I WAS DREAMING of a private beach and naked Gideon when I was jerked awake by the sound of my phone ringing. Rolling to my side, I thrust my arm out and smacked around on the top of my nightstand, trying to find my smartphone in the dark. My fingers brushed against the familiar shape and I grabbed it, sitting up.
Ireland’s face lit up my screen. I frowned and glanced at the space beside me in the bed. Gideon wasn’t home. Of course, he could’ve found me sleeping and gone next door to go to bed …
“Hello?” I answered, noting that the time on the cable box said it was after eleven o’clock.
“Eva. It’s Chris Vidal. I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m worried about Gideon. Is he all right?”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with Gideon?”
There was a pause. “You haven’t talked to him tonight?”
I slid out of bed and turned on the lamp. “No. I fell asleep. What’s going on?”
He cursed with an intensity that made the hairs rise on my arms. “I met with him earlier about … the things you told me. He didn’t take it well.”
“Oh my God.” I spun around blindly. Something to wear. I needed something to put on over the racy teddy I’d planned to seduce Gideon with.
“You have to find him, Eva,” he said urgently. “He needs you now.”
“I’m going.” I tossed the phone on my bed and yanked a wool trench coat out of my closet before racing out of my room. I grabbed the keys to the next-door apartment from my purse and ran down the hall. Fumbling with the deadbolt, I took too long to open the door.
The place was as shadowy and silent as a tomb, the rooms empty.
“Where are you?” I cried into the darkness, feeling the scratch of panicked tears in my throat.
I ended up back in my apartment, my fingers trembling as I opened the app on my smartphone that would track his.
He didn’t take it well.
God. Of course, he didn’t. He hadn’t taken it well when I’d told Chris initially. Gideon had been furious. Aggressive. He’d had a horrible nightmare.
The blinking red dot on the map was right where I was hoping it would be. “The penthouse.”
I shoved my feet into flip-flops and hurried back out to my purse.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Cary asked from the kitchen, jolting me.
“Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me!”
He sauntered up to the breakfast bar in just his Grey Isles boxer briefs, his chest and neck glistening with sweat. Since the air-conditioning was working fine and Trey was spending the night, I knew exactly how and why Cary was overheated.
“It’s a good thing I did—you can’t go out like that,” he drawled.
“Watch me.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed toward the door.
“You’re a freak, baby girl,” he shouted after me. “A woman after my own heart!”
GIDEON’S doorman didn’t bat an eye when I climbed out of the back of the taxi in front of his building. Of course, the man had seen me in worse shape before. So had the concierge, who smiled and greeted me by name as if I didn’t look like a crazy homeless person. Albeit one in a Burberry coat.
I walked as fast as I could in flip-flops to the private penthouse elevator, waited for it to descend to me, then keyed in the code. It was a straight shot up, but the ride felt endless. I wished I could pace the confines of the small, elegantly appointed car. My worried face stared back at me from the spotless mirrors.
Gideon hadn’t called. Hadn’t sent me a text after the flirtatious one promising me a steamy night. Hadn’t come to me, even if only to sleep next door. Gideon didn’t like being away from me.
Except when he was hurting. And ashamed.
The elevator doors slid open and pounding, screaming heavy metal music poured in. I cringed and covered my ears, the volume of the ceiling-mounted speakers so loud it hurt to hear them.
Pain. Fury. The raging violence of the music crashed over me. I ached deep in my chest. I knew. I understood. The song was an audible manifestation of what Gideon felt inside himself and couldn’t let out.
He was too controlled. Contained. His emotions so tightly leashed, along with his memories.
I dug into my purse for my phone and ended up dropping the whole bag, spilling the contents onto the elevator car floor and across the checkerboard foyer. I left it all where it fell except for my smartphone, which I picked up and swiped through to get to the app that controlled the surround sound. I synced it to softer music, lowered the volume, and hit enter.
The penthouse fell silent for an endless moment, and then the gentle chords of “Collide” by Howie Day began to play.
I felt Gideon approaching before I saw him, the air crackling with the violent energy of an impending summer storm. He rounded the corner from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I lost my breath.
He was shirtless and barefooted, his hair a silky tousled mane that brushed his shoulders. Black sweats clung to the lowest point of his hips, underlining the tight lacing of his abs. He was bruised on his ribs and up by his shoulder, the signs of battle only strengthening the impression of rage and ferocity tightly leashed.
My choice of music clashed with the emotion seething from him. My beautiful, savagely elegant warrior. The love of my life. So tormented that the sight of him brought hot, stinging tears to my eyes.
He jerked to a halt when he saw me, his hands clenching and releasing at his sides, his eyes wild and nostrils flaring.
My phone slid out of my hand and hit the floor. “Gideon.”
He sucked in a breath at the sound of my voice. It changed him. I watched the shift come over him, like a door slamming shut. One moment, he was bristling with emotion. The next, he was cool as ice, his surface as smooth as glass.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice dangerously even.
“Finding you.” Because he was lost.
“I’m not fit company now.”
“I can deal with it.”
He was too still, as if he were afraid to move. “You should go. It’s not safe for you here.”
My pulse leaped. Awareness sizzled across my senses. I felt the heat of him from across the room. His need. The demand. I was suddenly melting in my jacket. “I’m safer with you than anywhere else on earth.” I took a deep breath for courage. “Does Chris believe you?”
His head went back. “How do you know?”
“He called. He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” he snapped. Which told me he wasn’t fine now.
I made my way to him, feeling the burn of his gaze as it tracked me. “Of course, you will be. You’re married to me.”
“You need to go, Eva.”
I shook my head. “It almost hurts worse, doesn’t it, when they believe you? You wonder why you waited to tell them. Maybe you could’ve stopped it sooner, if you’d just told the right person?”
“Shut up.”
“There’s always that little voice inside us that thinks we’re to blame for what happened.”
His eyes squeezed as tightly closed as his fists. “Don’t.”
I closed the distance between us. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t be what I need. Not now.”
“Why not?”
Those fiercely blue eyes snapped open, pinning me so thoroughly that I paused midstep. “I’m hanging on by a thread, Eva.”
“You don’t have to hang on,” I told him, holding my hands out to him. “Let go. I’ll catch you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t … I can’t be gentle.”
“You want to touch me.”
His jaw worked. “I want to fuck you. Hard.”
I felt the heat sweep up to my cheeks. It was a testament to how much he wanted me that he could still find me desirable despite my ridiculous clothes. “I’m totally up for that. Always.”
My fingers went to the lapels of my coat. I’d partially buttoned up on the cab ride over, not wanting to flash anyone by accident. Now the trench was sweltering, my skin damp with perspiration.
Gideon lunged and caught my wrists, squeezing them too hard. “Don’t.”
“You don’t think I can handle you? After all we’ve done together? All we’ve talked about and plan on doing?”
God. His entire body was straining, tense, every muscle thick and hard. And his eyes, so bright against his tanned skin, so agonized. My Dark and Dangerous.
He gripped my elbow and started walking.
“What—?” I stumbled.
He dragged me toward the elevator. “You have to go.”
“No!” I struggled, kicking off my flip-flops and digging my feet in.
“Damn it.” He rounded on me and yanked me up, facing me nose to nose. “I can’t promise to stop. If I take you too far and you safe word, I might not stop and this—us—will all go to hell!”
“Gideon! For chrissakes, don’t be afraid to want me too much!”
“I want to punish you,” he snarled, gripping my face in both hands. “You did this! You brought this on. Pushing people … pushing me. Look what you’ve done!”
I smelled the liquor on him then, the rich vapor of some expensive spirit. I’d never seen him truly drunk—he valued his control too much to completely dull his senses—but he was drunk now.
The first hint of wariness rippled through me.
“Yes,” I said shakily, “this is my fault. I love you too much. Will you punish me for that?”
“God.” He closed his eyes. His hot, damp forehead touched mine, nuzzling hard. His sweat coated my skin, imprinting me with the lushly masculine scent that was his alone.
I felt him soften, relaxing infinitesimally. I turned my head and pressed my lips to his feverish cheek.
He stiffened. “No.”
Gideon pulled me toward the elevator, yanking me into the foyer and kicking the scattered contents of my purse out of the way.
“Stop it!” I yelled, trying to tug my arm free.
But he wouldn’t listen. His finger stabbed at the call button. The car doors opened instantly, the private elevator always waiting to take him down. He threw me in and I stumbled into the rear wall.
Desperate, I yanked at the belt of my coat, my urgency giving me strength. I tore at the buttons, sending them rolling in every direction. The doors were closing when I spun to face him, holding the lapels of my coat wide open so he could see what I was wearing beneath.
His arm shot out, blocking the door from closing. He shoved it open. The teddy I’d worn was bloodred—our color—and had scarcely any material to it at all. Sheer mesh exposed my breasts and sex, while bandagelike cutouts caged my waist.
“Bitch,” he hissed, stalking into the confined space, shrinking it too small. “You can’t stop pushing.”
“I’m your bitch,” I shot back, feeling the tears well and fall. It was painful to have him so angry with me, even though I understood. He needed an outlet and I’d positioned myself as the target. He’d warned me … tried to protect me … “I can take you, Gideon Cross. I can take whatever you’ve got.”
He tackled me back into the wall so hard the impact knocked the breath from me. His mouth covered mine, his tongue plunging deep. His hands squeezed my breasts roughly, his knee pressing hard between my legs.
I arched into him, fighting to shrug off my coat. I was too hot, sweat sliding down my back and belly. Gideon wrenched the trench off, tossing it aside, his mouth sealed to mine. A moan of gratitude escaped me, my arms wrapping around his neck, my heart swelling with the relief of holding him. My fingers pushed into his hair, my grip tightening to give me leverage to crawl up him.
Gideon tore his mouth away, then my hands. “Don’t touch me.”
“Fuck you,” I snapped, too hurt to hold the words back. Just to spite him, I broke free of his grip and let my hands roam over his rock-hard shoulders and biceps.
He pushed me back, holding me to the wall with a single hand against the middle of my chest. No matter how I shoved or scratched at his steely arm, I couldn’t budge him. I could only watch as he yanked the drawstring free of his sweats.
Desire and apprehension twisted together inside me. “Gideon … ?”
His gaze met mine, so dark and haunted. “Can you keep your hands off me?”
“No. I don’t want to.”
With a nod, he released me, only to spin me around to face the rear of the car. Caged by his body, I had little room to maneuver.
“Don’t fight me,” he ordered, his lips to my ear.
Then he tied my wrists to the handrail.
I froze, startled that he was actually restraining me. So surprised and disbelieving that I barely struggled. It was only after I watched him knot the thin cord that I realized he was serious.
Gripping my hips, he nuzzled my hair aside and sank his teeth into my shoulder. “I say when.”
I gasped, tugging at my hands. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer me.
He just left.
Twisting around as much as I was able, I caught him walking into the living room just as the doors slid shut.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “You wouldn’t.”
I couldn’t believe he’d send me away like this … tied up in the elevator in only lingerie. He was presently screwed up in the head, yes, but I couldn’t believe my wildly jealous husband would expose me that way, to whoever might be in the lobby, just to get rid of me.
“Gideon! Goddamn it. Don’t you dare leave me in here like this! Do you hear me?! Get your ass back in here!”
I wrenched at the cord binding my wrists, but it was knotted tight. Seconds passed, then minutes. The car didn’t move and after screaming myself hoarse, I realized it wouldn’t. It waited for the push of a button, standing by for Gideon’s command.
Just like I was.
I was going to kick his fucking ass when I got loose. I’d never been so pissed. “Gideon!”
Bending over, I walked backward, then lifted and stretched one leg to reach the button that opened the doors. I pushed it with my big toe. As they slid open, I sucked in a deep breath to scream …
… then promptly lost it in a startled rush.
Gideon strode through the living room toward the foyer … completely naked. And drenched from head to toe. His cock was so hard it curved up to his navel. His head was tipped back as he guzzled bottled water, his stride loose and easy, yet entirely predatory.
I straightened as he drew closer, panting from both the riot of my emotions and the depth of my hunger. Asshole or not, I wanted him with a ferocity I couldn’t fight. He was complicated and sexy, damaged and perfect.
“Here.” He brought a crystal tumbler to my lips that I hadn’t noticed because I’d been too busy ogling his magnificent body. The glass was nearly full, the reddish-gold liquid sloshing against my lips as he tipped it.
My mouth opened by instinct and he poured the liquor in, the potent proof burning my tongue and throat. I coughed and he waited, his gaze heavy-lidded. He smelled clean and cool, refreshed from a shower.
“Finish it.”
“It’s too strong!” I protested.
He simply poured another large swallow past my parted lips.
I kicked at him, cursing when I hurt my foot—and didn’t do any damage to him at all. “Stop it!”
He dropped the empty water bottle and cupped my face in his hand. His thumb brushed away the drops of liquor on my chin. “You need to let me settle, and you need to mellow out. We go at it like this, we’ll tear each other apart.”
A stupid tear slipped out of the corner of my eye.
Gideon groaned and bent toward me, his tongue licking the trail of the droplet off my cheek. “I’m shattered and you’re beating at me with your fists. I can’t take it, Eva.”
“I can’t take you shutting me out,” I whispered, tugging at the damned cord. The liquor was spreading fire through my veins. I could feel the tendrils of intoxication curling around my senses already.
He put his hand over mine, stilling my restless movements. “Stop that. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Cut me loose.”
“You touch me and I can’t keep it together. I’m hanging by a thread,” he said again, sounding desperate. “I can’t snap. Not with you.”
“With someone else?” My voice became shrill. “You need someone else?”
I couldn’t keep it together, either. Gideon was the rock in our relationship, the anchor. I thought I could be the same for him. I wanted to shelter him, be his haven. But Gideon didn’t need shelter from the storm; he was the storm. And I wasn’t strong enough to bear up under the weight of his crashing mood.
“No. Christ.” He kissed me. Hard. “You need me in control. I need to be in control when I’m with you.”
I felt the panic building. He knew. He knew I wasn’t enough. “You were different with the others. You didn’t hold back—”
“Fuck!” Gideon spun away, slamming his fist into the control panel. The doors opened to the sound of Sarah McLachlan singing about possession and he threw the tumbler, shattering it against the foyer wall. “Yes, I was different! You made me different.”
“And you hate me for that.” I started crying, my body sagging into the car wall.
“No.” He wrapped himself around me, his water-chilled body curving over my back. He rubbed his face against me, his embrace so tight I could barely breathe. “I love you. You’re my wife. My goddamn life. You’re everything.”
“I just want to help you,” I cried. “I want to be here for you, but you won’t let me!”
“God. Eva.” His hands began to move, to pet and glide. To stroke. To soothe. “I can’t stop you. I need you too much.”
I gripped the handrail with both hands, my cheek pressed to the cool mirror. The liquor began to work its magic. A heated languor slid through me, drowning my anger and what fight I had left until they drifted away, leaving me sad and afraid and so desperately, terrifyingly in love.
His hand pushed between my legs, rubbing, searching. With a forceful tug, he opened the snaps that held the front and back of the teddy together. I moaned at the sudden release of pressure. My sex was wet and swollen from the skilled movements of his hands and the image in my mind of the way he’d looked walking toward me.
My head fell back against his shoulder and I saw his reflection. His eyes were closed, his lips parted. The vulnerability etched on his gorgeous face undid me. He was hurting so badly. I couldn’t bear it.
“Tell me what I can do,” I whispered. “Tell me how to help.”
“Shh.” His tongue rimmed the shell of my ear. “Let me settle.”
The featherlight stroke of his thumb over the mesh covering my nipple was driving me mad. The slide of his fingers between the slick folds of my cleft had me quivering. He knew where to touch me, how much pressure.
I cried out when he pushed two fingers inside me, my feet flexing, lifting me onto my toes. My knees weakened, my legs quivering with the strain. The air in the elevator felt thick and steamy, heavy with the need that pumped off him in waves.
“Ah, Christ.” He groaned when my sex tightened around him, his hips rolling against me to grind his erection into my buttocks. “I’m going to bruise this sweet cunt, Eva. I can’t stop it.”
His arm banded around my waist and lifted me, pulling me back so that my arms were straight and I was bent over. He kneed my legs apart, his fingers sliding wetly from my cleft. I felt his hand graze my hip, and then he was dragging the wide crest of his penis through the seam of my buttocks and notching it between the lips of my sex.
I held my breath, squirming against that plush pressure. I’d wanted him all day, craving the feel of his big cock inside me, needing him to make me come.
“Wait,” he groaned, reaching for both my waist and my shoulder, his fingers flexing impatiently. “Let me—”
My sex clenched, tightening around the thick head.
Gideon cursed and thrust, one hard stroke that shoved him deep. I cried out in pleasured pain, arching away from the rigid fullness, feeling the burn of stretching inner muscles and tender tissues.
“Yes,” he hissed, yanking me back into him until the lips of my sex hugged the thick root of his penis. His hips circled, his balls lying heavily against my engorged clitoris. “Fucking tight …”
I moaned and tried to hold on to the handrail; my body rocked as he began to fuck. The sensation was devastating, being filled so completely, then emptied abruptly. My knees gave out, my core spasming in delight as he reamed me hard and thoroughly. All the emotion he’d pent up inside him was hammered into me, the relentless drives of his cock massaging every sensitive nerve.
I was coming before I knew the orgasm was on me, gasping his name as pleasure racked my body in violent trembles.
My head dropped between my arms, my muscles weak and useless. Gideon held me up with his hands, with his erection. Using my body. Taking it. Grunting primitively every time he hit the end of me.
“So deep,” he growled. “So good.”
In the periphery, I caught movement, my dazed eyes focusing on our reflection. With a low, pained cry I started coming again, if I’d ever stopped. Gideon was the most searingly erotic thing I’d ever seen—his biceps thick and hard as he supported my weight, his thighs straining with exertion, his ass flexing as he pistoned, his abs rippling with power as he rolled his hips with every stroke.
He’d been built to fuck, but he had mastered the skill, using every inch of his amazing body to enslave a woman to pleasure. It was innate to him, instinctive. Even drunk and near feral with anguish, his rhythm was tight and precise, his focus absolute.
Every thrust took him deep inside me, hitting the sweetest spots again and again, driving the ecstasy into me until I couldn’t resist the onslaught. Another climax churned through me like a tidal wave.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Milk my dick, angel. God … You’re making me come.”
I felt his cock thickening, lengthening. Tingles raced across my skin; my lungs heaved for air.
Gideon threw back his head and roared like an animal, spurting hotly. Gripping my hips, he pumped me onto his ejaculating cock, coming hard and forever, filling me until semen slicked my sex and inner thighs.
He slowed the thrust of his hips, gasping, bending over to press his cheek to my shoulder.
I started sinking to my knees. “Gideon …”
He pulled me up. “I’m not done,” he said roughly, still thick and stiff inside me.
Then he started again.
I woke to the feel of his hair brushing over my shoulder and the press of warm, firm lips. Exhausted, I tried to roll away, but an arm around my waist pulled me back.
“Eva,” he rasped. His hand cupped my breast, clever fingers rolling my nipple.
It was dark and we were in bed, although I barely remembered him carrying me there. He’d undressed me, washed me with a damp cloth, and rained kisses over my face and wrists. They were bandaged now, slicked with ointment and wrapped with care.
It had turned me on to feel his tender caresses over the chafing, the mix of pleasure and pain. He’d noticed.
With eyes hot with lust, he’d spread my legs and eaten me with an insistent demand that robbed me of the ability to think or move. He’d licked and sucked my cleft endlessly, until I lost count of how many times he made me come around his wicked tongue.
“Gideon …” Turning my head, I looked at him over my shoulder. He was propped on one arm, his eyes glittering in the faint light of the moon. “Did you stay with me?”
Maybe it was reckless to hope he’d stayed with me while I slept, but sharing a bed with him was something I loved. And craved.
He nodded. “I couldn’t leave you.”
“I’m glad.”
He rolled me over and into him, taking my mouth, kissing me softly. The coaxing licks of his tongue stirred me again, made me moan.
“I can’t stop touching you,” he breathed, gripping my nape to hold me still as he deepened the kiss, his teeth tugging gently on my lower lip. “When I touch you, I don’t think about anything else.”
Tenderness blended with the love. “Can I touch you, too?”
Closing his eyes, he begged. “Please.”
I surged into him, my hands sliding into his hair to hold him as he held me. I brushed my tongue against his, our mouths hot and wet. Our legs tangled, my body arching to press against the hardness of his.
He hummed softly and slowed me down, rolling to pin me to the bed. Pulling back, he broke the seal of our mouths, nibbling, sucking. Tracing the curves of my lips with the tip of his tongue.
I whimpered in protest, wanting deeper, harder. Instead, he licked leisurely, stroking the roof of my mouth, the lining of my cheeks. I tightened my legs, dragging him closer. He rocked his hips, pressing his erection into my thigh.
Gideon kissed me until my lips were hot and puffy and the sun was rising in the sky. He kissed me until he came in a hot rush against my skin. Not once but twice.
The feel of him coming, the sound of his low pained moans of pleasure, knowing I could bring him to orgasm with just my kiss … I slicked his thigh with my need and ground against him until I climaxed.
As the new day began, he closed the distance he’d put between us in the elevator. He made love to me without sex. He pledged his devotion by making me the center of his world. There was nothing beyond the edges of our bed. Only us and a love that stripped us bare even as it made us whole.
WHEN I woke again, I found him sleeping beside me, his lips as kiss-swollen as mine. Gideon’s face was soft in repose, but the faint frown between his brows told me he wasn’t resting as deeply as I would wish. He lay on his side, his body stretched long and lean across the mattress, the sheet tangled around his legs.
It was late, nearly nine, but I didn’t have the heart to either wake him or leave him. I hadn’t been at my job long enough to miss a day, but I decided to do it anyway.
I’d been putting my needs first when it came to my career, giving it the power to someday put a wedge between us. I knew my desire to be independent wasn’t wrong, but at that moment, it didn’t feel right, either.
Pulling on a T-shirt and boyshorts, I slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall to Gideon’s home office, where his smartphone was bitching that he was ignoring the alarm to wake him up. I turned it off and went to the kitchen.
Mentally checking off the things I needed to do, I called and left a message for Mark about missing work due to a family emergency. Then I called Scott’s desk and left a message telling him that Gideon wasn’t going to make it in by nine and might not be there at all. I told him to call me and we could talk about it.
I hoped to keep Gideon home all day, although I doubted he would agree to that. We needed time together, alone. Time to heal.
I retrieved my smartphone from the foyer and called Angus. He answered on the first ring.
“Hello, Mrs. Cross. Are you and Mr. Cross ready to go?”
“No, Angus, right now we’re staying put. I’m not sure we’ll be leaving the penthouse today. I was wondering, do you know where Gideon gets those bottles of hangover cure?”
“Yes, of course. Do you need one?”
“Gideon might when he wakes up. Just in case, I’d like to have one waiting for him.”
There was a pause. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he asked, his Scottish burr more pronounced, “does this have something to do with Mr. Vidal’s visit last night?”
I rubbed at my forehead, feeling the warning signs of an impending headache. “It has everything to do with it.”
“Does Chris believe?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Ach, that’s why, then. The lad wouldna been prepared for that. Denial is what he knows and can handle.”
“He took it hard.”
“Aye, I’m certain he did. It’s good he has you, Eva. You’re doing the right thing for him, though it may take him time to appreciate it. I’ll get that bottle for you.”
“Thank you.”
With that accomplished, I turned my attention to cleaning the place up. I washed the empty decanter and tumbler I found on the kitchen island first, then took the broom and dustpan into the foyer to clean up the shattered glass. I talked to Scott when he called while I was picking up all the crap that had fallen out of my purse, and when we hung up, I turned my attention to scrubbing the foyer wall and floor to remove the dried traces of brandy.
Gideon had said he felt shattered the night before. I didn’t want him to wake up and find his place that way.
Our place, I corrected myself. Our home. I needed to start thinking of it that way. And so did Gideon. We were going to have a conversation about him trying to kick me out. If I was going to make a better effort at entwining our lives, then he had to as well.
I wished there were someone I could talk to about it all, a friend to listen and give sage advice. Cary or Shawna. Even Steven, who had a way about him that made him so easy to talk to. We had Dr. Petersen, but that wasn’t the same thing.
For now, Gideon and I had secrets we could share only with each other, and that kept us isolated and codependent. It wasn’t only innocence our abusers had taken away from us; they’d also taken our freedom. Even after the abuse was long over, we were still caged by the false fronts we lived behind. Still caged by lies, but in a different way.
I had just finished polishing all the smudges off the mirror in the elevator when it began descending with me inside. In only a T-shirt and underwear.
“Seriously?” I muttered, yanking off my rubber gloves to try to put order to my hair. After rolling around with Gideon all night, I looked like an epic mess.
The doors slid open and Angus started to step in, his footstep halting midair when he spotted me. I shifted position, trying to hide the cord still tied to the handrail behind me. Gideon had cut me loose with scissors, freeing my wrists but leaving the evidence.
“Uh, hi,” I said, squirming with embarrassment. There was no good way to explain how I happened to be in the elevator, scarcely dressed and holding yellow rubber gloves, when Angus had called it down to pick him up. To make things worse, my lips were so red and swollen from kissing Gideon for hours that there was no way to hide what I’d been up to all night.
Angus’s pale blue eyes lit with amusement. “Good morning, Mrs. Cross.”
“Good morning, Angus,” I replied, with as much dignity as I could manage.
He held out a bottle of the hangover “cure,” which I was pretty sure was just a shot of alcohol mixed with liquid vitamins. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” The words were heartfelt and carried additional gratitude for his lack of questions.
“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be nearby.”
“You’re the best, Angus.” I rode back up to the penthouse. When the doors opened, I heard the penthouse phone ringing.
I made a run for it, sliding into the kitchen on my bare feet to snatch the receiver off its base, hoping the noise hadn’t woken Gideon.
“Hello?”
“Eva, it’s Arash. Is Cross with you?”
“Yes. He’s still sleeping, I think. I’ll check.” I headed down the hall.
“He’s not sick, is he? He’s never sick.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” Peeking into the bedroom, I found my husband sprawled magnificently in sleep, his arms wrapped around my pillow with his face buried in it. I tiptoed over to put the hangover bottle on his nightstand, and then I tiptoed back out, pulling the door closed behind me.
“He’s still crashed,” I whispered.
“Wow. Okay, change of plan. There are some documents you both have to sign before four this afternoon. I’ll have them messengered over. Give me a call when you’re done with them, and I’ll send someone to pick them up.”
“I have to sign something? What is it?”
“He didn’t tell you?” He laughed. “Well, I won’t ruin the surprise. You’ll see when you get them. Call me if you have any questions.”
I growled softly. “Okay. Thanks.”
We hung up and I stared down the hall toward the bedroom with narrowed eyes. What was Gideon up to? It drove me crazy that he set things in motion and handled issues without talking to me about them.
My smartphone started ringing in the kitchen. I ran back across the living room and took a look at the screen. The number was an unfamiliar one but clearly based in New York.
“Good grief,” I muttered, feeling like I’d already put in a full day of work and it was just past ten thirty in the morning. How the hell did Gideon manage being pulled in so many directions at once? “Hello?”
“Eva, it’s Chris again. I hope you don’t mind that Ireland gave me your number.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back sooner. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“Is he okay, then?”
I went to one of the bar stools and sat. “No. It was a rough night.”
“I called his office. They told me he was out this morning.”
“We’re home. He’s still sleeping.”
“It’s bad, then,” he said.
He knew my man. Gideon was a creature of habit, his life rigidly ordered and compartmentalized. Any deviation from his established patterns was so rare it was cause for concern.
“He’ll be all right,” I assured him. “I’ll make sure of it. He just needs some time.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” He sounded tired and worried. “Thank you for saying something to me and being there for him. I wish I had been when it was happening. I’ll have to live with the fact that I wasn’t.”
“We all have to live with it. It’s not your fault, Chris. Doesn’t make it easier, I know, but you need to keep it in mind or you’ll beat yourself up. That won’t help Gideon.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, Eva. I’m so glad he has you.”
“I got lucky with him,” I said quietly. “Big-time.”
I ended the call and couldn’t help but think of my mother. Seeing what Gideon was going through made me appreciate her all the more. She had been there for me; she’d fought for me. She had the guilt, too, which made her overprotective to the point of craziness, but there was a part of me that hadn’t gotten quite so damaged as Gideon because of her love.
I called her and she answered on the first ring.
“Eva. You’ve been deliberately avoiding me. How am I supposed to plan your wedding without your input? There are so many decisions to make and if I make the wrong one, you’ll—”
“Hi, Mom,” I interrupted. “How are you?”
“Stressed,” she said, her naturally breathy voice conveying more than a little accusation. “How could I be anything else? I’m planning one of the most important days of your life all by myself and—”
“I was thinking we could get together on Saturday and hash it all out, if that fits into your schedule.”
“Really?” The hopeful pleasure in her voice made me feel guilty.
“Yes, really.” I had been thinking of the second wedding as being more for my mother than anyone else, but that was wrong. The wedding was important to Gideon and me, too, another opportunity for us to affirm our unbreakable bond. Not for the world to see, but for the two of us.
He had to stop pushing me away to protect me, and I had to stop worrying that I would disappear when I became Mrs. Gideon Cross.
“That would be wonderful, Eva! We could have brunch here with the wedding planner. Spend the afternoon going over all our options.”
“I want something small, Mom. Intimate.” Before she argued, I pressed forward with Gideon’s solution. “We can go as crazy as you want with the reception, but I want our wedding to be private.”
“Eva, people will be insulted if they’re invited to the reception and not the ceremony!”
“I really don’t care. I’m not getting married for them. I’m getting married because I’m in love with the man of my dreams and we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. I don’t want the focus to ever shift from that.”
“Honey …” She sighed, as if I were clueless. “We can talk more about this on Saturday.”
“Okay. But I’m not changing my mind.” I felt a tingle race down my back and turned.
Gideon stood just beyond the threshold to the kitchen, watching me. He’d pulled on the sweatpants from the night before and his hair was still mussed from sleep, his eyes heavy-lidded.
“I’ve got to go,” I told my mom. “I’ll see you this weekend. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Eva. That’s why I only want the best for you.”
I killed the call and set my phone down on the island. Sliding off the seat, I faced him. “Good morning.”
“You’re not at work,” he said, his voice raspier, sexier, than usual.
“Neither are you.”
“Are you going in late?”
“Nope. And you’re not, either.” I went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He was still warm from the bed. My sleepy, sensual dream come true. “We’re going to hole up today, ace. Just you and me hanging out in our pajamas and relaxing.”
His arm cinched around my hips, his other hand lifting to brush the hair back from my face. “You’re not mad.”
“Why would I be?” Lifting onto my tiptoes, I kissed his jaw. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” He cupped my nape, pressing my cheek to his. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’ll always be here. Until death do us part.”
“You’re planning the wedding.”
“You heard that, huh? If you’ve got requests, tell me now or forever hold your peace.”
He was quiet for a long time, long enough that I figured he didn’t have anything to add.
Turning my head, I caught his lips and gave him a quick, sweet kiss. “Did you see what I left you by the bed?”
“Yes, thank you.” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth.
He looked like a man who’d been well fucked, which filled me with feminine pride. “I got you off the hook at work, too, but Arash said he had some papers to send over to us. He wouldn’t tell me what they were.”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”
I brushed my fingertips over his brow. “How are you doing?”
His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know. Right now, I just feel like shit.”
“Let’s revisit that bath you missed last night.”
“Umm, I’m feeling better already.”
Linking our fingers together, I started leading him back toward the bedroom.
“I want to be the man of your dreams, angel,” he said, surprising me. “I want that more than anything.”
I looked back at him. “You’ve got that in the bag already.”
I stared down at the contract in front of me, my heart racing with a dizzying combination of love and delight. I looked up from the coffee table as Gideon entered the room, his hair still damp from our bath, his long legs encased in black silk pajama bottoms.
“You’re buying the Outer Banks house?” I asked, needing his confirmation despite having the proof in front of me.
His sexy mouth curved. “We’re buying the house. We agreed we would.”
“We talked about it.” The agreed-upon price was a bit staggering, telling me the owners hadn’t been easy to persuade. And he’d asked them to convey the copy of Naked in Death with the property, along with the furnishings in the master bedroom. He always thought of everything.
Gideon settled on the couch beside me. “Now, we’re doing something about it.”
“The Hamptons would be closer. Or Connecticut.”
“It’s a quick hop down by jet.” He tipped my chin up with his finger and pressed his lips to mine. “Don’t worry about the logistics,” he murmured. “We were happy there on the beach. I can still picture you walking along the shore. I remember kissing you on the deck … spreading you across that big white bed. You looked like an angel and that place, for me, was like heaven.”
“Gideon.” I rested my forehead against his. I loved him so much. “Where do we sign?”
He pulled back and slid the contract over, finding the first yellow sign here flag. His gaze roved over the coffee table and he frowned. “Where’s my pen?”
I stood. “I’ve got one in my purse.”
Catching my wrist in his hand, he tugged me back down. “No. I need my pen. Where’s the envelope this came in?”
I spotted it lying on the floor between the couch and table, where I’d dropped it when I realized what Arash had sent over. Picking it up, I realized it was still weighted and upended it over the table to let the rest of the items inside spill out. A fountain pen clattered onto the glass and a small photo floated out.
“There we go,” he said, taking the pen and slashing his signature on the dotted line. As he went through the rest of the pages, I picked up the picture and felt my chest tighten.
It was the photo of him and his dad on the beach, the one he’d told me about in North Carolina. He was young, maybe four or five, his small face screwed up in concentration as he helped his dad build a sand castle. Geoffrey Cross sat across from his son, his dark hair blowing in the ocean breeze, his face movie-star handsome. He wore only swimming trunks, showing off a body very much like the one Gideon boasted today.
“Wow,” I breathed, knowing I was going to make copies of the image and frame one for each of the places we lived in. “I love this.”
“Here.” He pushed the contract, with the pen lying atop it, over to me.
I set the photo down and picked up the pen, turning it over to see the GC engraved on the barrel. “You superstitious or something?”
“It was my father’s.”
“Oh.” I looked at him.
“He signed everything with it. He never went anywhere without it tucked in his pocket.” He raked his hair back from his face. “He destroyed our name with that pen.”
I set my hand on his thigh. “And you’re building it back up with the same pen. I get it.”
His fingertips touched my cheek, his gaze soft and shining. “I knew you would.”
