by Naima Simone
“It’s not your concern.” She waved a hand, dismissing his vow and the topic. “And you mentioned a truce? I accept.” Moving forward, she extended her arm. “Should we shake on it?”
Gideon glanced down at her open palm before lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. Though his mind ordered him not to touch her, he wrapped his hand around hers. For several long moments, they stared at each other. An electric shock ran through him at lightning speed and jolted his body to attention. It would be an impossibility to be skin-to-skin with her and not respond. But he didn’t pull her closer, didn’t try to seduce with his words.
Space and sanctuary, that’s what he’d promised her.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, lowering his arm to his side. “I can order in anything you’d like.”
“I...” She hesitated, shrugged a shoulder and started again. “I can cook if you have something in the kitchen.”
Since meeting Shay, he’d been surprised so many times, he should really stop being taken aback by her. But once more, she’d done the unexpected.
“You can cook?” Dubious, he scanned her beautiful hair, gown and shoes. “In that?”
She snorted. “You’re not starting off this truce thing well. And yes, I can cook.” If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he might’ve missed the flash of insecurity that was there and gone in an instant. “Show me to the kitchen? That is, if you don’t mind me...?”
“No, this I have to see for myself,” he assured her, and strode past her toward the room he rarely used. His housekeeper often prepared dinners for him that she left warming in the stove. So the pantry and refrigerator should both be stocked. “I’ll even supply you with clothes so you don’t get anything on your dress. See how accommodating I am?”
“Until tomorrow,” she added from behind him.
“Until tomorrow,” he agreed.
* * *
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t tasted it for myself,” Gideon exclaimed with wonder, staring down at his empty plate.
Shay shook her head, smothering a smile, although her cheeks hurt with the effort. Forking the last of the chicken carbonara to her mouth, she tried not to blush under his admiring scrutiny. She was twenty-five and an heiress—needless to say, she was used to compliments. But coming from this man... She returned her gaze to her plate, not wanting to analyze why it was different.
“Can I say something without breaking the tenuous bonds of our truce?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
She wanted to duck her head and avoid his piercing contemplation. It cut deep. Exposing her. Even with the distance of the breakfast bar separating them, she had the sudden urge to lean back, insert more space between them.
But she remained seated and met his gaze. “Sure.”
“I would’ve never pegged you for someone who enjoyed getting their hands dirty in a kitchen. I know you helped your friend out that day in the food truck, but I thought that was a fluke. What you did in there—” he dipped his head in the direction of the kitchen “—was skill. And spoke of someone who really enjoyed it. You’re a walking contradiction.”
“So your all-knowing file didn’t include that information?” she mocked. Picking up her wineglass, she sipped the moscato, silently debating how much to tell him. Then, before she could make up her mind, her mouth was moving. “My mother loved to cook. We had a personal chef, but when Dad wasn’t home, she’d commandeer the kitchen and cook for all of us. She would let me help, and some of my happiest memories are of the two of us preparing a pot of gumbo or baking a quiche. I learned to cook from her, but I also inherited my love of it from her.”
God, where had all that come from? Embarrassment rose in her, swift and hot.
“Anyway, now your dossier is complete,” she added flippantly. “I’ll clean up.”
She rose from her chair and, grabbing both their plates, circled the bar and headed toward the sink. As she set the dishes in it, a long-fingered hand settled over hers, stilling her movements.
“She would’ve been proud of you,” Gideon murmured in her ear. Heat from his body pressed into her side, her shoulder. “Now, go relax. You did all the work, the least I can do is clean up.”
Her first instinct with Gideon was always to defy his orders. She wasn’t a puppy. But this time, she accepted his offer and slid from between him and the counter.
Coward.
Maybe.
Okay, definitely. But his unexpected displays of tenderness and the potent, dark sexuality that he emitted like pheromones combined to undermine every guard she’d erected since that night he’d so coldly rejected her after giving her devastating pleasure.
She went in search of the restroom, and after locating it and washing her hands, she continued her tour of his place. At least the downstairs. A formal dining room. A bedroom done in soft blues and cream. Maybe this was where his sister, Olivia, slept when she came over; he’d said the T-shirt and leggings he’d given Shay were hers. Until that moment, she hadn’t even known he had a sister. But he didn’t offer more information, and for the sake of their temporary cease-fire, she didn’t ask.
Another bathroom. A study. A den.
She paused at the open door of that last room. With its two couches, love seat, numerous end tables, large coffee table, massive television screen mounted above the fireplace, this space appeared more lived-in than the rest of the penthouse.
She glanced behind her, but the hallway remained empty. Just a peek, she promised herself, then she’d leave. Moving into the room, she stroked a hand over the leather couch that bore a distinct imprint in the middle cushion.
Must be where Gideon sat the most. She could easily imagine the man she’d spent this evening with—in his black, long-sleeved, V-neck sweater, black jeans and bare feet—relaxing in this room. Feet up on the table, remote in hand, scanning through the no-doubt-numerous channels before deciding on...what? Funny. She knew how he had sex, but had no clue about his favorite TV shows or movies.
For some reason, that struck her as sad.
It also lit a hunger to discover more about him. Some things they’d shared in the blackout, but not nearly enough to satisfy her curiosity. What was his favorite color? His favorite band? Snack? Boo—
Oh God.
Breath trapped in her throat, she crossed the room toward the instrument that had captured her attention. No, instruments. Plural. A glossy black stand with padded interior cradled six guitars. She knew nothing of guitars, but she could tell the three acoustic and three thinner, sleeker electric guitars had to be expensive. And obviously well cared for.
A flutter tickled her stomach, launching into a full-out quake. She reached a slightly trembling hand toward the guitars.
“Do you play?”
She whipped around, guilt snaking through her. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, backing away from the instruments. Damn, she was a sneak. And not even a good one. “I didn’t mean to snoop, I...” She paused and inhaled a deep breath. “I was taking a self-guided tour of your house and saw the guitars. They’re beautiful,” she whispered. “I don’t play, but obviously, you do...?”
He nodded, crossed the room on silent bare feet and halted next to the stand.
“For years,” he said, brushing an affectionate stroke over the gleaming wood of an acoustic guitar. Her thighs tightened, the touch reminding her of how he’d caressed her skin. A lover’s familiar caress. “We didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up. But when I showed an interest and aptitude for guitar, my mother somehow managed to scrape enough together for lessons. I didn’t find out until I was a teenager, but my father played the guitar, too. I don’t remember it, but I like to think I inherited my love of music from him, as you did cooking from your mother.”
“Will you—” She broke off. God, she was pushing her luck. From his explanation, she sensed he didn’t share th
is part of himself with many people. It didn’t line up with the image of ruthless business tycoon. But in this moment, she wanted to see his clever, talented fingers fly over those strings. To witness him coax beautiful music from that instrument. To watch him lower that damnable shield and let her in. “Will you play for me?”
He stared at her, and her heart thudded against her rib cage. Finally, finally, he dipped his chin and reached for the acoustic guitar on the far end. He almost reverently lifted it off the stand and carried it to the love seat. She trailed behind him, not saying anything. Afraid if she uttered a word, he might change his mind. Once he perched on one end of the small love seat, she sank to the other.
Propping the instrument on his thighs, he plucked a few strings, turned the knobs at the top. Once he seemed satisfied, he cupped the neck, fingers at the ready there. And the other hand hovered over the big, rounded body.
Then he started to play.
And...Jesus.
She’d expected something classical, reserved. But no. Passion flowed from beneath his fingers. Passion, and anger, and joy and grief. So many emotions soared from the music, which sounded almost Spanish, but bluesy and a little bit of rock. It was fierce, soul-jarring and...and beautiful. So. Beautiful.
Pain swelled in her lungs, and she expelled a huge breath, just realizing she’d been holding it.
When his fingers stilled, and the music faded away, she remained speechless, breathless. Like she’d been transported to Oz and offered this rare peek behind the wizard’s curtain. Only she didn’t find a fraud, but a rare, wonderful truth about this man. One that few people were gifted with seeing.
He lifted his head, and those fathomless black eyes studied her. A faint frown creased his brow, and he reached for her, swiping his thumb under her eye.
“You’re crying,” he murmured.
“Am I?” she asked, shocked, wiping her fingers over her cheeks. Well, hell. She was. “I didn’t notice.”
“Was I that bad?” he teased, with a soft smile she’d never witnessed on him.
“You were—” are “—amazing,” she whispered. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
The smile disappeared, but his midnight gaze glittered as if dozens of stars lay behind the black.
“I shouldn’t want you.” She blurted out the confession. “I shouldn’t. But... Even knowing who we are... Even knowing this can only end one way, I still want to grab on to those moments when we’re just Gideon and Shay, not someone’s enemy or sister. When we’re being honest with each other the only way we truly can.”
Sex. Need. Passion—they’re honest. The body can’t lie. Lust is the great equalizer regardless of social status, race or tax bracket.
It was a risk saying those words to him, since he’d uttered them to Camille, not her. And from the gleam in his hooded gaze and the tightening of his sensual mouth, maybe he remembered giving them to another woman.
Honesty. Though her pulse slammed her ears, she had to drag her big-girl panties on and tell him the truth. She couldn’t justify keeping it from him anymore, especially when he’d offered her the gift of playing for her.
“There’s something you should know,” she murmured. “I’ve been keeping something from you. The night of the blackout, Bridgette had come down with a bad cold and asked me to take her place at a job so she wouldn’t lose it. Gideon, that was at the Du—”
“Shay, I already figured it out. You’re Camille.”
Her lips parted with a gasp. She blinked, staring at him. How had he...?
“Did you really believe I could be inside your body and not remember?” he murmured. “Not remember every detail of how tight and sweet you are? No, moonbeam.” He shook his head. “I’d never forget that.”
“Wait.” It suddenly made sense now. His rejection afterward. “Is that why you were so cold to me? Because I hadn’t told you?”
He studied her for a long, quiet moment. “It wasn’t so much that you lied, but wondering why you were at the gala and why you kept the truth from me.”
“Bridgette would’ve lost her job if she’d called in on such short notice, and with her business just getting off the ground, she can’t afford that. And I had to use a disguise and a fake name. I’ve attended the gala in the past, and my brother also...” She trailed off, a dark inkling beginning to stir in her head. “My brother,” she whispered. “Did you think I’d been there because of him? That I sought you out for him?”
After a slight hesitation, he nodded. “The thought occurred to me.”
“Someone must have hurt you terribly for you to be so mistrusting and suspicious,” she continued softly. And she had an idea about the identity of that “someone.”
“Trevor had no clue I was there. There were only two people in that break room, Gideon—you and me. What happened between us was the scariest and most exhilarating, freeing thing I’ve ever done. That’s what you make me feel. Terrified out of my mind because no one has ever affected me so viscerally I don’t recognize myself. While at the same time, I’m excited because I like it...crave it.”
As soon as the confession escaped her, she recognized that he could use it to his advantage. But she mentally shook her head. Gideon wasn’t like her brother. He might utilize blackmail to gain her compliance, but never once had he tried to use her passion against her. He might be ruthless, but he possessed his own code of honor.
Sex. Desire. It was their Switzerland.
And she’d seek asylum there for a while before they found themselves on opposite sides of a war again. Because that was inevitable.
But for now...
She shifted closer to him, covered the hand that still rested on the body of the guitar. Lightly, she explored those fingers, amazed at how they could draw such magic out of the instrument and her. She wanted him to cradle, strum and play her.
She trailed a caress up his arm, over his shoulder and neck, until she reached his jaw. Cupping it, she mimicked the many times he’d held her in the same grip. She swept her thumb over his full bottom lip.
His gaze never leaving hers, Gideon carefully set the guitar on the table, then clasped her hand in his. He turned his head, placing a kiss in the center of her palm, then tracing a path to her wrist. His lips pressed there over her pulse, and her lashes fluttered down. But at the damp flick of his tongue, she gasped, eyes flying open. Liquid heat pooled between her legs, and she didn’t even try to contain her whimper.
He rose, gently tugging her to her feet. Without releasing her hand, he led her out of the room, down the hallway and up the curving staircase. They entered a cavernous bedroom lit only by a single lamp on a nightstand. Not just any bedroom—his. The big king-size bed covered in a black spread and white pillows, two chairs flanking a large, freestanding fireplace, a couple glossy bedside tables, a rug—the almost austere decor was relieved by the breathtaking view of the Chicago River and city skyline through the three floor-to-ceiling windows, and the one wall that bore a black-and-white mural of a bare, leafless tree on a lonely plain. It was gorgeous. It was him.
Turning to her, he captured all her attention by cradling her face between his palms, tilting her head back and claiming her mouth. Slow, tender; raw and erotic. His tongue relayed all that he wanted to do to her—would do to her. And as she cocked her head to the side, granting him deeper access, she consented to it all.
“I’ve had you on a couch and in the back seat of my car. I want to take you on a bed,” he muttered against her lips. “My bed.”
As soon as her whispered “Please,” passed her lips, he stripped her, haphazardly tossing her borrowed clothes to the floor. His clothes followed and, hiking her in his arms, he carried her to the bed. Her back hit the covers and his big, hot body pressed her into the mattress. He kissed her harder, wilder, more insistently, as if that leash on his control had unraveled. She dug her fingers into his hair, yanking o
ff the band that corralled it and freeing the strands so they tumbled around both their faces. With a hot, low rumble, he kissed her again, then every inch of her received attention from his mouth, his fingers. By the time he tugged open the drawer on a bedside table and pulled a condom free, she shook with need, twisting and aching for him to fulfill his promise and take her.
Linking their fingers, he drew her arms up, their joined hands bracketing her head.
“Open for me, moonbeam,” he murmured, desire burning hot in his dark eyes. The head of his erection nudged her entrance, and she willingly, eagerly widened her thighs and locked them around his slim hips. “Thank you, baby.”
He groaned as he sank inside her, not stopping until her sex fully sheathed him. She arched under him, grinding her head into the pillow. God, he stretched her, filled her. Branded her. When he started to move in long, hard thrusts that rocked her body and her soul, she felt claimed. And when her channel clenched around him, and she hurtled into an orgasm that threatened to break her apart, she shut her eyes and became a willing sacrifice to it.
Soon, the aftershocks rippling through her eased, and the fog of ecstasy started to fade. She tensed, waiting for him to roll away from her, to reject her. But when he drew her into his arms, his still-labored breathing bathing her neck, she slowly relaxed.
Right before she drifted away, his low, hoarse voice penetrated her heavy blanket of drowsiness.
“Don’t let me break you, Shay. Protect yourself from me.”
She didn’t reply, but carried that warning with her into sleep.
Fifteen
Shay nabbed the slice of bread out of the toaster and spread avocado on it. She ate it leaning against the counter, alternating between sips of fresh coffee. Gideon had already left for the office, and with a glance at her wrist, she realized she didn’t have long before she had to leave, too. Since she no longer had a position at RemingtonNeal, she’d scheduled a meeting with a potential client.
Staying the night hadn’t been in the plan. But when he’d curled around her after he’d made her body sing its own special melody, she hadn’t wanted to go anywhere. And then he’d woken her with a cup of steaming coffee, keys to one of his cars and a sweet but wicked kiss that left her toes curling into the mattress.
