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What was in his mind? What could make
someone have such violently sexual dreams?
My voice shook. “You were having a nightmare.
You scared the hell out of me.”
“Eva.” He looked down at his erection and his
color darkened with shame.
I stared at him from my safe place by the
window, tying the sash of my robe with a yank.
“What were you dreaming about?”
He shook his head, his gaze lowered with
humiliation, a vulnerable posture I didn’t know or
recognize in him. It was as if someone else had
taken over Gideon’s body. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. Something’s in you, something’s
eating at you. What is it?”
He rallied visibly as his brain struggled free of
sleep. “It was just a dream, Eva. People have
them.”
I stared at him, hurt blooming that he would take
that tone with me, as if I was being irrational.
“Screw you.”
His shoulders squared, and he tugged the
sheet over his lap. “Why are you mad?”
“Because you’re lying.”
His chest expanded on a deep breath; then he
released it in a rush. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a
headache gathering strength. My eyes stung with
the need to cry for him, to cry for whatever torment
he’d once lived through. And to cry for us,
because if he didn’t let me in, our relationship had
nowhere to go.
“One more time, Gideon: what were you
dreaming about?”
“I don’t remember.” He ran a hand through his
hair and slid his legs off the edge of the bed. “I
have some business on my mind and it’s probably
keeping me up. I’m going to work in my home
office for a while. Come back to bed, and try to
get some sleep.”
“There were a few right answers to that
question, Gideon. ‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow’
would’ve been one. ‘Let’s talk about it over the
weekend’ would’ve been another. And even ‘I’m
not ready to talk about it’ would be okay. But you
have some nerve acting like you don’t know what
I’m talking about while speaking to me like I’m
unreasonable.”
“Angel—”
“Don’t.” My arms wrapped around my waist.
“Do you think it was easy telling you about my
past? Do you think it was painless cutting myself
open and letting the ugliness spill out? It would’ve
been simpler to cut
you
off and date someone
less prominent. I took the risk because I want to
be with you. Maybe someday you’ll feel the same
way about me.”
I left the room.
“Eva! Eva, damn it, come back here. What’s
wrong with you?”
I walked faster. I knew how he felt: the sickness
in the gut that spread like cancer, the helpless
anger, and the need to curl up in private and find
the strength to shove the memories back into the
deep dark hole they still lived in.
It wasn’t an excuse for lying or deflecting the
blame onto me.
I snatched my purse off the chair where I’d
dropped it on the way in from dinner and I rushed
out the front door into the foyer to the elevator. The
car doors were closing with me inside when I saw
him step into the living room through the open
front door. His nakedness ensured he couldn’t
come after me, while the look in his eyes ensured
I wouldn’t stay. He’d donned his mask again, that
striking implacable face that kept the world a safe
distance away.
Shaking, I leaned heavily against the brass
handrail for support. I was torn between my
concern for him, which urged me to stay, and my
hard-won knowledge, which assured me that his
coping strategy wasn’t one I could live with. The
road to recovery for me was paved with hard
truths, not denials and lies.
Swiping at my wet cheeks when I passed the
third floor, I took deep breaths and collected
myself before the doors opened on the lobby
level.
The doorman whistled down a passing cab for
me and was such a consummate professional that
he acted like I was dressed for work rather than
sporting bare feet and a black dressing gown. I
thanked him sincerely.
And I was so grateful to the cabbie for getting
me home quickly that I tipped him well and didn’t
care about the furtive looks I got from my own
doorman and the front desk staffer. I didn’t even
care about the look I got from the stunning,
statuesque blonde who stepped out of the
elevator I was waiting for, until I smelled Cary’s
cologne on her and realized the T-shirt she was
wearing was one of his.
She took in my half-dressed state with an
amused glance. “Nice robe.”
“Nice shirt.”
The blonde took off with a smirk.
When I reached my floor, I found Cary lounging
in the open doorway in a robe of his own.
He straightened and opened his arms to me.
“Come here, baby girl.”
I walked straight into him and hugged him tight,
smelling a woman’s perfume and hard sex all over
him. “Who’s the chick that just left?”
“Another model. Don’t worry about her.” He
drew me into the apartment, and shut and locked
the door. “Cross called. He said you were
heading back and he has your keys. He wanted to
be sure I was here and awake to let you in. For
what it’s worth, he sounded torn up and anxious.
You wanna talk about it?”
Setting my purse down on the breakfast bar, I
went into the kitchen. “He had another nightmare.
A really bad one. When I asked him about it he
denied, he lied, then he acted like I was nuts.”
“Ah, the classics.”
The phone started ringing. I flicked the switch
on the base that turned the ringer off and Cary did
the same to the handset he’d left on the counter.
Then I pulled out my smartphone, closed the alert
that said I’d missed numerous calls from Gideon,
and sent him a text message;
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