Bared to You

To hide my reaction, I busied myself with refilling both my glass and his. He spoke as if from experience. What exactly had been done to him?

After a quick gulp of wine, I asked, "How are you doing with it?"

"What can I do? Over the years, I've made every attempt to talk to Christopher. I've tried throwing money at him. I've tried threatening him. He's never shown any inclination to change. I realized long ago that I can only do damage control. And keep you as far away from him as possible."

"I'll be helping you with that, now that I know."

"Good." He took a drink, eyeing me over the lip of his glass. "You're not asking me about my appointment with Dr. Petersen."

"It's none of my business. Unless you want to share." I met his gaze, willing him to do just that. "I'm here to listen whenever you need an ear, but I'm not going to pry. When you're ready to let me in, you will. That said, I'd love to know if you like him."

"So far." He smiled. "He talks me around in circles. Not many people can do that."

"Yes. Talks you back around and makes you come at it from a different angle that has you thinking, 'Now why didn't I see it like that?'"

Gideon's fingers stroked up and down the stem of his glass. "He prescribed something for me to take at night before bed. I filled it before I came over."

"How do you feel about taking drugs?"

He looked at me with dark, haunted eyes. "I feel it's necessary. I have to be with you and I have to make that safe for you, whatever it takes. Dr. Petersen says the drug combined with therapy has been successful for other 'atypical sexual parasomniacs.' I have to believe that."

I reached over to squeeze his hand. Taking medication was a big step, especially for someone who'd avoided facing his problems for a long time. "Thank you."

Gideon's grip tightened. "Apparently there are enough people with this problem that there have been sleep studies on it. He told me about a documented case where a man sexually assaulted his wife in his sleep for twelve years before they sought help."

"Twelve years? Jesus."

"Apparently part of the reason they waited so long was because the man was a better lay when he was asleep," he said dryly. "And if that's not a killer blow to the ego, I don't know what is."

I stared at him. "Well, shit."

"I know, right?" His wry smile faded. "But I don't want you to feel pressured to share a bed with me, Eva. There is no magic pill. I can sleep on the couch or I can go home, although of the two choices I'd prefer the couch. My whole day is better after getting ready for work with you."

"For me, too."

Reaching over, Gideon caught my hand and lifted it to his lips. "I never imagined I could have this...Someone in my life who knows what you do about me. Someone who could talk about my f**k-ups over dinner because they accept me anyway...I'm grateful for you, Eva."

My heart twisted with a sweet pain in my chest. He could say such beautiful things, the perfect things.

"I feel the same way about you, ace." Deeper, maybe, because I loved him. But I didn't say that aloud. He'd get there someday. I wasn't going to give up until he was absolutely, irrevocably mine.

With his bare feet propped on the coffee table and his computer on his lap, Gideon looked so at home and relaxed that he kept distracting me from my television shows.

How did we get here? I asked myself. This extravagantly sexy man and me?

"You're staring," he murmured, his gaze on his laptop screen.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Is that a sexual suggestion, Miss Tramell?"

"How do you see me while staring at whatever you're working on?"

He looked up then and caught my gaze. His blue eyes blazed with power and heat. "I've always seen you, angel. From the moment you found me, I've seen nothing but you."

Wednesday started with Gideon's c**k pushing into me from behind, my new favorite way to wake up.

"Well, then," I said hoarsely, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as his arm hitched around my waist and hauled me closer to his warm, hard chest. "You're frisky this morning."

"You're gorgeous and sexy every morning," he murmured, nibbling on my shoulder. "I love waking up to you."

We celebrated a night of uninterrupted sleep with a handful of orgasms between us.

Much later in the day, I had lunch with Mark and his partner Steven at a lovely Mexican restaurant tucked beneath the street. We descended a short set of cement stairs into a surprisingly spacious restaurant with black-vested waitstaff and plenty of light.

"You'll need to bring your man back here," Steven said, "and have him buy you one of the pomegranate margaritas."

"Good stuff?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah."

When the waitress came to take our orders, she flirted outrageously with Mark, fluttering enviously long lashes. Mark flirted back. As the meal progressed, the exuberant redhead - whose name tag introduced her as Shawna - became bolder, touching Mark's shoulders and the back of his neck every time she came by. In return, Mark's banter became more suggestive, until I eyed Steven nervously, watching his face redden and his scowl deepen by the moment. Shifting uncomfortably, I was counting down the minutes until the tension-fraught meal was over.

"Let's get together tonight," Shawna said to Mark when she brought the check. "One night with me and I'll cure you."