Bared to You

“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 all over. He watched me fall 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 filled
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, pulling 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.
All the warmth I’d felt receded into a marked chill,
cooling me enough that I pulled 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 pulled out
a bottle. Without looking at me, he asked,
“Brandy?”
“No, thank you.” My voice was small, 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 pulled 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 called his name and he turned. I slipped
away, darting around the rest of the guests
clogging the carpeted entrance.
When I reached the reception hall, 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 still
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 ball 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 pulled 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
gratefully exchanged the empty glass for the fresh
one Cary handed me. There was a slight warmth
growing in my belly 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 hell? 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 well enough—spoke at
the appropriate moments and smiled when
necessary—but I wasn’t really paying attention. I
was too conscious of the icy wall 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 totally 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 skilled
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 well
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.

---

“Hello 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. “Hello.”
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 tell 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. “