“What do you mean by lately?”
“Since I met Eva.”
He jotted something down with his stylus. “You’re facing unfamiliar pressures as you work on your relationship with Eva, but the frequency of your nightmares is lessening—at least for now. Do you have any thoughts as to why?”
“I thought you were supposed to be explaining that to me.”
Dr. Petersen smiled. “I can’t wave a magic wand and give you all the answers, Gideon. I can only help you sort through it.”
I was tempted to wait for him to say more, make him do most of the talking. But the thought of Eva and her hopes that therapy was going to make some sort of difference goaded me to speak. I’d promised to try, so I would. To a degree. “Things are smoothing out for us. We’re in sync more than we’re not.”
“Do you feel that you’re communicating better?”
“I think we’re better at gauging the motives behind each other’s actions. We understand each other more.”
“Your relationship has moved very quickly. You’re not an impulsive man, but many would say marrying a woman you’ve known such a short time—and one you admit you’re still getting to know—is extremely impulsive.”
“Is there a question there?”
“An observation.” He waited a moment, but when I didn’t say anything, he went on. “It can be difficult for spouses of individuals with Eva’s history. Her commitment to therapy has helped both of you; however, it’s likely she’ll continue to change in ways you may not expect. It will be stressful for you.”
“I’m no picnic myself,” I said dryly.
“You’re a survivor of a different sort. Have you ever felt that your nightmares were aggravated by stress?”
The question irritated me. “What does it matter? They happen.”
“You don’t feel there are changes that can be made to lessen their impact?”
“I just got married. That’s a major life change, wouldn’t you say, Doctor? I think that’s enough for now.”
“Why must there be a limit? You’re a young man, Gideon. You have a variety of options available to you. Change doesn’t have to be something avoided. What’s the harm in trying something new? If it doesn’t work out, you always have the option to go back to what you were doing before.”
I found that wryly amusing. “Sometimes, you can’t go back.”
“Let’s try a simple change now,” Dr. Petersen said, setting his tablet aside. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I found myself standing when he did, not wanting to be seated while he towered above me. We stood face-to-face with the coffee table between us. “Why?”
“Why not?” He gestured toward the door. “My office may not be the best place for us to talk. You’re a man used to being in charge. In here, I am. So we’ll level the playing field and hit the hallway for a bit. It’s a public space, but most of the individuals who work in this building have gone home.”
I exited his office before him, watching as he locked both his inner and outer office doors before joining me.
“Ah, well. This is certainly different,” he said, his mouth curving wryly. “Knocks me off my stride a bit.”
I shrugged and started walking.
“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” he asked, falling into step beside me.
“An hour with my trainer.” And then I said more. “My stepfather is coming over later.”
“To spend time with you and Eva? Are you close to him?”
“No, to both.” I stared straight ahead. “Something’s wrong. That’s the only reason he ever calls me.”
I sensed his gaze on my profile. “Do you wish that were different?”
“No.”
“You don’t like him?”
“I don’t dislike him.” I was going to leave it at that, but again I thought of Eva. “We just don’t know each other very well.”
“You could change that.”
I huffed out a laugh. “You’re really pushing that angle tonight.”
“I told you, I don’t have an angle.” He stopped, forcing me to stop, too.
Tipping his chin up, he eyed the ceiling, clearly thinking. “When you’re considering an acquisition or exploring a new avenue of doing business, you bring in people to advise you, right? Experts in their respective fields?” He looked at me again, smiling. “You could think of me the same way, as an expert consultant.”
“On what?”
“Your past.” He resumed walking. “I help you with that, you can figure out the rest of your life yourself.”
—
“GET your head in the game, Cross.”
My gaze narrowed. Across the mat, James Cho hopped on his bare feet, taunting me. He grinned evilly, knowing the unspoken challenge would spur me on. Half a foot shorter than me and lighter by at least thirty pounds, the former MMA champion was lethally quick and had the belt to prove it.
Rolling my shoulders back, I adjusted my stance. My fists came up, closing the opening that had allowed his last punch to connect with my torso.
“Make it worth my while, Cho,” I fired back, irritated that he was right. My brain was still back in Dr. Petersen’s office. A switch had been thrown tonight and I couldn’t get a handle on what it was or what it meant.
James and I circled, feinting and striking out, neither of us scoring a hit. As always, it was just the two of us in the dojo. The driving beat of taiko drums rumbled in the background from speakers cleverly hidden in the floor-to-ceiling bamboo paneling.
“You’re still holding back,” he said. “Falling in love turn you into a pussy?”
“You wish. Only way you’d beat me.”
James laughed, then came at me with a roundhouse kick. I dropped low and swept him, taking him down. He scissored his legs with lightning speed, taking me down with him.
We hopped back up. Squared off again.
“You’re wasting my time,” he snapped, his fist lashing out.
I ducked to the side. My left fist shot out, grazing his side. His fist hit my ribs straight on.
“No one piss you off today?” He came at me in a rush, giving me no option to do anything but defend myself.
I growled. Rage was simmering in the back of my mind, tucked away until I had the time and attention to deal with it.
“Yeah. I see that fire in your eyes, Cross. Let it out, man. Bring it on.”
She’s the chink in your armor . . .
I lashed out with a left/right combo, driving James back a step.
“That all you got?” he jeered.
I feigned a kick and then threw out a punch, snapping his head back.
“Fuck yeah,” he gasped, flexing his arms, getting pumped. “There you are.”
She bleeds . . .
Snarling, I lunged forward.
—
REFRESHED from a shower, I had barely finished dressing by pulling a T-shirt over my head when my smartphone started ringing. I picked it up off the bed where I’d left it and answered.
“A couple things,” Raúl said after greeting me, the background noise of a crowd and music quickly fading, then disappearing completely. “I’ve noticed that Benjamin Clancy is still keeping an eye on Mrs. Cross. Not constantly, but consistently.”
“Is that so,” I said quietly.
“Are you good with that? Or should I talk to him?”
“I’ll deal with him.” Clancy and I were due for a chat. It had been on my list, but I would move it up.
“Also—and you may know this already—Mrs. Cross had lunch with Ryan Landon and some of his executives today.”
I felt that terrible quiet settle over me. Landon. Fuck.
He’d slid in somewhere I hadn’t been watching.
“Thank you, Raúl. I’ll need a private number for Eva’s boss, Mark Garrity.”
“I’ll text it to you when I have it.”
Ending the call, I shoved the phone in my pocket, barely resisting the urge to throw it at the
wall instead.
Arash had warned me about Landon and I’d brushed his concerns off. I’d been focused on my life, my wife, and while Landon had a wife of his own, his primary focus had always been me.
The ringing of the penthouse phone jolted me. I went to the receiver on the nightstand and answered with an impatient, “Cross.”
“Mr. Cross. It’s Edwin at the front desk. Mr. Vidal is here to see you.”
Jesus. My grip tightened on the receiver. “Send him up.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
Grabbing my socks and shoes, I carried them out to the living room and pulled them on. As soon as Chris left, I was heading home to Eva. I wanted to open a bottle of wine, find one of the older movies she knew by heart, and just listen to her recite the corny lines of dialogue. No one could make me laugh like she did.
I heard the elevator car arrive and pushed to my feet, running a hand through my damp hair. I was tense and despised the weakness.
“Gideon.” Chris paused on the threshold of the foyer, looking grim and worn, which he so rarely did and only then because of my brother. “Is Eva here?”
“She’s at her place. I’m heading over there when you leave.”
He gave a jerky nod, his jaw working but nothing coming out of his mouth.
“Come in,” I said, gesturing at the wingback chair by the coffee table. “Can I get you something to drink?”
God knew I needed one myself after the day I’d had so far.
He stepped wearily into my living room. “Anything strong would be great.”
“Sounds good to me.” I went to the kitchen and poured us both a glass of Armagnac. As I was setting the decanter down, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a message from Eva.
It was a selfie of her bare leg glistening with water and draped over the rim of her bathtub with candles in the background. Join me?
I swiftly revised my plans for the evening. She’d been sending me provocative texts all day. I was more than happy to both satisfy and reward her.
I saved the photo and typed back. Wish I could. Promise to make you wet again when I get there.
Tucking my phone away, I turned and found Chris joining me at the island. I slid a tumbler over to him and took a sip from mine. “What’s going on, Chris?”
He sighed, both of his hands wrapping around the crystal. “We’re going to reshoot the ‘Golden’ video.”
“Oh?” That was an unnecessary expense, something Chris wisely avoided as a rule.
“I overheard Kline and Christopher arguing in the offices yesterday,” he said gruffly, “and got the story. Kline wants a redo and I agreed.”
“Christopher doesn’t, I’m sure.” I leaned back against the counter, my jaw set. Apparently, Brett Kline had some serious feelings for Eva after all. I wasn’t okay with that. Not even close.
“Your brother will get over it.”
I doubted that, but it would do no good to say so.
But Chris read what I didn’t say and gave a nod. “I know the video has caused stress for you and Eva. I should’ve been paying more attention.”
“I appreciate you being flexible about it.”
He stared into his glass and then took a long drink, nearly downing the contents in a single swallow. “I’ve left your mother.”
I took a quick, deep breath, grasping that the reason for his visit had nothing to do with work. “Ireland told me you two had a fight.”
“Yeah. I hate that Ireland had to hear it.” He looked at me, and I saw the knowledge in his eyes. The horror. “I didn’t know, Gideon. I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
My heart jerked in my chest, then began to pound. My mouth went dry.
“I, uh, went to see Terrence Lucas.” Chris’s voice grew hoarse. “Barged into his office. He denied it, the lying son of a bitch, but I could see it on his face.”
The brandy sloshed in my glass. I set it down carefully, feeling the floor shift under my feet. Eva had confronted Lucas, but Chris . . . ?
“I decked him, knocked him out cold, but God . . . I wanted to take one of those awards on his shelves and bash his head in.”
“Stop.” The word broke from my throat like slivers of glass.
“And the asshole who did . . . That asshole is dead. I can’t get to him. Goddamn it.” Chris dropped the tumbler onto the granite with a thud, but it was the sob that tore out of him that nearly shattered me. “Hell, Gideon. It was my job to protect you. And I failed.”
“Stop!” I pushed off the counter, my hands clenching. “Don’t fucking look at me like that!”
He trembled visibly, but didn’t back down. “I had to tell you—”
His wrinkled dress shirt was in my fists, his feet dangling above the floor. “Stop talking. Now!”
Tears slipped down his face. “I love you like my own. Always have.”
I shoved him away. Turned my back to him when he stumbled and hit the wall. I left, crossing the living room without seeing it.
“I’m not expecting your forgiveness,” he called after me, tears clogging his words. “I don’t deserve it. But you need to hear that I would’ve ripped him apart with my bare hands if I’d known.”
I rounded on him, feeling the sickness clawing up from my gut and burning my throat. “What the fuck do you want?”
Chris pulled his shoulders back. He faced me with reddened eyes and wet cheeks, shaking but too stupid to run. “I want you to know that you’re not alone.”
Alone. Yes. Far away from the pity and guilt and pain staring out at me through his tears. “Get out.”
Nodding, he headed toward the foyer. I stood immobile, my chest heaving, my eyes burning. Words backed up in my throat; violence pounded in the painful clench of my fists.
He stopped before he left the room, facing me. “I’m glad you told Eva.”
“Don’t talk about her.” I couldn’t bear to even think of her. Not now, when I was so close to losing it.
He left.
The weight of the day crashed onto my shoulders, dropping me to my knees.
I broke.
14
I WAS DREAMING of a private beach and naked Gideon when I was jerked awake by the sound of my phone ringing. Rolling to my side, I thrust my arm out and smacked around on the top of my nightstand, trying to find my smartphone in the dark. My fingers brushed against the familiar shape and I grabbed it, sitting up.
Ireland’s face lit up my screen. I frowned and glanced at the space beside me in the bed. Gideon wasn’t home. Of course, he could’ve found me sleeping and gone next door to go to bed . . .
“Hello?” I answered, noting that the time on the cable box said it was after eleven o’clock.
“Eva. It’s Chris Vidal. I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m worried about Gideon. Is he all right?”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with Gideon?”
There was a pause. “You haven’t talked to him tonight?”
I slid out of bed and turned on the lamp. “No. I fell asleep. What’s going on?”
He cursed with an intensity that made the hairs rise on my arms. “I met with him earlier about . . . the things you told me. He didn’t take it well.”
“Oh my God.” I spun around blindly. Something to wear. I needed something to put on over the racy teddy I’d planned to seduce Gideon with.
“You have to find him, Eva,” he said urgently. “He needs you now.”
“I’m going.” I tossed the phone on my bed and yanked a wool trench coat out of my closet before racing out of my room. I grabbed the keys to the next-door apartment from my purse and ran down the hall. Fumbling with the deadbolt, I took too long to open the door.
The place was as shadowy and silent as a tomb, the rooms empty.
“Where are you?” I cried into the darkness, feeling the scratch of panicked tears in my throat.
I ended up back in my apartment, my fingers trembling as I opened the app on my smartphone that would trac
k his.
He didn’t take it well.
God. Of course, he didn’t. He hadn’t taken it well when I’d told Chris initially. Gideon had been furious. Aggressive. He’d had a horrible nightmare.
The blinking red dot on the map was right where I was hoping it would be. “The penthouse.”
I shoved my feet into flip-flops and hurried back out to my purse.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Cary asked from the kitchen, jolting me.
“Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me!”
He sauntered up to the breakfast bar in just his Grey Isles boxer briefs, his chest and neck glistening with sweat. Since the air-conditioning was working fine and Trey was spending the night, I knew exactly how and why Cary was overheated.
“It’s a good thing I did—you can’t go out like that,” he drawled.
“Watch me.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed toward the door.
“You’re a freak, baby girl,” he shouted after me. “A woman after my own heart!”
—
GIDEON’S doorman didn’t bat an eye when I climbed out of the back of the taxi in front of his building. Of course, the man had seen me in worse shape before. So had the concierge, who smiled and greeted me by name as if I didn’t look like a crazy homeless person. Albeit one in a Burberry coat.
I walked as fast as I could in flip-flops to the private penthouse elevator, waited for it to descend to me, then keyed in the code. It was a straight shot up, but the ride felt endless. I wished I could pace the confines of the small, elegantly appointed car. My worried face stared back at me from the spotless mirrors.
Gideon hadn’t called. Hadn’t sent me a text after the flirtatious one promising me a steamy night. Hadn’t come to me, even if only to sleep next door. Gideon didn’t like being away from me.
Except when he was hurting. And ashamed.
The elevator doors slid open and pounding, screaming heavy metal music poured in. I cringed and covered my ears, the volume of the ceiling-mounted speakers so loud it hurt to hear them.
Pain. Fury. The raging violence of the music crashed over me. I ached deep in my chest. I knew. I understood. The song was an audible manifestation of what Gideon felt inside himself and couldn’t let out.