Captivated by You

“Gideon! Goddamn it. Don’t you dare leave me in here like this! Do you hear me?! Get your ass back in here!”

I wrenched at the cord binding my wrists, but it was knotted tight. Seconds passed, then minutes. The car didn’t move and after screaming myself hoarse, I realized it wouldn’t. It waited for the push of a button, standing by for Gideon’s command.

Just like I was.

I was going to kick his f**king ass when I got loose. I’d never been so pissed. “Gideon!”

Bending over, I walked backward, then lifted and stretched one leg to reach the button that opened the doors. I pushed it with my big toe. As they slid open, I sucked in a deep breath to scream . . .

. . . then promptly lost it in a startled rush.

Gideon strode through the living room toward the foyer . . . completely naked. And drenched from head to toe. His c**k was so hard it curved up to his navel. His head was tipped back as he guzzled bottled water, his stride loose and easy, yet entirely predatory.

I straightened as he drew closer, panting from both the riot of my emotions and the depth of my hunger. Asshole or not, I wanted him with a ferocity I couldn’t fight. He was complicated and sexy, damaged and perfect.

“Here.” He brought a crystal tumbler to my lips that I hadn’t noticed because I’d been too busy ogling his magnificent body. The glass was nearly full, the reddish-gold liquid sloshing against my lips as he tipped it.

My mouth opened by instinct and he poured the liquor in, the potent proof burning my tongue and throat. I coughed and he waited, his gaze heavy-lidded. He smelled clean and cool, refreshed from a shower.

“Finish it.”

“It’s too strong!” I protested.

He simply poured another large swallow past my parted lips.

I kicked at him, cursing when I hurt my foot—and didn’t do any damage to him at all. “Stop it!”

He dropped the empty water bottle and cupped my face in his hand. His thumb brushed away the drops of liquor on my chin. “You need to let me settle, and you need to mellow out. We go at it like this, we’ll tear each other apart.”

A stupid tear slipped out of the corner of my eye.

Gideon groaned and bent toward me, his tongue licking the trail of the droplet off my cheek. “I’m shattered and you’re beating at me with your fists. I can’t take it, Eva.”

“I can’t take you shutting me out,” I whispered, tugging at the damned cord. The liquor was spreading fire through my veins. I could feel the tendrils of intoxication curling around my senses already.

He put his hand over mine, stilling my restless movements. “Stop that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Cut me loose.”

“You touch me and I can’t keep it together. I’m hanging by a thread,” he said again, sounding desperate. “I can’t snap. Not with you.”

“With someone else?” My voice became shrill. “You need someone else?”

I couldn’t keep it together, either. Gideon was the rock in our relationship, the anchor. I thought I could be the same for him. I wanted to shelter him, be his haven. But Gideon didn’t need shelter from the storm; he was the storm. And I wasn’t strong enough to bear up under the weight of his crashing mood.

“No. Christ.” He kissed me. Hard. “You need me in control. I need to be in control when I’m with you.”

I felt the panic building. He knew. He knew I wasn’t enough. “You were different with the others. You didn’t hold back—”

“Fuck!” Gideon spun away, slamming his fist into the control panel. The doors opened to the sound of Sarah McLachlan singing about possession and he threw the tumbler, shattering it against the foyer wall. “Yes, I was different! You made me different.”

“And you hate me for that.” I started crying, my body sagging into the car wall.

“No.” He wrapped himself around me, his water-chilled body curving over my back. He rubbed his face against me, his embrace so tight I could barely breathe. “I love you. You’re my wife. My goddamn life. You’re everything.”

“I just want to help you,” I cried. “I want to be here for you, but you won’t let me!”

“God. Eva.” His hands began to move, to pet and glide. To stroke. To soothe. “I can’t stop you. I need you too much.”

I gripped the handrail with both hands, my cheek pressed to the cool mirror. The liquor began to work its magic. A heated languor slid through me, drowning my anger and what fight I had left until they drifted away, leaving me sad and afraid and so desperately, terrifyingly in love.

His hand pushed between my legs, rubbing, searching. With a forceful tug, he opened the snaps that held the front and back of the teddy together. I moaned at the sudden release of pressure. My sex was wet and swollen from the skilled movements of his hands and the image in my mind of the way he’d looked walking toward me.

My head fell back against his shoulder and I saw his reflection. His eyes were closed, his lips parted. The vulnerability etched on his gorgeous face undid me. He was hurting so badly. I couldn’t bear it.

“Tell me what I can do,” I whispered. “Tell me how to help.”

“Shh.” His tongue rimmed the shell of my ear. “Let me settle.”

The featherlight stroke of his thumb over the mesh covering my nipple was driving me mad. The slide of his fingers between the slick folds of my cleft had me quivering. He knew where to touch me, how much pressure.