by Sylvia Day
“Doesn’t a picture say a thousand words?” I bit out through clenched teeth.
“So Corinne was manhandled. What does that have to do with me?”
“Are you kidding me? Let me out.”
“I don’t find anything even remotely funny about this. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been this pissed off at a woman. You come in here with your half-assed accusations and self-righteous bullshit—”
“I am righteous!” I twisted around and ducked beneath his arm, putting some much-needed distance between us. Being close to him hurt too much. “I would never cheat on you! If I wanted to fuck around, I’d break it off with you first.”
Leaning into the door, Gideon crossed his arms. His shirt remained untucked and open at the collar, a look I found hot and tempting, which only made me angrier.
“You think I cheated on you?” His tone was clipped and icy.
I sucked in a deep breath to get through the pain of imagining him with Corinne on the sofa behind me. “Explain to me why she was here at the Crossfire, looking like she did. Why your office looks like this. Why you look like that.”
His gaze went to the couch, then to the cushion on the floor, then back to me. “I don’t know why Corinne was here or why she looked like that. I haven’t seen her since last night, when you were with me.”
Last night seemed like it’d happened forever ago. I wished that it had never happened at all.
“But I wasn’t with you,” I pointed out. “She batted her eyelashes and said she wanted to introduce you to someone, and you left me standing there.”
“Christ.” His eyes blazed. “Not this again.”
I swiped angrily at a tear that slid down my cheek.
He growled. “You think I went with her because I was overcome with the need to be with her and get away from you?”
“I don’t know, Gideon. You ditched me. You’re the one with the answers.”
“You ditched me first.”
My mouth fell open. “I did not!”
“The hell you didn’t. Almost the second we arrived, you took off. I had to hunt you down and when I did, you were dancing with that prick.”
“Martin is Stanton’s nephew!” And since Richard Stanton was my stepdad, I thought of Martin as family.
“I don’t care if he’s a damned priest. He wants to nail you.”
“Oh my God. That’s absurd! Stop deflecting. You were talking business with your associates. It was awkward standing there. For them as well as me.”
“That’s your place, awkward or not!”
My head jerked back as if he’d slapped me. “Come again?”
“How would you feel if I walked away from you at a Waters Field and Leaman party because you started talking about a campaign? Then, when you found me, I was slow dancing with Magdalene?”
“I—” God. I hadn’t thought of it like that.
Gideon appeared smooth and unruffled with his powerful frame lounging against the door, but I could sense the anger vibrating beneath that calm surface. He was riveting always, but most especially when he was seething with passion. “It’s my place to stand beside you, and support you, and yes, just fucking look pretty on your arm sometimes. It’s my right, my duty, and my privilege, Eva, just as it’s yours in reverse.”
“I thought I was doing you a favor by getting out of the way.”
His arched brow was a silent, sarcastic comeback.
My arms crossed in front of me. “Is that why you walked off with Corinne? Were you punishing me?”
“If I wanted to punish you, Eva, I’d take you over my knee.”
My gaze narrowed. That was never going to happen.
“I know how you get,” he said curtly. “I didn’t want you jealous over Corinne before I had a chance to explain. I needed a few minutes to make sure she understood how serious you and I are, and how important it was to me that you enjoy the evening. That’s the only reason I walked away with her.”
“You told her not to say anything about you two, didn’t you? You told her to keep quiet about what she is to you. Too bad Magdalene screwed that up.”
And maybe Corinne and Magdalene had planned it that way. Corinne knew Gideon well enough to anticipate his moves; it might’ve been easy for her to plan around his reaction to her unexpected appearance in New York.
Which shed a whole new light on why Magdalene had called me today. She and Corinne had been talking at the Waldorf when Gideon and I spotted them. Two women who wanted a man who was with another woman. Nothing was going to happen for them while I was in the picture, and because of that, I couldn’t rule out the possibility that they might be working together.
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” he said tightly.
I waved that off, more concerned about what was happening now. “I saw Corinne get into the Bentley, Gideon. Right before I came up here.”
His other brow rose to match the first. “Did you?”
“Yes, I did. Can you explain that?”
“I can’t, no.”
Injured fury burned through me. I suddenly couldn’t bear to even look at him. “Then get out of my way, I have to get back to work.”
He didn’t move. “I just want to be clear on something before you go: Do you believe I fucked her?”
Hearing him say it aloud made me flinch. “I don’t know what to believe. The evidence sure—”
“I wouldn’t care if the ‘evidence’ included you finding me and her naked in a bed together.” He uncoiled so swiftly, I stumbled back in surprise. He stalked closer. “I want to know if you think I fucked her. If you think I would. Or could. Do you?”
My foot began to tap, but I didn’t retreat. “Explain the lipstick on your shirt, Gideon.”
His jaw tightened. “No.”
“What?” The flat-out refusal sent me into a tailspin.
“Answer my question.”
I studied his face and saw the mask he wore around other people but had never worn with me. He reached his hand toward me as if to brush my cheek with his fingertips, then pulled back at the last minute. In that brief instant in which he pulled away, I heard his teeth grind, as if not touching me was a struggle. Agonized, I was grateful he hadn’t.
“I need you to explain,” I whispered, wondering if I imagined the wince that crossed his face. Sometimes I wanted to believe something so badly, I deliberately manufactured excuses and ignored painful reality.
“I’ve given you no reason to doubt me.”
“You’re giving me one now, Gideon.” I exhaled in a rush, deflating. Withdrawing. He was standing in front of me, but he seemed miles away. “I understand you need time before you share secrets that are painful for you. I’ve been where you’re at, knowing I needed to talk about what happened to me but just not ready. That’s why I’ve tried very hard not to push you or rush you. But this secret is one that’s hurting me, and that’s different. Don’t you see that?”
Cursing under his breath, he cupped my face with cool hands. “I go out of my way to make sure you don’t have any reason to feel jealous, but when you do get possessive, I like it. I want you to fight for me. I want you to care that much. I want you crazy about me. But possessiveness without trust is hell. If you don’t trust me, we’ve got nothing.”
“Trust goes both ways, Gideon.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Damn it. Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m trying to figure out who you are. Where’s the man who came right out and said he wanted to fuck me? The man who didn’t hesitate to tell me I tie him up in knots, even as I was breaking up with him? I believed you’d always be brutally honest like that. I counted on it. Now—” I shook my head, my throat too tight to say anything else.
Grimness thinned his lips, but they stayed stubbornly closed.
Catching his wrists, I pulled his hands away. I was cracking open inside, breaking. “I won’t run this time, but you can push me away. You might want to think about that.”
I left.
Gideon didn’t stop me.
* * *
I spent the rest of the afternoon focused on work. Mark loved to brainstorm out loud, which was an awesome learning exercise for me, and his confident and amiable way of dealing with his accounts was inspiring. I watched him breeze through two client meetings in which he conveyed an air of command that was both reassuring and nonthreatening.
Then we tackled a baby-toy company’s needs analysis, zeroing in on poor return expenditures as well as untapped avenues, such as mom-blog advertising. I was grateful that my job was a distraction from my personal life, and I was looking forward to going to my Krav Maga class later, so I could burn off some of my edgy restlessness.
It was just past four when my desk phone rang. I answered briskly and felt my heart leap at the sound of Gideon’s voice.
“We should leave at five,” he said, “to get to Dr. Petersen’s on time.”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten that our couples therapy sessions were on Thursdays at six P.M. It would be our first.
Abruptly, I wondered if it would also be our last.
“I’ll come get you,” he went on gruffly, “when it’s time.”
I sighed, feeling far from up to it. I was already raw and irritable from our fight earlier. “I’m sorry I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that. I hate that I did.”
“Angel.” Gideon exhaled harshly. “You didn’t ask the one question that matters.”
My eyes closed. It was irritating how he read my mind. “Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re keeping secrets.”
“Secrets are something we can work through; cheating isn’t.”
I rubbed at the ache behind my forehead. “You’re right about that.”
“There’s only you, Eva.” His voice was clipped and hard.
A tremor moved through me at the fury underlying his words. He was still angry that I’d doubted him. Oh well. I was still angry, too. “I’ll be ready at five.”
He was prompt, as usual. While I put my computer to sleep and grabbed my belongings, he spoke with Mark about the ongoing work on the Kingsman Vodka account. I watched Gideon furtively. He cut an imposing figure with his tall, leanly muscular frame in his dark suit and carried himself in a way that projected impenetrability, yet I’d seen him terribly vulnerable.
I was in love with that tender, deeply emotional man. And I resented the façade and his attempts to hide himself from me.
Turning his head, he caught me staring. I saw a glimpse of my beloved Gideon in his wild blue gaze, which briefly exposed a helpless yearning. Then he was gone, replaced by the cool mask. “Ready?”
It was so obvious that he was holding something back, and it killed me to have that gulf between us. To know there were things he wouldn’t trust me with.
As we exited through reception, Megumi rested her chin on her fist and gave a dramatic sigh.
“She’s crushing on you, Cross,” I murmured, as we made our way out and he hit the call button for the elevator.
“Whatever.” He snorted. “What does she know about me?”
“I’ve been asking myself that same question all day,” I said quietly.
That time, I was certain he winced.
* * *
Dr. Lyle Petersen was tall, with neatly groomed gray hair and sharp yet kind denim blue eyes. His office was tastefully decorated in neutral shades and his furniture was extremely comfortable, something I noted on every one of my visits to him. It was a little weird for me to see him as my therapist now. In the past, he’d met with me only as my mother’s daughter. He’d been my mom’s shrink for the last couple of years.
I watched as he settled into the gray wingback chair across from the sofa Gideon and I sat on. His keen gaze shifted between us, clearly noting how we’d each taken seats on opposite ends of the sofa, our stiff postures revealing our defensiveness. We’d made the drive over in the same way.
Flipping open the cover of his tablet, Dr. Petersen gripped his stylus and said, “Shall we start with the cause of the tension between you?”
I waited a beat, to give Gideon a chance to speak first. I wasn’t terribly surprised when he just sat there, silent. “Well . . . in the last twenty-four hours I’ve met the fiancée I didn’t know Gideon had—”
“Ex-fiancée,” Gideon growled.
“—I found out the reason he’s dated brunettes exclusively is because of her—”
“It wasn’t dating.”
“—and I caught her leaving his office after lunch looking like this—” I dug out my phone.
“She was leaving the building,” Gideon bit out, “not my office.”
I pulled up the picture and passed my phone over to Dr. Petersen. “And getting into your car, Gideon!”
“Angus just told you before we got here that he saw her standing there, recognized her, and was being polite.”
“Like he’d say anything different!” I shot back. “He’s been your driver since you were a kid. Of course he’d cover your ass.”
“Oh, it’s a conspiracy now?”
“What was he doing there, then?” I challenged.
“Driving me to lunch.”
“Where? I’ll just verify you were there and she wasn’t, and we’ll get that part out of the way.”
Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I told you. I had an unexpected appointment. I didn’t make it to lunch.”
“Who was the appointment?”
“It wasn’t Corinne.”
“That’s not an answer!” I turned back to Dr. Petersen, who calmly returned my phone to me. “When I went up to his office to ask him what the hell was going on, I discovered him half dressed and freshly showered, with one of his sofas bumped out of place, pillows strewn all over the floor—”
“One goddamned pillow!”
“—and red lipstick on his shirt.”
“There are two dozen businesses in the Crossfire,” Gideon said coldly. “She could have been visiting any one of them.”
“Right,” I drawled, my voice dripping sarcasm. “Of course.”
“Wouldn’t I have taken her to the hotel?”
I sucked in a sharp breath, reeling. “You still have that room?”
His mask slipped, revealing a flare of panic. The realization that he still had his sex pad—a hotel room he used exclusively for fucking and somewhere I’d never go again—hit me like a physical blow, sending a sharp pain through my chest. A low sound left me, a pained whimper that had me squeezing my eyes shut.
“Let’s slow down,” Dr. Petersen interrupted, scribbling rapidly. “I want to backtrack a bit. Gideon, why didn’t you tell Eva about Corinne?”
“I had every intention of doing so,” Gideon said tightly.
“He doesn’t tell me anything,” I whispered, digging for a tissue in my purse so I wouldn’t have mascara running down my face. Why would he keep that room? The only explanation was that he intended to use it with someone other than me.
“What do you talk about?” Dr. Petersen asked, directing the question at both of us.
“I’m usually apologizing,” Gideon muttered.
Dr. Petersen looked up. “For what?”
“Everything.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“Do you feel that Eva’s too demanding or expects too much from you?”
I felt Gideon’s gaze on my profile. “No. She doesn’t ask for anything.”
“Except the truth,” I corrected, turning toward him.
His eyes blazed, searing me with heat. “I’ve never lied to you.”
“Do you want her to ask you for things, Gideon?” Dr. Petersen queried.
Gideon frowned.
“Think about that. We’ll come back to it.” Dr. Petersen turned his attention to me. “I’m intrigued by the photo you took, Eva. You were confronted with a situation that many women would find deeply upsetting—”
“There was no situation,” Gideon reiterated coldly.
“Her perception of a situation,” Dr. Petersen quali
fied.
“A patently ridiculous perception, considering the physical aspect of our relationship.”
“All right. Let’s talk about that. How many times a week do you have sex? On average.”
My face heated. I looked at Gideon, who returned my look with a smirk.
“Umm . . .” My lips twisted ruefully. “A lot.”
“Daily?” Dr. Petersen’s brows rose when I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, nodding. “Multiple times daily?”
Gideon stepped in, “On average.”
Laying his tablet flat on his lap, Dr. Petersen met Gideon’s gaze. “Is this level of sexual activity customary for you?”
“Nothing about my relationship with Eva is customary, Doctor.”
“What was the frequency of your sexual encounters prior to Eva?”
Gideon’s jaw tensed, and he glanced at me.
“It’s okay,” I told him, even as I conceded that I wouldn’t want to answer that question in front of him.
He reached his hand out, spanning the distance between us. I placed mine in his and appreciated the reassuring squeeze he gave me. “Twice a week,” he said tightly. “On average.”
The number of women quickly added up in my mind. My free hand fisted in my lap.
Dr. Petersen sat back. “Eva has brought up concerns of infidelity and lack of communication in your relationship. How often is sex used to resolve disagreements?”
Gideon’s brow arched. “Before you assume Eva’s suffering under the demands of my overactive libido, you should know that she initiates sex at least as often as I do. If one of us were going to have concerns about keeping up, it’d be me just by virtue of possessing male anatomy.”
Dr. Petersen looked at me for confirmation.
“Most interactions between us lead to sex,” I conceded, “including fights.”
“Before or after the conflict is considered resolved by both of you?”
I sighed. “Before.”
He dropped the stylus and started typing. I thought he might end up with a novel’s worth by the time all was said and done.
