Bared to You: A Crossfire Novel

Praise for Sylvia Day

“Sylvia Day is the undisputed mistress of tender erotic romance. Her books are a luxury every woman deserves.”

—Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestsel ing author

“Sylvia Day’s writing is stunningly sensual.”

—Jaci Burton, New York Times bestsel ing author

“Un-put-downable.”

—Lauren Dane, New York Times bestsel ing author

“When it comes to brewing up scorchingly hot sexual chemistry, Day has few literary rivals.”

— Booklist

A Touch of Crimson

“Angels and demons, vampires and lycans, al set against an inventive, intriguing story world that hooked me from the first page. Balancing action and romance, humor and hot sensuality, Sylvia Day’s storytel ing dazzles. A Touch of Crimson is a paranormal romance lover’s feast!”

—Lara Adrian, New York Times bestsel ing author

“A Touch of Crimson wil rock readers with a stunning new world, a hot-blooded hero, and a strong, kick-ass heroine.

This is Sylvia Day at the top of her game!”

—Larissa Ione, New York Times bestsel ing author

“Sylvia Day spins a gorgeous adventure in A Touch of Crimson that combines gritty, exciting storytel ing with soaring lyricism. This is definitely a book for your keeper shelf.”

—Angela Knight, New York Times bestsel ing author

“A Touch of Crimson explodes with passion and heat. A hot, sexy angel to die for and a gutsy heroine make for one exciting read!”

—Cheyenne McCray, New York Times bestsel ing author

Pleasures of the Night

“So hot the pages should be on fire!”

—Gena Showalter, New York Times bestsel ing author

“Dreams have never been this hot! Pleasures of the Night sizzles as a romance, enthral s as a paranormal, and captivates with a fantastic cast of characters. I didn’t want the ‘night’ to end!”

—Susan Grant, New York Times bestsel ing author

“Sylvia Day delivers readers to a fantasy world as unique as it is erotic! Ms. Day is an up-and-coming talent in the world of erotic fiction.”

—Toni Blake, award-winning author

Eve of Darkness

“Great characters and terrific storyteling in a hot-blooded adrenaline ride. A keep-you-up-al -night read.”

—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestsel ing author

“Exhilarating adventure in an edgy world of angels and demons…Dynamic and vibrant, Eve is an impressive protagonist, and her fierce spirit and determination to make the best of her circumstances wil keep readers enthral ed.”

— Publishers Weekly

“Eve of Darkness is a sizzling, heart-pounding urban fantasy that thril ed and fascinated me from beginning to end. Eve is a smart, spirited heroine I won’t soon forget!”

—Jeri Smith-Ready, award-winning author

“Gripping, nonstop action and one hel of a heroine.”

—Shiloh Walker, national bestsel ing author

In The Flesh

“Lush, evocative, inventive…Fans of Dara Joy wil love this!”

—Shayla Black, New York Times bestsel ing author

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

BARED TO YOU: A CROSSFIRE NOVEL

Copyright © 2012 by Sylvia Day.

All rights reserved.

Edited by Hilary Sares.

Copyedited by Martha Trachtenberg.

Cover design by Croco Designs.

Interior design by VMC Art & Design, LLC.

Published by Sylvia Day

23905 Clinton Keith

Suite #114-359

Wildomar, CA 92595

www.sylviaday.com

The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

ISBN: 978-0-9828571-9-9

ISBN: 978-0-9851146-0-2 (print)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012900464

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Book Club/Readers' Group Guide

24. Acknowledgments

25. About the Author

This one is for Dr. David Allen Goodwin.

My love and gratitude are boundless.

Thank you, Dave. You saved my life.

My deepest gratitude to my editor, Hilary Sares, who real y dug into this story and made me work for it.

Basical y, she kicked my ass. By not pul ing her punches or letting me shortchange the details, she made me work harder and because of that, this story is a much, much better book.

BARED TO YOU wouldn’t be what it is without you, Hilary. Thank you so much!

To Martha Trachtenberg, copy editor extraordinaire.

This book is an important one for me and she treated it that way. Thank you, Martha!

To Victoria Colotta, for al her hard work on the interior design and typesetting. She took my plain text and made it gorgeous. Thank you, Victoria!

To Tera Kleinfelter, who read the first half of Bared to You and told me she loved it. Thank you, Tera!

To al girls who were at Cross Creek at some point in your adolescence: May all your dreams come true.

You deserve it.

And to Alistair and Jessica, from Seven Years to Sin, who inspired me to write Gideon and Eva’s story.

I’m so glad the inspiration struck twice!

“We should head to a bar and celebrate.” I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic pronouncement. Cary Taylor found excuses to celebrate, no matter how smal and inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of his charm. “I’m sure drinking the night before starting a new job is a bad idea.”

“Come on, Eva.” Cary sat on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking for days, yet he stil looked amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary was a man who rarely looked anything less than absolutely gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have resented that if he hadn’t been the dearest person on earth to me.

“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight.”

“I don’t know if I’l make it back in time.” I gestured at my yoga pants and fitted workout tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the gym.”

“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly executed arched brow made me laugh. I ful y expected his mil ion-dol ar face to appear on bil boards and fashion magazines al over the world one day. No matter his expression, he was a knockout.

“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a substitute. “If I make it through the day, that’l be worth celebrating.”

“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”

“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it wasn’t one of his talents. “Great.”

Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face, he grinned at me. “We’ve got a kitchen most restaurants would kil for. There’s no way to screw up a meal in there.”

Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation about cooking. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I stepped outside, the smel s and sounds of Manhattan embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the country from my former home in San Diego, but seemingly worlds away. Two major metropolises—one endlessly temperate and sensual y lazy, the other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my dreams, I’d imagining living in a walkup in Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found myself on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Cary living with me, I would’ve been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month than most people made in a year.

The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Tramel . Wil you need a cab this evening?”

“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my fitness shoes. “I’l be walking.” He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon.

Should be nice.”

“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather before it gets wicked hot.”

“Very good advice, Miss Tramel .”

Stepping out from under the modern glass entrance overhang that somehow meshed with the age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but for now I stil felt like a fraudulent New Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I was stil wary of the subway and had trouble hailing cabs. I tried not to walk around wide-eyed and distracted, but it was hard. There was just so much to see and experience.

The sensory input was astonishing—the smel of vehicle exhaust mixed with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus Christ. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I’d ever seen anywhere.

There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part the flood of yel ow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruised right through it al , their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the steam bil owing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic delight and they didn’t blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath their feet as the subway roared by below, while I grinned like an idiot and flexed my toes. New York was a brand new love affair for me.

I was starry-eyed and it showed.

So I had to real y work at playing it cool as I made my way over to the building where I would be working.

As far as my job went, at least, I’d gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on my own merits and that meant an entry-level position. Starting the next morning, I would be the assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard Stanton, had been annoyed when I took the job, pointing out that if I’d been less prideful I could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and reaped the benefits of that connection.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said. “It’l take him forever to pay off your student loans on a cop’s salary.”

That had been a major fight, with my dad unwil ing to back down. “Hel if another man’s gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Victor Reyes had said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that. I suspected Stanton did, too, although he would never admit it. I understood both men’s sides, because I’d fought to pay off the loans myself…and lost. It was a point of pride for my father. My mother had refused to marry him, but he’d never wavered from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock the short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased when I reached the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in less than thirty minutes.

I tipped my head back and fol owed the line of the building al the way up to the slender ribbon of sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds. I knew from my previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper-framed revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined marble floors and wal s, and brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.

I pul ed my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and held it up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stopped me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door. Score.

I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautiful y groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spil ing a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rol ed merrily away, and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman col ect her money, as did one of the guards.

“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.” I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I ran into a pair of luxurious black oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited a beat for the man to move out of my way and when he didn’t, I arched my neck back to al ow my line of sight to rise.

The custom three-piece suit hit more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the tal , powerful y lean body inside it that made it sensational. Stil , as hot as al that magnificent maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the man’s face that I went down for the count.

Wow. Just… wow.

He sank into an elegant crouch directly in front of me. Hit with al that exquisite masculinity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned.

Then something shifted in the air between us.

As he stared back, he altered…as if a shield slid away from his eyes, revealing a scorching force of wil that sucked the air from my lungs. The intense magnetism he exuded grew in strength, becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant and unrelenting power.

Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward. And sprawled flat on my ass.

My elbows throbbed from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely registered the pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted by the man in front of me. Inky black hair framed a breathtaking face.

His bone structure would make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely blue eyes made him savagely gorgeous.

Those eyes narrowed slightly, his features otherwise schooled into impassivity.

His dress shirt and suit were both black, but his tie perfectly matched those bril iant irises. His eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted to accommodate faster breaths. He smel ed sinful y good. Not cologne.

Body wash, maybe. Or shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering, as was he.

He held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cuff links and a very expensive-looking watch.

With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in his. My pulse leaped when his grip tightened. His touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm that raised the hairs on my nape. He didn’t move for a moment, a frown line marring the space between arrogantly slashed brows.

“Are you al right?”

His voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to mind.

Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment that he might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.

My lips were dry, so I licked them before answering.

“I’m fine.”

He stood with economical grace, pul ing me up with him. We maintained eye contact because I was unable to look away. He was younger than I’d assumed at first.

Younger than thirty would be my guess, but his eyes were much worldlier. Hard and sharply intel igent.

I felt drawn to him, as if a rope bound my waist and he was slowly, inexorably pul ing it.

Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released him. He wasn’t just beautiful; he was…enthral ing. He was the kind of guy that made a woman want to rip his shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I looked at him in his civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.

He bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t realized I’d dropped, freeing me from that provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into gear.

I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while he was so completely self-possessed. And why?

Because I was dazzled, damn it.

He glanced up at me and the pose—him nearly kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium again.

He held my gaze as he rose. “Are you sure you’re al right? You should sit down for a minute.” My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful man I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance. I’m okay.” Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of coins I’d col ected, but her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the man again, finding him watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To him.

Not to me, of course, the one who’d actual y helped.

I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?” He offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without touching him, his fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness into me al over again.

“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting him and pushing out to the street through the revolving door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a breath of New York air redolent with a mil ion different things, some good and some toxic.

There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my gray eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-to-fuck look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.

Christ. Get a grip.

Five minutes with Mr. Dark and Dangerous, and I was fil ed with an edgy, restless energy. I could stil feel the pul of him, the inexplicable urge to go back inside where he was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day?

“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath.

“Moving on.”

Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the intersection seconds before the light changed.

Shouting ensued, a barrage of expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real anger behind them. In seconds al the parties would forget the exchange,

which was just one beat in the natural tempo of the city.

As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah, New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You rock.

I’d planned on warming up on a treadmil , then capping off the hour with a few of the machines, but when I saw that a beginners’ kickboxing class was about to start, I fol owed the mass of waiting students into that instead.

By the time it was over, I felt more like myself. My muscles quivered with the perfect amount of fatigue and I knew I’d sleep hard when I crashed later.

“You did real y wel .”

I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky and sleekly muscular, he had keen brown eyes and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were enviably thick and long, while his head was shaved bald.

“Thank you.” My mouth twisted rueful y. “Pretty obvious it was my first time, huh?”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Parker Smith.”

“Eva Tramel .”

“You have a natural grace, Eva. With a little training you could be a literal knockout. In a city like New York, knowing self-defense is imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard hung on the wal . It was covered in thumbtacked business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he

held it out to me. “Ever heard of Krav Maga?”

“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”

“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my website and the number to the studio.”

I admired his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. I’d wondered if he was angling toward a pickup, but he was cool enough about it that I couldn’t be sure.

Parker crossed his arms, which showed off cut biceps. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and long shorts. His Converse sneakers looked comfortably beat up and tribal tattoos peeked up from his col ar.

“My website has the hours. You should come by and watch, see if it’s for you.”

“I’l definitely think about it.”

“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.” The apartment smel ed fabulous when I got back home and Adele was crooning soulful y through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I looked across the open floor plan into the kitchen and saw Cary swaying to the music while stirring something on the range. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter and two goblets, one of which was half-fil ed with red wine.

“Hey,” I cal ed out as I got closer. “Whatcha cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?” He poured wine into the other goblet and slid it across the breakfast bar to me, his movements practiced and elegant. No one would know from looking at him that he’d spent his childhood bouncing between his drug-addicted mother and foster homes, fol owed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s ready. Have fun?”

“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pul ed out one of the teakwood barstools and sat. I told him about the kickboxing class and Parker Smith. “Wanna go with me?”

“Krav Maga?” Cary shook his head. “That’s hardcore. I’d get al bruised up and that would cost me jobs. But I’l go with you to check it out, just in case this guy’s a wack.”

I watched him dump the pasta into a waiting colander. “A wack, huh?”

My dad had taught me to read guys pretty wel , which was how I’d known the god in the suit was trouble. Regular people offered token smiles when they helped someone, just to make a momentary connection that smoothed the way.

Then again, I hadn’t smiled at him either.

“Baby girl,” Cary said, pul ing bowls out of the cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I question any man who doesn’t have the bal s to ask you outright for a date.”

I wrinkled my nose at him.

He set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and peas. “You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”

Hmm…I caught the handle of the spoon sticking out of the bowl and decided not to comment on the food. “I think I ran into the hottest man on the planet today.

Maybe the hottest man in the history of the world.”

“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tel me more.” Cary stayed on the other side of the counter, preferring to stand and eat.

I watched him take a couple bites of his own concoction before I felt brave enough to try it myself.

“Not much to tel , real y. I ended up sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Crossfire and he gave me a hand up.”

“Tal or short? Blond or dark? Built or lean? Eye color?”

I washed down my second bite with some wine.

“Tal . Dark. Lean and built. Blue eyes. Filthy rich, judging by his clothes and accessories. And he was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot guys don’t make your hormones go crazy, while some unattractive guys have massive sex appeal. This guy had it al .”

My bel y fluttered as it had when Dark and Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I remembered his breathtaking face with crystal clarity. It should be il egal for a man to be that mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying of my brain cel s.

Cary set his elbow on the counter and leaned in, his long bangs covering one vibrant green eye. “So what happened after he helped you up?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I left.”

“What? You didn’t flirt with him?”

I took another bite. Real y, the meal wasn’t bad. Or else I was just starving. “He wasn’t the kind of guy you flirt with, Cary.”

“There is no such thing as a guy you can’t flirt with.

Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then.”

“There was nothing harmless about this guy,” I said dryly.

“Ah, one of those.” Cary nodded sagely. “Bad boys can be fun, if you don’t get too close.” Of course he would know; men and women of al ages fel at his feet. Stil , he somehow managed to pick the wrong partner every time. He’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who threatened to kil themselves over him, and lovers with significant others they didn’t tel him about…Name it, he’d been through it.

“I can’t see this guy ever being fun,” I said. “He was way too intense. Stil , I bet he’d be awesome in the sack with al that intensity.”

“Now you’re talking. Forget the real guy. Just use his face in your fantasies and make him perfect there.” Preferring to get the guy out of my head altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any go-sees tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Cary launched into the details of his schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement, self-tanner, underwear, and cologne.

I shoved everything else out of my mind and focused on him and his growing success. The demand for Cary Taylor was increasing by the day, and he was building a reputation with photographers and accounts for being both professional and prompt. I was thril ed for him and so proud. He’d come a long way and been through so much.

It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sectional sofa.

“What are those?”

“Those,” Cary said, joining me in the living room,

“are the ultimate.”

I knew immediately they were from Stanton and my mom. Money was something my mother needed to be happy and I was glad Stanton, husband #3, was not only able to fil that need for her but al her many others as wel . I often wished that could be the end of it, but my mom had a difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the same way she did. “What now?” He threw his arm around my shoulders, easy enough for him to do because he was tal er by five inches. “Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”

Sighing, I conceded his point. “What are they?”

“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshel dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch.”

“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”

“Of course he knows. Stanton wouldn’t be a bazil ionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Cary caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on. Take a look.” I pushed through the revolving door of the Crossfire into the lobby ten minutes before nine the next morning. Wanting to make the best impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid on in replacement of my walking shoes on the elevator ride up. My blond hair was twisted up in an artful chignon that resembled a figure eight, courtesy of Cary. I was hair-inept, but he could create styles that were glamorous masterpieces.

I wore the smal pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Stanton and my mother.

I had begun to think I’d put too much care into my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I remembered being sprawled across the floor in my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look anything like that graceless girl. The two security guards didn’t seem to put two and two together when I flashed them my ID card on the way to the turnstiles.

Twenty floors later, I was exiting into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. Before me was a wal of bul etproof glass that framed the double-door entrance to the reception area. The receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button that unlocked the doors as I put my ID

away.

“Hi, Megumi,” I greeted her when I stepped inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse. She was mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and very pretty.

Her hair was dark and thick, and cut into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown and warm, and her lips were ful and natural y pink.

“Eva, hi. Mark’s not in yet, but you know where you’re going, right?”

“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hal way to the left of the reception desk al the way to the end, where I made another left turn and ended up in a formerly open space now partitioned into cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it.

I dropped my purse and the bag holding my walking flats into the bottom drawer of my utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my computer. I’d brought a couple of things to personalize my space and I pul ed them out. One was a framed col age of three photos—

me and Cary on Coronado beach, my mom and Stanton on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement of glass flowers that Cary had given me just that morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the smal grouping of photos, and sat back to take in the effect.

“Good morning, Eva.”

I pushed to my feet to face my boss. “Good morning, Mr. Garrity.”

“Cal me Mark, please. Come on over to my office.” I fol owed him across the strip of hal way, once again thinking that my new boss was very easy to look at with his gleaming dark skin, trim goatee, and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise that inspired trust and respect.

He gestured at one of the two seats in front of his glass and chrome desk, and waited until I sat to settle into his Aeron chair. Against the backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Mark looked accomplished and powerful.

He was, in fact, just a junior account manager and his office was a closet compared to the ones occupied by the directors and executives, but no one could fault the view.

He leaned back and smiled. “Did you get settled into your new apartment?”

I was surprised he remembered, but I appreciated it, too. I’d met him during my second interview and liked him right away.

“For the most part,” I answered. “Stil a few stray

boxes here and there.”

“You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city, but very different from New York. Do you miss the palm trees?”

“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking some getting used to.”

“Wait ’til summer hits.” He smiled. “So…it’s your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’l have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to delegating, but I’m sure I’l pick it up quick.”

I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be delegated to.”

“Having you around is a big step up for me, Eva. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?”

“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”

“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” His smile widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put in the break rooms.”

I grinned. “No problem.”

“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on and we’l go from there?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mark touched bases with two clients and had a long meeting with the creative team working on concept ideas for a trade school. It was a fascinating process seeing firsthand how the various departments picked up the baton from each other to carry a campaign from proposition to fruition. I might’ve stayed late just to get a better feel of the layout of the offices, but my phone rang at ten minutes to five.

“Mark Garrity’s office. Eva Tramel speaking.”

“Get your ass home so we can go out for the drink you rain-checked on yesterday.”

Cary’s mock sternness made me smile. “Al right, al right. I’m coming.”

Shutting down my computer, I cleared out. When I reached the bank of elevators, I pul ed out my cel to text a quick “on my way” note to Cary. A ding alerted me to which car was stopping on my floor and I moved over to stand in front of it, briefly returning my attention to hitting the send button. When the doors opened, I took a step forward. I glanced up to watch where I was going and blue eyes met mine. My breath caught.

The sex god was the lone occupant.

His tie was silver and his shirt bril iantly white, the stark absence of color emphasizing those amazing blue irises. Standing there with his jacket open and his hands shoved casual y into his pants’ pockets, the sight of him was like running smack into a wal I hadn’t known was there.

I jerked to a halt, my gaze riveted to the man who was even more striking than I’d remembered. I had never seen hair that purely black. It was glossy and slightly long, the ends drifting over his col ar. That sexy length was the crowning touch of bad boy hotness over the successful businessman, like whipped cream topping on a hot fudge brownie sundae. As my mother would say, only rogues and raiders had hair like that.

My hands clenched against the urge to touch it, to see if it felt like the rich silk it resembled.

The doors began to close. He took an easy step forward and pressed a button on the panel to hold them open. “There’s plenty of room for both of us, Eva.” The sound of that smoky, implacable voice broke me out of my momentary daze. How did he know my name?

Then I remembered that he’d picked up my ID card when I’d dropped it in the lobby. For a second, I debated tel ing him I was waiting for someone so I could take another car down, but my brain lurched back into action.

What the hel was wrong with me? Clearly he worked in the Crossfire. I couldn’t avoid him every time I saw him and why should I? If I wanted to get to the point where I could look at him and take his hotness for granted, I needed to see him often enough that he became like furniture.

Ha! If only.

I stepped into the car. “Thank you.”

He released the button and stepped back again.

The doors closed and the elevator began its descent.

I immediately regretted my decision to share the car with him.

Awareness of him prickled across my skin. He was a potent force in such a smal enclosure, radiating a palpable energy and sexual magnetism that had me shifting restlessly on my feet. My breathing became as ragged as my heartbeat. I felt that inexplicable pul to him again, as if he exuded a silent demand that I was instinctively attuned to answering.

“Enjoy your first day?” he asked, startling me.

His voice resonated, flowing over me in a seductive rhythm. How the hell did he know it was my first day?

“Yes, actual y,” I answered evenly. “How was yours?” I felt his gaze slide over my profile, but I kept my attention trained on the brushed aluminum elevator doors. My heart was racing in my chest, my stomach quivering madly. I felt jumbled and off my game.

“Wel , it wasn’t my first,” he replied with a hint of amusement. “But it was successful. And getting better as it progresses.”

I nodded and managed a smile, having no idea what that was supposed to mean. The car slowed on the twelfth floor and a friendly group of three got on, talking excitedly among themselves. I stepped back to make room for them, retreating into the opposite corner of the elevator from Dark and Dangerous.

Except he sidestepped along with me. We were suddenly closer than we’d been before.

He adjusted his perfectly knotted tie, his arm brushing against mine as he did so. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to ignore my acute awareness of him by concentrating on the conversation taking place in front of us. It was impossible. He was just so there. Right there. Al perfect and gorgeous and smel ing divine. My thoughts ran away from me, fantasizing about how hard his body might be beneath the suit, how it might feel against me, how wel -endowed—or not—he might be…

When the car reached the lobby, I almost moaned in relief. I waited impatiently as the elevator emptied and the first chance I got, I took a step forward. His hand settled firmly at the smal of my back and he walked out beside me, steering me. The sensation of his touch on such a vulnerable place rippled through me.

We reached the turnstiles and his hand fel away, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. I glanced at him, trying to read him, but although he was looking at me, his face gave nothing away.

“Eva!”

The sight of Cary lounging casual y against a marble column in the lobby shifted everything. He was wearing jeans that showcased his mile-long legs and an oversized sweater in soft green that emphasized his eyes. He easily drew the attention of everyone in the lobby. I slowed as I approached him and the sex god passed us, moving through the revolving door and sliding fluidly into the back of the chauffeured black Bentley SUV I’d seen at the curb the evening before.

Cary whistled as the car pul ed away. “Wel , wel .

From the way you were looking at him, that was the guy you told me about, right?”

“Oh, yeah. That was definitely him.”

“You work together?” Linking arms with me, Cary tugged me out to the street through the stationary door.

“No.” I stopped on the sidewalk to change into my

walking flats, leaning into him as pedestrians flowed around us. “I don’t know who he is, but he asked me if I’d had a good first day, so I better figure it out.”

“Wel …” He grinned and supported my elbow as I hopped awkwardly from one foot to the other. “No idea how anyone could get any work done around him. My brain sort of fried for a minute.”

“I’m sure that’s a universal effect.” I straightened.

“Let’s go. I need a drink.”

The next morning arrived with a slight throbbing at the back of my skul that mocked me for having one too many glasses of wine. Stil , as I rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor, I didn’t regret the hangover as much as I should have. My choices were either too much alcohol or a whirl with my vibrator, and I was damned if I’d have a battery-provided orgasm starring Dark and Dangerous. Not that he’d know or even care that he made me so horny I couldn’t see straight, but I’d know and I didn’t want to give the fantasy of him the satisfaction.

I dropped my stuff in the bottom drawer of my desk and when I saw that Mark wasn’t in yet, I grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to my cubicle to catch up on my new favorite ad-biz blogs.

“Eva!”

I jumped when he appeared beside me, his grin a flash of white against his smooth dark skin. “Good morning, Mark.”

“Is it ever. You’re my lucky charm, I think. Come into my office. Bring your tablet. Can you work late tonight?”

I fol owed him over, catching on to his excitement.

“Sure.”

“I’d hoped you’d say that.” He sank into his chair.

I took the one I’d sat in the day before and quickly opened a notepad program.

“So,” he began, “we’ve received an RFP for Kingsman Vodka and they mentioned me by name.

First time that’s ever happened.”

“Congratulations!”

“I appreciate that, but let’s save them for when we’ve actual y landed the account. We’l stil have to bid, if we get past the request for proposal stage, and they want to meet with me tomorrow evening.”

“Wow. Is that timeline usual?”

“No. Usual y they’d wait until we had the RFP

finished before meeting with us, but Cross Industries recently acquired Kingsman and C.I. has dozens of subsidiaries. That’s good business if we can get it.

They know it and they’re making us jump through hoops, the first of which is meeting with me.”

“Usual y there would be a team, right?”

“Yes, we’d present as a group. But they’re familiar with the dril —they know they’l get the pitch from a senior executive, then end up working with a junior like me—so they picked me out and now they want to vet me. But to be fair, the RFP provides a lot more information than it asks for in return. It’s as good as a brief, so I real y can’t accuse them of being unreasonably demanding, just meticulous. Par for the course when dealing with Cross Industries.” He ran a hand over his tight curls, betraying the pressure he felt. “What do you think of Kingsman vodka?”

“Uh…wel …Honestly, I’ve never heard of it.” Mark fel back in his chair and laughed. “Thank God.

I thought I was the only one. Wel , the plus side is there’s no bad press to get over. No news can be good news.”

“What can I do to help? Besides research vodka and stay late?”

His lips pursed a moment as he thought about it.

“Jot this down…”

We worked straight through lunch and long after the office had emptied, going over some initial data from the strategists. It was a little after seven when Mark’s smartphone rang, startling me with its abrupt intrusion into the quiet.

Mark activated the speaker and kept working. “Hey, baby.”

“Have you fed that poor girl yet?” demanded a warm masculine voice over the line.

Glancing at me through his glass office wal , Mark said, “Ah…I forgot.”

I looked away quickly, biting my lower lip to hide my smile.

A snort came clearly across the line. “Only two days on the job, and you’re already overworking her and starving her to death. She’s going to quit.”

“Shit. You’re right. Steve, honey—”

“Don’t ‘Steve honey’ me. Does she like Chinese?” I gave Mark the thumbs-up.

He grinned. “Yes, she does.”

“Al right. I’l be there in twenty. Let security know I’m coming.”

Almost exactly twenty minutes later, I buzzed Steven El ison through the waiting area doors. He was a juggernaut of a fel ow, dressed in dark jeans, scuffed work boots, and a neatly pressed button-down shirt.

Red-haired with laughing blue eyes, he was as good-looking as his partner was, just in a very different way.

The three of us sat around Mark’s desk and dumped kung pao chicken and broccoli beef onto paper plates, added helpings of sticky white rice, and then dug in with chopsticks.

I discovered that Steven was a contractor, and that he and Mark had been a couple since col ege. I watched them interact and felt awe and a dash of envy.

Their relationship was so beautiful y functional that it was a joy to spend time with them.

“Damn, girl,” Steven said with a whistle, as I went for a third helping. “You can put it away. Where does it go?”

I shrugged. “To the gym with me. Maybe that helps…?”

“Don’t mind him,” Mark said, grinning. “Steven’s just jealous. He has to watch his girlish figure.”

“Hel .” Steven shot his partner a wry look. “I might have to take her out to lunch with the crew. I could win money betting on how much she can eat.” I smiled. “That could be fun.”

“Ha. I knew you had a bit of a wild streak. It’s in your smile.”

Looking down at my food, I refused to let my mind wander into memories of just how wild I’d been in my rebel ious, self-destructive phase.

Mark saved me. “Don’t harass my assistant. And what do you know about wild women anyway?”

“I know some of them like hanging out with gay men.

They like our perspective.” His grin flashed. “I know a few other things, too. Hey…don’t look so shocked, you two. I wanted to see if hetero sex lived up to the hype.” Clearly this was news to Mark, but from the twitching of his lips, he was secure enough in their relationship to find the whole exchange amusing. “Oh?”

“How’d that work out for you?” I asked bravely.

Steven shrugged. “I don’t want to say it’s overrated,

’cause clearly I’m the wrong demographic and I had a very limited sampling, but I can do without.” I thought it was very tel ing that Steven could relate his story in terms Mark worked with. They shared their careers with each other and listened, even though their chosen fields were miles apart.

“Considering your present living arrangement,” Mark said to him, catching up a stem of broccoli with his chopsticks, “I’d say that’s a very good thing.” By the time we finished eating, it was eight and the

cleaning crew had arrived. Mark insisted on cal ing me a cab.

“Should I come in early tomorrow?” I asked.

Steven bumped shoulders with Mark. “You must’ve done something good in a past life to score this one.”

“I think putting up with you in this life qualifies,” Mark said dryly.

“Hey,” Steven protested, “I’m housebroken. I put the toilet seat down.”

Mark shot me an exasperated look that was warm with affection for his partner. “And that’s helpful how?” Mark and I scrambled al day Thursday to get ready for his four o’clock with the team from Kingsman. We grabbed an information-packed lunch with the two creatives who would be participating in the pitch when it got to that point in the process; then we went over the notes on Kingsman’s Web presence and existing social media outreach.

I got a little nervous when three thirty rol ed around because I knew traffic would be a bitch, but Mark kept working after I pointed out the time. It was quarter to four before he bounded out of his office with a broad smile, stil shrugging into his jacket. “Join me, Eva.” I blinked up at him from my desk. “Real y?”

“Hey, you worked hard on helping me prep. Don’t want you want to see how it goes?”

“Yes, absolutely.” I pushed to my feet. Knowing my appearance would be a reflection on my boss, I smoothed my black pencil skirt and straightened the cuffs of my long-sleeved silk blouse. By a random twist of fate, my crimson shirt perfectly matched Mark’s tie.

“Thank you.”

We headed out to the elevators and I was briefly startled when the car went up instead of down. When we reached the top floor, the waiting area we stepped into was considerably larger and more ornate than the one on the twentieth. Hanging baskets of ferns and lilies fragranced the air and a smoky glass security entrance was sandblasted with Cross Industries in a bold, masculine font.

We were buzzed in, and then asked to wait a moment. Both of us declined an offer of water or coffee, and less than five minutes after we arrived, we were directed to a closed conference room.

Mark looked at me with twinkling eyes as the receptionist reached for the door handle. “Ready?” I smiled. “Ready.”

The door opened and I was gestured in first. I made sure to smile brightly as I stepped inside…a smile that froze on my face at the sight of the man rising to his feet at my entrance.

My abrupt stop bottlenecked the threshold and Mark ran into my back, sending me stumbling forward. Dark and Dangerous caught me by the waist, hauling me off my feet and directly into his chest. The air left my lungs in a rush, fol owed immediately by every bit of common sense I possessed. Even through the layers of clothing between us, his biceps were like stone beneath my palms, his stomach a hard slab of muscle against my own. When he sucked in a sharp breath, my nipples tightened, stimulated by the expansion of his chest.

Oh no. I was cursed. A rapid-fire series of images flashed through my mind, showcasing a thousand ways I could stumble, fal , trip, skid, or crash in front of the sex god over the days, weeks, and months ahead.

“Hel o again,” he murmured, the vibration of his voice making me ache al over. “Always a pleasure running into you, Eva.”

I flushed with embarrassment and desire, unable to find the wil to push away despite the two other people in the room with him. It didn’t help that his attention was solely on me, his hard body radiating that arresting impression of powerful demand.

“Mr. Cross,” Mark said behind me. “Sorry about the entrance.”

“Don’t be. It was a memorable one.”

I wobbled on my stilettos when Cross set me down, my knees weakened from the ful body contact. He was dressed in black again, with both his shirt and tie in a soft gray. As always, he looked too good.

What would it be like to be that amazing looking?

There was no way he could go anywhere without causing a disturbance.

Reaching out, Mark steadied me and eased me back gently.

Cross’s gaze stayed focused on Mark’s hand at my elbow until I was released.

“Right. Okay then.” Mark pul ed himself together.

“This is my assistant, Eva Tramel .”

“We’ve met.” Cross pul ed out the chair next to his.

“Eva.”

I looked to Mark for guidance, stil recovering from the moments I’d spent plastered against the sexual superconductor in Fioravante.

Cross leaned closer and ordered quietly, “Sit, Eva.” Mark gave a brief nod, but I was already lowering into the chair at Cross’s command, my body obeying instinctively before my mind caught up and objected.

I tried not to fidget for the next hour as Mark was gril ed by Cross and the two Kingsman directors, both of whom were attractive brunettes in elegant pantsuits.

The one in raspberry was especial y enthusiastic about garnering Cross’s attention, while the one in cream focused intently on my boss. Al three seemed impressed by Mark’s ability to articulate how the agency’s work—and his facilitation of it with the client

—created provable value for the client’s brand.

I admired how cool Mark remained under pressure

—pressure exerted by Cross, who easily dominated the meeting.

“Wel done, Mr. Garrity,” Cross praised lightly as they wrapped things up. “I look forward to going over the RFP when the time comes. What would entice you to try Kingsman, Eva?”

Startled, I blinked. “Excuse me?”

The intensity of his gaze was searing. It felt as if his entire focus was on me, which only reinforced my respect for Mark, who’d had to work under the weight of that stare for an hour.

Cross’s chair was set perpendicular to the length of the table, facing me head-on. His right arm rested on the smooth wooden surface, his long elegant fingers stroking rhythmical y along the top. I caught a glimpse of his wrist at the end of his cuff and for some crazy reason the sight of that smal expanse of golden skin with its light dusting of dark hair made my clit throb for attention. He was just so… male.

“Which of Mark’s suggested concepts do you prefer?” he asked again.

“I think they’re al bril iant.”

His beautiful face was impassive when he said, “I’l clear the room to get your honest opinion, if that’s what it takes.”

My fingers curled around the ends of my chair’s armrests. “I just gave you my honest opinion, Mr.

Cross, but if you must know, I think sexy luxury on a budget wil appeal to the largest demographic. But I lack—”

“I agree.” Cross stood and buttoned his jacket. “You have a direction, Mr. Garrity. We’l revisit next week.” I sat for a moment, stunned by the breakneck pace of events. Then I looked at Mark, who seemed to be wavering between astonished joy and bewilderment.

Rising to my feet, I led the way to the door. I was hyperaware of Cross walking beside me. The way he moved, with animal grace and arrogant economy, was a major turn-on. I couldn’t imagine him not fucking wel and being aggressive about it, taking what he wanted in a way that made a woman wild to give it to him.

Cross stayed with me al the way to the bank of elevators. He said a few things to Mark about sports, I think, but I was too focused on the way I was reacting to him to care about the smal talk. When the car arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief and hastily stepped forward with Mark.

“A moment, Eva,” Cross said smoothly, holding me back with a hand at my elbow. “She’l be right down,” he told Mark, as the elevator doors closed on my boss’s astonished face.

Cross said nothing until the car was on its way down; then he pushed the cal button again and asked,

“Are you sleeping with anyone?”

The question was asked so casual y it took a second to process what he’d said.

I inhaled sharply. “Why is that any business of yours?”

He looked at me and I saw what I’d seen the first time we’d met—tremendous power and steely control.

Both of which had me taking an involuntary step back.

Again. At least I didn’t fal this time; I was making progress.

“Because I want to fuck you, Eva. I need to know what’s standing in my way, if anything.” The sudden ache between my thighs had me reaching for the wal to maintain my balance. He reached out to steady me, but I held him at bay with an uplifted hand. “Maybe I’m just not interested, Mr.

Cross.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips and made him impossibly more handsome. Dear God…

The ding that signaled the approaching elevator made me jump, I was strung so tight. I’d never been so aroused. Never been so scorchingly attracted to another human being. Never been so offended by a person I lusted after.

I stepped into the elevator and faced him.

He smiled. “Until next time, Eva.”

The doors closed and I sagged into the brass handrail, trying to regain my bearings. I’d barely pul ed myself together when the doors opened and revealed Mark pacing in the waiting area on our floor.

“Jesus, Eva,” Mark muttered, coming to an abrupt halt. “What the hel was that?”

“I have no freakin’ clue.” I exhaled in a rush, wishing I could share the confusing, irritating exchange I’d had with Cross, but wel aware that my boss wasn’t the appropriate outlet. “Who cares? You know he’s going to give you the account.”

A grin chased away his frown. “I’m thinking he might.”

“As my roommate always says, you should celebrate. Should I make dinner reservations for you and Steven?”

“Why not? Pure Food and Wine at seven, if they can squeeze us in. If not, surprise us.”

We’d barely returned to Mark’s office when he was pounced on by the executives—Michael Waters, the

CEO and president, and Christine Field and Walter Leaman, the executive chairman and vice chairman.

I skirted the four of them as quietly as possible and slid into my cubicle.

I cal ed Pure Food and Wine and begged for a table for two. After some serious groveling and pleading, the hostess final y caved.

I left a message on Mark’s voice mail, “It’s definitely your lucky day. You’re booked for dinner at seven.

Have fun!”

Then I clocked out, eager to get home.

“He said what?” Cary sat on the opposite end of our white sectional sofa and shook his head.

“I know, right?” I enjoyed another sip of my wine. It was a crisp and nicely chil ed sauvignon blanc I’d picked up on the walk home. “That was my reaction, too. I’m stil not sure I didn’t hal ucinate the conversation while overdosing on his pheromones.”

“So?”

I tucked my legs beneath me on the couch and leaned into the corner. “So what?”

“You know what, Eva.” Grabbing his netbook off the coffee table, Cary propped it on his crossed legs. “Are you going to tap that or what?”

“I don’t even know him. I don’t even know his first name and he threw that curvebal at me.”

“He knew yours.” He started typing on his keyboard.

“And what about the thing with the vodka? Asking for your boss in particular?”

The hand I was running through my loose hair stil ed.

“Mark is very talented. If Cross has any sort of business sense at al , he’d pick up on that and exploit it.”

“I’d say he knows business.” Cary spun his netbook around and showed me the home page of Cross Industries, which boasted an awesome photo of the Crossfire. “That’s his building, Eva. Gideon Cross owns it.”

Damn it. My eyes closed. Gideon Cross. I thought the name suited him. It was as sexy and elegantly masculine as the man himself.

“He has people to handle marketing for his subsidiaries. Probably dozens of people to handle it.”

“Stop talking, Cary”

“He’s hot, rich, and wants to jump your bones.

What’s the problem?”

I looked at him. “It’s going to be awkward running into him al the time. I’m hoping to hang on to my job for a long while. I real y like it. I real y like Mark. He’s total y involved me in the process and I’ve learned so much from him already.”

“Remember what Dr. Travis says about calculated risks? When your shrink tel s you to take some, you should take some. You can deal with it. You and Cross are both adults.” He turned his attention back to his Internet search. “Wow. Did you know he doesn’t turn thirty for another two years? Think of the stamina.”

“Think of the rudeness. I’m offended by how he just threw it out there. I hate feeling like a vagina with legs.” Cary paused and looked up at me, his eyes softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry, baby girl. You’re so strong, so much stronger than I am. I just don’t see you carrying around the baggage I do.”

“I don’t think I am, most of the time.” I looked away because I didn’t want to talk about what we’d been through in our pasts. “It’s not like I wanted him to ask me out on a date. But there has to be a better way to tel a woman you want to take her to bed.”

“You’re right. He’s an arrogant douche. Let him lust after you until he has blue bal s. Serves him right.” That made me smile. Cary could always do that. “I doubt that man has ever had blue bal s in his life, but it’s a fun fantasy.”

He shut his netbook with a decisive snap. “What should we do tonight?”

“I was thinking I’d like to go check out that Krav Maga studio in Brooklyn.” I’d done a little research after meeting Parker Smith during my workout at Equinox and as the week passed, the thought of having that kind of raw, physical outlet for stress seemed more and more ideal.

I knew it wouldn’t be anything close to banging the hel out of Gideon Cross, but I suspected it would be a lot less dangerous to my health.

“There’s no way your mom and Stanton are going to let you come out here at night multiple times a week,” Cary said, hugging his stylish denim jacket around him even though it wasn’t more than slightly chil y.

The converted warehouse Parker Smith used as his studio was a brick-faced building in a formerly industrial area of Brooklyn presently struggling to revitalize. The space was vast, and the massive metal delivery-bay doors offered no exterior clue as to what was taking place inside. Cary and I sat in aluminum bleachers, watching a half-dozen combatants on the mats below.

“Ouch.” I winced in sympathy as a guy took a kick to the groin. Even with padding, that had to sting. “How’s Stanton going to find out, Cary?”

“Because you’l be in the hospital?” He glanced at me. “Seriously. Krav Maga is brutal. They’re just sparring and it’s ful contact. And even if the bruises don’t give you away, your stepdad wil find out somehow. He always does.”

“Because of my mom; she tel s him everything. But I’m not tel ing her about this.”

“Why not?”

“She won’t understand. She’l think I want to protect myself because of what happened, and she’l feel guilty and give me grief about it. She won’t believe my main interest is exercise and stress relief.” I propped my chin on my palm and watched Parker take the floor with a woman. He was a good instructor.

Patient and thorough, and he explained things in an easy to understand way. His studio was in a rough neighborhood, but I thought it suited what he was teaching. It didn’t get more “reality based” than a big, empty warehouse.

“That Parker guy is real y hot,” Cary murmured.

“He’s also wearing a wedding band.”

“I noticed. The good ones always get snatched up quick.”

Parker joined us after the class was over, his dark eyes bright and his smile brighter. “What’d ya think, Eva?”

“Where do I sign up?”

His sexy smile made Cary reach over and squeeze the blood out of my hand.

“Step this way.”

Friday started out awesome. Mark walked me through the process of col ecting information for an RFP, and he told me a little more about Cross Industries and Gideon Cross, pointing out that he and Cross were the same age.

“I have to remind myself of that,” Mark said. “It’s easy to forget he’s so young when he’s right in front of you.”

“Yes,” I agreed, secretly disappointed that I wouldn’t see Cross for the next two days. As much as I told myself it didn’t matter, I was bummed. I hadn’t realized I’d been excited by the possibility that we might run into each other until that possibility was gone. It was just such a rush being near him. Plus he was a hel of a lot of fun to look at. I had nothing nearly as exciting planned for the weekend.

I was taking notes in Mark’s office when I heard my desk phone ringing. Excusing myself, I rushed over to catch it. “Mark Garrity’s office—”

“Eva love. How are you?”

I sank into my chair at the sound of my stepfather’s voice. Stanton always sounded like old money to me—

cultured, entitled, and arrogant. “Richard. Is everything okay? Is Mom al right?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine. Your mother is wonderful, as always.”

His tone softened when he spoke of his wife and I was grateful for that. I was grateful to him for a lot of things actual y, but it was sometimes hard to balance that against my feelings of disloyalty. I knew my dad was self-conscious about the massive differences in their income brackets.

“Good,” I said, relieved. “I’m glad. Did you and Mom receive my thank-you note for the dress and Cary’s tuxedo?”

“Yes, and it was thoughtful of you, but you know we don’t expect you to thank us for such things. Excuse me a moment.” He spoke to someone, most likely his secretary. “Eva love, I’d like us to get together for lunch today. I’l send Clancy around to col ect you.”

“Today? But we’l be seeing each other tomorrow night. Can’t it wait until then?”

“No, it should be today.”

“But I only get an hour for lunch.”

A tap on my shoulder turned me around to find Mark standing by my cubicle. “Take two,” he whispered.

“You earned it.”

I sighed and mouthed a thank you. “Wil twelve o’clock work, Richard?”

“Perfectly. I look forward to seeing you.” I had no reason to look forward to private meetings with Stanton, but I dutiful y left just before noon and found a town car waiting for me, idling at the curb.

Clancy, Stanton’s driver and body guard, opened the door for me as I greeted him. Then he slid behind the wheel and drove me downtown. By twenty after the hour, I was sitting at a conference table in Stanton’s offices, eyeing a beautiful y catered lunch for two.

Stanton came in shortly after my arrival, looking dapper and distinguished. His hair was pure white, his face lined but stil very handsome. His eyes were the color of worn blue denim, and they were sharp with intel igence. He was trim and athletic, taking the time out of his busy days to stay fit even before he’d married his trophy wife—my mom.

I stood as he approached, and he bent to kiss my cheek. “You look lovely, Eva.”

“Thank you.” I looked like my mom, who was also a natural blonde. But my gray eyes came from my dad.

Taking a chair at the head of the table, Stanton was aware that the requisite backdrop of the New York skyline was behind him and he took advantage of its impressiveness.

“Eat,” he said, with the command so easily wielded by al men of power. Men like Gideon Cross.

Had Stanton been as driven at Cross’s age?

I picked up my fork and started in on a chicken, cranberry, walnut, and feta salad. It was delicious, and I was hungry. I was glad Stanton didn’t start talking right away so I could enjoy the meal, but the reprieve didn’t last long.

“Eva love, I wanted to discuss your interest in Krav Maga.”

I froze. “Excuse me?”

Stanton took a sip of iced water and leaned back, his jaw taking on the rigidity that warned me I wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “Your mother was quite distraught last night when you went to that studio in Brooklyn. It took some time to calm her down and to assure her that I could make arrangements for you to pursue your interests in a safe manner. She doesn’t want—”

“Wait.” I set my fork down careful y, my appetite gone. “How did she know where I was?”

“She tracked your cel phone.”

“No way,” I breathed, deflating into my seat. The casualness of his reply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, made me feel il . My stomach churned, suddenly more interested in rejecting my lunch than digesting it. “That’s why she insisted I use one of your company phones. It had nothing to do with saving me money.”

“Of course that was part of it. But it also gives her peace of mind.”

“Peace of mind? To spy on her grown daughter? It’s not healthy, Richard. You’ve got to see that. Is she stil seeing Dr. Petersen?”

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Yes, of course.”

“Is she tel ing him what she’s doing?”

“I don’t know,” he said stiffly. “That’s Monica’s private business. I don’t interfere.”

No, he didn’t. He coddled her. Indulged her. Spoiled her. And al owed her obsession with my safety to run wild. “She has to let it go. I’ve let it go.”

“You were an innocent, Eva. She feels guilty for not protecting you. We need to give her a little latitude.”

“Latitude? She’s a stalker!” My mind spun. How could my mom invade my privacy like that? Why would she? She was driving herself crazy, and me along with her. “This has to stop.”

“It’s an easy fix. I’ve already spoken with Clancy.

He’l drive you when you need to venture into Brooklyn.

Everything’s been arranged. This wil be much more convenient for you.”

“Don’t try to twist this around to being for my benefit.” My eyes stung and my throat burned with unshed tears of frustration. I hated the way he talked about Brooklyn like it was a third-world country. “I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions. It’s the goddamn law!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Eva. I’m simply looking after your mother. And you.”

I pushed back from the table. “You’re enabling her.

You’re keeping her sick, and you’re making me sick, too.”

“Sit down. You need to eat. Monica worries that you’re not eating healthy enough.”

“She worries about everything, Richard. That’s the problem.” I dropped my napkin on the table. “I have to get back to work.”

I turned away, striding toward the door to get out as quickly as possible. I retrieved my purse from Stanton’s secretary and left my cel phone on her desk.

Clancy, who had been waiting for me in the reception area, fol owed me, and I knew better than to try and blow him off. He didn’t take orders from anyone but Stanton.

Clancy drove me back up to midtown, while I stewed in the backseat. I could bitch al I wanted, but in the end I wasn’t any better than Stanton because I was going to give in. I was going to cave and let my mom have her way, because it hurt my heart to think of her suffering any more than she already did. She was so emotional and fragile, and she loved me to the point of being crazy about it.

My mood was stil dark when I got back to the Crossfire. As Clancy pul ed away from the curb, I stood on the crowded sidewalk and looked up and down the busy street for either a drugstore where I could get some chocolate or a cel ular store where I could pick up a new phone.

I ended up walking around the block and buying a half-dozen candy bars at a Duane Reade on the corner before heading back to the Crossfire. I’d been gone just about an hour, but I wasn’t going to use the extra time Mark had given me. I needed work to distract me from my crazy-assed family.

As I caught an empty elevator car, I ripped open a bar and bit viciously into it. I was making strides toward fil ing my self-imposed chocolate quota before I hit the twentieth floor when the car stopped on the fourth. I appreciated the added time the stop gave me to enjoy the comfort of dark chocolate and caramel melting over my tongue.

The doors slid apart, and revealed Gideon Cross talking with two other gentlemen.

As usual, I lost my breath at the sight of him, which reignited my fading irritation. Why did he have that effect on me? When was I going to become immune to his hotness?

He glanced over and his lips curved into a slow, heart-stopping smile when he saw me.

Great. Just my crappy luck. I’d become some kind of chal enge.

Cross’s smile faded into a frown. “We’l finish this later,” he murmured to his companions without looking away from me.

Stepping into the car, he lifted a hand to discourage them from fol owing him. They blinked in surprise, glancing at me, then Cross, and then back again.

I stepped out, deciding it would be safer for my sanity to take a different car up.

“Not so fast, Eva.” Cross caught me by the elbow and tugged me back. The doors shut and the elevator glided smoothly into motion.

“What are you doing?” I snapped. After dealing with Stanton, the last thing I needed was another domineering male trying to push me around.

Cross caught me by the upper arms and searched my face with that vivid blue gaze. “Something’s wrong.

What is it?”

The now-familiar electricity crackled to life between us, the pul made fiercer by my temper. “You.”

“Me?” His thumbs stroked over my shoulders.

Releasing me, he withdrew a lone key from his pocket and plugged it into the panel. Al the lights cleared except for the one for the top floor.

He wore black again, with fine gray pinstripes.

Seeing him from the back was a revelation. His shoulders were nicely broad without being bulky, emphasizing his lean waist and long legs. The silky strands of hair fal ing over his col ar tempted me to clench them and pul . Hard. I wanted him as pissy as I was. I wanted a fight.

“I’m not in the mood for you now, Mr. Cross.” He watched the antique-style needle above the doors mark the passing floors. “I can get you in the mood.”

“I’m not interested.”

Cross glanced over his shoulder at me. His shirt and tie were both the same awesome cerulean as his irises. The effect was striking. “No lies, Eva. Ever.”

“That’s not a lie. So what if I’m attracted to you? I expect most women are.” Wrapping up what was left of my candy bar, I shoved it back into the shopping bag I’d tucked into my purse. I didn’t need chocolate when I was sharing air with Gideon Cross. “But I’m not interested in doing anything about it.” He faced me then, turning in a leisurely pivot, that ghost of a smile softening his sinful mouth. His ease and unconcern aggravated me further. “Attraction is too tame a word for”—he gestured at the space between us—“this.”

“Cal me crazy, but I have to actual y like someone before I get naked and sweaty with them.”

“Not crazy,” he said. “But I don’t have the time or the inclination to date.”

“That makes two of us. Glad we got that cleared up.” He stepped closer, his hand lifting to my face. I forced myself not to move away or give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated. His thumb brushed over the corner of my mouth; then lifted to his own. He sucked on the pad and purred, “Chocolate and you. Delicious.”

A shiver moved through me, fol owed by a heated ache between my legs as I imagined licking chocolate off his lethal y sexy body.

His gaze darkened and his voice lowered intimately.

“Romance isn’t in my repertoire, Eva. But a thousand ways to make you come are. Let me show you.” The car slowed to a halt. He withdrew the key from the panel and the doors opened.

I backed into the corner and shooed him out with a flick of my wrist. “I’m real y not interested.”

“We’l discuss.” Cross caught me by the elbow and gently, but insistently, urged me out.

I went along because I liked the charge I got from being around him and because I was curious to see what he had to say when afforded more than five minutes of my time.

He was buzzed through the security door so quickly there was no need for him to break stride. The pretty redhead at the reception desk pushed hastily to her feet, about to impart some information until he shook his head impatiently. Her mouth snapped shut and she stared at me as we passed at a brisk pace, her eyes wide.

The walk to Cross’s office was merciful y short. His secretary stood when he saw his boss’s approach, but remained silent when he noted that Cross wasn’t alone.

“Hold my cal s, Scott,” Cross said, steering me into his office through the open glass double doors.

Despite my irritation, I couldn’t help but be impressed with Gideon Cross’s spacious command center. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city on two sides, while a wal of glass faced the rest of the office space. The one opaque wal opposite the massive desk was covered in flat screens streaming news channels from around the world. There were three distinct seating areas, each one larger than Mark’s entire office, and a bar that showcased jeweled crystal decanters, which provided the only spots of color in a palette that was otherwise black, gray, and white.

Cross hit a button on his desk that closed the doors; then another that instantly frosted the clear glass wal , effectively shielding us from the view of his employees.

With the beautiful sapphire-hued reflective film on the exterior windows, privacy was assured. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a chrome coatrack.

Then he returned to where I’d remained standing just inside the doors. “Something to drink, Eva?”

“No, thank you.” Damn it. He was even yummier in just the vest. I could better see how fit he was. How strong his shoulders were. How beautiful y his biceps and ass flexed as he moved.

He gestured toward a black leather sofa. “Have a seat.”

“I have to go back to work.”

“And I have a meeting at two. The sooner we work this out, the sooner we can both get back to business.

Now, sit down.”

“What do you think we’re going to work out?” Sighing, he scooped me up like a bride and carried me over to the sofa. He dropped me on my butt; then sat next to me. “Your objections. It’s time to discuss what it’s going to take to get you beneath me.”

“A miracle.” I pushed back from him, widening the space between us. I tugged at the hem of my emerald green skirt, wishing I’d worn pants instead. “I find your approach crude and offensive.”

And a major turn-on, but I was never going to admit it.

He contemplated me with narrowed eyes. “It may be blunt, but it’s honest. You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who wants bul shit and flattery instead of the truth.”

“What I want is to be seen as having more to offer than an inflatable sex dol .”

Cross’s brows shot up. “Wel , then.”

“Are we done?” I stood.

Wrapping my wrist with his fingers, he pul ed me back down. “Hardly. We’ve established some talking points: We have an intense sexual attraction and neither of us wants to date. So what do you want—

exactly? Seduction, Eva? Do you want to be seduced?”

I was equal y fascinated and appal ed by the conversation. And, yes, tempted. It was hard not to be while faced with such a gorgeous, virile male so determined to get hot and sweaty with me. Stil , the dismay won out. “Sex that’s planned like a business transaction is a turnoff for me.”

“Establishing parameters in the beginning makes it less likely that there’l be exaggerated expectations and disappointment at the conclusion.”

“Are you kidding?” I scowled. “Listen to yourself.

Why even cal it a fuck? Why not be clear and cal it a seminal emission in a preapproved orifice?” He pissed me off by throwing his head back and laughing. The ful , throaty sound flowed over me like a rush of warm water. My awareness of him heightened to a physical y painful degree. His earthy amusement made him less sex god and more human. Flesh and blood. Real.

I pushed to my feet and backed out of reach.

“Casual sex doesn’t have to include wine and roses, but for God’s sake, whatever else it is, sex should be personal. Friendly even. With mutual respect at the very least.”

His humor fled as he stood, his eyes darkening.

“There are no mixed signals in my private affairs. You want me to blur that line. I can’t think of a good reason to.”

“I don’t want you to do jack shit, besides let me get back to work.” I strode to the door and yanked on the handle, cursing softly when it didn’t budge. “Let me out, Cross.”

I felt him come up behind me. His palms pressed flat to the glass on either side of my shoulders, caging me in. I couldn’t think of my own self-preservation when he was so close.

The strength and demand of his wil exuded an almost tangible force field. When he stepped close enough, it surrounded me, closing me in with him.

Everything outside of that bubble ceased to exist, while inside it my entire body strained toward his. That he had such a profound, visceral effect on me while being so damn irritating had my mind spinning. How could I be so turned on by a man whose words should’ve turned me completely off?

“Turn around, Eva.”

My eyes closed against the surge of arousal I felt at his authoritative tone. God, he smel ed good. His powerful frame radiated heat and hunger, spurring my own wild desire for him. The uncontrol able response was intensified by my lingering frustration with Stanton and my more recent aggravation with Cross himself.

I wanted him. Bad. But he was no good for me.

Honestly, I could screw up my life on my own. I didn’t need any help.

My flushed forehead touched the air-conditioned glass. “Let it go, Cross.”

“I am. You’re too much trouble.” His lips brushed behind my ear. One of his hands pressed flat to my stomach, the fingers splaying to urge me back against him. He was as aroused as I was, his cock hard and thick against my lower back. “Turn around and say good-bye.”

Disappointed and regretful, I turned in his grip, sagging against the door to cool my heated back. He was curved over me, his luxurious hair framing his beautiful face, his forearm propped against the door to bring him closer. I had almost no room to breathe. The hand he’d had at my waist was now resting on the curve of my hip, tightening reflexively and driving me mad. He stared, his gaze searingly intense.

“Kiss me,” he said hoarsely. “Give me that much.” Panting softly, I licked my dry lips. He groaned, tilted his head, and sealed his mouth over mine. I was shocked by how soft his firm lips were and the gentleness of the pressure he exerted. I sighed and his tongue dipped inside, tasting me in long leisurely licks.

His kiss was confident, skil ed, and just the right side of aggressive to turn me on wildly.

I distantly registered my purse hitting the floor; then my hands were in his hair. I pul ed on the silky strands, using them to direct his mouth over mine. He growled, deepening the kiss, stroking my tongue with lush slides of his own. I felt the raging beat of his heart against my chest, proof that he wasn’t just a hopeless ideal conjured by my fevered imagination.

He pushed away from the door. Cupping the back of my head and the curve of my buttocks, he lifted me off my feet. “I want you, Eva. Trouble or not, I can’t stop.” I was pressed ful -body against him, achingly aware of every hot, hard inch of him. I kissed him back as if I could eat him alive. My skin was damp and too sensitive, my breasts heavy and tender. My clit throbbed for attention, pounding along with my raging heartbeat.

I was vaguely aware of movement, and then the couch was against my back. Cross was levered over me with one knee on the cushion and the other foot on the floor. His left arm supported his torso while his right hand gripped the back of my knee, sliding upward along my thigh in a firmly possessive glide.

His breath hissed out when he reached the point where my garter clipped to the top of my silk stocking.

He tore his gaze away from mine and looked down, pushing my skirt higher to bare me from the waist down.

“Jesus, Eva.” A low rumble vibrated in his chest, the primitive sound sending goose bumps racing across my skin. “Your boss is damned lucky he’s gay.” In a daze, I watched Cross’s body lower to mine, my legs sliding apart to accommodate the width of his hips. My muscles strained with the urge to lift toward him, to hasten the contact between us that I’d been craving since I first laid eyes on him. Lowering his head, he took my mouth again, bruising my lips with a fine edge of violence.

Abruptly, he yanked himself away, stumbling to his feet.

I lay there gasping and wet, so wil ing and ready.

Then I realized why he’d reacted so fiercely.

Someone was behind him.

Mortified by the sudden intrusion into our privacy, I scrambled up and back into the armrest, yanking down my skirt.

“…two o’clock appointment is here.”

It took an endless moment to realize Cross and I were stil alone in the room, that the voice I’d heard had come through a speaker. Cross stood at the far end of the sofa, flushed and scowling, his chest heaving. His tie was loosened and the fly of his slacks strained against a very impressive erection.

I had a nightmare vision in my head of what I must look like. And I was late getting back to work.

“Christ.” He shoved both hands through his hair. “It’s the middle of the fucking day. In my goddamn fucking office!”

I got to my feet and tried to straighten my appearance.

“Here.” He came to me, yanking my skirt up again.

Furious at what I’d almost let happen when I should be at work, I smacked at his hands. “Stop it. Leave me alone.”

“Shut up, Eva,” he said grimly, catching the hem of my black silk blouse and tugging it into place, adjusting it so that the buttons once again formed a straight row between my breasts. Then he pul ed down my skirt, smoothing it with calm, expert hands. “Fix your ponytail.”

Cross retrieved his coat, shrugging into it before adjusting his tie. We reached the door at the same time and when I crouched to fetch my purse, he lowered with me.

He caught my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

My throat burned. I was aroused and mad and thoroughly embarrassed. I’d never in my life lost my mind like that. And I hated that I’d done so with him, a man whose approach to sexual intimacy was so clinical it depressed me just thinking about it.

I jerked my chin away. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful and fuckable. I want you so badly it hurts. I’m dangerously close to taking you back to the couch and making you come ’til you beg me to stop.”

“Can’t accuse you of being silver-tongued,” I muttered, aware that I wasn’t offended. In fact, the rawness of his hunger for me was a serious aphrodisiac. Clutching the strap of my purse, I stood on shaky legs. I needed to get away from him. And, when my workday was done, I needed to be alone with a big glass of wine.

Cross stood with me. “I’l be done by five. I’l come get you then.”

“No, you won’t. This doesn’t change anything.”

“The hel it doesn’t.”

“Don’t be arrogant, Cross. I lost my head for a second, but I stil don’t want what you want.” His fingers curled around the door handle. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want it the way I want to give it to you.

So, we’l revisit and revise.”

More business. Cut-and-dried. My spine stiffened.

I set my hand over his and yanked on the handle, ducking under his arm to squeeze out the door. His secretary shoved quickly to his feet, gaping, as did the woman and two men who were waiting for Cross. I heard him speak behind me.

“Scott wil show you into my office. I’l be just a moment.”

He caught me by reception, his arm crossing my lower back to grip my hip. Not wanting to make a scene, I waited until we were by the elevators to pul away.

He stood calmly and hit the cal button. “Five o’clock, Eva.”

I stared at the lighted button. “I’m busy.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

“I’m busy al weekend.”

Stepping in front of me, he asked tightly, “With whom?”

“That’s none of your—”

His hand covered my mouth. “Don’t. Tel me when, then. And before you say never, take a good look at me and tel me if you see a man who’s easily deterred.”

His face was hard, his gaze narrowed and determined. I shivered. I wasn’t sure I’d win a battle of wil s with Gideon Cross.

Swal owing, I waited until he lowered his hand and said, “I think we both need to cool off. Take a couple days to think.”

He persisted. “Monday after work.”

The elevator arrived and I stepped into it. Facing him, I countered, “Monday lunch.”

We’d have only an hour, a guaranteed escape.

Just before the doors closed, he said, “We’re going to happen, Eva.”

It sounded as much like a threat as a promise.

“Don’t sweat it, Eva,” Mark said, when I arrived at my desk nearly a quarter after two. “You didn’t miss anything. I had a late lunch with Mr. Leaman. I just barely got back myself.”

“Thank you.” No matter what he said, I stil felt terrible. My kick-ass Friday morning seemed to have happened days ago.

We worked steadily until five, discussing a fast-food client and contemplating some possible tweaks to ad copy for a chain of organic grocery stores.

“Talk about strange bedfel ows,” Mark had teased, not knowing how apt that was in regard to my personal life.

I’d just shut down my computer and was pul ing my purse out of the drawer when my phone rang. I glanced at the clock, saw it was exactly five, and considered ignoring the cal because I was technical y done for the day.

But since I was stil feeling shitty about my overly-long lunch, I considered it penance and answered.

“Mark Garrity’s—”

“Eva honey. Richard says you forgot your cel phone at his office.”

I exhaled in a rush and sagged back into my chair. I could picture the handkerchief wringing that usual y accompanied that particular anxious tone of my mother’s. It drove me nuts and it also broke my heart.

“Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m lovely. Thank you.” My mom had a voice that was both girlish and breathy, like Marilyn Monroe crossed with Scarlett Johansson. “Clancy dropped your phone off with the concierge at your place. You real y shouldn’t go anywhere without it. You never know when you might need to cal for someone—” I’d been debating the logistics of just keeping the phone and forwarding cal s to a new number I didn’t share with my mom, but that wasn’t my biggest concern. “What does Dr. Petersen say about you tracing my phone?”

The silence on the other end of the line was tel ing.

“Dr. Petersen knows I worry about you.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I said, “I think it’s time for us to have another joint appointment, Mom.”

“Oh…of course. He did mention that he’d like to see you again.”

Probably because he suspects you’re not being forthcoming. I changed the subject. “I real y like my new job.”

“That’s wonderful, Eva! Is your boss treating you wel ?”

“Yes, he’s great. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

“Is he handsome?”

I smiled. “Yes, very. And he’s taken.”

“Damn it. The good ones always are.” She laughed and my smile widened.

I loved it when she was happy. I wished she were happy more often. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow at the advocacy dinner.”

Monica Tramel Barker Mitchel Stanton was in her element at society functions, a gilded shining beauty who’d never lacked male attention in her life.

“Let’s make a day of it,” my mom said breathlessly.

“You, me, and Cary. We’l go to the spa, get pretty and polished. I’m sure you could use a massage after working so hard.”

“I won’t turn one down, that’s for sure. And I know Cary wil love it.”

“Oh, I’m excited! I’l send a car by your place around eleven?”

“We’l be ready.”

After I hung up, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled, needing a hot bath and an orgasm. If Gideon Cross somehow found out I masturbated while thinking about him, I didn’t care. Being sexual y frustrated was weakening my position, a weakness I knew he wouldn’t be sharing. No doubt he’d have a preapproved orifice lined up before day’s end.

As I swapped out my heels for my walking shoes, my phone rang again. My mother was rarely distracted for long. The five minutes since we’d ended our cal was just about the right length of time for her to realize the cel phone issue hadn’t been resolved. Once again, I debated ignoring the phone, but I didn’t want to take any of the day’s crap home with me.

I answered with my usual greeting, but it lacked its usual punch.

“I’m stil thinking about you.”

The velvet rasp of Cross’s voice flooded me with such relief I realized I’d been hoping to hear it again.

Today.

God. The craving was so acute I knew he’d become a drug to my body, the prime source of some very intense highs.

“I can stil feel you, Eva. Stil taste you. I’ve been hard since you left, through two meetings and one teleconference. You’ve got the advantage, state your demands.”

“Ah,” I murmured. “Lemme think.”

I let him wait, smiling as I remembered Cary’s comment about blue bal s. “Hmm…Nothing is coming to mind. But I do have some friendly advice. Go spend time with a woman who salivates at your feet and makes you feel like a god. Fuck her until neither of you can walk. When you see me on Monday you’l be total y over it and your life wil return to its usual obsessive-compulsive order.”

The creak of leather sounded over the phone and I imagined him leaning back in his desk chair. “That was your one free pass, Eva. The next time you insult my intel igence, I’l take you over my knee.”

“I don’t like that sort of thing.” And yet the warning, given in that voice, aroused me. Dark and Dangerous for sure.

“We’l discuss. In the interim, tel me what you do like.”

I stood. “You definitely have the voice for phone sex, but I’ve got to go. I have a date with my vibrator.” I should’ve hung up then, to gain the ful effect of the brush-off, but I couldn’t resist learning if he’d gloat like I had imagined he would. Plus, I was having fun with him.

“Oh, Eva.” Cross spoke my name in a decadent purr. “You’re determined to drive me to my knees, aren’t you? What wil it take to talk you into a

threesome with B.O.B.?”

I ignored both questions as I slung my bag and purse over my shoulder, grateful he couldn’t see how my hand shook. I was not discussing Battery Operated Boyfriends with Gideon Cross. I’d never discussed masturbation openly with a man, let alone a man who was for al intents and purposes a stranger to me.

“B.O.B. and I have a longtime understanding—when we’re done with each other, we know exactly which one of us has been used, and it isn’t me. Good night, Gideon.”

I hung up and took the stairs, deciding the twenty-floor descent would serve double-duty as both an avoidance technique and a replacement for a visit to the gym.

I was so grateful to be home after the day I’d had that I practical y danced through my apartment’s front door.

My heartfelt “God, it’s good to be home!” and accompanying spin was vehement enough to startle the couple on the couch.

“Oh,” I said, wincing at my own sil iness. Cary wasn’t in a compromising position with his guest when I barged in, but they’d been sitting close enough to suggest intimacy.

Grudgingly, I thought of Gideon Cross, who preferred to strip al intimacy out of the most intimate act I could imagine. I’d had one-night stands and friends with benefits, and no one knew better than I that sex and making love were two very different things, but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to view sex like a handshake. I thought it was sad that Cross did, even though he wasn’t a man who inspired pity or sympathy.

“Hey, baby girl,” Cary cal ed out, pushing to his feet.

“I was hoping you’d make it back before Trey had to leave.”

“I have class in an hour,” Trey explained, rounding the coffee table as I dropped my bag on the floor and put my purse on a barstool at the breakfast bar. “But I’m glad I got to meet you before I left.”

“Me, too.” I shook the hand he extended to me, taking him in with a quick glance. He was about my age, I guessed. Average height and nicely muscular.

He had unruly blond hair, soft hazel eyes, and a nose that had clearly been broken at some point.

“Mind if I grab a glass of wine?” I asked. “It’s been a long day.”

“Go for it,” Trey replied.

“I’l take one, too.” Cary joined us by the breakfast bar. He was wearing loose-fitting black jeans and an off-the-shoulder black sweater. The look was casual and elegant, and did a phenomenal job of offsetting his dark brown hair and emerald eyes.

I went to the wine fridge and pul ed out a random bottle.

Trey shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, talking quietly with Cary as I uncorked and poured.

The phone rang and I grabbed the handset off the wal . “Hel o?”

“Hey, Eva? It’s Parker Smith.”

“Parker, hi.” I leaned my hip into the counter. “How are you?”

“I hope you don’t mind my cal ing. Your stepdad gave me your number.”

Gah. I’d had enough of Stanton for one day. “Not at al . What’s up?”

“Honestly? Everything’s looking up right now. Your stepdad is like my fairy godfather. He’s funding a few safety improvements to the studio and some much-needed upgrades. That’s why I’m cal ing. The studio’s going to be out of commission for the rest of the week.

Classes wil resume next Monday.”

I closed my eyes, struggling to tamp down a flare of exasperation. It wasn’t Parker’s fault that Stanton and my mom were overprotective control freaks. Clearly they didn’t see the irony of defending me while I was surrounded by people trained to do that very thing.

“Sounds good. I can’t wait. I’m real y excited to be training with you.”

“I’m excited, too. I’m going to work you hard, Eva.

Your parents are going to get their money’s worth.” I set a fil ed glass in front of Cary and took a big gulp out of my own. It never ceased to amaze me how much cooperation money could buy. But again, that wasn’t Parker’s fault. “No complaints here.”

“We’l get started first thing next week. Your driver has the schedule.”

“Great. See you then.” I hung up and caught the glance Trey shot Cary when he thought neither of us was looking. It was soft and fil ed with a sweet yearning, and it reminded me that my problems could wait. “I’m sorry I caught you on the way out, Trey. Do you have time for pizza Wednesday night? I’d love to do more than say hi and bye.”

“I have class.” He gave me a regretful smile and shot another side-glance at Cary. “But I could come by on Tuesday.”

“That’d be great.” I smiled. “We could order in and have a movie night.”

“I’d like that.”

I was rewarded with the kiss Cary blew me as he headed to the door to show Trey out. When he returned to the kitchen he grabbed his wine and said,

“Al right. Spil it, Eva. You looked stressed.”

“I am,” I agreed, grabbing the bottle and moving into the living room.

“It’s Gideon Cross, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. But I don’t want to talk about him.” Although Gideon’s pursuit was exhilarating, his goal sucked. “Let’s talk about you and Trey instead. How did you two meet?”

“I ran across him on a job. He’s working part time as a photographer’s assistant. Sexy, isn’t he?” His eyes were bright and happy. “And a real gentleman. In an old-school way.”

“Who knew there were any of those left?” I muttered before polishing off my first glass.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, Cary. He seemed great, and he obviously digs you. Is he studying photography?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Wow. That’s awesome.”

“I think so, too. But forget about Trey for a minute.

Talk about what’s bugging you. Get it out.” I sighed. “My mom. She found out about my interest in Parker’s studio and now she’s freaking out.”

“What? How’d she find out? I swear I haven’t told anyone.”

“I know you didn’t. Never even crossed my mind.” Grabbing the bottle off the table, I refil ed my glass.

“Get this. She’s been tracking my cel phone.” Cary’s brows rose. “Seriously? That’s…creepy.”

“I know, right? That’s what I told Stanton, but he doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Wel , hel .” He ran a hand through his long bangs.

“So what do you do?”

“Get a new phone. And meet with Dr. Petersen to see if he can’t talk some sense into her.”

“Good move. Turn it over to her shrink. So…is everything okay with your job? Do you stil love it?”

“Total y.” My head fel back into the sofa cushions and my eyes closed. “My work and you are my lifesavers right now.”

“What about the young hottie bazil ionaire who wants to nail you? Come on, Eva. You know I’m dying here. What happened?”

I told him, of course. I wanted his take on it al . But when I finished, he was quiet. I lifted my head to look at him, and found him bright-eyed and biting his lip.

“Cary? What are you thinking?”

“I’m feeling kind of hot from that story.” He laughed and the warm, richly masculine sound swept a lot of my irritation away. “He’s got to be so confused right now. I would’ve paid money to see his face when you hit him with that bit he wanted to spank you over.”

“I can’t believe he said that.” Just remembering Cross’s voice when he made that threat had my palms damp enough to leave steam on my glass. “What the hel is he into?”

“Spanking’s not deviant. Besides, he was going for missionary on the couch, so he’s not averse to the basics.” He fel into the couch, a bril iant smile lighting up his handsome face. “You’re a huge chal enge to a guy who obviously thrives on them. And he’s wil ing to make concessions to have you, which I’d bet he’s not used to. Just tel him what you want.”

I split the last of the wine between us, feeling marginal y better with a bit of alcohol in my veins. What did I want? Aside from the obvious? “We’re total y incompatible.”

“Is that what you cal what happened on his couch?”

“Cary, come on. Boil it down. He picked me up off the lobby floor, and then asked me to fuck. That’s real y it. Even a guy I take home from a bar has more going for him than that. Hey, what’s your name? Come here often? Who’s your friend? What are you drinking? Like to dance? Do you work around here?”

“Al right, al right. I get it.” He set his glass down on the table. “Let’s go out. Hit a bar. Dance ’til we drop.

Maybe meet some guys who’l talk you up some.”

“Or at least buy me a drink.”

“Hey, Cross offered you one of those in his office.” I shook my head and stood. “Whatever. Let me take a shower and we’l go.”

I threw myself into clubbing like it was going out of style. Cary and I bounced al over downtown clubs from Tribeca to the East Vil age, wasting stupid money on cover charges and having a fabulous time. I danced until my feet felt like they were going to fal off, but I toughed it out until Cary complained about his heeled boots first.

We’d just stumbled out of a techno-pop club with a plan to buy me flip-flops at a nearby Walgreens when we ran across a hawker promoting a lounge a few blocks away.

“Great place to get off your feet for a while,” he said, without the usual flashy smile or exaggerated hype most of the hawkers employed. His clothes—black jeans and turtleneck—were more upscale, which intrigued me. And he didn’t have fliers or postcards.

What he handed me was a business card made from papyrus paper and printed with a gilded font that caught the light of the electric signage around us. I made a mental note to hang on to it as a great piece of print advertising.

A stream of quickly moving pedestrians flowed around us. Cary squinted down at the lettering, having a few more drinks in him than I had. “Looks swank.”

“Show them that card,” the hawker urged. “You’l skip the cover.”

“Sweet.” Cary linked arms with me and dragged me along. “Let’s go. You might find a quality guy in a swanky joint.”

My feet were seriously kil ing me by the time we found the place, but I quit bitching when I saw the charming entrance. The line to get in was long, extending down the street and around the corner. Amy Winehouse’s soulful voice drifted out of the open door, as did wel -dressed customers who exited with big smiles.

True to the hawker’s word, the business card was a magic key that granted us immediate and free entrance. A gorgeous hostess led us upstairs to a quieter VIP bar that overlooked the stage and dance floor below. We were shown to a smal seating area by the balcony and settled at a table hugged by two half-moon velvet sofas. She propped a beverage menu in the center and said, “Your drinks are on the house.

Enjoy your evening.”

“Wow.” Cary whistled. “We scored.”

“I think that hawker recognized you from an ad.”

“Wouldn’t that rock?” He grinned. “God, it’s a great night. Hanging out with my best girl and crushing on a new hunk in my life.”

“Oh?”

“I think I’ve decided to see where things go with Trey.”

That made me happy. It felt like I’d been waiting forever for him to find someone who’d treat him right.

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“No, but I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t want to.” He shrugged and smoothed his artful y ripped Tshirt. Paired with black leather pants and spiked wristlets, he looked sexy and wild. “I just think he’s trying to figure out the situation with you first. He wigged when I told him I lived with a woman and that I’d moved across the country to be with you. He’s worried I might be bi-curious and secretly hung up on you.

That’s why I wanted you two to meet today, so he could see how you and I are together.”

“I’m sorry, Cary. I’l try to put him at ease about it.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. It’l work out if it’s supposed to.”

His assurances didn’t make me feel better. I tried to think if there was a way I could help.

Two guys stopped by our table. “Okay if we join you?” the tal er one asked.

I glanced at Cary, and then back at the guys. They looked like brothers and they were very attractive. Both were smiling and confident, their stances loose and easy.

I was about to say, Sure, when a warm hand settled on my bare shoulder and squeezed firmly. “This one’s taken.”

Across from me, Cary gaped as Gideon Cross rounded the sofa and extended his hand to him.

“Taylor. Gideon Cross.”

“Cary Taylor.” He shook Gideon’s hand with a wide smile. “But you knew that. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I could’ve kil ed him. I seriously thought about it.

“Good to know.” Gideon settled on the seat beside me, his arm draped behind me so that his fingertips could brush casual y and possessively up and down my arm. “Maybe there’s hope for me yet.” Twisting at the waist, I faced him and whispered fiercely, “What are you doing?”

He shot me a hard glance. “Whatever it takes.”

“I’m going to dance.” Cary stood with a mischievous grin. “Be back in a bit.”

Ignoring my pleading glance, my best friend blew me a kiss and the guys fol owed him. I watched them al go, my heart racing. After another minute, ignoring Gideon became ridiculous, as wel as impossible.

My gaze slid over him. He wore dress slacks in graphite gray and a black V-neck sweater, the overal effect being one of careless sophistication. I loved the look on him and was attracted to the softness it gave him, even though I knew it was only an il usion. He was a hard man in a lot of ways.

I took a deep breath, feeling like I needed to make an effort to socialize with him. After al , wasn’t that my big complaint? That he wanted to skip past the getting-to-know-you stage and jump straight into bed?

“You look…” I paused. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Amazing. So damn sexy… In the end, I went with the lame, “I like the way you look.”

His brow arched. “Ah, something you like about me.

Is that a general like of the overal package? Or just the clothes? Only the sweater? Or maybe it’s the pants?” The edge to his tone rubbed me the wrong way.

“And if I say it’s just the sweater?”

“I’l buy a dozen and wear them every damn day.”

“That would be a shame.”

“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?”

“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.”

“You did good, Paul,” I said. “Pampering a woman never goes out of style.”

A black town car pul ed up with Clancy at the wheel.

Paul opened the rear door for us and we climbed in, squealing when we found a box of Knipschildt’s Chocopologie on the seat. Waving at Paul, we settled back and dug in, taking tiny nibbles of the truffles that were worth savoring slowly.

Clancy drove us straight to Perrini’s, where the relaxation began from the moment one walked in the door. Crossing the entrance threshold was like taking a vacation on the far side of the world. Every arched doorway was framed by lushly vibrant striped silks, while jeweled pil ows decorated elegant chaises and oversized armchairs.

Birds chirped from suspended gilded cages and potted plants fil ed every corner with lush fronds. Smal decorative fountains added the sounds of running water, while stringed instrumental music was piped into the room via cleverly hidden speakers. The air was redolent with a mix of exotic spices and fragrances, making me feel like I’d stepped into Arabian Nights.

It was this-close to being too much, but it didn’t cross the line. Instead, Perrini’s was exotic and luxurious, an indulgent treat for those who could afford it. Like my mother, who’d just finished a milk-and-honey bath when we arrived.

I studied the menu of treatments available, deciding to skip my usual “warrior woman” in favor of the

“passionate pampering.” I’d been waxed the week before, but the rest of the treatment—“designed to make you sexual y irresistible”—sounded like exactly what I needed.

I’d final y managed to get my mind back into the safe zone of work when Cary spoke up from the pedicure chair beside mine.

“Mrs. Stanton, have you met Gideon Cross?” I gaped at him. He knew damn wel my mom went nuts over any news about my romantic—and not-so-romantic, as the case may be—relationships.

My mother, who sat in the chair on the other side of me, leaned forward with her usual girlish excitement over a rich, handsome man. “Of course. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the world. Number twenty-five or so on Forbes’s list, if I’m remembering correctly. A very driven young man, obviously, and a generous benefactor to many of the children’s charities I champion. Extremely eligible, of course, but I don’t believe he’s gay, Cary. He’s got a reputation as a ladies’ man.”

“My loss.” Cary grinned and ignored my violent headshaking. “But it’d be a hopeless crush anyway, since he’s digging on Eva.”

“Eva! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. How could you not tel me something like that?” I looked at my mom, whose scrubbed face appeared young, unlined, and very much like mine. I was very clearly my mother’s daughter, right down to my surname. The one concession she’d made to my father had been to name me after his mother.

“There’s nothing to tel ,” I insisted. “We’re just…

friends.”

“We can do better than that,” Monica said, with a look of calculation that struck fear in my heart. “I don’t know how it escaped me that you work in the same building he does. I’m certain he was smitten the moment he saw you. Although he’s known to prefer brunettes…Hmm…Anyway. He’s also known for his excel ent taste. Clearly the latter won out with you.”

“It’s not like that. Please don’t start meddling. You’l embarrass me.”

“Nonsense. If anyone knows what to do with men, it’s me.”

I cringed, my shoulders creeping up to my ears. By the time my massage appointment came around, I was in desperate need of one. I stretched out on the table and closed my eyes, preparing to take a catnap to get through the long night ahead.

I loved dressing up and looking pretty as much as the next girl, but charity functions were a lot of work.

Making smal talk was exhausting, smiling nonstop was a pain, and conversations about businesses and

people I didn’t know were boring. If it wasn’t for Cary benefitting from the exposure, I’d put up a bigger fight about going.

I sighed. Who was I fooling? I’d end up going anyway. My mom and Stanton supported abused children’s charities because they were significant to me. Going to the occasional stuffy event was a smal price to pay for the return.

Taking a deep breath, I consciously relaxed. I made a mental note to cal my dad when I got home and thought about how to send a thank-you note to Gideon for the hangover cure. I supposed I could e-mail him using the contact info on his business card, but that lacked class. Besides, I didn’t know who read his inbox.

I’d just cal him when I got home. Why not? He’d asked—no, told—me to; he’d written the demand on his business card. And I’d get to hear his luscious voice again.

The door opened and the masseuse came in.

“Hel o, Eva. You ready?”

Not quite. But I was getting there.

After many lovely hours at the spa, my mom and Cary dropped me off at the apartment; then they headed out to hunt for new cuff links for Stanton. I used the time alone to cal Gideon. Even with the much-needed privacy, I punched most of his phone number into the keypad a half-dozen times before I final y put the cal through.

He answered on the first ring. “Eva.”

Startled that he’d known who was cal ing, my mind scrambled for a moment. How did he have my name and number in his contact list? “Uh…hi, Gideon.”

“I’m a block away. Let the front desk know I’m coming.”

“What?” I felt like I’d missed part of the conversation.

“Coming where?”

“To your place. I’m rounding the corner now. Cal the desk, Eva.”

He hung up and I stared at the phone, trying to absorb the fact that Gideon was moments away from being with me again. Somewhat dazed, I went to the intercom and talked to the front desk, letting them know I was expecting him and while I was talking, he walked into the lobby. A few moments after that, he was at my door.

It was then that I remembered I was dressed in only a thigh-length silk robe, and my face and hair were styled for the dinner. What kind of impression would he get from my appearance?

I tightened the belt of my robe before I let him in. It wasn’t like I’d invited him over for a seduction or anything.

Gideon stood in the hal way for a long moment, his gaze raking me from my head down to my French manicured toes. I was equal y stunned by his appearance. The way he looked in worn jeans and a Tshirt made me want to undress him with my teeth.

“Worth the trip to find you like this, Eva.” He stepped inside and locked the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Thanks to you. Thank you.” My stomach quivered because he was here, with me, which made me feel almost…giddy. “That can’t be why you came over.”

“I’m here because it took you too long to cal me.”

“I didn’t realize I had a deadline.”

“I have to ask you something time-sensitive, but more than that, I wanted to know if you were feeling al right after last night.” His eyes were dark as they swept over me, his breathtaking face framed by that luxurious curtain of inky hair. “God. You look beautiful, Eva. I can’t remember ever wanting anything this much.” With just those few simple words I became hot and needy. Way too vulnerable. “What’s so urgent?”

“Go with me to the advocacy center dinner tonight.” I pul ed back, surprised and excited by the request.

“You’re going?”

“So are you. I checked, knowing your mother would be there. Let’s go together.”

My hand went to my throat, my mind torn between the weirdness of how much he knew about me and concern over what he was asking me to do. “That’s not what I meant when I said we should spend time together.”

“Why not?” The simple question was laced with chal enge. “What’s the problem with going together to an event we’d already planned on attending separately?”

“It’s not very discreet. It’s a high-profile event.”

“So?” Gideon stepped closer and fingered a curl of my hair.

There was a dangerous purr to his voice that sent a shiver through me. I could feel the warmth of his big, hard body and smel the richly masculine scent of his skin. I was fal ing under his spel , deeper with every minute that passed.

“People wil make assumptions, my mother in particular. She’s already scenting your bachelor blood in the water.”

Lowering his head, Gideon pressed his lips into the crook of my neck. “I don’t care what people think. We know what we’re doing. And I’l deal with your mother.”

“If you think you can,” I said breathlessly, “you don’t know her very wel .”

“I’l pick you up at seven.” His tongue traced the wildly throbbing vein in my throat and I melted into him, my body going lax as he pul ed me close.

Stil , I managed to say, “I haven’t said yes.”

“But you won’t say no.” He caught my earlobe between his teeth. “I won’t let you.”

I opened my mouth to protest and he sealed his lips over mine, shutting me up with a lush wet kiss. His tongue did that slow, savoring licking that made me long to feel him doing the same between my legs. My hands went to his hair, sliding through it, tugging. When he wrapped his arms around me, I arched, curving into his hands.

Just as he had in his office, he had me on my back on the couch before I realized he was moving me, his mouth swal owing my surprised gasp. The robe gave way to his dexterous fingers; then he was cupping my breasts, kneading them with soft, rhythmic squeezes.

“Gideon—”

“Shh.” He sucked on my lower lip, his fingers rol ing and tugging my tender nipples. “It was driving me crazy knowing you were naked beneath your robe.”

“You came over without—Oh! Oh, God…”

His mouth surrounded the tip of my breast, the wash of heat bringing a mist of perspiration to my skin.

My gaze darted frantical y to the clock on the cable box. “Gideon, no.”

His head lifted and he looked at me with stormy blue eyes. “It’s insane, I know. I don’t—I can’t explain it, Eva, but I have to make you come. I’ve been thinking about it constantly for days now.”

One of his hands pushed between my legs. They fel open shamelessly, my body so aroused I was flushed and almost feverish. His other hand continued to plump my breasts, making them heavy and unbearably sensitive.

“You’re wet for me,” he murmured, his gaze sliding down my body to where he was parting me with his fingers. “You’re beautiful here, too. Plush and pink. So soft. You didn’t wax today, did you?”

I shook my head.

“Thank God. I don’t think I would’ve made it ten minutes without touching you, let alone ten hours.” He slid one finger careful y into me.

My eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by a man whose familiarity with the rules of Brazilian waxing betrayed an intimate knowledge of women. A man who was stil ful y clothed and kneeling on the floor beside me.

“You’re so snug.” Gideon pul ed out and thrust gently back into me. My back bowed as I clenched eagerly around him. “And so greedy. How long has it been since the last time you were fucked?”

I swal owed hard. “I’ve been busy. My thesis, job-hunting, moving…”

“A while, then.” He pul ed out and pushed back into me with two fingers. I couldn’t hold back a moan of delight. The man had talented hands, confident and skil ed, and he took what he wanted with them.

“Are you on birth control, Eva?”

“Yes.” My hands gripped the edges of the cushions.

“Of course.”

“I’l prove I’m clean and you’l do the same, then you’re going to let me come in you.”

“Jesus, Gideon.” I was panting for him, my hips circling shamelessly onto his thrusting fingers. I felt like I’d spontaneously combust if he didn’t get me off.

I’d never been so turned on in my life. I was near mindless with the need for an orgasm. If Cary walked in right then and found me writhing in our living room while Gideon finger-fucked me, I didn’t think I’d care.

Gideon was breathing hard, too. His face was flushed with lust. For me. When I’d done nothing more than respond helplessly to him.

His hand at my breast moved to my cheek and brushed over it. “You’re blushing. I’ve scandalized you.”

“Yes.”

His smile was both wicked and delighted, and it made my chest tight. “I want to feel my cum in you when I fuck you with my fingers. I want you to feel my cum in you, so you think about how I looked and the sounds I made when I pumped it into you. And while you’re thinking about that, you’re going to look forward to me doing it again and again.”

My sex rippled around his stroking fingers, the rawness of his words pushing me to the brink of orgasm.

“I’m going to tel you al the ways I want you to please me, Eva, and you’re going to do it al …take it al , and we’re going to have explosive, primal, no-holds-barred sex. You know that, don’t you? You can feel how it’l be between us.”

“Yes,” I breathed, clutching my breasts to ease the deep ache of my hardened nipples. “Please, Gideon.”

“Shh…I’ve got you.” The pad of his thumb rubbed my clitoris in gentle circles. “Look into my eyes when you come for me.”

Everything tightened in my core, the tension building as he massaged my clit and pushed his fingers in and out in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Give it up to me, Eva,” he ordered. “Now.” I climaxed with a thready cry, my grip white-knuckled on the sides of the cushions as my hips pumped onto his hand, my mind far beyond shame or shyness. My gaze was locked to his, unable to look away, riveted by the fierce masculine triumph that flared in his eyes. In that moment he owned me. I’d do anything he wanted.

And he knew it.

Searing pleasure pulsed through me. Through the roaring of blood in my ears, I thought I heard him speak hoarsely, but I lost the words when he hooked one of my legs over the back of the couch and covered my cleft with his mouth.

“No—” I pushed at his head with my hands. “I can’t.” I was too swol en, too sensitive. But when his tongue touched my clit, fluttering over it, the hunger built again.

More intense than the first time. He rimmed my trembling slit, teasing me, taunting me with the promise of another orgasm when I knew I couldn’t have one again so quickly.

Then his tongue speared into me and I bit my lip to bite back a scream. I came a second time, my body quaking

violently,

tender

muscles

tightening

desperately around his decadent licking. His growl vibrated through me. I didn’t have the strength to push him away when he returned to my clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…until I climaxed again, gasping his name.

I was boneless as he straightened my leg and stil breathless when he pressed kisses up my bel y to my breasts. He licked each of my nipples, and then hauled me up with his arms banded around my back. I hung lax and pliable in his grip while he took my mouth with suppressed violence, bruising my lips and betraying how close to the edge he was.

He closed my robe; then stood, staring down at me.

“Gideon…?”

“Seven o’clock, Eva.” He reached down and touched my ankle, his fingertips caressing the diamond anklet I’d put on in preparation for the evening. “And keep this on. I want to fuck you while you’re wearing nothing else.”

“Hey, Dad. I caught you.” I adjusted my grip on the phone receiver and pul ed up a stool at the breakfast bar. I missed my father. For the last four years we’d lived close enough to see each other at least once a week. Now his home in Oceanside was the entire country away. “How are you?”

He lowered the volume on the television. “Better, now that you’ve cal ed. How was your first week at work?”

I went over my days from Monday through Friday, skipping over al the Gideon parts. “I real y like my boss, Mark,” I finished. “And the vibe of the agency is very energetic and kind of quirky. I’m happy going to work every day, and I’m bummed when it’s time to go home.”

“I hope it stays that way. But you need to make sure you have some downtime, too. Go out, be young, have fun. But not too much fun.”

“Yeah, I had a little too much last night. Cary and I went clubbing, and I woke up with a mean hangover.”

“Shit, don’t tel me that.” He groaned. “Some nights I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about you in New York. I get through it by tel ing myself you’re too smart to take chances, thanks to two parents who’ve dril ed safety rules into your DNA.”

“Which is true,” I said, laughing. “That reminds me…

I’m going to start Krav Maga training.”

“Real y?” There was a thoughtful pause. “One of the guys on the force is big on it. Maybe I’l check it out and we can compare notes when I come out to visit you.”

“You’re coming to New York?” I couldn’t hide my excitement. “Oh, Dad, I’d love it if you would. As much as I miss SoCal, Manhattan is real y awesome. I think you’l like it.”

“I’d like anyplace in the world as long as you’re there.” He waited a beat, then asked, “How’s your mom?”

“Wel …she’s Mom. Beautiful, charming, and obsessive-compulsive.”

My chest hurt and I rubbed at it. I thought my dad might stil love my mom. He’d never married. That was one of the reasons I never told him about what happened to me. As a cop, he would’ve insisted on pressing charges and the scandal would have destroyed my mother. I also worried that he’d lose respect for her or even blame her, and it hadn’t been her fault. As soon as she’d found out what her stepson was doing to me, she’d left a husband she was happy with and filed for divorce.

I kept talking, waving at Cary as he came rushing in with a little blue Tiffany & Co. bag. “We had a spa day today. It was a fun way to cap off the week.” I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I’m glad you two are managing to spend time together.

What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?” I hedged on the subject of the charity event, knowing the whole red carpet business and astronomical y-priced dinner seats would just highlight the gap between my parents’ lives. “Cary and I are going out to eat, and then I plan on staying in tomorrow. Sleeping in late, hanging out in my pajamas al day, maybe some movies and food delivery of some sort. A little vegetating before a new work week kicks off.”

“Sounds like heaven to me. I may copy you when my next day off rol s around.”

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was creeping past six.

“I have to get ready now. Be careful at work, okay? I worry about you, too.”

“Wil do. Bye, baby.”

The familiar sign-off had me missing him so much my throat hurt. “Oh, wait! I’m getting a new cel phone.

I’l text you the number as soon as I have it.”

“Again? You just got a new one when you moved.”

“Long, boring story.”

“Hmm…Don’t put it off. They’re good for safety as wel as playing Angry Birds.”

“I’m over that game!” I laughed and warmth spread through me to hear him laughing, too. “I’l cal you in a few days. Be good.”

“That’s my line.”

We hung up. I sat for a few moments in the ensuing silence, feeling like everything was right in my world, which never lasted long. I brooded on that for minute; then Cary cranked up Hinder on his bedroom stereo and that kicked my butt into gear.

I hurried to my room to get ready for a night with Gideon.

“Necklace or no necklace?” I asked Cary, when he came into my bedroom looking seriously amazing.

Dressed in his new Brioni tux, he was both debonair and dashing, and certain to attract attention.

“Hmm.” His head tilted to the side as he studied me.

“Hold it up again.”

I lifted the choker of gold coins to my throat. The dress my mom had sent was fire engine red and styled for a Grecian goddess. It hung on one shoulder, cut diagonal y across my cleavage, had ruching to the hip, and then split at my right upper thigh al the way down my leg. There was no back to speak of, aside from a slender strip of rhinestones that connected one side to the other to keep the front from fal ing off. Otherwise, the back was bared to just above the crack of my buttocks in a racy V-cut.

“Forget the necklace,” he said. “I was leaning toward gold chandeliers, but now I’m thinking diamond hoops. The biggest ones you’ve got.”

“What? Real y?” I frowned at our reflections in my cheval mirror, watching as he moved to my jewelry box and dug through it.

“These.” He brought them to me and I eyed the two-inch hoops my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday. “Trust me, Eva. Try ’em on.”

I did and found he was right. It was a very different look from the gold choker, less glam and more edgy sensuality. And the earrings went wel with the diamond anklet on my right leg that I’d never think of the same way again after Gideon’s comment. With my hair swept off my face into a cascade of thick, deliberately messy curls, I had a just-screwed look that was complemented by smoky eye shadow and glossy nude lips.

“What would I do without you, Cary Taylor?”

“Baby girl”—he set his hands on my shoulders and pressed his cheek to mine—“you’l never find out.”

“You look awesome, by the way.”

“Don’t I?” He winked and stepped back, showing off.

In his own way, Cary could give Gideon a run for his money…er, looks. Cary was more finely featured, almost pretty compared to Gideon’s savage beauty, but both were striking men that made you look twice, and then stare in greedy delight.

Cary hadn’t been quite so perfect when I met him.

He’d been strung out and gaunt, his emerald eyes cloudy and lost. But I’d been drawn to him, going out of my way to sit next to him in group therapy. He’d final y propositioned me crudely, having come to believe the only reason people associated with him was because they wanted to fuck him. It was when I declined, firmly and irrevocably, that we final y connected and became best friends. He was the brother I’d never had.

The intercom buzzed and I jumped, making me realize how nervous I was. I looked at Cary. “I forgot to tel the front desk he was coming back.”

“I’l get him.”

“Are you going to be okay riding over with Stanton and my mom?”

“Are you kidding? They love me.” His smile dimmed. “Having second thoughts about going with Cross?”

I took a deep breath, remembering where I’d been earlier—on my back in a multi-orgasmic daze. “Not real y, no. It’s just that everything’s happening so fast and going better than I expected or realized I wanted…”

“You’re wondering what the catch is.” Reaching out, he tapped my nose with his fingertip. “He’s the catch, Eva. And you landed him. Enjoy yourself.”

“I’m trying.” I was grateful that Cary understood me and the way my mind worked. It was just so easy being with him, knowing he could fil in the blanks when I couldn’t explain something.

“I researched the hel out of him this morning and printed out the interesting recent stuff. It’s on your desk, if you decide you want to check it out.” I remembered him printing something before we got ready for the spa. Pushing onto my tiptoes, I kissed his cheek. “You’re the best. I love you.”

“Back atcha, baby girl.” He headed out. “I’l head down to the front desk and bring him up. Take your time. He’s ten minutes early.”

Smiling, I watched him saunter into the hal way. The door had closed behind him when I moved into the smal sitting room attached to my bedroom. On the very impractical escritoire my mother had picked out, I found a folder fil ed with articles and printed images. I settled into the chair and got lost in Gideon Cross’s history.

It was like watching a train wreck to read that he was the son of Geoffrey Cross, former chairman of an investment securities firm later found to be a front for a massive Ponzi scheme. Gideon was just five years old when his dad committed suicide with a gunshot to the head rather than face prison time.

Oh, Gideon. I tried to picture him that young and imagined a handsome dark-haired boy with beautiful blue eyes fil ed with terrible confusion and sadness.

The image broke my heart. How devastating his father’s suicide—and the circumstances around it—

must have been, for both him and his mother. The stress and strain at such a difficult time would’ve been enormous, especial y for a child of that age.

His mother went on to marry Christopher Vidal, a music executive, and had two more children, Christopher Vidal Jr. and Ireland Vidal, but it seemed a larger family and financial security had come too late to help Gideon stabilize after such a huge shakeup. He was too closed off not to bear some painful emotional scars.

With a critical and curious eye, I studied the women who’d been photographed with Gideon and thought about his approach to dating, socializing, and sex. I saw that my mom had been right—they were al brunettes. The woman who appeared with him most often bore the hal marks of a Hispanic heritage. She was tal er than me, wil owy rather than curvy.

“Magdalene Perez,” I murmured, grudgingly admitting that she was a stunner. Her posture had the kind of flamboyant confidence that I admired.

“Okay, it’s been long enough,” Cary interrupted with a soft note of amusement. He fil ed the doorway to my sitting room, leaning insolently into the doorjamb.

“Real y?” I’d been so absorbed; I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

“I would guess you’re about a minute away from him coming to find you. He’s barely restraining himself.” I shut the folder and stood.

“Interesting reading, isn’t it?”

“Very.” How had Gideon’s father—or more specifical y, his father’s suicide—influenced his life?

I knew al the answers I wanted were waiting for me in the next room.

Leaving my bedroom, I took the hal way to the living room. I paused on the threshold, my gaze riveted to Gideon’s back as he stood in front of the windows and looked out at the city. My heart rate kicked up. His reflection revealed a contemplative mood. His gaze was unfocused and his mouth grim. His crossed arms betrayed an inherent unease, as if he was out of his element. He looked remote and removed, a man who was inherently alone.

He sensed my presence or maybe he felt my yearning. He pivoted; then went very stil . I took the opportunity to drink him in, my gaze sliding al over him. He looked every inch the powerful magnate. So sensual y handsome my eyes burned just from looking at him. The rakish fal of black hair around his face made my fingers flex with the urge to touch it. And the way he looked at me…my pulse leaped.

“Eva.” He came toward me, his stride graceful and strong. He caught up my hand and lifted it to his mouth.

His gaze was intense—intensely hot, intensely focused.

The feel of his lips against my skin sent goose bumps racing up my arm and stirred memories of that sinful mouth on other parts of my body. I was instantly aroused. “Hi.”

Amusement warmed his eyes. “Hi, yourself. You look amazing. I can’t wait to show you off.” I breathed through the delight I felt at the compliment. “Let’s hope I can do you justice.” A slight frown knit the space between his brows.

“Do you have everything you need?”

Cary appeared beside me, carrying my black velvet shawl and opera length gloves. “Here you go. I tucked your gloss into your clutch.”

“You’re the best, Cary.”

He winked at me—which told me he’d seen the condoms I had tucked into the smal interior pocket. “I’l head down with you two.”

Gideon took the shawl from Cary and draped it over my shoulders. He pul ed my hair out from underneath it and the feel of his hands at my neck so distracted me, I barely paid attention when Cary pushed my gloves into my hands.

The elevator ride to the lobby was an exercise in surviving acute sexual tension. Not that Cary seemed to notice. He was on my left with both hands in his pockets, whistling. Gideon, on the other hand, was a tremendous force on the other side of me. Although he didn’t move or make a sound, I could feel the edgy energy radiating from him. My skin tingled from the magnetic pul between us, and my breath came short and fast. I was relieved when the doors opened and freed us from the enclosed space.

Two women stood waiting to get on. Their jaws dropped when they saw Gideon and Cary, and that lightened my mood and made me smile.

“Ladies,” Cary greeted them, with a smile that real y wasn’t fair. I could almost see their brain cel s misfiring.

In contrast, Gideon gave a curt nod and led me out with a hand at the smal of my back, skin to skin. The contact was electric, sending heat pouring through me.

I squeezed Cary’s hand. “Save a dance for me.”

“Always. See you in a bit.”

A limousine was waiting at the curb, and the driver opened the door when Gideon and I stepped outside. I slid across the bench seat to the opposite side and adjusted my gown. When Gideon settled beside me and the door shut, I became highly conscious of how good he smel ed. I breathed him in, tel ing myself to relax and enjoy his company. He took my hand and ran his fingertips over the palm, the simple touch sparking a fierce lust. I shrugged off my shawl, feeling too hot to wear it.

“Eva.” He hit a button and the privacy glass behind the driver began to slide up. The next moment I was tugged across his lap and his mouth was on mine, kissing me fiercely.

I did what I’d wanted to do since I saw him in my living room: I shoved my hands in his hair and kissed him back. I loved the way he kissed me, as if he had to, as if he’d go crazy if he didn’t and had nearly waited too long. I sucked on his tongue, having learned how much he liked it, having learned how much I liked it, how much it made me want to suck him elsewhere with the same eagerness.

His hands were sliding over my bare back and I moaned, feeling the prod of his erection against my hip. I shifted, moving to straddle him, shoving the skirt of my gown out of the way and making a mental note to thank my mom for the dress—which had such a convenient slit. With my knees on either side of his hips, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss. I licked into his mouth, nibbled on his lower lip, stroked my tongue along his…

Gideon gripped my waist and pushed me away. He leaned into the seat back, his neck arched to look up at my face, his chest heaving. “What are you doing to me?”

I ran my hands down his chest through his dress shirt, feeling the unforgiving hardness of his muscles.

My fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen, my mind forming a picture of how he might look naked. “I’m touching you. Enjoying the hel out of you. I want you, Gideon.”

He caught my wrists, stil ing my movements. “Later.

We’re in the middle of Manhattan.”

“No one can see us.”

“That’s not the point. It’s not the time or place to start something we can’t finish for hours. I’m losing my mind already from this afternoon.”

“So let’s make sure we finish it now.”

His grip tightened painful y. “We can’t do that here.”

“Why not?” Then a surprising thought struck me.

“Haven’t you ever had sex in a limo?”

“No.” His jaw hardened. “Have you?”

Looking away without answering, I saw the traffic and pedestrians surging around us. We were only inches away from hundreds of people, but the dark glass concealed us and made me feel reckless. I wanted to please him. I wanted to know I was capable of reaching into Gideon Cross, and there was nothing to stop me but him.

I rocked my hips against him, stroking myself with the hard length of his cock. His breath hissed out between clenched teeth.

“I need you, Gideon,” I said breathlessly, inhaling his scent, which was richer now that he was aroused. I thought I might be slightly intoxicated, just from the enticing smel of his skin. “You drive me crazy.” He released my wrists and cupped my face, his lips pressing hard against mine. I reached for the fly of his slacks, freeing the two buttons to access the concealed zipper. He tensed.

“I need this,” I whispered against his lips. “Give me this.”

He didn’t relax, but he made no further attempts to stop me either. When he fel heavily into my palms, he groaned, the sound both pained and erotic. I squeezed him gently, my touch deliberately tender as I sized him with my hands. He was so hard, like stone, and hot. I slid both of my fists up his length from root to tip, my breath catching when he quivered beneath me.

Gideon gripped my thighs, his hands sliding upward beneath the edges of my dress until his thumbs found the red lace of my thong. “Your cunt is so sweet,” he murmured into my mouth. “I want to spread you out and lick you ’til you beg for my cock.”

“I’l beg now, if you want.” I stroked him with one hand and reached for my clutch with the other, snapping it open to grab a condom.

One of his thumbs slid beneath the edge of my panties, the pad sliding through the slickness of my desire. “I’ve barely touched you,” he whispered, his eyes glittering up at me in the shadows of the backseat, “and you’re ready for me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I don’t want you to help it.” He pushed his thumb inside me, biting his lower lip when I clenched helplessly around him. “It wouldn’t be fair when I can’t stop what you do to me.”

I ripped the foil packet open with my teeth and held it out to him with the ring of the condom protruding from the tear. “I’m not good with these.”

His hand curled around mine. “I’m breaking al my rules with you.”

The seriousness of his low tone sent a burst of warmth and confidence through me. “Rules are made to be broken.”

I saw his teeth flash white; then he hit a button on the panel beside him and said, “Drive until I say otherwise.”

My cheeks heated. Another car’s headlights pierced the dark tinted glass and slid over my face, betraying my embarrassment.

“Why, Eva,” he purred, rol ing the condom on deftly.

“You’ve seduced me into having sex in my limousine, but blush when I tel my driver I don’t want to be interrupted while you do it to me?”

His sudden playfulness made me desperate to have him. Setting my hands on his shoulders for balance, I lifted onto my knees, rising to gain the height I needed to hover over the crown of Gideon’s thick cock. His hands fisted at my hips and I heard a snap as he tore my panties away. The abrupt sound and the violent action behind it spurred my desire to a fever pitch.

“Go slow,” he ordered hoarsely, lifting his hips to push his pants down farther.

His erection brushed between my legs as he moved and I whimpered, so aching and empty, as if the orgasms he’d given me earlier had only deepened my craving rather than appeased it.

He tensed when I wrapped my fingers around him and positioned him, tucking the wide crest against the saturated folds of my cleft. The scent of our lust was heavy and humid in the air, a seductive mix of need and pheromones that awakened every cel in my body.

My skin was flushed and tingling, my breasts heavy and tender.

This is what I’d wanted from the moment I first saw him—to possess him, to climb up his magnificent body and take him deep inside me.

“God. Eva,” he gasped as I lowered onto him, his hands flexing restlessly on my thighs.

I closed my eyes, feeling too exposed. I’d wanted intimacy with him and yet this seemed too intimate.

We were eye-to-eye, only inches apart, cocooned in a smal space with the rest of the world streaming by around us. I could sense his agitation, knew he was feeling as off-center as I was.

“You’re so tight.” His gasped words were threaded with a hint of delicious agony.

I took more of him, letting him slide deeper. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling exquisitely stretched. “You’re so big.”

Pressing his palm flat to my lower bel y, he touched my throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb and began to massage it in slow, expertly soft circles. Everything in my core tightened and clenched, sucking him deeper. Opening my eyes, I looked at him from under heavy eyelids. He was so beautiful sprawled beneath me in his elegant tuxedo, his powerful body straining with the primal need to mate.

His neck arched, his head pressing hard into the seatback as if he was struggling against invisible bonds. “Ah, Christ,” he bit out, his teeth grinding. “I’m going to come so hard.”

The dark promise excited me. Sweat misted my skin. I became so wet and hot that I slid smoothly down the length of his cock until I’d nearly sheathed him. A breathless cry escaped me before I’d taken him to the root. He was so deep I could hardly stand it, forcing me to shift from side to side, trying to ease the unexpected bite of discomfort. But my body didn’t seem to care that he was too big. It was rippling around him, squeezing, trembling on the verge of orgasm.

Gideon cursed and gripped my hip with his free hand, urging me to lean backward as his chest heaved with frantic breaths. The position altered my descent and I opened, accepting al of him. Immediately his body temperature rose, his torso radiating sultry heat through his clothes. Sweat dotted his upper lip.

Leaning forward, I slid my tongue along the sculpted curve, col ecting the saltiness with a low murmur of delight. His hips churned impatiently. I lifted careful y, sliding up a few inches before he stopped me with that ferocious grasp on my hip.

“Slow,” he warned again, with an authoritative bite that sent lust pulsing through me.

I lowered, taking him into me again, feeling an oddly luscious soreness as he pushed just past my limits.

Our eyes locked on each other as the pleasure spread from the place where we connected. It struck me then that we were both ful y clothed except for the most private and intimate parts of our bodies. I found that excruciatingly carnal, as were the sounds he made, as if the pleasure was as extreme for him as it was for me.

Wild for him, I pressed my mouth to his, my fingers gripping the sweat-damp roots of his hair. I kissed him as I rocked my hips, riding the maddening circling of his thumb, feeling the orgasm building with every slide of his long, thick penis into my melting core.

I lost my mind somewhere along the way, primitive instinct taking over until my body was completely in charge. I could focus on nothing but the driving urge to fuck, the ferocious need to ride his cock until the tension burst and set me free of this grinding hunger.

“It’s so good,” I sobbed, lost to him. “You feel…Ah, God, it’s too good.”

Using both hands, Gideon commanded my rhythm, tilting me into an angle that had the big crown of his cock rubbing a tender, aching spot inside me. As I tightened and shook, I realized I was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of him inside me.

“Gideon.”

He captured me by the nape as the orgasm exploded through me, starting with the ecstatic spasms of my core and radiating outward until I was trembling al over. He watched me fal apart, holding my gaze when I would’ve closed my eyes. Possessed by his stare, I moaned and came harder than I ever had, my body jerking with every pulse of pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled, pounding his hips up at me, yanking my hips down to meet his punishing lunges. He hit the end of me with every deep thrust, battering into me. I could feel him growing harder and thicker.

I watched him avidly, needing to see it when he went over the edge for me. His eyes were wild with his need, losing their focus as his control frayed, his gorgeous face ravaged by the brutal race to climax.

“Eva!” He came with an animal sound of feral ecstasy, a snarling release that riveted me with its ferocity. He shook as the orgasm tore into him, his features softening for an instant with an unexpected vulnerability.

Cupping his face, I brushed my lips across his, comforting him as the forceful bursts of his gasping breaths struck my cheeks.

“Eva.” He wrapped his arms around me and crushed me to him, pressing his damp face into the curve of my neck.

I knew just how he felt. Stripped. Laid bare.

We stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, absorbing the aftershocks. He turned his head and kissed me softly, the strokes of his tongue into my mouth soothing my ragged emotions.

“Wow,” I breathed, shaken.

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 fil ed 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, pul ing 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. Al the warmth I’d felt receded into a marked chil , cooling me enough that I pul ed 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 pul ed out a bottle. Without looking at me, he asked, “Brandy?”

“No, thank you.” My voice was smal , 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 pul ed 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 cal ed his name and he turned. I slipped away, darting around the rest of the guests clogging the carpeted entrance.

When I reached the reception hal , 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 stil 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 bal 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 pul ed 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 grateful y exchanged the empty glass for the fresh one Cary handed me. There was a slight warmth growing in my bel y 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 hel ? 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 wel enough—spoke at the appropriate moments and smiled when necessary—

but I wasn’t real y paying attention. I was too conscious of the icy wal 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 total y 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 skil ed 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 wel 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.

“Hel o 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. “Hel o.”

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 tel 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’l 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 bal room and stepped onto the dance floor. The band began the first strains of a waltz and we moved easily, natural y into the music. He was a skil ed 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 real y 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. “Wel , I’m not taken.” Christopher flashed his charismatic boyish grin. “My night just took a turn for the better.” He fil ed 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 wel as a couple because we’d taken lessons together. I relaxed into his hold, grateful to have him as moral support.