by Naima Simone
Hazardous. Dangerous. She silently chanted the warnings to herself like a mantra.
He would set fire to her life and leave her covered in ashes.
“Seven o’clock,” she rasped, before clearing her throat of the arousal thickening it. “Just as you requested.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Struck speechless, she could only stare at him. His expression hadn’t changed from the cool, distant mask, but those eyes, and now his voice... If his gaze made her tremble, the low, sensual throb in that dark velvet voice had her squeezing her thighs against the ache deep inside her.
“Where’s your coat?” he asked, glancing past her into the house.
“I have it.”
Get it together, she silently ordered herself as she briefly returned inside to grab her coat off the stand.
“Here. Let me.” He stepped inside the foyer and took the cape from her, holding it up while she slipped into it.
Fastening it, she turned back to him, and her voice did another vanishing act when he offered her a crooked elbow. Her breathing shallow, she hesitated, then slid her arm through his and let him guide her out of the house and to his waiting Town Car. A driver stood at the rear door, but Gideon waved him away and opened the door for her himself.
God, she was too old for Cinderella-like fairy tales. If she’d ever had stars in her eyes, they’d been dimmed a long time ago. But here, sitting with Gideon Knight in the back of a car that was more elegant and luxurious than any limousine she’d ridden in, with the heat from his body and his earthy sandalwood scent invading her senses, she could almost understand why Cinderella had lost a beautiful shoe over a man.
“I didn’t have a chance to tell you earlier, but...thank you. For stepping in and helping Bridgette this afternoon.” She glanced at his sharply hewn profile. “How do you know how to cook? I wouldn’t have expected it of...a man like you.”
He turned to her, and even in the shadowed interior, his dark eyes gleamed. Dim light from the streetlamps passed over his face, highlighting then hiding his too-handsome features. She fought the urge to stroke her fingertips over those planes and angles, over the full curves of his mouth. Free those thick, silken strands and tangle her fingers in them...
“A man like me?” he repeated, the sardonic note relaying that he understood exactly what she meant. “I hate to tarnish your image of me, Shay, but my beginnings aren’t as rarefied as yours and your brother’s. My grandparents immigrated from China with nothing more than they could carry, and both of my parents worked barely above minimum-wage jobs when I was a kid. When my father died, Mom often worked two jobs to provide for us. And as soon as I was old enough, I took any kind of employment I could to help her. One of those happened to be as a short-order cook. If you ever need your yard landscaped or your gutters cleaned, I can do those, too.”
Shame sidled through her in a slick, oily glide. She’d unknowingly spoken from a lofty place of privilege, but her ignorance didn’t excuse it. True, she didn’t subscribe to the idle lives some of those in high society did—she believed in working hard and making a difference in the world—but she couldn’t deny that she didn’t know what it was to go without. To go to bed exhausted from menial labor or worried about how the next bill would be paid.
Gideon’s mother, and even Gideon, obviously did.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I spoke out of turn.” She paused, debated whether to say anything else, but ended up whispering, “Your mother must be proud of you.”
He studied her for several silent, heavy moments. “She is. But then again, she would’ve been proud of me if I’d decided to remain a short-order cook in a fast-food restaurant.”
Shay digested that, turned it over and analyzed it again. Could she say the same for her parents? No. Her father would’ve easily disowned her. And as much as Shay adored her mother, Leida Neal wouldn’t have been proud of or happy for her daughter if she had been anything less than what her name demanded—respectable, wealthy, connected and married to a man who fit those same qualifications.
The certainty in that knowledge saddened her. Did Gideon realize how fortunate he was?
“She sounds lovely,” Shay said, ready to drop the unsettling subject. But then, because her mouth apparently had no allegiance to her, she blurted out, “I’m sorry about your father.”
Another heartbeat of weighty silence.
“It was a long time ago.”
“My mother died fourteen years ago. And I still miss her every day,” she admitted softly.
Slowly, he nodded. “I remember,” he finally said, surprising her. “Your brother and I went to high school together, and later attended the same college. But I recall when your mother died. The principal came for him in the middle of class and took him out.”
“I didn’t know you and Trevor went to school together.” Shock whistled through her. “He never mentioned knowing you.” Not that he mentioned Gideon at all unless it regarded acquiring his tech company. Or more recently, not unless a blue streak of unflattering adjectives followed his name.
His sensual mouth curved into a hard, faintly cruel smile. “Your brother and I have a long history. He was decent until that day. I was a scholarship student at an elite, private prep school. That already made me a target for most students there. But your brother wasn’t one of them. Until after your mother died. Then he became one of the worst. That he and I were often head-to-head competitors in academics and athletics didn’t help matters. Neither did the fact that I didn’t take his or any of the other assholes’ shit.”
“He changed after Mother passed,” Shay murmured, the dagger of pain stabbing her chest all too familiar when she thought about the boy who’d become a hardened man. “She was the...buffer between him and my father. My dad...” Shay shook her head, turning to stare at the passing scenery outside the car window, but seeing Lincoln Neal’s disapproving, stern frown that was often directed at his children. But more so at his first-born child. “He was demanding, exacting and nearly impossible to please. And Trevor desperately wanted to please him. Which became impossible after our father died. Yet, even now...” Again she trailed off, feeling as if she betrayed her brother by revealing even that much.
“That doesn’t excuse his behavior,” Gideon replied, ice coating his voice.
“No,” she agreed, more to herself than him. “But no one is created in a bubble. And no one is all bad or all good. Sometimes it helps to understand why people behave the way they do. And it helps us give them compassion and mercy.”
Strong, firm fingers gripped her chin and turned her to face him. Gideon’s touch reverberated through her, echoing in the taut tips of her breasts, low in her belly, and in the pulsing flesh between her thighs. He’d clutched her like this the night of the blackout, holding her in place, so he could watch her as she came. Now, like then, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. Like then, her lips parted, but now, she swallowed down the whimper that clawed at the back of her throat.
“Your brother doesn’t deserve compassion or mercy, Shay. So don’t try to convince me differently with sad stories of his childhood.” He swept the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, and this time she lost the battle and released that small sound of need. His eyes narrowed on her mouth, then after several moments, lifted to meet hers. “Why does it feel like I’ve—” He frowned, but didn’t remove his hand.
“Why does it feel like you’ve what?” she breathed, dread filtering into the desire. He’d heard her plead for him, for his touch, many times during the night they’d spent together. Had the sound she’d released just now triggered his memory?
God, in hindsight, she should’ve been up front with him about her identity from the beginning. If she came clean now, he would only see her as a liar.
Maybe because you’re lying by omission?
Shame crept in, mingling with the dread. She
hated deception of any kind, and this didn’t sit well with her. At all. But self-preservation trumped her conscience at this point. Her reasons for initially remaining quiet still stood. She didn’t trust Gideon. Didn’t know what he would do with the information that Shay Neal had masqueraded as waitstaff at one of the biggest social events of the year and then slept with him under false pretenses. Would he use it as another source of ammo in this war he waged with her brother, leaving her reputation and her company as casualties?
Possibly.
No, she couldn’t afford to find out.
“Nothing.” He dropped his hand from her face, his customary impassive expression falling firmly back in place. Turning from her, he picked up a small, rectangular box from the seat beside him. “Here. I have something for you.”
She glanced down at the gift, then back up at him. After several moments, she returned her attention to the box and, with slightly trembling fingers, removed the lid. And gasped.
Delicate ruby-and-gold bangles nestled on black velvet. Tiny diamonds rimmed the bracelets, making the jewelry glitter in the dark.
They were beautiful. Just...beautiful.
“There’re eight of them,” he said, picking up the bangles when she didn’t make a move toward them. “In Chinese culture, eight is a lucky number. Red is also lucky.”
Gently grasping her hand, he slid the jewelry onto her wrist.
“Thank you,” she whispered. In the past, she’d received earrings, necklaces and rings from men who hoped to win her over—or rather win over the Neal heiress. But none of them had been bought with thought or meaning. None of them had been for her, Shay. Whether he’d intended it or not, Gideon had given her a piece of himself, of his heritage. And for that alone, she’d accept. “They’re gorgeous.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over the tender skin on the inside of her wrist before withdrawing. For a moment, she caught a flicker of emotion in his eyes before he shut her out once again.
She felt the echo deep inside her.
And for some inexplicable reason—a reason she refused to explore—it hurt.
A charade, she reminded herself. They were both playing their parts, and gifts to his fake girlfriend were part of those roles.
As long as she kept that truth forefront in her mind, she wouldn’t get caught up in the beautiful enigma that was Gideon Knight.
Eleven
“I feel like a zoo animal in a cage,” Shay muttered, lifting a glass of white wine to her lips. “They could at least be subtler about the staring.”
Gideon arched an eyebrow, scanning the large formal living room. Several pairs of eyes met, then slid away from his, caught ogling the newest couple in their midst. Satisfaction whispered through him. He’d accepted this particular dinner party invitation because of who would be in attendance. Not just business associates, but members of the social circle Shay was intricately a part of. Talk of their appearance together would rush through Chicago’s society elite like a brush fire.
“They’re wondering why you’re with the beast,” he said.
“Probably.”
He snorted at her quick agreement, earning a dazzling smile from her. He had to hand it to her—Shay was a brilliant actress. As soon as they’d crossed the threshold into Janet and Donald’s mansion, she’d immediately charmed his client and her husband. And though he knew the truth behind their arrangement, even he could almost believe Shay was smitten with him. Small, but intimate touches to his arm and chest. Gentle teasing. Special smiles. Yes, she deserved an award for her performance.
And as their hosts approached them, and she slid her arm through his, her soft breast pressing into side, he ordered his dick to stand down for about the fifty-fifth time...in two hours.
If he was a better man, he would insert some distance between them, not enjoy the sensual lure of her scent. Or savor each time he settled a palm at the small of her back—a back covered only by the same sheer material that “covered” her shoulders and arms. She was sex and class in this dress that skimmed every delicious curve.
Damn if the heat from her didn’t seep into his palm and ignite every greedy need to stroke her skin, sift his fingers through the thick, dark strands of her hair...claim her saint-and-sinner body for his own.
The only woman to have stirred this unprecedented reaction in him had been Camille. It unsettled him. The mysterious waitress was no longer in his life. But Shay... Everything about her tested his control, his reason, his plans.
How he kept touching her when every rule of logic demanded he keep all displays of affection public to cement the facade of a happy, in-love couple. How she challenged him with those flashes of temper when no one except his best friend and business partner dared. How she surprised him with things like working in a food truck. How he couldn’t jettison the sense that there was something familiar about her...
And then there was his jewelry on her wrist. The gold and rubies gleamed against her skin like sunlight and fire. And that fierce surge of possessiveness that had blindsided him in the car swelled within him again. He braced himself against it.
This wasn’t the first time he’d bought a woman jewelry. Hell, the amount he’d bought Madison could have filled a store and still left enough diamonds to pay for a small city. He’d gone into the store this time intending to purchase a necklace or earrings, something that screamed wealth. But none of the pieces had felt...right. So he’d left, and instead had driven to a smaller jeweler. One where he’d bought his grandmother’s birthday gift. And the bangles had been there, waiting. He hadn’t intended to purchase something so personal to him, so...intimate, for what should’ve been just a flashy statement of ownership, with the sole purpose of making others take note. But he had. And unlike almost everything in his life, he didn’t analyze it, instead going on impulse.
Because in that moment, as he’d handed his credit card over the counter, his need to see Shay wearing the pieces he’d personally chosen far outweighed caution.
And that need hadn’t abated.
As he slid his hand up her spine and cupped the nape of her neck, the need deepened, sharpened.
“I should be annoyed with both of you,” Janet Creighton said, her smile erasing the reproach from her words. Leaning forward, she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But the two of you outing yourselves as a couple tonight has made my little dinner party the social event of the season.”
Shay smiled, glancing up at Gideon, and the warmth reflected in the gold-and-green depths of her eyes had his breath stumbling in his throat. “I told Gideon he should at least give you some warning of who his plus one would be, but...” She tipped her head to the side and murmured, “The rumors are true about that stubborn nature of his.”
“I find myself giving in to you way too often, though. My reputation might not survive it,” he replied, squeezing her neck and bringing her closer, brushing his lips over the side of her head.
Her fingernails bit into his arm, and he barely managed to fight back a groan. The tiny prick of pain echoed lower in his body, and he locked his jaw against asking her to do it again. But harder.
“You shouldn’t let me know I’m a weakness,” she teased, but only he caught the undercurrent of faint sarcasm. “I might be tempted to take advantage.”
“I might be tempted to let you,” he rejoined softly.
Silence thrummed between them, taut and tension-filled. Their gazes clashed, tangled, locked. The pretense seemed all too real. As did the desire that flared inside him, the excitement that flashed through him, as bright and hot as a bolt of lightning. What would she do if he lowered his head and took her soft mouth? Would she jerk away from him? Or would she use their act as an excuse to surrender, to let him taste her?
“Well, damn.” Janet’s awed, but amused whisper infiltrated the haze of arousal that had clouded him and
his judgment. Damn it, he silently swore, returning his attention to his client. This was a facade, an act. One he’d set in motion. He couldn’t afford to forget that. “Honey, I need you to take notes.”
Beside Janet, her husband snorted lightly. “We’ve been married thirty-two years. My hand is cramped.”
Shay’s laughter drew more gazes in their direction, and Gideon smiled, both at the other couple and the pure delight in Shay’s amusement.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Janet said, shaking her head and throwing Donald a mock-irritated glance. “Let’s go, you.”
“That went well,” Shay murmured, as soon as they were out of earshot. She slowly released his arm. “You can let go of me now.”
Instead of obeying, he turned into her body, his hold on her drawing her closer until her breasts brushed his chest. He caught her sharp gasp, felt the puff against the base of his throat. Tiny flickers danced under his skin at that spot.
She stiffened, and he softly tsked, lowering his voice so it carried only as far as her ears. “You’re supposed to enjoy my touch, Shay. Want more of it. But definitely not shy away from it.” When she lifted her hands and settled them at his waist under his jacket, her fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt, he didn’t hold back his low rumble of hunger. “I think you’re intending to punish me, moonbeam,” he growled above her mouth, pinching her chin with his free hand and tilting her head back. “But I don’t mind a bit of pain with my pleasure. Would you sink those claws in deeper if I asked nicely?”
He expected her to wrench away from him; his muscles tightened in anticipation of controlling the reaction he purposefully coaxed from her.
But she sank her nails harder into his flesh, and the stings were a precursor of how she would scratch and grip him if they were stretched out on his bed. He tried to swallow his groan, but some sound escaped against his will. And the molten gold in her eyes almost eclipsed the brown and green.
She’d played him. Turned the tables so completely he ground his teeth together, imprisoning the words that would reveal she’d knocked him on his ass. Those words being more, harder, please...
