by Sylvia Day
Most of all, why did I feel as if she were helping me? Looking out for me. For Gideon.
What I ended up saying startled me. “I’m looking to support an organization that does good work for abuse survivors.”
Her brows rose. “Why are you telling me?”
“I don’t know where to start.”
She shot me a look. “Try Crossroads,” she said dryly. “I’ve heard good things about that one.”
—
I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom’s sitting room when Gideon came home. He walked in wearing loose-legged jeans and a V-neck white T-shirt, the keys to my place spinning around his finger.
I stared. I couldn’t help it. Would he always stop my heart? I hoped so.
The room was small and girly, decorated by my mother with antiques, such as the silly escritoire I was supposed to use as a desk. Gideon infused a drugging dose of testosterone into the space, making me feel soft and feminine and eager to be ravished.
“Hi, ace.” The love and longing he inspired were exposed in those two words.
The keys were caught in his hand abruptly and he came to a stop, looking down at me much as he had that first day in the Crossfire lobby. His eyes took on the brooding fierceness I found wildly exciting.
For some reason I would probably never understand, he felt the same about me.
“Angel mine.” He dropped gracefully into a crouch, his hair sliding briefly along his cheekbones in a loving caress. “What are you working on?”
His fingers rifled through the papers scattered on the floor around me. Before my research into his Crossroads Foundation distracted him, I caught his hand and squeezed it.
I blurted out what I knew, as abruptly as the info had been sprung on me. “It was Clancy, Gideon. Clancy and his brother in the FBI planted Nathan’s bracelet on that mobster.”
He nodded. “I figured.”
“You did? How?” I smacked him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been worried sick.”
Gideon settled on the floor in front of me, crossing his long legs in a pose mirroring mine. “I don’t have all the answers yet. Angus and I have been narrowing it down. Whoever was responsible was either watching Nathan or me and following our movements, so we started there.”
“Or watching both of you.”
“Precisely. Who would do that? Who had a stake in it? In you?”
“Jesus.” I searched his face. “Detective Graves knows. The FBI. Clancy—”
“Graves?”
“She brought it up at Parker’s studio tonight. Tossed it at me in passing just to see how I’d take the news.”
His gaze narrowed. “Either she’s fucking with you or she wants you to stop worrying. My bet is on the latter.”
I almost asked why, but then I realized I’d come to the same conclusion. The detective was tough as nails, but she had a heart. I had caught glimpses of it during the few times we’d interacted with one another. And she was good at her job, obviously.
“We have to trust her, then?” I asked, crawling over the brochures and paperwork to curl into his lap.
He pulled me into him, fitting me into the hard planes of his body as if I were meant to be there always. I felt that way when he held me. Safe. Treasured. Adored.
His lips touched my forehead. “I’m going to talk to Clancy just to be sure, but he’s no fool. He wouldn’t leave anything to chance.”
My hand tightened around a fistful of his T-shirt, hanging on to him with everything I had. “Don’t keep things like this from me, Gideon. Stop trying to protect me.”
“I can’t.” His grip on me tightened, too. “Maybe I should have said something, but we have only a few hours alone every day and I want them to be perfect.”
“Gideon. You’ve got to let me in.”
His chest expanded beneath my cheek, his heart beating strong and sure. “I’m working on it, Eva.”
That was all I could ask for.
—
THE next morning I padded into the kitchen on bare feet to find Gideon pouring coffee. I could say the smell of java is what added a spring to my step, but it was the sight of my husband, freshly shaved and dressed with his vest hanging open, that did it. I loved seeing him a little undone.
He looked me over as I went to him, my heels rapping on the marble, his face impassive and his eyes warm. Did he get the same kick when he caught sight of me ready to tackle my day? I doubted it. I was convinced men just saw hot . . . or not.
Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I led his hand around me and up the back of my skirt to cup the undercurve of my buttock.
A smile teased the corners of his lips. “Hello to you, too, Mrs. Cross.”
He snapped the back of my garter against my thigh. I jumped at the sting and gasped as warmth spread outward from the spot.
“Hmm . . . you like that.” He smirked.
My lower lip stuck out in a pout. “It hurt.”
Gideon shifted to lean back against the counter and pulled me between his spread legs, both of his hands lightly gripping the back of my thighs. He nuzzled his nose against my temple and massaged the place that burned. “I’m sorry, angel.”
Then he snapped my garter on the other side.
I arched in surprise, my body aligning with his. He was hard. Again. A low moan escaped me. “Stop it.”
“It’s turning you on,” he murmured in my ear.
“It hurts!” I complained, even as I rubbed against him. He’d woken me with soft kisses and provocative hands. I had thanked him in the shower with my mouth. Still, he could go again. I could, too. We were addicted to each other.
“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” His fingers slid between my thighs and found me warm and ready. He groaned. “Christ. What you do to me, Eva. I’ve got so much to do . . .”
God, he felt good. Smelled even better. My arms wrapped around his neck. “We have to go to work.”
He yanked me up to my toes, grinding me against his erection. “We’re playing with these garters later.”
I kissed him. I put my open mouth over his and devoured him, my tongue touching his. Stroking it greedily. Sucking.
Gideon’s hand fisted in my ponytail, holding me in place as he took over the kiss, fucking my mouth, drinking me in. In an instant, I was hot, my skin humid with perspiration.
His lips were firm yet soft against my own, his grip angling me just the way he wanted, his teeth scraping gently across my lower lip. The taste of him, flavored delectably with a hint of rich black coffee, intoxicated me. Drunk on him, I clutched his hair in my hands, holding on, my toes flexing to push me closer. Always closer. But never close enough.
“Whoa.” Cary’s voice broke me out of the sensual spell Gideon had cast. “Don’t forget we eat in here.”
I started to pull away from my husband, but he held me tight, allowing me only to break the kiss. My gaze met his. His eyes were sharply alert beneath heavy lids, his lips softened and damp.
“Good morning, Cary,” he said, his attention shifting to my best friend as Cary joined us by the coffeemaker.
“For you two, maybe.” Cary opened the cupboard that held the mugs and pulled one out. “Sadly, I’m too tired to get turned on by the show. Not making me feel too optimistic about the rest of the day.”
He was dressed in skinny jeans and a navy T-shirt, his hair skillfully arranged in a trendy pompadour. I pitied the single Manhattanites who’d see him out and about that day. He was such a striking man, both physically and in the false confidence he exuded.
“Do you have a shoot today?” I asked.
“No. Tat does, and she wants me there. She’s got morning sickness and shit, so I’m going to be around to help her out if she’s not feeling well.”
I reached out and rubbed his biceps in sympathy. “That’s awesome, Cary. You’re the best.”
His lips twisted wryly as he lifted his steaming cup to his mouth. “What else can I do? I can’t get sick
for her, and she’s got to work as long as she can.”
“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Gideon’s hand stroked up and down my back, offering wordless support. “If you’ve got the time, Cary, I’d like you to be there for the appointment with the designer who’s renovating our place on Fifth Avenue.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.” Cary cocked his hip into the counter. “I haven’t totally worked things out with Tat, but I figure we’ll be shacking up together at some point. You guys aren’t going to want a screaming baby next door. When you’re ready for that, you’ll have your own, not put up with mine.”
“Cary . . .” My best friend rarely looked beyond the next fifteen minutes of his life. To hear him stepping up to the plate so solidly made me love him all the more.
“Both sections of the penthouse are fully soundproofed,” Gideon said, his voice holding the firm note of command that reassured everyone who heard it. “We can make anything work, Cary. You just tell me what concerns you have and we’ll address them.”
Cary looked into his mug, his beautiful face suddenly looking worn and tired. “Thanks. I’ll talk to Tat about it. It’s hard, you know? She doesn’t want to think about what’s next and I can’t stop thinking about it. There’s going to be this person who’s totally dependent on us, and we need to be prepared for that. Somehow.”
I stepped back and Gideon let me go. It was hard to watch Cary struggling. It was scary, too. He didn’t handle challenges well and I was so afraid he’d slip back into familiar, self-destructive coping mechanisms. It was a threat we both faced on a daily basis. I had a group of people who kept me anchored. Cary had only me.
“That’s what families are for, Cary.” I offered a smile. “To drive each other crazy and straight into therapy.”
He snorted, then hid his face behind his mug. The lack of a glib reply made me even more anxious. A heavy silence descended.
Gideon and I both gave him a minute, taking the time to grab our own cups of java and caffeinate ourselves. We didn’t speak or even look at each other, not wanting to create a unit that left Cary out, but I felt how in sync we were. It meant so much to me. I’d never had someone in my life who was a true partner, a lover who was there for more than just a good time.
Gideon was a miracle in so many ways.
It struck me then that I had to make some adjustments, compromise a little more on the issue of working with Gideon. I had to stop thinking of Team Cross as being his alone. I had to own it, too, so I could share in it with him.
“I’ve got time next week,” Cary said finally, looking at me, then Gideon.
Gideon nodded. “Let’s plan on Wednesday, then. Give us some room to recover from the weekend.”
Cary’s mouth twitched. “So it’s that kind of party.”
I smiled back. “Is there any other kind?”
—
“HOW are you?” I asked Megumi when we sat down for lunch on Thursday afternoon.
She looked better than she had on Monday, but she was still overdressed for the heat of the summer. Because of that, I’d ordered salads for delivery and we settled in the break room instead of braving the steamy day outside.
She managed a wan smile. “Better.”
“Does Lacey know what happened?” I wasn’t sure how close Megumi was to her roommate, but I hadn’t forgotten that Lacey had dated Michael first.
“Not all of it.” Megumi pushed at her salad with a plastic fork. “I feel so stupid.”
“We’re always quick to blame ourselves, but no means no. It’s not your fault.”
“I know that, but still . . .”
I knew just how she felt. “Have you thought about talking to someone?”
She glanced at me, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Like a counselor or something?”
“Yes.”
“Not really. How do you even start looking for someone like that?”
“We’ve got mental health benefits. Call the number on the back of your insurance card. They’ll give you a list of providers to choose from.”
“And I just . . . pick one?”
“I’ll help you.” And if I got my act together, I’d find a way to help more women like her and me. Something good had to come of our experiences. I had the motivation and the means. I just had to find the way.
Her eyes glistened. “You’re a good friend, Eva. Thanks for being here.”
I leaned over and hugged her.
“He hasn’t texted me lately,” she said when I pulled back. “I keep dreading that he’s going to, but every hour that goes by that he doesn’t, I feel better.”
Settling back in my seat, I sent a silent thank-you to Clancy. “Good.”
—
AT five o’clock, I left work and took the elevator up to Cross Industries, hoping to catch some time with Gideon before our appointment with Dr. Petersen.
I’d been thinking about him all day, about the future I wanted us to have together. I wanted him to respect my individuality and my personal boundaries, but I also wanted him to open up some of his own. I wanted more moments like this morning with Cary, when Gideon and I stood together, facing a situation as one. I couldn’t really push for that if I wasn’t willing to make the same effort.
The redheaded receptionist at Cross Industries buzzed me in. She greeted me with a hard smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Can I help you?”
“No, I’m good, thanks,” I replied, breezing past her. It would be nice if all of Gideon’s employees could be as easy-natured as Scott, but the receptionist had an issue with me and I’d just come to accept it.
I headed back to Gideon’s office and found Scott’s desk empty. Through the glass, I saw my husband at work, presiding over a meeting with casual authority. He stood in front of his desk, leaning back against it with one ankle crossed over the other. He wore his jacket and faced an audience composed of two suit-clad gentlemen and one woman wearing a great pair of Louboutins. Scott sat off to the side, taking notes on a tablet.
Settling into one of the chairs by Scott’s desk, I watched Gideon as raptly as the others in the room with him. It never ceased to amaze me how self-assured he was for a man who was only twenty-eight. The men he was meeting with looked to be twice his age, and yet their body language and focused attention told me they respected my husband and what he was saying.
Yes, money talked—loudly—and Gideon had tons of it. But he conveyed command and control with subtle actions. I recognized that after living with Nathan’s father, my mom’s first husband, who’d wielded power like a blunt instrument.
Gideon knew how to own a room without thumping his chest. I doubted the setting made any difference; he would be a formidable presence in anyone’s office.
His head turned and his gaze met mine. There was no surprise in those brilliantly blue eyes of his. He’d known I was there, had sensed me just as I often sensed his approach without looking. We were connected somehow, on a level I couldn’t explain. There were times when he wasn’t with me and I just wished he was, but I still felt him nearby.
I smiled, then dug in my bag for my phone. I didn’t want Gideon to feel like I was just sitting around waiting, not that doing so would pressure him at all.
There were dozens of e-mail messages from my mother with photo attachments of dresses and flowers and wedding venues, reminding me that I needed to talk with her about Dad paying for the ceremony. I’d been putting off that conversation all week, trying to steel myself for her reaction. There was also another text from Brett, telling me that we needed to talk . . . urgently.
Standing, I looked around for a quiet corner where I could make that call. What I saw was Christopher Vidal Sr. rounding the corner.
Gideon’s stepfather was dressed in the khakis and loafers I’d come to expect, with a pale blue dress shirt open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves. The dark copper waves he’d passed on to Christopher Jr
. were neatly cut around his neck and ears, and his slate green eyes were capped with a frown behind old-school brass-framed glasses.
“Eva.” Chris slowed as he neared me. “How are you?”
“Good. You?”
He nodded, looking over my shoulder at Gideon’s office. “Can’t complain. Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.” The door opened behind me and I turned to see Scott stepping out.
“Mr. Vidal,” he said, coming toward us. “Miss Tramell. Mr. Cross will be another fifteen minutes or so. Can I get either of you something to drink while you wait?”
Chris shook his head. “Nothing for me, thank you. But if you have a private room we could use, that would be great.”
“Of course.” Scott looked at me.
“I’m good, thanks,” I answered.
Leaving his tablet on his desk, Scott led us to a conference room with a sweeping view of the city. A long, polished wood table gleamed beneath the recessed lighting, with a matching cabinet covering one wall and a large monitor lining the other.
“If you need anything,” he began, “just dial one and we’ll take care of it. There’s coffee in the cabinet there, and water.”
Chris nodded. “Thank you, Scott. Appreciate it.”
Scott left. Chris gestured for me to sit, then took the chair to the right of mine, spinning it to face me.
“First, let me congratulate you on your engagement.” He smiled. “Ireland speaks very highly of you, and I know you’ve been instrumental in bringing her and Gideon closer together. I can’t thank you enough for that.”
“I didn’t do much, but I appreciate the thought.”
He reached for my left hand, which was resting on the table. His thumb rubbed gently over my engagement ring and his mouth curved ruefully.
Was he thinking about the fact that Geoffrey Cross had selected the ring for Elizabeth?
“It’s a beautiful ring,” he said finally. “I’m sure it meant a great deal to Gideon to give it to you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It meant a lot to my husband because it was a symbol of the love between his parents.
