“What was private about it?’ he asked with a frown. “You showed it to me yourself.”
“Don’t be like my mother, Gideon!” I shouted. “There’s only so much crazy I can handle.”
He jerked back at my vehemence, clearly surprised by how upset I was. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
I gulped down my wine, trying to rein in my temper and unease. “Sorry I’m mad? Or sorry you did it?”
After the length of several heartbeats, Gideon said, “I’m sorry you’re mad.”
He really didn’t get it. “Why don’t you see how weird this is?”
“Eva.” He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “I spend a quarter of every day inside you. When you set limits outside of that I can’t help but see them as arbitrary.”
“Well, they’re not. They’re important to me. If there’s something you want to know, you need to ask me.”
“All right.”
“Don’t do it anymore,” I warned. “I’m not kidding, Gideon.”
His jaw tightened. “Okay. I get it.”
Then, because I really didn’t want to fight, I moved on. “What did she say when she saw it?”
He visibly relaxed. “It was difficult, of course. Even more difficult to know I’d seen it.”
“She saw us in the library.”
“We didn’t talk about that directly, but then, what was there to say? I won’t apologize for making love to my girlfriend in a closed room.” He leaned back in his chair and exhaled harshly. “Seeing Christopher’s face on the video—seeing what he really thought of her—that hurt her. It’s hard to see yourself being used that way. Especially by someone you think you know, someone who’s supposed to care about 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.”