by Sylvia Day
“Mrs. Stanton.” Clancy approached, having abandoned the town car he’d been driving at a safe but discreet distance behind us. “Is everything all right?”
“Did you see—?” she began, looking to him with her question.
“See what?” I demanded, as his head snapped up and his trained gaze raked the length of the street. The absoluteness of his focus sent a shiver down my spine.
“Let me drive you three the rest of the way,” he said quietly.
The entrance to the Crossfire was literally across the street, but something in Clancy’s tone brooked no argument. We all climbed in, with my mother taking the front seat.
“What was that about?” Megumi asked after we’d been dropped off and had moved into the cool interior of the building. “Your mom looked like she’d seen a ghost.”
“I have no idea.” But I felt ill.
Something had frightened my mother. It was going to drive me crazy until I found out what it was.
Chapter 7
My back hit the mat with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. Stunned, I blinked up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath.
Parker Smith’s face came into view. “You’re wasting my time. If you’re going to be here, be here. One hundred percent. Not a million miles away in your head somewhere.”
I grabbed the hand he extended to me, and he yanked me to my feet. Around us, a dozen more of Parker’s Krav Maga students were hard at work. The Brooklyn-based studio was alive with noise and activity.
He was right. My thoughts were still stuck on my mom and the bizarre way she’d reacted when we returned to the Crossfire after lunch.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’ve got something on my mind.”
He moved like lightning, tagging me first on one knee, then my shoulder with rapid-fire slaps. “Do you think an attacker is going to wait until you’re alert and ready before he comes after you?”
I crouched, forcing myself to focus. Parker crouched as well, his brown eyes hard and watchful. His shaved head and café au lait skin gleamed beneath the overhead fluorescent lighting. The studio was in a converted warehouse, which had been left rough for both economic reasons and atmosphere. My mother and stepfather were paranoid enough to have Clancy accompany me to my classes. The neighborhood was presently undergoing revitalization, which I thought was encouraging but they thought was troubling.
When Parker came at me again, I blocked him. The tagging came fast and furious then, and I pushed all other thoughts aside until later, when I was home.
When Gideon came over about an hour later, he found me in the bath surrounded by vanilla-scented candles. He undressed to join me, even though his damp hair told me he’d already showered after spending time with his own personal trainer. I watched him strip, riveted. The play of muscles beneath his skin and the inherent gracefulness in the way he moved sent a delicious sense of contentment sliding through me.
He climbed into the deep oval tub behind me, his long legs sliding in on either side of mine. His arms wrapped around me, and then he surprised me by lifting me up and back, so that I was sitting on his lap and my legs were draped over his.
“Lean into me, angel,” he murmured. “I need to feel you.”
I sighed with pleasure, sinking into the hardness of his powerful body as he cradled me. My aching muscles softened in surrender, eager as always to become completely pliable to his touch. I loved moments like this, when the world and our emotional triggers were far away. Moments when I felt the love he wouldn’t profess for me.
“Soaking more bruises?” he asked with his cheek pressed to mine.
“My fault. My head wasn’t in the game.”
“Thinking about me?” he purred, nuzzling against my ear.
“I wish.”
He paused, then switched gears. “Tell me what’s bugging you.”
I loved how easily he could read me, then revise and revisit his approach on the fly. I tried to be as adaptable for him. Really, flexibility was a requirement in a relationship between two high-maintenance people.
Linking my fingers with his, I told him about my mother’s weird reaction after lunch.
“I almost expected to turn around and see my dad or something. I was wondering . . . You have security cameras that cover the front of the building, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’ll look into it.”
“It’s a ten-minute window of time, max. I just want to see if I can figure out what went on.”
“Consider it done.”
I tilted my head back and kissed his jaw. “Thank you.”
His lips pressed to the top of my shoulder. “Angel, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“Including talking about your past?” I felt him tense and mentally kicked myself. “Not right this second,” I hastened to add, “but sometime. Just tell me we’ll get there.”
“Have lunch with me tomorrow. In my office.”
“Are you going to talk about it then?”
Gideon exhaled harshly. “Eva.”
I turned my face away and released him, disappointed with his evasion. Reaching for the edges of the tub, I prepared to get out and away from the man who somehow made me feel more connected to another human being than I’d ever been, yet impossibly distant as well. Being with him fucked with my head, made me doubt the very things I’d been sure of just moments before. Rinse and repeat.
“I’m done,” I muttered, blowing out the nearest candle. Smoke curled up and away, as intangible as my grasp on the man I loved. “I’m getting out.”
“No.” He cupped my breasts, restraining me. Water lapped around us, as agitated as I was.
“Let go, Gideon.” I caught his wrists to pull his hands away.
He buried his face in my neck, obstinately holding on. “We’ll get there. Okay? Just— We’ll get there.”
I deflated, feeling little of the triumph I had hoped to feel when I’d first asked and anticipated his answer.
“Can we give it a rest tonight?” he asked gruffly, still clinging tight. “Give it all a rest? I just want to be with you, all right? Order something in for dinner, watch TV, hold you when I sleep. Can we do that?”
Realizing something was seriously off, I twisted to face him. “What’s wrong?”
“I just want some time with you.”
My eyes stung with tears. There was more he wasn’t telling me, so much more. Our relationship was swiftly becoming a minefield of words left unsaid and secrets not shared. “Okay.”
“I need it, Eva. You and me with no drama.” His wet fingertips brushed across my cheek. “Give me that. Please. Then give me a kiss.”
Turning around, I straddled his hips and cupped his face in my hands. I angled my head to find the perfect approach and pressed my lips to his. I started out soft and slow, licking and suckling. I tugged on his bottom lip, then coaxed him to forget our problems with teasing strokes of my tongue along his.
“Kiss me, damn it,” he growled, his hands bracketing my spine and kneading restlessly. “Kiss me like you love me.”
“I do,” I promised, breathing the words into him. “I can’t help it.”
“Angel.” Pushing his hands into my damp hair, he held me how he wanted me and kissed me senseless.
* * *
After dinner, Gideon worked in bed, propping his back against my headboard and his laptop on a lap desk. I sprawled on the bed on my belly, facing the TV and kicking my feet in the air.
“Do you know every line in this movie?” he asked, luring me to turn my attention away from Ghostbusters to look at him. He wore black boxer briefs and nothing else.
I loved that I got to see him that way—relaxed, comfortable, intimate. I wondered if Corinne had ever seen this view. If so, I could imagine her desperation to see it again, because I was desperate to never lose the privilege.
“Maybe,” I conceded.
“And you have to say them all aloud?”
“Got a problem with that, ace?”<
br />
“No.” Amusement lit his eyes and curved his mouth. “How many times have you seen it?”
“A gazillion times.” I curved around and rose up on my hands and knees. “Want more?”
A dark winged brow rose.
“Are you the keymaster?” I purred, crawling forward.
“Angel, when you’re looking at me like that, I’m whatever you want me to be.”
I looked at him beneath lowered eyelids and breathed, “Do you want this body?”
Grinning, he set his lap desk aside. “All the damn time.”
Straddling his legs, I climbed his torso. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and growled, “Kiss me, subcreature.”
“That’s not how that line goes. And what happened to me being a pleasure god? Now I’m a subcreature?”
I pressed my cleft against the hard ridge of his cock and rolled my hips. “You’re whatever I want you to be, remember?”
Gideon gripped my rib cage and tipped his head back. “And what’s that?”
“Mine.” I nipped his throat with my teeth. “All mine.”
* * *
I couldn’t breathe. I tried to scream, but something blocked my nose . . . covered my mouth. A high-pitched moan was the only sound to escape, my frantic calls for help trapped inside my mind.
Get off me. Stop it! Don’t touch me. Oh, God . . . please don’t do that to me.
Where was Mama? Ma-ma!
Nathan’s hand covered my mouth, mashing my lips. The weight of his body pressed down on me, squashing my head into the pillow. The more I fought, the more excited he became. Panting like the animal he was, he lunged into me, over and over . . . trying to shove himself into me. My panties were in the way, protecting me from the tearing pain I’d lived through too many times to count.
As if he’d read my mind, he growled in my ear, “You haven’t felt pain yet. But you will.”
I froze. Awareness hit me like a bucket of ice water. I knew that voice.
Gideon. No!
My blood roared in my ears. Sickness spread through my gut. Bile flooded my mouth.
It was worse, so much worse, when the person trying to rape you was someone you trusted with everything you had.
Fear and fury blended in a potent rush. In a moment of clarity, I heard Parker’s barked commands. I remembered the basics.
I attacked the man I loved, the man whose nightmares blended with mine in the most horrific way. We were both sexual-abuse survivors, but in my dreams I was still a victim. In his, he’d become the aggressor, viciously determined to inflict the same agony and humiliation on his attacker as he himself had suffered.
My stiffened fingers rammed into Gideon’s throat. He reared back with a curse and shifted, and I slammed my knee between his legs. Doubled over, he fell away from me. I rolled out of bed and hit the floor with a thud. Scrambling to my feet, I threw myself toward the door to the hallway.
“Eva!” he gasped, awake and aware of what he’d almost done to me in his sleep. “God. Eva. Wait!”
I bolted out the door and ran into the living room.
Finding a darkened corner, I curled into a ball and struggled to breathe, my sobs echoing through the apartment. I pressed my lips to my knee when the light came on in my bedroom and didn’t move or make a sound when Gideon stepped into the living room an eternity later.
“Eva? Jesus. Are you okay? Did I . . . hurt you?”
Atypical sexual parasomnia was what Dr. Petersen called it, a manifestation of Gideon’s deep psychological trauma. I called it hell. And we were both trapped in it.
His body language broke my heart. His normally proud bearing was weighted with defeat, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. He was dressed and carrying his overnight bag. He stopped by the breakfast bar. I opened my mouth to speak; then I heard a metallic clink against the stone countertop.
I’d stopped him the last time; I’d made him stay. This time, I didn’t have it in me.
This time, I wanted him to go.
The barely audible latching of the front door lock reverberated through me. Something inside me died. Panic welled. I missed him the moment he was gone. I didn’t want him to stay. I didn’t want him to go.
I don’t know how long I sat there in the corner before I found the strength to stand and move to the couch. I vaguely registered that dawn was lighting the night sky when I heard the distant sound of Cary’s cell phone ringing. Shortly after that, he came running into the living room.
“Eva!” He was on me in a minute, crouching in front of me with his hands on my knees. “How far did he go?”
I blinked down at him. “What?”
“Cross called. Said he’d had another nightmare.”
“Nothing happened.” I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek.
“You look like something happened. You look . . .”
I caught his wrists when he surged to his feet with a curse. “I’m okay.”
“Shit, Eva. I’ve never seen you look like this. I can’t stand it.” He took a seat beside me and pulled me into his shoulder. “Enough is enough. Cut him off.”
“I can’t make that decision now.”
“What are you waiting for?” He forced me back to glare at me. “You’re going to wait too long and then this won’t be just another bad relationship, it’ll be one that permanently fucks you up.”
“If I give up on him, he’ll have no one. I can’t—”
“That’s not your problem. Eva . . . Goddamn it. It’s not your responsibility to save him.”
“It’s— You don’t understand.” I wrapped my arms around him. Burying my face in his shoulder, I cried. “He’s saving me.”
* * *
I threw up when I found Gideon’s key to my apartment lying on the breakfast bar. I barely made it to the sink.
When my stomach was empty, I was left with pain so agonizing it was crippling. I clung to the edge of the counter, gasping and sweating, crying so hard I wondered how I’d make it through another five minutes, let alone the rest of the day. The rest of my life.
The last time Gideon had returned my keys to me, we’d broken up for four days. It was impossible not to think that repeating the gesture signified a more permanent break. What had I done? Why hadn’t I stopped him? Talked to him? Made him stay?
My smartphone signaled an incoming text. I stumbled to my purse and dug it out, praying it was Gideon. He’d talked to Cary three times already, but he’d yet to contact me.
When I saw his name on the screen, a sweet, sharp ache pierced my chest.
I’m working from home today, his message read. Angus will be waiting out front to give you a ride to work.
My stomach cramped again with dread. It had been a tremendously difficult week for both of us. I could understand why he’d just given up. But that understanding was wrapped in a gut-gnawing fear so cold and insidious that goose bumps swept up my arms.
My fingers shook as I texted him back: Will I see you tonight?
There was a long pause, long enough that I was about to demand a yes or no answer when he sent: Don’t count on it. I have my appt with Dr. Petersen and a lot of work to do.
My grip tightened on my phone. It took me three attempts before I was able to type: I want to see you.
For the longest time, my phone sat silently. I was reaching for my landline in a near panic when he replied: I’ll see what I can do.
Oh God . . . Tears made it hard for me to see the letters. He was done. I knew it deep down in my heart. Don’t run. I’m not.
It seemed like forever before he replied: You should.
I debated calling in sick after that, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had been down that road too many times. I knew I could so easily fall back into old self-destructive habits to dull pain. It would kill me to lose Gideon, but I’d be dead anyway if I lost myself.
I had to hang on. Get through. Get by. One step at a time.
And so I climbed into the back of the Bentley when I was supposed t
o, and while Angus’s grim face only made me worry more, I locked it down and slid into the autopilot mode of self-preservation that would get me through the hours ahead.
My day passed in a blur. I worked hard and focused on my job, using it to keep me from going crazy, but my heart wasn’t in it. I spent my lunch hour running an errand, unable to tolerate the thought of eating or making small talk. After my shift was over, I almost blew off going to my Krav Maga class, but I stuck it out and gave a similar amount of focus to the drills as I’d given to my work. I had to keep moving forward, even if I was heading in a direction I couldn’t bear to go.
“Better,” Parker said, during a break. “You’re still off, but you’re better than last night.”
I nodded and wiped the sweat from my face with a towel. I’d started Parker’s classes solely as a more intense alternative to my usual gym visits, but last night had shown me that personal safety was more than just a convenient side benefit.
The tribal tattoos that banded his biceps flexed as he lifted a water bottle to his lips. Because he was left-handed, his simple gold wedding band caught the light and my eye. I was reminded of the promise ring on my right hand and I looked down at it. I remembered when Gideon had given it to me and how he’d said that the diamond-crusted Xs wrapping around the roped gold were representative of him “holding on” to me. I wondered if he still thought that way; if he still thought it was worth it to try. God knew I did.
“Ready?” Parker asked, tossing his empty bottle in the recycle bin.
“Bring it.”
He grinned. “There she is.”
Parker still worked me over, but it wasn’t from lack of trying on my part. I was in it every step of the way, venting my frustration with good, healthy exercise. The few victories I managed to earn spurred my determination to fight for my rocky relationship, too. I was willing to put in the time and effort to be there for Gideon, to be a better and stronger person so we could get through our issues. And I was going to tell him that, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
When my hour was over, I cleaned up and waved good-bye to my classmates and then shoved at the push bar of the exit door and stepped out into the still-warm evening air. Clancy had already brought the car around to the door and was leaning against the fender in a pose that only a moron would think was casual. Despite the heat, he wore a jacket, which concealed his sidearm.