“Listen”—Deanna pulled a business card out of a pocket of her skirt—“pretty soon you’re going to figure out that Gideon Cross was using you to get Corinne Giroux jealous enough to come back to him. When you smell the coffee, call me. I’ll be waiting.”
I accepted the card. “Why do you think I know anything worth sharing?”
Her lush mouth thinned. “Because whatever Cross’s motivation was for hooking up with you, you got to him. The iceman thawed a bit for you.”
“Maybe he did, but it’s over.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t know something, Eva. I can help you figure out what’s newsworthy.”
“What’s your angle?” I’d be damned if I would sit back while someone took aim at Gideon. If she was determined to be a threat to him, I was determined to head her off at the pass.
“That man has a dark side.”
“Don’t we all?” What had she seen of Gideon? What had he revealed in the course of their … association? If they’d had one.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to the point where thinking of Gideon being intimate with another woman didn’t trigger ferocious jealousy.
“Why don’t we go somewhere and talk?” she cajoled.
I shot a glance at the staffer at the front desk, who made a good show of politely ignoring us. I was too emotionally raw to deal with Deanna, and was still reeling from the conversation with Detective Graves.
“Maybe some other time,” I said, leaving the option open because I intended to keep tabs on her.
As if he sensed my uneasiness, Chad, one of the night crew at the front desk, approached.
“Ms. Johnson was just leaving,” I told him, consciously relaxing. If Detective Graves hadn’t been able to pin anything on Gideon, a nosy freelance reporter wasn’t going to do better.
Too bad I knew what kind of information could be leaked from the police, and how easily and often it was done. My father, Victor Reyes, was a cop, and I’d heard plenty on that subject.
I turned toward the elevators. “Good night, Deanna.”
“I’ll be around,” she called after me.
I stepped into the elevator and hit the button for my floor. As the doors slid shut, I sagged into the handrail. I needed to warn Gideon, but there was no way for me to contact him that couldn’t be traced.
The ache in my chest intensified. Our relationship was so fucked up. We couldn’t even talk to each other.
I exited on my floor and let myself into my apartment, crossing the spacious living room to dump my purse on one of the kitchen bar stools. The view of Manhattan showcased through my living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows failed to stir me. I was too agitated to care where I was. The only thing that mattered was that I wasn’t with Gideon.
As I headed down the hallway toward my bedroom, the sound of muted music floated outward from Cary’s. Did he have company over? If so, who was it? My best friend had decided to try juggling two relationships—one with a woman who accepted him the way he was and one with a man who hated that Cary was involved with someone else.
I shed my clothes across the bathroom floor en route to the shower. While I lathered, it was impossible not to think of the times I’d showered with Gideon, occasions when our lust for one another had fueled starkly erotic encounters. I missed him so much. I needed his touch, his desire, his love. My craving for those things was a gnawing hunger, making me restless and edgy. I had no idea how I was supposed to fall asleep when I didn’t know when I’d get a chance to talk to Gideon again. There was so much that had to be said.
Wrapping a towel around me, I left the bathroom—
Gideon stood just inside my closed bedroom door. The sight of him spurred a reaction so abrupt it was like a physical blow. My breath caught and my heart lurched into an excited rhythm, my entire being responding to the sight of him with a potent rush of yearning. It felt like years since I’d last been with him, instead of a mere hour.
I’d given him a key, but he owned the building. Getting to me without leaving a trail that could be followed was possible with that advantage … just as he’d been able to get to Nathan.
“It’s dangerous for you to be here,” I pointed out. That didn’t stop me from being thrilled that he was. My gaze drank him in, roaming avidly over his lean, broad-shouldered frame.
He wore black sweats and a well-loved Columbia sweatshirt, a combination that made him look like the twenty-eight-year-old man he was and not the billionaire mogul the rest of the world knew. A Yankees ball cap was pulled low over his brow, but the shadow cast by its brim did nothing to diminish the striking blue of his eyes. They stared at me fiercely, his sensual lips drawn into a grim line. “I couldn’t stay away.”
Gideon Cross was an impossibly gorgeous man, so beautiful that people stopped and stared when he walked by. I’d once thought of him as a sex god, and his frequent—and enthusiastic—displays of prowess constantly proved me right, but I also knew he was all too human. Like me, he’d been broken.
The odds were against our making it.
My chest expanded on a deep breath, my body responding to the proximity of his. Even though he stood several feet away, I could feel the heady attraction, the magnetic pull of being near the other half of my soul. It’d been that way with us from the very first meeting, both of us inexorably drawn together. We’d mistaken our ferocious mutual captivation for lust until we realized we couldn’t breathe without each other.
I fought the urge to run into his arms, the place where I so desperately wanted to be. But he was too still, too tightly reined. I waited in exquisite anticipation for his cue.
God, I loved him so much.
His hands fisted at his sides. “I need you.”
My core tightened in response to the roughness of his voice, the rasp of it warm and luxurious.
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” I teased breathlessly, trying to lighten his mood before he got me beneath him.
I loved him wild, and I loved him tender. I’d take him any way I could get him, but it’d been so long … My skin was already tingling and tightening expectantly, craving the greedy reverence of his touch. I feared what would happen if he came at me full force when I was so starved for his body. We might tear each other apart.
“It’s killing me,” he said gruffly. “Being without you. Missing you. I feel like my fucking sanity depends on you, Eva, and you want me to be happy about that?”
My tongue darted out to wet my dry lips and he growled, sending a shiver through me. “Well … I’m happy about it.”
The tension in his posture visibly eased. He must’ve been so worried about how I would react to what he’d done for me. To be honest, I’d been worried. Did my gratitude mean I was more twisted than I realized?
Then I remembered my stepbrother’s hands all over me … his weight pressing me into the mattress … the tearing pain between my legs as he rammed into me over and over …
I trembled with renewed fury. If being glad the fucker was dead made me twisted, so be it.
Gideon took a deep breath. His hand reached up to his chest and rubbed at the area over his heart as if it hurt him.
“I love you,” I told him, my eyes stinging with fresh tears. “I love you so much.”
“Angel.” He reached me with quick strides, dropping his keys on the floor and shoving both hands into my damp hair. He was shaking, and I cried, overwhelmed by the knowledge of how much he needed me.
Tilting my head to the angle he wanted, Gideon took my mouth with searing possession, tasting me with slow, deep licks. His passion and hunger exploded across my senses, and I whimpered, my hands tangling in his sweatshirt. His answering groan vibrated through me, tightening my nipples and sending goose bumps racing across my skin.