Bared to You: A Crossfire Novel Page 7

  “You don’t like the sweater?” He was pissy, his words coming clipped and fast.

  My hands flexed restlessly in my lap. “I love the sweater, but I also like the suits.”

  He stared at me a minute, and then nodded. “How was your date with B.O.B.?”

  Oh hell. I looked away. It was a lot easier talking about masturbation over the phone. Doing it while squirming under that piercing blue stare was mortifying. “I don’t kiss and tel .”

  He brushed the backs of his fingers over my cheek and murmured, “You’re blushing.”

  I heard the amusement in his voice and swiftly changed topics. “Do you come here often?” Shit. Where did that clichéd line come from?

  His hand dropped to my lap and caught one of mine, his fingers curling into my palm. “When necessary.”

  A quick stab of jealousy made me stiffen. I glared at him, even though I was mad at myself for caring either way. “What does that mean? When you’re on the prowl?”

  Gideon’s mouth curved into a genuine smile that hit me hard. “When expensive decisions need to be made. I own this club, Eva.”

  Of course he did. Jeez.

  A pretty waitress set two pinkish-colored iced drinks in square tumblers on the table. She looked at Gideon and gave him a flirtatious smile. “Here you go, Mr.

  Cross. Two Stoli Elites and cranberry. Can I get you anything else?”

  “That’l be al for now. Thanks.”

  I could total y see that she wanted to get on the preapproved list and I bristled at that; then I was distracted by what we’d been served. It was my beverage of choice when clubbing and what I’d been drinking al night. My nerves tingled. I watched him take a drink, swirl it around in his mouth like a fine wine, and then swal ow it. The working of his throat made me hot, but that was nothing compared to what the intensity of his stare did to me.

  “Not bad,” he murmured. “Tel me if we made it right.”

  He kissed me. He moved in fast, but I saw it coming and didn’t turn away. His mouth was cold and flavored with alcohol-laced cranberry. Delicious. Al the chaotic emotion and energy that had been writhing around inside me abruptly became too much to contain. I shoved a hand in his glorious hair and clenched it tight, holding him stil as I sucked on his tongue. His groan was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard, making the flesh between my legs tighten viciously.

  Shocked by the fury of my reaction, I wrenched away, gasping.

  Gideon fol owed, nuzzling the side of my face, his lips brushing over my ear. He was breathing hard, too, and the sound of the ice in his tumbler clinking against the glass skittered across my inflamed senses.

  “I need to be inside you, Eva,” he whispered roughly.

  “I’m aching for you.”

  My gaze fel to my drink on the table, my thoughts swirling around in my head, a clusterfuck of impressions and recol ections and confusion. “How did you know?”

  His tongue traced the shel of my ear and I shivered.

  It felt like every cel in my body was straining toward his. Resisting him took an impossible amount of energy, draining me and making me feel tired.

  “Know what?” he asked.

  “What I like to drink? What Cary’s name is?” He inhaled deeply, and then pul ed away. Setting his drink down, he shifted on the sofa and drew a knee up onto the cushion between us so that he faced me directly. His arm once again draped over the sofa back, his fingertips drawing circles on the curve of my shoulder. “You visited another of my clubs earlier. Your credit card popped and your drinks were recorded.

  And Cary Taylor is listed on the rental agreement for your apartment.”

  The room spun. No way… My cel phone. My credit card. My fucking apartment. I couldn’t breathe.

  Between my mother and Gideon, I felt claustrophobic.

  “Eva. Jesus. You’re white as a ghost.” He shoved a glass into my hand. “Drink.”

  It was the Stoli and cranberry. I pounded it, draining the tumbler. My stomach churned for a moment, then settled. “You own the building I live in?” I gasped.

  “Oddly enough, yes.” He moved to sit on the table, facing me, his legs on either side of mine. He took my glass and set it aside; then warmed my chil ed hands with his.

  “Are you crazy, Gideon?”

  His mouth thinned. “Is that a serious question?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is. My mom stalks me, too, and she sees a shrink. Do you have a shrink?”

  “Not presently, but you’re driving me crazy enough to make that a possibility.”

  “So this behavior isn’t normal for you?” My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood rushing past my eardrums. “Or is it?”

  He shoved a hand through his hair, restoring order to the strands I’d mussed when we’d kissed. “I accessed information you voluntarily made available to me.”

  “Not to you! Not for what you used it for! That has to violate some kind of privacy law.” I stared at him, more confused than ever. “Why would you do that?” He had the grace to look disgruntled at least. “So I can figure you out, damn it.”

  “Why don’t you just ask me, Gideon? Is that so fucking hard for people to do nowadays?”

  “It is with you.” He grabbed his drink off the table and tossed back most of it. “I can’t get you alone for more than a few minutes at a time.”

  “Because the only thing you want to talk about is what you have to do to get laid!”

  “Christ, Eva,” he hissed, squeezing my hand. “Keep your voice down!”

  I studied him, taking in every line and plane of his face. Unfortunately, cataloging the details didn’t lessen my awe even a tiny bit. I was beginning to suspect I’d never get over being dazzled by his looks.

  And I wasn’t alone; I’d seen how other women reacted around him. And he was crazy rich, which made even old, bald, and paunchy guys attractive. It was no wonder he was used to snapping his fingers and scoring an orgasm.

  His gaze darted over my face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “About what?” His jaw tightened. “And I’m warning you, if you say anything about orifices, preapprovals, or seminal emissions, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

  That almost made me smile. “I want to understand a few things, because I think it’s possible I’m not giving you enough credit.”

  “I’d like to understand a few things myself,” he muttered.

  “I’m guessing the ‘I want to fuck you’ approach has a high success rate for you.”

  Gideon’s

  face

  smoothed

  into

  unreadable

  impassivity. “I’m not touching that one, Eva.”

  “Okay. You want to figure out what it’s going to take to get me into bed. Is that why you’re here in this club right now? Because of me? And don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

  His gaze was clear and steady. “I’m here for you, yes. I arranged it.”

  Suddenly the threads the street hawker had been wearing made sense. We’d been hustled by someone on Cross Industries’s payrol . “Did you figure that getting me here would get you laid?”

  His mouth twitched with suppressed amusement.

  “There’s always the hope, but I expected it would take more work than a chance meeting over drinks.”

  “You’re right. So why do it? Why not wait until Monday lunch?”

  “Because you’re out trol ing. I can’t do anything about B.O.B., but I can stop you from picking up some asshole in a bar. You want to score, Eva, I’m right here.”

  “I’m not trol ing. I’m burning off tension after a stressful day.”

  “You’re not the only one.” He fingered one of my silver chandelier earrings. “So you drink and dance when you’re tense. I work on the problem that’s making me tense in the first place.”

  His voice had softened, and it stirred an alarming yearning. “Is that what I am? A problem?”<
br />
  “Absolutely.” But there was a hint of a smile around his lips.

  I knew that was a lot of the appeal for him. Gideon Cross wouldn’t be where he was, at such a young age, if he took “no” graceful y. “What’s your definition of dating?”

  A frown marred the space between his brows.

  “Lengthy social time spent with a woman during which we’re not actively fucking.”

  “Don’t you enjoy the company of women?” The frown turned into a scowl. “Sure, as long as there aren’t any exaggerated expectations or excessive demands on my time. I’ve found the best way to steer clear of those is to have mutual y exclusive sexual relationships and friendships.”

  There

  were

  those

  pesky

  “exaggerated

  expectations” again. Clearly, those were a sticking point with him. “So, you do have female friends?”

  “Of course.” His legs tightened around mine, capturing me. “Where are you going with this?”

  “You segregate sex from the rest of your life. You separate it from friendship, work…everything.”

  “I’ve got good reasons for doing that.”

  “I’m sure you do. Okay, here are my thoughts.” It was difficult concentrating when I was so close to Gideon. “I told you I don’t want to date and I don’t. My job is priority number one and my personal life—as a single woman—is a close second. I don’t want to sacrifice any of that time on a relationship and there’s real y not enough left over to squeeze in anything steady.”

  “I’m right there with you.”

  “But I like sex.”

  “Good. Have it with me.” His smile was an erotic invitation.

  I shoved his shoulder. “I need a personal connection with the men I sleep with. It doesn’t have to be intense or deep, but sex needs to be more than an emotionless transaction for me.”

  “Why?”

  I could tel he wasn’t being flippant. As bizarre as this conversation must be for him, Gideon was taking it seriously. “Cal it one of my quirks, and I’m not saying that lightly. It pisses me off to feel used for sex. I feel devalued.”

  “Can’t you look at it as you using me for sex?”

  “Not with you.” He was too forceful, too demanding.

  A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparked in his eyes as I bared my weakness for him.

  “Besides,” I went on quickly, “that’s semantics. I need an equal exchange in my sexual relationships. Or to have the upper hand.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? You said that real y quickly considering I’m tel ing you I need to combine two things you work so hard to avoid putting together.”

  “I’m not comfortable with it and I don’t claim to understand, but I’m hearing you—it’s an issue. Tel me how to get around it.”

  My breath left me in a rush. I hadn’t expected that.

  He was a man who wanted no complications with his sex and I was a woman who found sex complicated, but he wasn’t giving up. Yet.

  “We need to be friendly, Gideon. Not best buds or confidants, but two people who know more about each other than their anatomy. To me, that means we have to spend time together when we’re not actively fucking.

  And I’m afraid we’l have to spend time not actively fucking in places where we’re forced to restrain ourselves.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

  “Yes. And see, that’s what I mean. I wasn’t giving you credit for that. You should’ve done it in a less creepy manner”—I covered his lips with my fingers when he tried to cut me off—“but I admit you did try to set up a time to talk and I wasn’t helpful.” He nipped my fingers with his teeth, making me yelp and yank my hand away.

  “Hey. What was that for?”

  He lifted my abused hand to his mouth and kissed the hurt, his tongue darting out to soothe. And incite.

  In self-defense, I tugged my hand back to my lap. I stil wasn’t completely confident that we’d worked things out. “Just so you know there are no exaggerated expectations—when you and I spend time together not actively fucking, I won’t think it’s a date. Al right?”

  “That covers it.” Gideon smiled and my decision to be with him solidified for me. His smile was like lightning in the darkness, blinding and beautiful and mysterious, and I wanted him so badly it was physical y painful.

  His hands slid down to cup the backs of my thighs.

  Squeezing gently, he tugged me just a little bit closer.

  The hem of my short black halter dress slipped almost indecently high and his gaze was riveted to the flesh he’d exposed. His tongue wet his lips in an action so carnal and suggestive I could almost feel the caress on my skin.

  Duffy began begging for mercy, her voice drifting up from the dance floor below. An unwelcome ache developed in my chest and I rubbed at it.

  I’d already had enough, but I heard myself saying, “I need another drink.”

  I had a vicious hangover on Saturday morning and figured it was no less than I deserved. As much as I’d resented Gideon’s insistence on negotiating sex with as much passion as he would a merger, in the end I’d negotiated in kind. Because I wanted him enough to take a calculated risk and break my own rules.

  I took comfort in knowing he was breaking some of his own, too.

  After a long, hot shower, I made my way into the living room and found Cary on the couch with his netbook, looking fresh and alert. Smel ing coffee in the kitchen, I headed there and fil ed the biggest mug I could find.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Cary cal ed out.

  With my much-needed dose of caffeine wrapped between both palms, I joined him on the couch.

  He pointed at a box on the end table. “That came for you while you were in the shower.”

  I set my mug on the coffee table and picked up the box. It was wrapped with brown paper and twine, and had my name handwritten diagonal y across the top with a decorative cal igraphic flourish. Inside was an amber glass bottle with Hangover Cure painted on it in a white old-fashioned font and a note tied with raffia to the bottle’s neck that said, “Drink me.” Gideon’s business card was nestled in the cushioning tissue paper.

  As I studied the gift, I found it very apt. Since meeting Gideon I’d felt like I’d fal en down the rabbit hole into a fascinating and seductive world where few of the known rules applied. I was in uncharted territory that was both exciting and scary.

  I glanced at Cary, who eyed the bottle dubiously.

  “Cheers.” I pried the cork out and drank the contents without thinking twice about it. It tasted like sickly sweet cough syrup. My stomach quivered in distaste for a moment, and then heated. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shoved the cork back into the empty bottle.

  “What was that?” Cary asked.

  “From the burn, it’s hair of the dog.”

  His nose wrinkled. “Effective but unpleasant.” And it was working. I already felt a little steadier.

  Cary picked up the box and dug out Gideon’s card.

  He flipped it over; then held it out to me. On the back Gideon had written, “Call me” in bold slashing penmanship and jotted down a number.

  I took the card, curling my hand around it. His gift was proof that he was thinking about me. His tenacity and focus was seductive. And flattering.

  There was no denying I was in trouble where Gideon was concerned. I craved the way I felt when he touched me, and I loved the way he responded when I touched him back. When I tried to think of what I wouldn’t agree to do to have his hands on me again, I couldn’t come up with much.

  When Cary tried to hand me the phone, I shook my head. “Not yet. I need a clear head when dealing with him and I’m stil fuzzy.”

  “You two seemed cozy last night. He’s definitely into you.”

  “I’m definitely into him.” Curling into the corner of the couch, I pressed my cheek into the cushion and hugged my legs to my chest. “We’re going to hang
out, get to know each other, have casual-but-physical y-intense

  sex,

  and

  be

  otherwise

  completely

  independent. No strings, no expectations, no responsibilities.”

  Cary hit a button on his netbook and the printer on the other side of the room started spitting out pages.

  Then he snapped the computer closed, set it on the coffee table, and gave me al his attention. “Maybe it’l turn into something serious.”

  “Maybe not , ” I scoffed.

  “Cynic.”

  “I’m not looking for happily-ever-after, Cary, especial y not with a mega-mogul like Cross. I’ve seen what it’s like for my mom being connected to powerful men. It’s a ful -time job with a part-time companion.

  Money keeps Mom happy, but it wouldn’t be enough for me.”

  My dad had loved my mom. He’d asked her to marry him and share his life. She’d turned him down because he didn’t have the hefty portfolio and sizeable bank account she required in a husband. Love wasn’t a requisite for marriage in Monica Stanton’s opinion and since her sultry-eyed, breathy-voiced beauty was irresistible to most men, she’d never had to settle for less than whatever she wanted. Unfortunately she hadn’t wanted my dad for the long haul.

  Glancing at the clock, I saw it was ten thirty. “I guess I should get ready.”

  “I love spa day with your mom.” Cary smiled and it chased the lingering shadows on my mood away. “I feel like a god when we’re done.”

  “Me, too. Of the goddess persuasion.”

  We were so eager to be off that we went downstairs to meet the car rather than wait for the front desk to cal up.

  The doorman smiled as we stepped outside—me in heeled sandals and a maxi dress, and Cary in hip-hugging jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “Good morning, Miss Tramel . Mr. Taylor. Wil you need a cab today?”

  “No thanks, Paul. We’re expecting a car.” Cary grinned. “It’s spa day at Perrini’s!”

  “Ah, Perrini’s Day Spa.” Paul gave a sage nod. “I bought my wife a gift certificate for our anniversary.

  She enjoyed it so much I plan to make it a tradition.”