11
“You look like you need a refill,” Shawna said, setting down two rebujitos on the small table between our two loungers.
“God.” I laughed, slightly tipsy. The mix of dry sherry and sweet soda in the drink had a sneaky punch. And it wasn’t exactly wise to chase away a hangover with more alcohol. “I’m going to need to detox after this weekend.”
She grinned and stretched back out, her freckled skin still pale and slightly pink after two days in the sun. Her red hair was piled atop her head in a sexy mess, her voice slightly hoarse from laughing so hard the night before. She’d donned a bright aqua blue bikini that drew many appreciative eyes her way. Shawna was a bright spot of color, with a ready smile and bawdy sense of humor.
In that way, she was a lot like her brother, who I knew and loved as the fiancé of my former boss, Mark.
Megumi walked up on my other side, carrying two more drinks. She looked at the empty lounger where my mom had been. “Where’s Monica?”
“She went to cool off in the water.” I looked for her but didn’t see her. She was hard to miss in her lavender bikini, so I figured she’d wandered off somewhere. “She’ll be back.”
She’d been with us the whole time, partying alongside us every step of the way. It wasn’t her style to drink too much and stay up too late, but she seemed to be having fun. She was certainly causing a stir. Men of all ages flocked around her. There was a kittenish sensuality about my mother that was irresistible. I wished I had that.
“Look at him go,” Shawna said, drawing my attention to where Cary played in the surf. “He’s a total chick magnet.”
“Oh yeah.”
The beach was packed, so much so that it was hard to see the sand. Dozens of shoulders and heads bobbed amid the ocean waves, but it was easy to see the cluster around Cary. He was flashing his grin, soaking up the attention like a cat in the sun. With his hair slicked back, the beauty of his gorgeous face was on display, despite the aviator shades he wore to block out the bright sun.
Catching me watching him, he waved. I blew him a kiss, just to stir things up.
“You and Cary never got together?” Shawna asked. “Did you ever want to?”
I shook my head. Cary was stunning now, healthy and leanly muscular, a prime example of the perfect male. But when I’d met him, he had been gaunt and hollow-eyed, always shrouded in hoodies even in the warmth of San Diego summers. He’d kept his arms covered to hide the evidence of his cutting and wore the hood over his closely cropped head.
In group therapy sessions, he’d always sat outside the circle and against a wall, his chair kicked back to balance on the rear legs. He commented rarely, but when he did, his humor was dark and laced with sarcasm, his insight almost always cynical.
I had approached him once, unable to ignore the deep inner pain that radiated from him. Don’t waste my time easing into it, he’d said smoothly, his beautiful green eyes devoid of any light at all. You want to ride my dick, just say so. I never say no to a fuck.
I knew that was true. Dr. Travis had a lot of messed-up patients, many of whom used sex as a salve or form of self-punishment. Cary was available to be used by all of them, and many walked through that open-door invitation frequently.
No, thanks, I’d shot back, disgust triggered by his sexual aggression. You’re too skinny for me. Eat a fucking cheeseburger, dickhead.
I regretted trying to be nice to him after that. He’d stalked me mercilessly, constantly putting me off with crass sexual come-ons. I’d been prickly at first. When that didn’t work, I’d killed him with kindness. Eventually, he’d realized I really wasn’t going to sleep with him.
In the meantime, he started putting on weight. He let his hair start growing out. He stopped being the resident fuck, although he was simply more selective. I had noticed how gorgeous he was, but there was no attraction there. He was too much like me and my self-preservation instincts had been on high alert.
“We were friends,” I told her. “Then he became like a brother to me.”
“I adore him,” Megumi said, smoothing suntan lotion over her legs. “He told me that things are rough with him and Trey right now. I’m sorry to hear that. They’re so great together.”
I nodded, my gaze going back to my dearest friend. Cary was lifting a woman up by the waist to toss her into the waves. She came up sputtering and laughing, clearly smitten. “It’s lame to say that it’ll work out if it’s meant to, but that’s what I’m going with.”
I still needed to call Trey. And Gideon’s mom, Elizabeth. I wanted to touch base with Ireland, too. And Chris. Since I’d probably be wiped out from jet lag and too much alcohol, I made a mental note to fit in all those calls while I recovered at the penthouse. I had to touch base with my dad, too, since I’d put off our scheduled Saturday call due to the time difference between us.
“I don’t want to go home.” Megumi stretched out with a sigh, her drink in her hands. “These two days went by too fast. I can’t believe we’re leaving in a few hours.”
I could easily stay another week, if I weren’t missing Gideon so much.
“Eva, honey.”
My head tilted at the sound of my mom’s voice. She’d come up behind me and stood behind my lounger wrapped in her cover-up. “Is it time to go already?”
She shook her head. Then I noticed she was wringing her hands. Never a good sign.
“Can you come back to the hotel with me?” she asked. “I need to talk to you about something.”
I saw Clancy standing behind her, his jaw tight and hard. My pulse began to race. Standing, I grabbed the sarong I’d worn down to the beach and tied it around my waist.
“Should we come?” Shawna asked, sitting up.
“Stay here with Cary,” my mom replied, offering a reassuring smile.
It amazed me how she did that, acting so cool and unruffled when I knew she was anxious. I was too expressive to hide my reactions, but my mom only showed emotion with her eyes and her hands, often saying that even laughter put lines on a face. Since she was wearing sunglasses, she was effectively camouflaged.
Mutely, I followed her and Clancy back to the hotel. Once we reached the lobby, it seemed like every employee had to greet us with a smile or wave. They all knew who I was. After all, we were staying in one of Gideon’s resorts. The name Vientos Cruzados meant Crosswinds.
Gideon had married me at a Crosswinds resort. I hadn’t realized they were a global chain.
We stepped into an elevator and Clancy slid a key card into the necessary slot, a security measure that limited access to our floor. Since there were other people in the car with us, I still had to wait for answers.
I felt sick to my stomach, my thoughts bouncing all over the place. Had something happened to Gideon? Or my dad? I realized I’d left my phone on the table by my drink and kicked myself. If I could only send a quick text to Gideon, I’d feel like I was doing something besides driving myself crazy.
After three stops, the elevator car was empty except for us as we continued the climb to our floor.
“What’s going on?” I asked, turning to face both my mom and Clancy.
She pulled her shades off with trembling fingers. “There’s a scandal brewing,” she began. “Mostly online.”
Which meant it was out of control. Or about to be. “Mom. Just tell me.”
She took a deep breath. “There are some pictures …” She glanced at Clancy for help.
“Of what?” I thought I might vomit. Had the pictures my stepbrother Nathan had taken gotten out somehow? Or stills from the sex tape with Brett?
“Photos of Gideon Cross in Brazil went viral this morning,” Clancy said. He spoke neutrally, but there was something oddly stiff about his stance. So much tension was unusual for him.
I felt as if I’d been punched in the gut. I didn’t say anything more. There was nothing to say until I saw the evidence.
We exited directly into our suite, a massive space with several bedrooms and a large central living area. The maids had opened the doors leading out to the wraparound balcony, and the sheer drapes fluttered in the breeze, escaping the ties meant to contain them. Bright with the color and warmth of Spain, the suite had delighted me the moment we arrived.
I barely registered any of it now.
I walked on shaky legs to the couch and waited for Clancy to key in his code on a tablet and pass it over to me. My mom took the seat beside me, silently offering her support.
Looking down, I sucked in a quick audible breath. My chest felt like it was being crushed in a vise. What I saw freaked me out … it was as if someone had crawled inside my head and captured one of the images in my mind.
My gaze locked on Gideon, so dark and gorgeous dressed entirely in black. The fall of his hair partially hid his face, but it was clearly my husband. I hoped it wouldn’t be, tried to find something that would betray the man in the photo as a fraud. But I knew Gideon’s body as well as I knew my own. Knew how he moved. How he relaxed. How he seduced.
I looked away from that beloved figure in the center of the obscene tableau, unable to bear it.
A U-shaped sectional sofa. Black velvet curtains. A half-dozen bottles of top-shelf liquor on a low table.
A private VIP booth.
A slender brunette reclined on a mound of throw pillows. The low V of her sequined top shoved aside. Gideon’s body was partly over hers. His mouth sucked her nipple.
A second leggy brunette. Draped over his back. One thigh hooked over his. Her legs spread. Her mouth a wide O of pleasure. Gideon’s arm reached behind him. His hand beneath her short skirt.
It wasn’t visible, but his fingers were inside her. I knew it. It was a sharp, jagged knife in my heart.
The image blurred as I blinked the tears away, feeling them run hotly down my face. I scrolled, swiping the picture out of sight. Then I saw my name and scanned the writer’s crude speculation as to what I would think about my fiancé’s sexcapades as he said farewell to bachelorhood.
I set the tablet on the coffee table, breathing hard. My mother scooted closer and put her arm around me, pulling me into her embrace. The room phone rang loudly, jolting me and abrading my nerves.
“Shh …” she whispered, her hand stroking over my hair. “I’ve got you, honey. I’m right here.”
Clancy went to the handset and answered with a brusque “Yes?” Then his tone took on a chilly bite. “I see you’re having a good time.”
Gideon.
I looked at Clancy and felt the heat rippling off him. He met my gaze. “Yes, she’s here.”
I straightened away from my mother and managed to stand. Fighting off a wave of nausea, I went to him and held out my hand for the phone. He gave the cordless handset to me and stepped back.
I swallowed a sob. “Hello.”
There was a pause. Gideon’s breathing quickened. I’d said one word, but from that, he knew that I knew.
“Angel—”
Abruptly sick, I ran to the bathroom and dropped the phone, barely managing to lift the toilet seat before emptying the contents of my stomach in racking, violent heaves.
My mother ran in and I shook my head at her. “Go away,” I gasped, sinking to the floor with my back against the wall.
“Eva—”
“I need a minute, Mom. Just … give me a minute.”
She stared at me, then nodded, closing the door behind her.
From the phone on the floor, I heard Gideon yelling. I reached for it, wrapping my hand around it and dragging it over. I lifted it to my ear.
“Eva! For God’s sake, pick up the phone!”
“Stop shouting,” I told him, my head pounding.
“Christ.” He took a ragged breath. “You’re sick. Damn it. I’m too far away …” His voice rose. “Raúl! Where the fuck are you? I want the goddamn jet ready now! Get on the damn phone—”
“No. No, don’t—”
“It happened before I met you.” He spoke too fast, was breathing too fast. “I don’t know when or—What?” Someone spoke in the background. “Cinco de Mayo? For fuck’s sake. Why is this coming out now?”
“Gideon—”
“Eva, I swear to you that fucking picture wasn’t taken this weekend. I would never do that to you. You know that. You know what you mean to me—”
“Gideon, calm down.” My racing pulse began to slow. He was frantic. Panicked. It broke my heart to hear it. He was so strong, capable of managing and surviving and crushing anything.
I was his weakness, when all I wanted was to be his strength.
“You have to believe me, Eva. I would never do that to us. I would never—”
“I believe you.”
“—fuck around—What?”
Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back to rest against the wall. My stomach began to settle. “I believe you.”
His shuddered exhale came hard and heavy across the line. “God.”
Silence.
I knew how much it meant to him that I believed him utterly. About everything. Anything. He couldn’t help but find that nearly impossible to accept, even as he craved my trust more than I think he craved my love. To him, my belief in him was my love.
His explanation was simple, some might say too simple, but knowing him the way I did, it was the one that made the most sense.
“I love you.” His voice was soft. Weary. “I love you so much, Eva. When you didn’t answer your phone—”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m sorry.” He made a small noise filled with pain and regret. “So sorry you saw that. It’s so fucked up. All of this is fucked up.”
“You’ve seen worse.” Gideon had seen me kiss Brett Kline, right in front of him. He’d watched at least some of the sex tape that featured Brett and me. Compared to that, a photo was nothing.
“I hate that you’re there and I’m here.”
“Me, too.” I wanted the solace of his arms around me. More than that, I wanted to comfort him. To show him again that I wasn’t going anywhere and he had no reason to fear.
“We’re not doing this again.”
“No, you’re only getting married twice—both times to me. No more bachelor parties for you.”
He huffed out a laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Tell Clancy to bring you home now. We’re packing up to head to the airport.”
I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see. “Take tomorrow off.”
“Tomorrow …? Yes. You’re sick—”
“No, I’m fine. I’m coming to you. In Rio.”
“What? No. I don’t want to be here. I need to be home to sort this shit out.”
“It’s out in the wild, Gideon. Nothing you can do will change that.” I pulled myself up off the floor. “You can hunt him—or her—down later. I’m not letting this ruin our memories of the weekend.”
“It doesn’t—”
“If they want pictures of you in Brazil, ace, I’m going to be in them.”
He took that in. “All right. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Maybe it’s Photoshopped,” Megumi said.
“Or that guy is a lookalike,” Shawna suggested, leaning close to Megumi to look at her tablet. “You can’t really see that much of him, Eva.”
“No.” I shook my head. It was what it was. “That’s definitely Gideon.”
Cary, who sat beside me in the limo, took my hand in his and linked our fingers. My mom sat on the bench seat directly behind the driver, looking at fabric swatches. Her sleek legs were crossed, her foot tapping restlessly.
Both Megumi and Shawna shot me pitying looks.
Their sympathy chafed my pride. I’d made the mistake of looking at social media. It amazed me how cruel people could be. According to some, I was a woman scorned. Or I was just too stupid not to realize I was marrying a man who would give me his name while giving his body and attention to anyone he chose. I was a gold digger willing to put up with the humiliation for the money. I was a woman who could be a champion for all women … if I turned my back on Gideon and found someone else.
“It’s an old photo,” I reiterated.
In reality, May wasn’t all that long ago, but no one needed to know exactly when, aside from the fact that the photo hadn’t been taken while he was in a relationship with me.
He’d changed so much since then. For me. For us. And I was no longer the woman he’d met that fateful day in June.
“It’s ancient,” Shawna said decisively. “Totally.”
Megumi nodded but still looked dubious.
“Why would he lie?” I asked flatly. “It wouldn’t take much work to find the club in the background. It has to be one of Gideon’s, and I bet you it’s in Manhattan. He couldn’t be in New York and have a passport stamped in Brazil on the same day.”
It had taken me a couple of hours to figure that out and I was kind of glad about that. I didn’t need proof my husband was telling me the truth. But if we could somehow prove the photo was taken in a specific, identifiable location, it would be nice to set the public record straight.
“Oh, right.” Megumi gave me a big smile. “And he’s crazy about you, Eva. He wouldn’t mess around.”
I nodded my agreement, then pushed the subject aside. We would be at the airport soon and I didn’t want us to leave each other thinking about stupid gossip instead of the amazing trip we’d had. “Thank you for coming. I had a great time.”
I would’ve loved to take them to Rio, too, but they didn’t have the required visas to enter the country. Plus, they both had to work on Monday. So we’d part ways, with the girls heading home with Clancy’s security team, while Cary, my mom, and Clancy flew with me to Brazil on a jet Gideon had secured for us.
It was going to be a quick trip. We’d arrive on Monday morning and leave Monday night. What sleep we managed to catch would be on the jet. But by the time I was done, Gideon would leave Brazil with a smile. I didn’t want him looking back on the weekend with regret. He had enough bad memories. Moving forward, I wanted him to store up nothing but good ones.
“We should be thanking you.” Shawna grinned. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
“I’m with Shawna,” Megumi said. “This was a trip of a lifetime.”
Closing her eyes, Shawna leaned her head back against the seat. “Say hi to Arnoldo for me.”
I knew Shawna and Arnoldo had become friends since they had been introduced the night we’d gone to the Six-Ninths concert. I think they felt safe with one another. Shawna was waiting for her boyfriend, Doug, to come home from Sicily, where he was attending an exclusive course for chefs. Arnoldo was nursing a broken heart, but he was a man who loved women and likely appreciated being able to enjoy the companionship of one who expected nothing more.
Cary was dealing with something similar. He missed Trey and wasn’t interested in screwing around, which was huge for him. Usually, when he was hurting, he fucked to forget. Instead, he’d spent the weekend sticking close to Megumi, who looked like a deer in headlights when men approached her. Cary had been her shield, keeping things light and fun for both of them.
Gideon wasn’t the only one who’d come a long way.
As for me, I was dying to be with my husband. Stress brought on nightmares for him, so I pulled out my phone and texted him. Dream of me.
His response was so perfectly Gideon, it brought a smile to my face. Fly faster.
And just that quick, I knew he was back on his game.
“Wow.” I stared out the window of the jet as it taxied to a halt at a private airport on the outskirts of Rio. “Now, that’s a view.”
Standing on the tarmac were Gideon, Arnoldo, Manuel, and Arash. All dressed casually in long shorts and T-shirts. All dark-haired and tall. Beautifully muscular. Tanned.
They were lined up like a row of exotic, outrageously expensive sports cars. Powerful, sexy, dangerously fast.
I had no doubts about my husband’s fidelity, but if there had been any, looking at him would’ve settled them. His friends were loose-limbed and relaxed, their engines cooled by long, hard rides. That they’d enjoyed Rio—and its women—was stamped all over them. Gideon, however, was taut. Watchful. His motor was running, purring with the need to roar from zero to sixty in the space of a pounding heartbeat. No one had given my man a test drive.
I had come to him with the intent to soothe, to strategize, to take a bit of my wounded pride back. Instead, I was going to be the driver who burned his fuel.
Yes, please.
I felt a slight bump as the rolling staircase was positioned against the jet. Clancy exited first. My mom followed. I went after her, pausing at the top of the stairs to snap a picture with my phone. The image of Gideon and his friends was going to give the Internet something else to talk about.
I took the first step down and Gideon moved, his arms unfolding as he closed the distance between us. I couldn’t see his eyes, only myself in the reflection of his lenses, but I felt the intensity with which he had me in his sights. It made my knees weak, forcing me to hold on to the handrail for balance.
He shook Clancy’s hand. He endured and even managed to reciprocate a brief hug from my mother. But he never took his eyes off me or slowed more than a few seconds.
I’d put on red fuck-me heels for him. Tight, white shorts barely covered my ass and fastened well below my navel. My top was red lace, with thin straps. A red satin ribbon secured the corsetlike back. I had clipped my hair in a messy updo. Gideon made it messier when he caught me up on the last step and shoved his hand into it.
His mouth sealed over mine, as if he hadn’t noticed the red gloss I’d slicked on my lips. I was held suspended in his embrace, my feet off the ground, his arm banded tightly around my waist. Wrapping myself around him, I locked my ankles together at the small of his back, pushing up so that his head tilted back and I curved around him, my tongue licking deep into his mouth. The hand he’d had in my hair slid down to cup and support me, his grip kneading my ass in the demanding, possessive way I loved.
“That’s fucking hot,” Cary said from somewhere behind me.
Manuel gave a piercing whistle.
I couldn’t care less what kind of spectacle we made. Gideon’s hard body felt delicious and the taste of him was intoxicating. My thoughts scattered. I wanted to ride him, rub up against him. I wanted him naked and sweaty, covered in my scent. On his face, his hands, his cock.
My husband wasn’t the only one who wanted to mark his territory.
“Eva Lauren,” my mother scolded. “Get ahold of yourself.”
The sound of my mom’s voice cooled us both off instantly. I unwound my legs from his hips and let him ease me down until I was standing again. I pulled away reluctantly, my hands briefly lifting Gideon’s sunglasses so I could look into his eyes. Fury … lust …
I wiped the traces of my lip gloss off his mouth with my fingers. His lips were swollen from the passion of our kiss, the sensual curves softened.
He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my lips. Urging my head back, he kissed the tip of my nose. He was tender now, his ferocious joy at seeing me tempered by having touched me.
“Eva,” Arnoldo said, coming up beside me with a small smile on his handsome face. “So good to see you.”
I turned to greet him, feeling nervous. I wanted us to be friends. I wanted him to forgive me for hurting Gideon. I wanted—
He kissed me full on the mouth. Stunned, I didn’t react.
“Off!” Gideon snapped.
“I am not a dog,” Arnoldo shot back. He looked at me with amusement. “He has been pining for you. Now, you can release him from his torment.”
My anxiety faded. He was warmer toward me than he’d been recently, more like he’d been when we were first introduced. “It’s really good to see you, too, Arnoldo.”
Arash came up next. When he lifted both hands to touch my face, Gideon’s arm shot out between us.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
“That’s not fair.”
I blew him a kiss.
Manuel was sneakier. He came up behind me and lifted me off my feet, smacking his lips against the side of my face. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Hello, Manuel,” I said with a laugh. “Having fun yet?”
“Don’t you know it.” Setting me down, he winked at me.
Gideon seemed to have calmed down somewhat. He shook Cary’s hand and asked briefly about Ibiza.
His friends met my mother, who instantly turned on the charm and got the expected results—they seemed captivated.
Gideon took my hand in his. “You have your passport?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s go.” He walked off briskly.
Hurrying to keep up with his stride, I looked back over my shoulder at the group we’d left behind. They were heading in a different direction.
“They’ve had their weekend with us,” he said, in answer to my unspoken question. “Today is ours.”
He ushered me through an expedited customs process, then back out to the tarmac where a helicopter waited.
The rotor blades began to revolve as we approached. Raúl abruptly appeared and opened the rear door. Gideon helped me up into the back, climbing in directly behind me. I reached for the safety belt, but he brushed my hands aside, securing me in quickly before settling back. He handed me a headset, then slipped on his own.
“Let’s go,” he told the pilot.
We were lifting into the air before Gideon had his seat belt on.
I was breathless when we reached the hotel, still awed by the sight of Rio sprawled beneath us, its beaches dotted with high rises and its hills covered in colorfully painted favelas. Cars packed the roads below, the traffic impressively dense even considered against the commutes I experienced in Manhattan. The famous Christ the Redeemer statue glistened on Corcovado Mountain in the distance to my right, as we rounded Sugarloaf and followed the coastline up to Barra da Tijuca.
It would have taken hours by car to get to the hotel from the airport. Instead, the trip took minutes. We were entering Gideon’s suite before my jet-lagged brain fully appreciated that I’d been in three countries in as many days.
Vientos Cruzados Barra was as luxurious as all the Crosswinds properties I had seen but with a local flavor that made it unique. Gideon’s suite was as large as the one I’d had in Ibiza and his view as impressive.
I paused to admire the beach from the balcony, noting the endless rows of coconut stands and the golden bodies on the beach. Samba music drifted through the air, earthy and sexy and upbeat. I took a picture, then uploaded both it and the one of the guys on the tarmac to my Instagram account. The view from here … #RioDeJaneiro
I tagged everyone and discovered that Arnoldo had snapped a picture of Gideon and me kissing passionately at the airport. It was a great photo, sexy and intimate. Arnoldo had a few hundred thousand followers and the photo already had dozens of comments and likes.
Dear friends enjoying #RioDeJaneiro and each other.
Gideon’s smartphone rang and he excused himself. I heard him speaking in another room and followed. We hadn’t said a word since we left the airport, as if we were saving them for intimate conversation. Or maybe we just didn’t need to say anything. Let the world talk and spread lies. We knew what we had. It didn’t need to be qualified, justified, or expressed.
I found him in an office, standing in front of a U-shaped desk covered in photos and notes, some of which had spilled onto the floor. The place was a mess, so unlike the rigid order my husband usually maintained. It took a moment to register that the photos were of the inside of a club and that they matched the background I’d seen in the photo of Gideon on Cinco de Mayo.
It was kind of eerie that we’d come to the same idea. It was also kind of awesome.
I turned to leave.
“Eva. Wait.”
I glanced at him.
“Tomorrow morning is better,” he said to whoever was on the other end of the call. “Text me when it’s confirmed.”
Gideon hung up and silenced his phone, setting it down by his sunglasses. “I want you to see these.”
Shaking my head, I told him, “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
He stared at me. Without his shades, I saw the shadows under his eyes.
“You didn’t sleep last night.” It wasn’t a question. I should have known he wouldn’t.
“I’m going to fix this.”
“Nothing’s broken.”
“I heard you over the phone,” he said tightly.
I leaned into the doorjamb. I knew how he’d felt when I kissed Brett—murderous. They’d fought like beasts. A violent physical confrontation hadn’t been an option for me. My body had purged my jealousy the only way it could.
“Do what you have to do,” I murmured. “But I don’t need anything. I’m good. You and me—us—we’re good.”
Gideon took a deep breath. Let it out. Then he reached up behind him and yanked his shirt over his head. He kicked off his sandals while he unfastened his shorts, letting them drop to the floor. He wore nothing underneath.
I watched him prowl toward me naked, noting the darker tan lines and the rigidness of his cock. He was impossibly hard, his balls already drawn up tight. Every muscle flexed as he moved. His powerful thighs, his washboard abs, his thick biceps.
I didn’t move, barely breathed, hardly blinked. It amazed me that I could take him. He was nearly a foot taller and close to a hundred pounds heavier. And strong. So very strong.
When we made love, it turned me on to lie beneath him and feel all of that incredible power focused solely on pleasuring my body and taking pleasure in it.
Gideon reached me and pulled me into his arms. He lowered his head to take my mouth in a lush, deep kiss. Savoring and unhurried. Soft licks and coaxing lips. I didn’t realize he’d untied my top until it slipped down my arms. He slid his thumbs beneath the waistband of my shorts, gliding them back and forth across the sensitive skin, until he halted the kiss to crouch and help me step out of my clothes. I whimpered, wanting more.
“Let’s leave the heels on,” he murmured, straightening to his full height. His eyes were so brilliantly blue they reminded me of the water we’d skinny-dipped in when we married.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and he lifted me, carrying me to the bedroom.
“And some of those little round cheese puff breads,” I told Gideon, who relayed the addition to room service in Portuguese.
Lying prone on the bed facing the open sliding doors to the balcony, I kicked my legs up behind me, still wearing the fuck-me shoes. But nothing else. I rested my chin on my crossed arms. The warm ocean breeze felt good on my skin, cooling the sweat that covered every inch of me. The fan over the bed, with its mahogany blades carved into the shape of palm fronds, swirled lazily above.
I took a deep breath and smelled sex and Gideon.
Hehung up and the mattress dipped as he moved toward me, his lips brushing over my ass, then along my spine to my shoulder. He sprawled beside me, propping his head in one hand. The other stroked up and down my back.
I turned to look at him. “How many languages do you know?”
“A little of many and a lot of a few.”
“Hmm.” I arched into his touch.
He kissed my shoulder again. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured. “Glad I stayed.”
“I occasionally have good ideas.”
“So do I.” The lascivious gleam in his eyes told me exactly what he was thinking about.
He hadn’t slept all night, then super-slow-fucked me for nearly two hours. He’d come three times, the first time so hard he’d growled. Loudly. I knew the sound must have carried out the open windows. I’d orgasmed just hearing it. And he was ready to go again. He was always ready. Lucky me.
I rolled to my side, facing him. “Does it take two women to wear you out?”
Gideon’s face shuttered instantly. “I’m not going there.”
I touched his face. “Hey. It was a joke, baby. A bad one.”
He rolled to his back and grabbed a pillow, putting it between us. Then he turned his head toward me, a frown between his brows. “There used to be this … emptiness. Inside me,” he said quietly. “You called it a void. Said you filled it. You did.”
Listening, I just waited. He was talking. Sharing. It was hard for him and he didn’t like it. But he loved me more.
“I was waiting for you.” He brushed the hair back from my cheek. “A dozen women couldn’t have done what you did. But … Christ.” He ran both hands through his hair. “Distractions made it easier not to think about it.”
“I can make that happen,” I purred, wanting him to be happy and playful again. “I can make you not think about anything.”
“That emptiness is gone. You’re there.”
Leaning over him, I kissed him. “I’m right here, too.”
He shifted, rising to his knees and scooping me up, dropping me onto the pillow so that my ass was lifted into the air.
“This is how I want you.”
I looked at him over my shoulder. “You remember room service is coming, right?”
“They said forty-five to sixty minutes.”
“You’re the boss. They won’t take that long.”
He moved, positioning himself between my legs. “I told them to take an hour.”
I laughed. I’d thought lunch was a break. Apparently, only the phone call was.
He grabbed my butt cheeks in both hands and squeezed, kneading. “God, you have the most amazing ass. It’s the perfect cushion for doing this …”
Holding my hips, he slid inside me. A long, slow glide. He groaned with masculine pleasure and my toes curled in my shoes.
“My God.” I dropped my forehead to the bed and moaned. “You’re so hard.”
His lips pressed to my shoulder. He rolled his hips, stroking inside me, pushing deep enough to cause the tiniest bit of pain. “You excite me,” he said roughly. “I can’t turn it off. I don’t want to.”
“Don’t.” I arched my back, pushing up into his easy, measured thrusts. That was his mood today. Gentle. Indulging. Making love. “Don’t stop.”
His arms bracketed me, his palms pressing into the mattress. He nuzzled against me. “I’ll make you a deal, angel. I’ll wear out when you do.”
“Ugh.” I stared at myself in the mirror, shifting from side to side. “It’s never a good idea to put on a bikini after pigging out.”
I tugged at the bandeau top of the emerald green swimsuit Gideon had picked up in the lobby shop, then tried to rearrange the fit of the bottom.
He appeared behind me, looking sexy and yummy in a pair of black board shorts. His arms came around me from behind, hefting the weight of my breasts in his palms. “You look amazing. I want to peel this off you with my teeth.”
“Do it.” Why go to the beach? We’d been to the beach last weekend.
“Do you still want pictures of us here?” His gaze met mine in the mirror. “If not, I’m good with tossing you back in the bed and having my way with you again.”
I chewed my lower lip, debating.
He pulled me back against him. Without my heels on, he could set his chin on the crown of my head. “Can’t decide? Okay, we’ll go down to the beach, just so you don’t regret not going later. Thirty minutes … an hour … then we’ll come back up until we have to leave.”
I melted. He was always thinking about me and what I needed. “I love you so much.”
The look that came over his face nearly stopped my heart. “You believe me,” he whispered. “Always.”
Turning my head, I pressed my cheek against his chest. “Always.”
“It’s a beautiful picture,” my mother whispered, keeping her voice down because the guys were all sleeping. The jet’s cabin lights were dimmed, the men all reclined in their seats. “I just wish it didn’t show so much of your derriere.”
I smiled, my gaze on the tablet in her hand. Vientos Cruzados Barra had photographers on staff to cover the many events, conventions, and weddings that took place on the beautiful property. Gideon had arranged for one to photograph us on the beach, having them shoot from a distance so that I wasn’t even aware.
The previously released photos of us in Westport had Gideon pinning me beneath him with the surf lapping at our legs. The new photos were of us in the sun, with him sprawled on his back and me lying atop him, my arms crossed over his abs and my chin on my hands. We were talking, my gaze on his face as he looked at me and ran his fingers through my hair. Yes, the Brazilian cut of my bikini meant my ass was on display, but what really stood out was the intensity of Gideon’s focus on me and the easy, comfortable familiarity between us.
My mom looked at me. There was a sadness in her eyes I couldn’t understand. “I had hoped you two would have a quiet, normal life. But the world isn’t going to let that happen.”
The photo had gone viral shortly after it was posted to a media site. Speculation was rampant. How could I be with Gideon in Rio and be okay with him fucking two other women? Was our sex life that kinky? Or maybe it wasn’t Gideon Cross in the photo at the club.
Before he’d fallen asleep, Gideon had told me his public relations team was working around the clock, fielding calls and managing his social media. As of today, the official answers were simply to confirm that I had been in Rio with Gideon. He said he’d handle the rest personally when he got home, although he was cagey about how he was going to do that.
“You’re being secretive,” I’d accused, without heat.
“For now,” he had agreed with a faint smile.
I put my hand over my mom’s. “It’s going to be okay. We won’t always be so interesting to people. And we’re going away for a month after the wedding. That’s nearly a lifetime with no news about us. The media will move on.”
“I hope so,” she sighed. “You’re getting married on Saturday. I can’t believe it. There’s still so much to do.”
Saturday. Only a handful of days away. I didn’t think it was possible for Gideon and me to feel any more married than we already did, but it would be nice to say our vows with our families watching.
“Why don’t you come over to the penthouse tomorrow?” I suggested. “I would love for you to see it and we can discuss everything that still needs to be decided. We’ll have lunch in and just hang out.”
Her face brightened. “What a wonderful idea! I would love that, Eva.”
Leaning over the armrests, I kissed her cheek. “Me, too.”
“You’re not even going to take a nap?” I watched, astonished, as Gideon shifted through his closet.
He was wearing only boxer briefs, his hair towel-dried after the shower he’d taken the moment we got home. I was on the bed, feeling exhausted and wrung out even though I’d slept on the plane.
“It’ll be a short day,” he said, pulling out a dark gray suit. “I’ll be home early.”
“You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t get enough sleep. I don’t want you sick at our wedding or on our honeymoon.”
He pulled the blue tie I loved off his tie rack. “I’m not going to get sick.”
I looked at the clock on his nightstand. “It’s not even seven! You never go to work this early.”
“I have things to do.” He buttoned his shirt quickly. “Stop nagging me.”
“I am not nagging.”
He shot me an amused look. “Didn’t you get enough of me yesterday?”
“Oh my God. Are you full of yourself or what?”
He sat and tugged on his socks. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll give you more when I get home.”
“I want to throw something at you right now.”
Gideon was dressed in a flash, yet somehow looked so polished and perfect. That only soured my mood more.
“Stop scowling at me,” he chastised, bending to kiss the top of my head.
“It takes me forever to look as good as you do without trying,” I grumbled. “And you’re wearing my favorite tie.” It brought out the color of his eyes, made sure you didn’t see anything else but him and how gorgeous he was.
He smiled. “I know. When I get home, would you like me to fuck you while wearing it?”
I pictured it and my scowl faded. What would it be like if he just opened his fly and screwed me with one of his power suits on? Totally hot. In more ways than one.
“We sweat too much.” I pouted at the thought. “We’d ruin it.”
“I’ve got a dozen.” He straightened. “You’re staying home today, right?”
“Wait. You’ve got a dozen of those ties?”
“It’s your favorite,” he replied simply, as if that explained everything. Which I supposed it did. “Home, right?” he repeated.
“Yes, my mom will be here in a few hours and I have calls to make.”
He started toward the door. “Take a nap, grumpy angel. Dream about me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, hugging a pillow and closing my eyes.
I dreamed of him. Of course.
“Most of the RSVPs have come in already,” my mom said, running her fingers over the trackpad on her laptop to show me a spreadsheet that made my eyes cross. “I didn’t expect so many guests would attend on such short notice.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” Honestly, I hadn’t a clue. I didn’t even fully know who all had been invited to the reception. I just knew it was Sunday evening, at one of Gideon’s hotels in the city.
We never would have gotten the space we needed otherwise. Scott never said so, but I had to think someone else’s event had gotten bumped at the last minute. And the number of rooms we’d reserved to accommodate my dad’s side of the family … I hadn’t considered any of that when I picked Gideon’s birthday as the date.
“Yes, it’s great.” My mom smiled at me, but it was a tight smile. She was stressed to the max and I felt bad about that, too.
“It’s going to be wonderful, Mom. Totally amazing. And we’re all going to be so happy, we won’t care if something goes wrong.” She flinched and I rushed on. “Which it won’t. All of the staff are going to make sure they do everything right. This is their boss’s big day.”
“Yes.” She nodded, looking relieved. “You’re right. They’ll want everything to be perfect.”
“And it will be.” How could it not? Gideon and I were already married, but celebrating his birthday was something we hadn’t done together yet. I couldn’t wait.
My smartphone chimed with a text message. I picked it up and read it, frowning. I reached for the TV remote.
“What is it?” my mom asked.
“I don’t know. Gideon wants me to turn the TV on.” My stomach tightened, worry crowding out the anticipation I’d just felt. How much more would we have to take?
I clicked on the channel he’d specified and recognized the set of a popular talk show. To my shock, Gideon was just settling into a chair at a table circled by the five female hosts—to applause, catcalls, and whistles. Think what they would about his fidelity, women couldn’t resist him. His charisma and sheer sexiness were a million times more potent in person.
“My God,” my mother breathed. “What is he doing?”
I turned up the volume.
As was to be expected, after congratulating him on our engagement, the hosts launched right into the topic of Rio and the infamous ménage à trois club photo. Of course, they made sure to point out that it couldn’t be shown on air because it was too risqué. But they directed viewers to the show’s website, which was highlighted on a banner that ran continuously along the bottom of the screen.
“Well, that’s subtle,” my mom snapped. “Why is he giving this any more attention?”
I hushed her. “He’s got a plan.” At least I hoped he did.
Holding a coffee mug branded with the show’s logo between both hands, Gideon looked thoughtful as the hosts all chimed in before letting him speak.
“Should we even be having bachelor and bachelorette parties anymore?” one of the hosts asked.
“Well, that’s one of the things I can clear up,” Gideon interjected, before they started debating that point. “Since Eva and I married last month and I’m no longer a bachelor, it couldn’t be a bachelor party.”
Behind them, on a massive video screen, the show’s logo gave way to a photo of Gideon kissing me after we’d said our vows.
My breath caught right along with the live audience’s gasps. “Wow,” I murmured. “He outed us.”
I barely caught the rush of conversation that followed the reveal, too stunned by what he was doing to process everything. Gideon was such a private man. He never gave personal interviews, only ones focused on Cross Industries.
The photo of us changed to a series of shots taken inside the same nightclub where the leggy brunettes had climbed all over him. When he glanced at the audience and suggested that some of them might be familiar with the location, there were a few shouted affirmatives.
“Obviously,” he went on, looking back at the hosts. “I couldn’t be in New York and Brazil at the same time. The photo that went viral was digitally altered to remove the club’s logo. You can see that it’s embroidered into the curtains of the VIP lounge. All it took was the right software and a couple of clicks to make it disappear.”
“But the girls were there,” one of the hosts countered, “and what was happening with them was real.”
“True. I had a life before my wife came along,” he said evenly and unapologetically. “I can’t change that, unfortunately.”
“She had a life before you, too. She’s the Eva mentioned in, um, a Six-Ninths song.” She squinted slightly. “ ‘Golden Girl.’ ”
The host was obviously reading the information from a teleprompter.
“Yes, that’s her,” he confirmed.
His tone was neutral. He seemed unruffled. While I knew the show was never as spontaneous as it seemed, it was still surreal to see our lives used to boost the morning ratings.
A photo of Brett and me at the “Golden Girl” video launch in Times Square popped up and a portion of the song played for a moment. “How do you feel about that?”
Gideon gave them one of his rare smiles. “If I were a songwriter, I’d compose ballads about her, too.”
The photo of Gideon and me in Brazil appeared on the screen. It was quickly followed by the photo of us in Westport, and a series of shots taken while we’d walked the red carpet at various charity events. In all of them, his eyes were on me.
“Ooh, he’s good at this,” I said, mostly to myself. My mom was busy shutting down her laptop. “He’s sincere, but still aloof and confident enough to seem like the legendary Gideon Cross. And he gave them a ton of photos to work with.”
It was also a good choice to go with the talk show format of multiple female hosts exploring female-focused topics. They weren’t going to give him a free pass for alleged infidelity or even tiptoe around the subject. It was going to clear the air in a way an interview with a male anchor might not have.
One of the hosts leaned forward. “There’s a book coming out about you, too, isn’t there? Written by your former fiancée?”
A photo of Gideon and Corinne at the Kingsman Vodka party came up on the screen. A collective murmur arose from the audience. My teeth ground together. She looked stunningly beautiful, as always, and complemented Gideon’s dark handsomeness so well.
I chose to believe the show had dug that image up on their own.
“Ghostwritten, actually,” he answered. “By someone with an ax to grind. I’m afraid Mrs. Giroux is being taken advantage of and can’t see it.”
“I didn’t realize that. Who’s the ghostwriter?” She looked at the audience and quickly explained what a ghostwriter was.
“I’m not at liberty to say who’s actually writing the book.”
The host pressed the point. “But you know him? Or her? And they don’t like you.”
“That’s correct—on both counts.”
“Is it an ex-girlfriend? A former business partner?”
The one host who’d been mostly listening switched gears. “About Corinne … Why don’t you tell us what the story is there, Gideon?”
My husband set down the mug he’d just taken a sip out of. “Mrs. Giroux and I dated in college. We were engaged for a time, but even then, the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. We were immature and, truthfully, too ignorant to know what we wanted.”
“That’s it?”
“Being young and confused isn’t very interesting or salacious, is it? We remained friends after she married. I’m sorry she feels the need to commercialize that particular time in our lives now that I’m married. I’m sure this is as awkward for Jean-François as it is for me.”
“That’s her husband, right? Jean-François Giroux. Do you know him?”
Corinne and Jean-François in evening wear at some event appeared on the screen. They were an attractive couple, although the contrast between the two men wasn’t flattering for the Frenchman. He couldn’t compete with Gideon, but then, who could?
Gideon nodded. “We’re in business together.”
“Have you talked about this with him?”
“No. I don’t discuss it all, usually.” That faint smile touched his mouth again. “I’m a newlywed. I have other things on my mind.”
I clapped my hands together. “Yay! That was my idea. I told him to keep reminding people she’s married and that he knows her husband.” And he got a dig in about Deanna, too. Well played all around.
“You knew he was going to do this?” my mom asked, sounding horrified.
I looked at her, frowning when I saw how pale she was. Considering the tan she’d gotten over the last two weekends, that was worrying. “No. I had no idea. We talked about the Giroux thing a while ago. Are you okay?”
She pressed her fingertips into her temples. “I’ve got a headache.”
“Hang on till this is over and I’ll get you something for that.” I looked back at the TV, but they broke for a commercial. I ran to the bathroom medicine cabinet and came back out rattling a little bottle of pills, surprised to find my mother packing up her stuff. “You’re leaving? What about lunch?”
“I’m tired, Eva. I’m going home to lie down.”
“You could take a nap here in the guest room.” I figured she’d like that. After all, Gideon had precisely replicated her design of my apartment bedroom right here. A misguided but thoughtful effort to give me a safe haven in his home at a time in our relationship when I hadn’t known whether I should fight for us or just run away.
She shook her head and slung the carrying strap of her laptop case over her shoulder. “I’ll be fine. We covered the most important things. I’ll call you later.”
She air-kissed both my cheeks and left.
Sinking back onto the couch, I put the pills on the coffee table and watched the rest of Gideon’s interview.