Bared to You: A Crossfire Novel (13 page)

His mouth twitched. “Yeah.”

I smiled, feeling dazed and high.

Gideon brushed the damp tendrils of hair off my temples, his fingertips gliding almost reverently across my face. The way he studied me made my chest hurt. He looked stunned and…grateful, his eyes warm and tender. “I don’t want to break this moment.”

Because I could hear it hanging in the air, I filled it in. “But…?”

“But I can’t blow off this dinner. I have a speech to give.”

“Oh.” The moment was effectively broken.

I lifted gingerly off of him, biting my lip at the feel of him slipping wetly out of me. The friction was enough to make me want more. He’d barely softened.

“Damn it,” he said roughly. “I want you again.”

He caught me before I moved away, pulling a handkerchief out from somewhere and running it gently between my legs. It was a deeply intimate act, on par with the sex we’d just had.

When I was dry, I settled on the seat beside him and dug my lip gloss out of my clutch. I watched Gideon over the edge of my mirrored compact as he removed the condom and tied it off. He wrapped it in a cocktail napkin; then tossed it in a cleverly hidden trash receptacle. After restoring his appearance, he told the driver to head to our destination. Then he settled into the seat and stared out the window.

With every second that passed, I felt him withdrawing, the connection between us slipping further and further away. I found myself shrinking into the corner of the seat, away from him, mimicking the distance I felt building between us. All the warmth I’d felt receded into a marked chill, cooling me enough that I pulled my shawl around me again. He didn’t move a muscle as I shifted beside him and put my compact away, as if he wasn’t even aware I was there.

Abruptly, Gideon opened the bar and pulled out a bottle. Without looking at me, he asked, “Brandy?”

“No, thank you.” My voice was small, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. He poured a drink and tossed it back.

Confused and stung, I pulled on my gloves and tried to figure out what went wrong.

 

I
don’t remember much of what happened after we arrived. Camera flashes burst around us like fireworks as we walked the length of the press gauntlet, but I scarcely paid them any mind, smiling by rote. I was drawn into myself and desperate to get away from the tension radiating in waves from Gideon.

The moment we crossed over into the building, someone called his name and he turned. I slipped away, darting around the rest of the guests clogging the carpeted entrance.

When I reached the reception hall, I snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing server and searched for Cary as I tossed one back. I spotted him on the far side of the room with my mom and Stanton, and I crossed to them, discarding my empty glass on a table as I passed it.

“Eva!” My mother’s face lit up when she saw me. “That dress is stunning on you!”

She air-kissed each of my cheeks. She was gorgeous in a shimmering, fitted column of icy blue. Sapphires dripped from her ears, throat, and wrist, highlighting her eyes and her pale skin.

“Thank you.” I took a gulp of champagne from my second glass, remembering that I’d planned on expressing gratitude for the dress. While I still appreciated the gift, I was no longer so happy about the convenient thigh slit.

Cary stepped forward, catching my elbow. One look at my face and he knew I was upset. I shook my head, not wanting to get into it now.

“More champagne, then?” he asked softly.

“Please.”

I felt Gideon approaching before I saw my mother’s face light up like the New Year’s ball in Times Square. Stanton, too, seemed to straighten and gather himself.

“Eva.” Gideon set his hand on the bare skin of my lower back and a shock of awareness moved through me. When his fingers flexed against me, I wondered if he felt it, too. “You ran off.”

I stiffened against the reproof I heard in his tone. I shot him a look that said everything I couldn’t while we were in public. “Richard, have you met Gideon Cross?”

“Yes, of course.” The two men shook hands.

Gideon pulled me closer to his side. “We share the good fortune of escorting the two most beautiful women in New York.”

Stanton agreed, smiling indulgently down at my mother.

I tossed back the rest of my champagne and gratefully exchanged the empty glass for the fresh one Cary handed me. There was a slight warmth growing in my belly from the alcohol and it loosened the knot that had formed there.

Gideon leaned over and whispered harshly, “Don’t forget you’re here with me.”

He was
mad
? What the hell? My gaze narrowed. “You’re one to talk.”

“Not here, Eva.” He nodded at everyone and led me away. “Not now.”

“Not ever,” I muttered, going along with him just to spare my mother a scene.

Sipping my champagne, I slid into an autopilot mode of self-preservation I hadn’t had to use in many years. Gideon introduced me to people and I supposed I performed well enough—spoke at the appropriate moments and smiled when necessary—but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too conscious of the icy wall between us and my own hurt anger. If I’d needed any proof that Gideon was rigid about not socializing with women he slept with, I had it.

When dinner was announced, I went with him into the dining room and poked at my food. I drank a few glasses of the red wine they served with the meal and heard Gideon talking to our tablemates, although I didn’t pay attention to the words, only to the cadence and the seductively deep, even tone. He made no attempt to draw me into the conversation and I was glad. I didn’t think I could say anything nice.

I didn’t become engaged until he stood to a round of applause and took the stage. Then I turned in my seat and watched him cross to the podium, unable to help admiring his animal grace and stunning good looks. Every step he took commanded attention and respect, which was a feat, considering his easy and unhurried stride.

He looked none the worse for wear after our abandoned fucking in his limo. In fact, he seemed like a totally different person. He was once again the man I’d met in the Crossfire lobby, supremely contained and quietly powerful.

“In North America,” he began, “childhood sexual abuse is experienced by one in every four women and one in every six men. Take a good look around you. Someone at your table is either a survivor or knows someone who is. That’s the unacceptable truth.”

I was riveted. Gideon was a consummate orator, his vibrant baritone mesmerizing. But it was the topic, which hit so close to home, and his passionate and sometimes shocking way of discussing it, that moved me. I began to thaw, my bewildered fury and damaged self-confidence subverted by wonder. My view of him shifted, altering as I became simply another individual in a rapt audience. He wasn’t the man who’d so recently hurt my feelings; he was just a skilled speaker discussing a subject that was deeply important to me.

When he finished, I stood and applauded, catching both him and myself by surprise. But others quickly joined me in the standing ovation and I heard the buzz of conversations around me, the quietly voiced compliments that were well deserved.

“You’re a fortunate young lady.”

I turned to look at the woman who spoke, a lovely redhead who appeared to be in her early forties. “We’re just…friends.”

Her serene smile somehow managed to argue with me.

People began stepping away from their tables. I was about to grab my clutch so I could leave for home when a young man came up to me. His wayward auburn hair inspired instant envy and his eyes of grayish-green were soft and friendly. Handsome and sporting a boyish grin, he lured the first genuine smile out of me since the ride over in the limousine.

“Hello there,” he said.

He seemed to know who I was, which put me in the awkward position of pretending I wasn’t clueless as to who he was. “Hello.”

He laughed, and the sound was light and charming. “I’m Christopher Vidal, Gideon’s brother.”

“Oh, of course.” My face heated. I couldn’t believe I’d been so lost in my own pity party that I hadn’t made the connection at once.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m sorry.” I offered a sheepish smile. “Not sure how to say I read an article about you without sounding awkward.”

He laughed. “I’m flattered you remembered it. Just don’t tell me it was in Page Six.”

The gossip column was notorious for getting the goods on New York celebrities and socialites. “No,” I said quickly. “
Rolling Stone,
maybe?”

“I can live with that.” He extended his arm to me. “Would you like to dance?”

I glanced over to where Gideon was standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the stage. He was surrounded by people eager to talk to him, many of whom were women.

“You can see he’ll be awhile,” Christopher said, with a note of amusement.

“Yes.” I was about to look away when I recognized the woman standing next to Gideon—Magdalene Perez.

I picked up my clutch and managed a smile for Christopher. “I’d love to dance.”

Arm-in-arm we headed into the ballroom and stepped onto the dance floor. The band began the first strains of a waltz and we moved easily, naturally into the music. He was a skilled dancer, agile and confident in his lead.

“So, how do you know Gideon?”

“I don’t.” I nodded at Cary when he glided by with a statuesque blonde. “I work in the Crossfire and we’ve run into each other once or twice.”

“You work for him?”

“No. I’m an assistant at Waters Field and Leaman.”

“Ah.” He grinned. “Ad agency.”

“Yes.”

“Gideon must really be into you to go from meeting you once or twice to dragging you out on a date like this.”

I cursed inwardly. I’d known assumptions would be made, but I wanted more than ever to avoid further humiliation. “Gideon’s acquainted with my mother and she’d already arranged for me to come, so it’s just a matter of two people going to the same event in one car rather than two.”

“So you’re available?”

I took a deep breath, feeling uncomfortable despite how fluidly we moved together. “Well, I’m not taken.”

Christopher flashed his charismatic boyish grin. “My night just took a turn for the better.”

He filled the rest of the dance with amusing anecdotes about the music industry that made me laugh and took my mind off Gideon.

When the dance ended, Cary was there to take the next one. We danced very well as a couple because we’d taken lessons together. I relaxed into his hold, grateful to have him as moral support.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” I asked him.

“I pinched myself during dinner when I realized I was sitting next to the top coordinator for Fashion Week. And she flirted with me!” He smiled, but his eyes were haunted. “Whenever I find myself in places like this…dressed like this…I can’t believe it. You saved my life, Eva. Then you changed it completely.”

“You save my sanity all the time. Trust me, we’re even.”

His hand tightened on mine, his gaze hardening. “You look miserable. How’d he fuck up?”

“I think I did that. We’ll talk about it later.”

“You’re afraid I’ll kick his ass here in front of everyone.”

I sighed. “I’d rather you didn’t, for my mom’s sake.”

Cary pressed his lips briefly to my forehead. “I warned him earlier. He knows it’s coming.”

“Oh, Cary.” Love for him tightened my throat even as reluctant amusement curved my lips. I should’ve known Cary would give Gideon a big brother threat of some sort. That was just so like him.

Gideon appeared beside us. “I’m cutting in.”

It wasn’t a request.

Cary stopped and looked at me. I nodded. He backed away with a bow, his gaze hot and fierce on Gideon’s face.

Gideon pulled me close and took over the dance the way he took over everything—with dominant confidence. It was an entirely different experience dancing with him than with my two previous partners. Gideon had both the expertise of his brother and Cary’s familiarity with the way my body moved, but Gideon had a bold, aggressive style that was inherently sexual.

It didn’t help that being so close to a man I’d so recently been intimate with seduced my senses despite my unhappiness. He smelled scrumptious, with undertones of sex, and the way he led me through the bold sweeping steps made me feel the soreness deep inside me, reminding me that he’d been there not long ago.

“You keep running off,” he muttered, scowling down at me.

“Seemed like Magdalene picked up the slack quick enough.”

His brow arched and he drew me closer. “Jealous?”

“Seriously?” I looked away.

He made a frustrated noise. “Stay away from my brother, Eva.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

My temper ignited, which felt good after all the self-recrimination and doubts I’d been drowning in since we’d screwed like feral bunnies. I decided to see if turnabout was fair play in Gideon Cross’s world. “Stay away from Magdalene, Gideon.”

His jaw tightened. “She’s just a friend.”

“Meaning you haven’t slept with her…? Yet.”

“No, damn it. And I don’t want to. Listen—” The music wound down and he slowed. “I have to go. I brought you here, and I would prefer to be the one who takes you home, but I don’t want to pull you away if you’re enjoying yourself. Would you rather stick around and go home with Stanton and your mother?”

Enjoying myself? Was he kidding or clueless? Or worse. Maybe he’d written me off so completely that he wasn’t paying attention to me at all.

I pushed away from him, needing the distance. His scent was messing with my head. “I’ll be fine. Forget about me.”

“Eva.” He reached for me and I stepped back quickly.

An arm came around my back and Cary spoke. “I’ve got her, Cross.”

“Don’t get in my way, Taylor,” Gideon warned.

Cary snorted. “I get the impression you’re doing a smokin’ job of that all by yourself.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “You gave a wonderful speech, Gideon. It was the highlight of my evening.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at the implied insult; then shoved a hand through his hair. Abruptly, he cursed and I realized why when he pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen.