We were both steering each other in directions that were uncomfortable. She chose to believe an educated observer was part of the answer we were looking for. I believed we could find a lot of the answers on our own, just the two of us connecting in the most intimate ways possible.
Sexual healing. What could be more perfect for two people who had the history Eva and I shared?
Eva accepted the wine I handed her. “When did you buy that?”
“A week ago. Maybe two. I had no expectation of using it soon, but you made me want to today.” I took a sip, letting the shiraz roll around my tongue. “That said, I’m perfectly happy with just fucking you hard.”
The wine sloshed a little in her glass as she lifted it to her mouth. She gulped it down, leaving a few drops in the bottom. “Because you’re mad at me for talking to Chris.”
“I told you I wasn’t.”
“You were furious when we left.”
“Furiously turned on.” I smiled wryly. “I can’t explain why, because I don’t understand it myself.”
“Try.”
I reached up and brushed the pad of my thumb over her lips. “I see you angry, passionate, ready to fight, and I want all that violence trapped beneath me. You make me want to hold you down, clawing and screaming, your cunt milking my cock as I pound it into you. Mine. All mine.”
“Gideon.” She set her glass aside and grabbed me, claiming my mouth with a wild hunger I hoped would never abate.
—
“HOW come you never told Chris about what happened with Hugh?”
That unwelcome question came out of the fucking blue. I paused midchew, suddenly finding the bite of pizza in my mouth unappetizing. Dropping what was left of my slice onto the plate in front of me, I grabbed a napkin and wiped my mouth. “Why are we discussing this again?”
Eva frowned at me from where she sat beside me on the floor in between the coffee table and the couch in the living room. “We didn’t talk about it.”
“Didn’t we? In any case, it doesn’t matter. My mother told him.”
Her frown deepened. She reached for the TV remote and lowered the volume, muting the voices of the NYPD detectives on the screen. “I don’t think so.”
I pushed to my feet and grabbed my plate. “She did, Eva.”
“Do you know that for sure?” She followed me into the kitchen.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“They discussed it at the dinner table one night, something I don’t want to do.”
“He acted like he didn’t know.” She braced her hands against the counter as I dropped my leftovers into the trash. “He seemed genuinely confused and horrified.”
“Then he’s as conveniently obtuse as my mother. You shouldn’t be surprised.”
“What if he didn’t know?”
“So what?” I set the plate in the sink, the lingering smell of food making my stomach roil. “What the fuck does it matter now? It’s done, Eva. Done and over with. Let it go.”
“Why are you so mad?”
“Because I was settled in for the night with my wife. Dinner, wine, a little TV, a couple hours making love . . . after a long, rough day.” I left the kitchen. “Forget it. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Gideon, wait.” She grabbed my arm. “Don’t go to bed pissed. Please. I’m sorry.”
I paused and removed her hand from my arm. “So am I.”
—
“START out slow,” he whispers, his lips near my ear.
I can feel him becoming excited. He reaches around my hip to where I’m stroking my penis. His hand covers mine. His breath is quick and shallow. His erection brushes against my buttocks.
My stomach feels sick. I’m sweating. I can’t stay hard, even as my oiled fist slides up and down, guided by his.
“You’re thinking too much,” he tells me. “Concentrate on how good it feels. Look at that woman in front of you. She wants you to fuck her. Imagine how it’d feel to push your cock into her. Soft. Hot. Wet. And tight.” His grip closes harder over mine. “So tight.”
I look at the centerfold spread over the top of my toilet’s water tank. She’s got dark hair and blue eyes, and her legs are long. They always look like that, the women in the pictures Hugh brings.
He pants in my ear, and the sickness is back. Wrong. There’s something wrong with me. This feels wrong. His eagerness makes me feel dirty. Bad. I’m a bad boy, even Mom says so. She yells it at me when she’s crying, when she’s angry with me about Dad.
A low moan cuts through the sound of his heavy breaths. It’s me making that noise. It feels good, even though I don’t want it to.
It’s hard to breathe, to think, to fight . . .
“That’s it,” he coaxes. His other hand pushes between my buttocks.
I try to pull away, but he’s got me trapped. He’s bigger than me, stronger. No matter how I struggle, I can’t push him off.
“Don’t,” I tell him, squirming.
“You like it,” he grunts. His hand pumps me harder. “You shoot off like a geyser every time. It’s okay. It’s supposed to feel good. You’ll be better once you’ve come. You won’t fight with your mother so much . . .”
“No. Don’t! Oh, God . . .”
He pushes two slick fingers inside me. I cry out, writhing away, but he won’t quit. He’s rubbing and thrusting into me, hitting the spot that makes me want to come more than anything. The pleasure grows despite the tears burning my eyes.
My head falls forward. My chin touches my heaving chest. It’s coming. I can’t stop it . . .
Abruptly, I look down from a higher vantage. My hand is suddenly bigger, my forearm thicker and coursing with veins. Dark hair dusts my arms and chest, my abdomen ripples with muscle as I fight the orgasm I don’t want.
I am not a child anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.
There’s a knife atop the centerfold, gleaming in the light from the vanity beside me. I grab it and jerk free of the fingers fucking me. I turn and the blade sinks into his chest.
“Don’t touch me!” I roar, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him into the knife, all the way to the hilt.
Hugh’s eyes widen with horror. His mouth falls open in a silent scream.
His face morphs into Nathan’s. My childhood bathroom shimmers and transforms. We’re in an eerily familiar hotel room.
My heart pounds harder. I can’t be here. They can’t find me here. Can’t find any trace of me. I have to leave.
I stumble back. The knife withdraws in a smooth, blood-soaked glide. Nathan’s eyes turn milky with death. They’re gray. Gray eyes. Beautiful, beloved dove gray irises. Eva’s eyes. Clouding over . . .
Eva is bleeding in front of me. Dying in front of me. I’ve killed her. My God . . .
Angel!
Can’t move. Can’t reach her. She crumples and pools onto the floor, those stormy eyes dull and sightless—
I jerked awake with a gasp, sitting up in a rush that sent an air-conditioned breeze across my sweat-soaked skin. I couldn’t breathe through the panic and fear choking me. Shoving off the sheet tangled around my legs, I stumbled out of bed, blind with terror. My stomach heaved in protest and I lurched into the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before I vomited.
—
I showered, washing away the sticky sweat covering me.
The grief and despair weren’t so easy to get away from. As I scrubbed a dry towel over my skin, they weighed heavily, suffocating me. The memory of Eva’s pale face etched with betrayal and death haunted me. I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I stripped the bed with rough, jerky movements, then yanked a clean fitted sheet over the mattress.
“Gideon.”
I straightened and turned at the sound of Eva’s voice. She stood in the doorway to my bedroom, her hands twisting in the hem of the T-shirt she wore. Regret hit me hard. She’d gone to sleep alone in the room I’d had redesigned to look like her bedroom on the Upper West Side.
 
; “Hey,” she said softly, tentatively, shifting on her feet in a way that told me how uncomfortable she felt. How wary. “Are you okay?”
The light from the bathroom lit her face, revealing dark circles and reddened eyes. She’d fallen asleep crying.
I’d done this to her. I had made her feel unwelcome, unwanted, her thoughts and feelings less of a concern to me than my own. I’d let my past drive a wedge between us.
No, that wasn’t true. I had let my fear push her away.
“No, angel, I’m not.”
She took a single step closer, then stopped herself.
Opening my arms, I said hoarsely, “I’m sorry, Eva.”
She came to me in a rush, her body lush and warm. I held her too tightly, but she didn’t complain. Pressing my cheek to the top of her head, I breathed in her scent. I could face anything—I would face anything—as long as she stayed with me.
“I’m afraid.” My voice was scarcely a whisper, but she heard it.
Her fingers dug into the muscles of my back as she pulled me closer. “Don’t be. I’m here.”
“I’ll try harder,” I promised. “Don’t give up on me.”
“Gideon.” She sighed, her breath soft against my chest. “I love you so much. I just want you to be happy. I’m sorry for pushing you after I said I wouldn’t.”
“It’s my fault. I fucked up. I’m sorry, Eva. So sorry.”
“Shh. You don’t have to apologize.”
I picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down carefully. I crawled into her arms, wrapping myself around her and resting my face against her belly. She ran her fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, then my nape, then my back. Accepting me, despite all my flaws.
The cotton of her T-shirt grew wet with my tears and I curled in tighter, ashamed.
“I love you,” she murmured. “I’ll never stop.”
—
GIDEON.
I stirred at the sound of Eva’s voice, then at the feel of her hand sliding down my chest. Opening my tired, burning eyes, I saw her leaning over me, the room softly lit by the coming dawn, her hair aglow in the meager light.
“Angel?”
She shifted, sliding a leg over me. Rising, she straddled me. “Let’s make today our best ever.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m on board with that plan.”
Her smile rocked my world. She reached for something she’d left on her pillow and a moment later, haunting strains of music piped softly out of the speakers in the ceiling.
It took me a moment to recognize it. “Ave Maria.”
She touched my face, her fingertips gliding over my brow. “Okay?”
I wanted to answer her, but my throat was too tight. I could only nod. How could I tell her it felt like a dream, a breathtaking heaven I didn’t deserve?
She reached behind her to push the sheet below my hips and out of the way. Her arms crossed her torso to pull her shirt up and over her head. She threw it aside.
Awed, I struggled for my voice. “God, you’re beautiful,” I said hoarsely.
My hands lifted, gliding over the plush curves and valleys of her voluptuous body. I sat up and dug my heels into the bed, pushing us backward until I was leaning against the headboard. My hands went into her hair and down her throat. I could touch her for days and not get my fill.
“I love you,” she said, tilting her head to take my mouth in a hot, demanding kiss.
I let her have me, opening to her. Eva licked deep, stroking me with her tongue, her lips soft and wet against mine.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmured, lost to the gently muted music. Lost to her.
“You. Just you.”
“Take me, then,” I told her. “I’m yours.”
—
“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Cross,” Arash said, his fingers drumming on the armrest of the chair in front of my desk, “but you’ve lost your killer instinct. Eva’s tamed you.”
I glanced up from my monitor. After spending two hours of my morning making love with my wife, I could concede that I wasn’t feeling particularly aggressive. Slaked and relaxed was more apt. Still . . . “Just because I don’t think LanCorp’s PhazeOne gaming system is a threat to the GenTen doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention.”
“You’re aware,” he corrected, “which isn’t the same as paying attention, and I guarantee Ryan Landon has noticed. You used to do something every week or two to poke at him, which—for better or worse—gave him something to do.”
“Wasn’t it just last week that we closed the PosIT deal?”
“That’s reactive, Cross. You need to make a move he didn’t prompt.”
My office phone started ringing on the line synced to my smartphone. Ireland’s name popped up on the screen and I reached for the receiver. “I have to take this.”
“Of course you do,” he muttered.
I narrowed my eyes at him as I answered. “Ireland, how are you?”
It wasn’t like my sister to call. We usually texted back and forth, a form of communication we were both comfortable with. No awkward silences, no need to fake cheeriness or ease.
“Hey, sorry to call you in the middle of the day.” Her voice was off.
I frowned, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Ireland paused. “Maybe now’s not a good time.”
I cursed inwardly. Eva had similar reactions when I was too brusque. The women in my life needed to cut me some slack. I had a big learning curve when it came to social interactions. “You sound upset.”
“So do you,” she shot back.
“You can call Eva and complain about it to her. She’ll sympathize. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
She sighed. “Mom and Dad were fighting all night. I don’t know what about, but Dad was yelling. He never yells, you know that. He’s the most laid-back guy ever. Nothing gets to him. And Mom hates fighting. She’s a conflict avoider.”
Her astuteness both startled and impressed me. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“Dad took off early this morning and Mom’s been crying ever since. Do you know what’s going on? Is it about Eva and you getting married?”
A strange but recognizable quiet settled over me. I didn’t know what to say to her, and I refused to jump to conclusions. “That probably has something to do with it.”
The only thing I knew for certain was that I didn’t want Ireland listening to her parents fighting. I remembered what it had felt like when my parents fought in the days after my dad’s financial fraud had been exposed. I could still feel echoes of the panic and fear. “Is there a friend you can stay with over the weekend?”
“You.”
The suggestion was unnerving. “You want to stay with me?”
“Why not? I’ve never seen your place.”
I stared at Arash, who was watching me. He leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees.
I didn’t know how to refuse, but I couldn’t agree. The only person who’d ever spent the night with me was Eva, and obviously, that hadn’t turned out well.
“Never mind,” she said. “Forget it.”
“No, wait.” Damn it. “Eva and I have plans with friends tonight, that’s all. I’ll need some time to change them.”
“Oh, gotcha.” Her voice softened. “I don’t want to fuck up your plans. I’ve got some friends I can call. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m worried about you. Eva and I can make some adjustments; it’s not a problem.”
“I’m not a kid, Gideon,” she said, clearly exasperated. “I don’t want to hang around your place knowing you and Eva were supposed to be out having fun. That would totally suck, so no thanks. I’d rather chill with my own friends.”
Relief relaxed my spine. “How about dinner on Saturday instead?”
“Yeah? I’m down. Can I stay the night then?”
I had no idea how I was going to manage it. I had to trust that Eva would know what to do. “That can be arranged. Will you
be okay until then?”
“Jeez, listen to you.” She laughed. “You sound like a big brother. I’ll be fine. It was just weird, you know, hearing them going at it. It freaked me out. Most people are probably used to their parents fighting, but I’m not.”
“They’ll be fine. All couples fight eventually.” I said the words, but I was both uneasy and curious.
Eva couldn’t have been right about Chris not knowing. I found that impossible to believe.
—
I’D just finished rolling up the sleeves of my black dress shirt when Eva stepped into the reflection of the mirror. I froze, my gaze raking over her.
She had chosen short shorts, a sheer sleeveless blouse, and high-heeled sandals. She’d pulled her hair up in its usual ponytail, but she had done something to it to make it look wild and bedhead messy. Her eye makeup was dark, her lips pale. Big gold hoops hung from her ears, and bangles decorated her wrists.
I’d woken up to an angel. I would be going to bed with a different woman entirely.
I whistled in appreciation, turning my back to the mirror to take in the real deal. “You look like a bad, bad girl.”
She wiggled her ass and gave a cocky toss of her head. “I am.”
“Come here.”
She eyed me. “I don’t think so. You’ve got the fuck-me look and we have to go.”
“We can be a little late. What would it take to talk you into wearing those shorts just for me?”
I wanted others to want her and know she was mine. I also wanted to keep her all to myself.
Her eyes took on a calculating gleam. “We could renegotiate the hand job.”
Remembering the deal we’d struck—a quickie for a clothed hand job—I realized the shorts were going to make the former a bit more difficult than it could be. As for the latter, I could work something out.
Tilting my head in agreement, I told her, “Put on a skirt, angel, and let’s get this party started.”
—
“WAS this your idea?” Arash asked, when we met him outside the ground-floor entrance to the Starlight Lounge.
Through the lobby glass, I watched a bouncer oversee the number of patrons entering the elevator that would take them to the rooftop. Two more bouncers stood guard at the exterior door, holding back the surging crowd hoping to get in based on their looks, their clothes, and/or their charm.