Reflected in You

by Sylvia Day

  The door shut behind us, and I faced him. “Gideon, I swear it’s not—”

  “Hush.” He cupped my face in both hands and kissed me, his mouth moving softly but urgently over mine.

  Startled, it took me the length of two heartbeats to slide my hands beneath his jacket and grip his lean waist. When his tongue stroked deep into my mouth, a low moan escaped me.

  He pulled back and I looked up at him, seeing the same gorgeous businessman in a dark suit that I’d first met, but the look in his eyes . . .

  My throat burned.

  The power and scorching intensity, the hunger and need. His fingertips brushed over my temples, across my cheeks, down to my throat. He tilted my jaw up and his lips pressed gently against mine. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. I got it.

  He linked our fingers and led me back inside.

  Chapter 9

  I hurried through the security turnstiles of the Crossfire and grinned when I saw Cary waiting for me in the lobby.

  “Hey, you,” I greeted him, admiring how he managed to make worn jeans and a V-neck T-shirt look expensive.

  “Hey, stranger.” He held out his hand to me and we stepped out of the building through the side door hand-in-hand. “You’re looking happy.”

  The noonday heat hit me like a physical barrier. “Ugh. It’s hot as hell. Let’s pick somewhere close. You up for tacos?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  I took him to the little Mexican place Megumi had introduced me to and tried not to let him see how guilty his greeting made me feel. I hadn’t been home in a couple days and Gideon was planning a weekend trip away, which meant it would be another few days before I hung out with Cary again. It had been a relief when he’d agreed to meet me for lunch. I didn’t want to go too long without checking in with him and making sure he was all right.

  “Got any plans tonight?” I asked, after ordering for both of us.

  “One of the photographers I’ve worked with is having a birthday bash tonight. I figured I’d pop in for a bit and see how it goes.” He rocked back on his heels as we waited for our tacos and blended virgin margaritas. “You still planning on hanging with your boss’s sister? You guys wanna come with?”

  “Sister-in-law,” I corrected. “And she’s got concert tickets. I’m her last hope, she said, but even if I wasn’t, I think it’ll be fun. At least I hope so. I’ve never heard of the band, so I’m just hoping they don’t suck.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Six-Ninths. Know ’em?”

  His eyes widened. “Six-Ninths? Really? They’re good. You’ll like them.”

  I grabbed our drinks off the counter and left the tray with our plates for him to carry. “You’ve heard of them and Shawna’s a big fan. Where have I been?”

  “Under Cross and his hard place. You taking him with you?”

  “Yes.” I hurried to grab a table as two businessmen stood to leave. I didn’t tell Cary about Gideon’s assertion that I couldn’t go without him. I knew that wouldn’t go over well with Cary, which made me wonder why I’d let it go as easily as I did. Usually Cary and I agreed about stuff like that.

  “Can’t see Cross liking alt rock.” Cary sank fluidly into the chair across from me. “Does he know how much you like it? Especially the musicians who play it?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “I can’t believe you brought that up. Ancient history.”

  “So? Brett was hot. Ever think about him?”

  “With shame.” I picked up one of the carne asada tacos. “So I try not to.”

  “He was a decent guy,” Cary said, before slurping up a hefty swallow of margarita-flavored slush.

  “I’m not saying he wasn’t. He just wasn’t good for me.” Just thinking about that time in my life made me want to squirm in embarrassment. Brett Kline was hot and he had a voice that made me wet just hearing it, but he was also one of the prime examples of an unfortunate choice in my previously sordid love life. “Moving on . . . You talk to Trey lately?”

  Cary’s smile faded. “This morning.”

  I waited patiently.

  Finally, he sighed. “I miss him. Miss talking to him. He’s so fucking smart, you know? Like you. He’s going to that party with me tonight.”

  “As friends? Or as a date?”

  “These are really good.” He chewed a bite of one of his tacos before replying. “We’re supposed to be going as friends, but you know I’ll probably screw that up and fuck him. I asked him to meet me there and to head home from there so we’re not alone, but I can always bang him in the bathroom or a goddamn maintenance closet. I have no willpower and he can’t say no to me.”

  My heart hurt at his dejected tone.

  “I know what that’s like,” I reminded him softly. That’d been me once. I’d been so desperate to feel connected with somebody. “Why don’t you . . . you know . . . take care of it beforehand. Maybe that’ll help.”

  A slow, mischievous smile spread across his handsome face. “Can I get you to record that for my voice mail message?”

  I threw my wadded-up napkin at him.

  He caught it with a laugh. “You can be such a prude sometimes. I love it.”

  “I love you. And I want you to be happy.”

  Lifting my hand to his lips, he kissed the back. “I’m working on it, baby girl.”

  “I’m here if you need me, even if I’m not home.”

  “I know.” He squeezed my hand before releasing it.

  “I’ll be around a lot next week. Gotta get ready for my dad’s visit.” I bit into a taco and my feet did a little happy tap dance at how delicious it was. “I wanted to ask you about Friday. I’ve got to work, so if you’re around, would you keep an eye on him? I’ll stock up on the food he likes and leave him some city maps, but—”

  “No problem.” Cary winked at a pretty blonde as she walked by. “He’ll be in good hands.”

  “Want to see a show with us while he’s in town?”

  “Eva honey, I’m always game to hang with you. Just let me know where and when, and I’ll keep things clear as much as possible.”

  “Oh!” I quickly chewed and swallowed. “Mom told me she saw your pretty mug on the side of a bus the other day.”

  He grinned. “I know. She forwarded a pic she’d taken with her phone. Awesome, right?”

  “Beyond. We’ll need to celebrate,” I said, stealing his signature line.

  “Hell yeah.”

  * * *

  “Whoa!” Shawna paused on the sidewalk outside her Brooklyn apartment complex and gaped at the limousine idling in the street. “You went all out.”

  “Not me,” I said dryly, checking out her tight red shorts and strategically slashed Six-Ninths screened T-shirt. Her bright hair had been pulled up and teased, and her lips were painted to match her shorts. She looked hot and ready to party, and I felt vindicated in my clothing choice of ultra-short black leather pleated skirt, fitted white ribbed tank top, and cherry red sixteen-eye Doc Martens.

  Gideon, who’d had his back to us while talking to Angus, turned to face us, and I found myself as dumbstruck now as I’d been when I first saw him after he had showered and changed. He wore loose-fitting black jeans and a plain black T-shirt with heavy black boots and somehow made the severely casual combination look so fucking sexy, I wanted to jump his bones. As Dark and Dangerous as he was in a suit, he was even more so when ready to rock. He looked younger and every bit as mouthwateringly gorgeous.

  “Holy shit, tell me that’s for me,” Shawna whispered, gripping my wrist like a vise.

  “Hey, you’ve got your own. That one’s mine.” And it gave me a huge thrill to say so. Mine to claim, to touch, to kiss. And later on, to fuck to exhaustion. Oh yeah . . .

  She laughed when I rocked onto my tiptoes in anticipation. “All right. I’ll settle for an introduction.”

  I did the honors, then waited for her to hop into the limo first. I was about to climb in after her when I felt Gideon’s hand slide up
beneath my skirt to squeeze my butt.

  He pressed against my back and whispered in my ear, “Make sure I’m standing behind you when you bend over, angel, or I’ll be spanking this pretty ass.”

  Turning my head, I leaned my cheek against his. “My period’s over.”

  He growled, his fingertips biting into the flesh of my hip. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

  “Delayed gratification, ace,” I told him, using a phrase he’d once tormented me with. I was laughing at his curse when I dropped onto the bench seat beside Shawna.

  Angus slid behind the wheel and we headed out, breaking into a bottle of Armand de Brignac on the way. By the time we pulled up to Tableau One, a hot new fusion bistro that had a healthy line out front and energetic music pouring out onto the street, the combination of the champagne and Gideon’s hot gaze on the nearly indecent hemline of my skirt had me feeling giddy.

  Shawna slid forward on the seat and stared wide-eyed through the tinted windows. “Doug tried to get us in here before he left, but the waiting list is two months long. You can walk up, but the wait can be hours and there’s no guarantee you’ll be seated.”

  The limo door opened and Angus helped her out, then me. Gideon joined us, taking my arm as if we were dressed for a gala and not a rock concert. We were escorted inside so quickly, with the manager being so gushy and welcoming, that I looked at Gideon and mouthed, One of yours?

  “Yes, in partnership.”

  I just sighed, reconciled to the inevitable. “Is your friend going to meet us for dinner?”

  Gideon gestured with an easy nod of his chin. “He’s already here.”

  I followed his gaze to an attractive man sporting blue jeans and a Six-Ninths T-shirt. The gentleman was acting as the focal point in a photo op with two pretty women on each side. He smiled wide for the person wielding a smartphone camera, then waved at Gideon and excused himself.

  “Oh my God.” Shawna bounced on her feet. “That’s Arnoldo Ricci! He owns this place. And he’s got a show on the Food Network!”

  Gideon released me to clasp hands with Arnoldo and engage in the backslapping ritual of close male friends. “Arnoldo, my girlfriend, Eva Tramell.”

  I extended my hand and Arnoldo grabbed it, pulled me closer, and kissed me straight on the mouth.

  “Back off,” Gideon snapped, tugging me behind him.

  Arnoldo grinned, his dark eyes flashing with humor. “And who’s this vision?” he asked, turning to Shawna and lifting her hand to his lips.

  “Shawna, this will be your escort, Arnoldo Ricci, if he manages to survive dinner.” Gideon shot his friend a warning look. “Arnoldo, Shawna Ellison.”

  She practically glowed. “My boyfriend’s a huge fan of yours. I am, too. He made your lasagna recipe once and it was. To. Die. For.”

  “Gideon told me your man is in Sicily now.” Arnoldo’s voice was flavored with a delicious accent. “I hope you can make the time to visit with him there.”

  My gaze darted to Gideon, knowing damn well I’d never given him that much information about Shawna’s boyfriend. He glanced down at me with a look of mock innocence and an almost imperceptible smirk.

  I shook my head, exasperated, but I couldn’t deny that this would be a night Shawna would never forget.

  The next hour passed in a blur of excellent food and fine wine. I was polishing off an extraordinary zabaione with raspberries when I caught Arnoldo watching me with a wide smile.

  “Bellissima,” he praised. “Always a joy to see a woman with a healthy appetite.”

  I flushed, slightly embarrassed. I couldn’t help it; I loved food.

  Gideon draped his arm along the back of my chair and toyed with the hair at my nape. His other hand lifted a glass of red wine to his mouth and when he licked his lips, I knew he was thinking about tasting me instead. His desire was charging the air between us. I had been falling under its spell all through dinner.

  Reaching beneath the tablecloth, I cupped his cock through his jeans and squeezed. He went from semihard to stone instantly but gave no other outward indication of his arousal.

  I couldn’t help but see that as a challenge.

  I began to stroke the rigid length of him with my fingers, careful to keep my movements slow and easy to prevent detection. To my delight, Gideon continued his conversation without a hitch in his voice or change of expression. His control excited me, made me bolder. I reached for his button fly, turned on by the thought of releasing him and stroking him skin on skin.

  Gideon took another leisurely sip, then set his wineglass down.

  “Only you, Arnoldo,” he said dryly in response to something his friend had said.

  My wrist was caught just as I tugged at the top button of his jeans. He lifted my hand to his lips, the gesture appearing to be an absentminded show of affection. The quick nip of his teeth into the pad of my finger caught me by surprise and made me gasp.

  Arnoldo smiled; it was the knowing and slightly mocking smile one bachelor gave to another who’d been caught by a woman. He said something in Italian. Gideon replied, his pronunciation sounding fluid and sexy, his tone wry. Arnoldo threw his dark head back and laughed.

  I squirmed in my seat. I loved seeing Gideon like this, relaxed and enjoying himself.

  He looked at my empty dessert plate, then at me. “Ready to go?”

  “Oh, yes.” I was dying to see how the rest of the night would go, how many more sides of Gideon I’d get to discover. Because I loved this side of the man as much as I loved the powerful businessman in the suit and the dominant lover in my bed and the broken child who couldn’t hide his tears and the tender partner who held me when I cried.

  He was so complex and still a huge mystery to me. I’d barely scratched the surface of who he was. Which didn’t stop me from being in too deep.

  * * *

  “These guys are good!” Shawna yelled as the opening act barreled headlong into their fifth song.

  We’d left our seats after the third, working our way through a writhing crowd to the railing that divided the seating area from the mosh pit in front of the stage. Gideon surrounded me, his arms caging me on both sides, his hands gripping the rail. The audience pressed in around us, collectively pushing forward, but I was cushioned from it by his body, just as Shawna was by Arnoldo beside us.

  I was sure Gideon could have gotten us way better seats, but I didn’t have to tell him that the way Shawna had scored her fan-only tickets and the fact that she’d invited us meant her seats were our only option. I loved him for understanding that and for going with the flow.

  Turning my head, I looked at him. “Is this band with Vidal, too?”

  “No. But I like them.”

  I was stoked that he was enjoying the show. Lifting my arms in the air, I screamed, feeling pumped by the energy of the crowd and the driving beat. I danced within the circle of Gideon’s arms, my body drenched in sweat, my blood raging.

  When the act was done, the stagehands quickly set to work breaking down the equipment and setting up for Six-Ninths. Grateful for the evening, for the joy, for the awesomeness of going wild with the man I loved, I turned and threw my arms around Gideon’s neck, mashing my lips to his.

  He lifted me and urged my legs around his waist, kissing me violently. He was hard and pressing against me, luring me to grind into him. Around us people whistled and catcalled things that ranged from “Get a room” to “Fuck her, man!” but I didn’t care and neither did Gideon, who seemed as swept away by the sensual craziness as I was. His hand on my buttocks rocked me into his erection while the other fisted in my hair, holding me where he wanted me as he kissed me as if he couldn’t stop, as if he were starving for the taste of me.

  Our open mouths slid desperately across each other. He tongued me deep and fast, fucking my mouth, making love to it. I drank him in, licking and tasting, moaning at his insatiable need. He sucked on my tongue, the circle of his lips sliding along it. It was too much. I was slick and aching for hi
s cock, nearly frantic with the need to feel him filling me.

  “You’re going to make me come,” he growled, before tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth.

  I was so into him and the ferocity of his passion for me that I barely registered when Six-Ninths started. It wasn’t until the vocals kicked in that I was jolted back to where I was.

  I stiffened, my mind clawing its way up through the fog of desire to process what I was hearing. I knew the song. My eyes opened as Gideon pulled back. Over his shoulder I saw handwritten signs held up in the air.

  BRETT KLINE IS MINE! And BANG ME, BRETT! And my personal favorite, BRETT, I’D HIT IT WITH YOU LIKE THE WRATH OF GOD!!!

  Hell. What were the chances?

  And Cary had known, of course. He’d known and hadn’t warned me. Probably thought it’d be hysterical for me to find out by accident instead.

  My legs loosened from around Gideon’s hips and he set me down, protecting me from the frenzied fans with the shield of his body. I turned to face the stage, feeling a mad fluttering in my belly. Sure enough, it was Brett Kline at the mic, his deep, powerful, sexy-as-hell voice pouring over the thousands who’d come to see him in action. His short hair was spiked and tipped with platinum, his lean body clothed in olive cargo pants and a black tank top. It was impossible to see from where I was, but I knew his eyes were a brilliant emerald green, his face was ruggedly handsome, and his killer smile revealed a dimple that drove women crazy.

  Tearing my eyes away from him, I looked at the other band members, recognizing all of them. They hadn’t been called Six-Ninths back in San Diego, though. They’d been called Captive Soul then, and I wondered what had led to the name change.

  “Good, aren’t they?” Gideon asked with his mouth to my ear so I could hear him. He had one hand on the railing and the other around my waist, keeping me pulled up tight against him as he moved to the music. The combination of his body and Brett’s voice did insane things to my already raging sex drive.

  I closed my eyes, focusing on the man behind me and the unique rush I’d always felt while listening to Brett sing. The music throbbed through my veins, bringing back memories—some good and some bad. I swayed in Gideon’s arms, desire pounding through me. I was achingly aware of his hunger. It poured off him like heat waves, sinking into me, making me crave him until the physical distance between us was painful.