I woke the way I’d fallen asleep, with Gideon on top of me and inside me. His gaze was heavy-lidded with desire as I rose from unconsciousness into heated pleasure. His hair hung around his shoulders and face, looking even sexier for being sleep-tousled. But best of all, there were no shadows in his gorgeous eyes, nothing lingering from the pain that haunted his dreams.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he murmured with a wicked grin, sliding in and out. “You’re warm and soft. I can’t help but want you.”
I stretched my arms over my head and arched my back, pressing my breasts into his chest. Through the slender arch-topped windows, I saw the soft light of dawn fill the sky. “Umm…I could get used to waking up like this.”
“That was my thought at three this morning.” He rolled his hips and sank deep into me. “I thought I’d return the favor.”
My body revved to life, my pulse quickening. “Yes, please.”
Cary was gone when we got to my apartment, leaving a note behind to tell me he was on a job, but would be back in plenty of time for pizza with Trey. Since I’d been too upset to enjoy my pie the night before, I was ready to try again when I was having a good time.
“I have a business dinner tonight,” Gideon said, leaning over my shoulder to read. “I was hoping you’d come with me and make it bearable.”
“I can’t bail out on Cary,” I said apologetically, turning to face him. “Chicks before dicks and all that.”
His mouth twitched and he caged me to the breakfast bar. He was dressed for work in a suit I’d picked out, a graphite gray Prada with a soft sheen. His tie was the blue one that matched his eyes, and as I’d lain on his bed and watched him dress, I’d had to fight the urge to take it all off him. “Cary isn’t a chick. But I get the point. I want to see you tonight. Can I come over after the dinner and stay the night?”
Heated anticipation rushed through me. I smoothed my hands over his vest, feeling like I had a special secret because I knew exactly what he looked like without his clothes on. “I’d love it if you did.”
“Good.” He gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll make us coffee, while you get dressed.”
“The beans are in the freezer. The grinder’s next to the coffee pot.” I pointed. “And I like lots of milk and a little sweetener.”
When I came out twenty minutes later, Gideon grabbed two travel mugs of coffee off the breakfast bar and we headed down to the lobby. Paul hustled us out the front door and into the backseat of Gideon’s waiting Bentley SUV.
As Gideon’s driver pulled into traffic, Gideon checked me out and said, “You’re definitely trying to kill me. Are you wearing the garters again?”
Pulling the hem of my skirt up, I showed him where the top of my black silk stockings hooked to my black lace garter belt.
His muttered curse made me smile. I’d chosen a black short-sleeved silk turtleneck sweater paired with a decently short pleated skirt in lipstick red and heeled Mary Janes. Because Cary hadn’t been around to manage something fancy with my hair, I’d pulled it back in a ponytail. “You like?”
“I’m hard.” His voice was husky, and he adjusted himself in his trousers. “How the hell am I going to get through the day thinking about you dressed like that?”
“There’s always lunch,” I suggested, fantasizing about a nooner on Gideon’s office couch.
“I have a business lunch today. I’d reschedule, if I hadn’t moved it already yesterday.”
“You rescheduled an appointment for me? I’m flattered.”
He reached over and brushed his fingertips over my cheek, a now-habitual gesture of affection that was tender and fiercely intimate. I was coming to depend on receiving those touches.
I leaned my cheek into his palm. “Can you carve fifteen minutes out of your day for me?”
“I’ll manage it.”
“Call me when you know the time.”
Taking a deep breath, I dug into my bag and wrapped my hand around a gift I wasn’t sure he’d want, but I couldn’t get the memory of his nightmare out of my head. I hoped that what I had for him would remind him of me and three A.M. sex, and help him cope. “I have something. I thought…”
It suddenly seemed conceited to give him what I’d brought.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” I exhaled in a rush. “Listen, I have something for you, but I just realized it’s one of those gifts-well, it’s not really a gift. I’m already thinking it’s not appropriate and-”
He thrust out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“You can totally decide not to take it-”
“Shut up, Eva.” He crooked his fingers. “Give it to me.”
I pulled it out of my bag and handed it over.
Gideon stared down at the framed photograph in complete silence. It was a novelty frame depicting die-cut images of things relating to graduation, including a digital clock face that read 3:00 A.M. The picture was of me posing on Coronado Beach in a coral bikini with a big floppy straw hat-I was tanned, happy, and blowing a kiss to Cary, who’d playacted the role of a high-fashion photographer by calling out ridiculous encouragements. Beautiful, dahling. Show me sassy. Show me sexy. Brilliant. Show me catty…rawr…
Embarrassed, I squirmed a little on the seat. “Like I said, you don’t have to keep-”
“I-” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Eva.”
“Ah, well…” I was grateful to see the Crossfire outside my window. I jumped out quickly when the driver pulled over and ran my hands over my skirt, feeling self-conscious. “If you want, I can hang on to it until later.”
Gideon shut the door of the Bentley and shook his head. “It’s mine. You’re not taking it back.”
He linked our fingers together and gestured toward the revolving door with the hand holding the frame. I warmed when I realized he intended to take my picture into work with him.
One of the fun things about the ad business was that no day was ever the same as the one before it. I was hopping all morning and was just beginning to contemplate what to do about lunch when my phone rang. “Mark Garrity’s office, Eva Tramell speaking.”
“I’ve got news,” Cary said by way of greeting.
“What?” I could tell by his voice that it was good news, whatever it was.
“I landed a Grey Isles campaign.”
“Oh my God! Cary, that’s awesome! I love their jeans.”
“What are you doing for lunch?”
I grinned. “Celebrating with you. Can you be here at noon?”
“I’m already on my way.”
I hung up and rocked back in my chair, so thrilled for Cary I felt like dancing. Needing something to do to kill the fifteen minutes remaining before my lunch break, I checked my inbox again and found a Google alert digest for Gideon’s name. Over thirty mentions, in just one day.
I opened the e-mail and freaked out a little at the numerous “mystery woman” headlines. I clicked on the first link and found myself landing on a gossip blog.
There, in living color, was a photo of Gideon kissing me senseless on the sidewalk outside of his gym. The accompanying article was short and to the point:
“Gideon Cross, New York’s most eligible bachelor since John F. Kennedy Jr., was spotted yesterday in a passionate public embrace. A source at Cross Industries identified the lucky mystery woman as socialite Eva Tramell, daughter of multimillionaire Richard Stanton and his wife, Monica. When queried about the nature of the relationship between Cross and Tramell, the source confirmed that Miss Tramell is ‘the significant woman’ in the mogul’s life at present. We imagine hearts are breaking across the country this morning.”
“Oh, crap,” I breathed.
11
I quickly clicked through other links in the digest to find the same picture with similar captions and articles. Alarmed, I sat back and thought about what this meant. If one kiss was headline news, what chance would Gideon and I have to make a relationship work?