, ran my hands through my hair.

  Think, damn it. God, I needed a drink.

  Yes. A drink. Hard liquor.

  I went to the kitchen, tried to think of something strong that Eva would actually drink. A digestif, maybe? The house phone. Shit. I went to turn off the ringer and saw that someone had already thought of it. Turning back around, I spotted the coffeemaker.

  Something hot. Relaxing. No caffeine.

  Tea. I went the pantry and searched, shoving around the items on the shelves looking for a box of tea Angus kept at the penthouse. Some herbal crap he said smoothed the rough edges. I found it and focused, filling a mug from the instant hot water tap. I dropped two tea bags into it, a liberal pour of rum, then a scoop of honey. I stirred, spilled onto the counter. More rum.

  Tossing the tea bags into the sink, I headed back to my wife.

  For an instant, when I didn’t find her in the bedroom, I panicked. Then I heard her in the closet and my breath left me in a rush. I set the mug down by the bath, turned the water off, and went to her. I found her sitting on the bench, taking off her shoes.

  “The dress is ruined, I think,” she said, as she stood in her
bare feet, showing me the tear along the left side.

  “I’ll buy you another.”

  She flashed me a big smile. “You’re spoiling me.”

  It was fucking torture. Every second. Every lie I told. Every truth I left unsaid.

  I was flayed by the love in her eyes. The utter trust. Sweat slid down my back. I yanked my jacket off and tossed it aside, clawing at my bow tie and collar until they both came apart and let me breathe.

  “Help me out of this.” She turned her back to me.

  I unfastened the gown and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it fall to a puddle on the floor. Then I unhooked her bra, hearing her sigh with pleasure as its constriction eased.

  Looking her over, I cursed silently at the bruise already shadowing her hip and the abrasions on her arm from the red carpet.

  She yawned. “Wow. I’m tired.”

  Thank God. “You should sleep, then.”

  She shot me a heated look over her shoulder. “I’m not that tired.”

  Jesus. Being gutted couldn’t hurt worse. I couldn’t touch her, make love to her … not with my deceit between us.

  I swallowed hard. “All right, then. I’ve got to see to some business first. And get your purse. I made a hot toddy for you. It’s by the bathtub. Just relax and I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Unable to lie any more than I already had, I told her an irrelevant truth. “I’ve missed a lot of work this week. Some pressing things need to be dealt with.”

  “Sorry. I know that’s my fault.” She kissed my jaw. “Love you, ace.”

  Grabbing a robe off the hooks, she slid into it and walked out. I stood there, surrounded by the smell of her, my hands still tingling from the feel of her, my heart pounding with fear and self-loathing.

  Lucky raced in so fast, he ricocheted off the door before barreling into my feet. I picked him up, rubbing the top of his head.

  This was one nightmare he couldn’t wake me from.