“Oh my God.” I spun around blindly. Something to wear. I needed something to put on over the racy teddy I’d planned to seduce Gideon with.
“You have to find him, Eva,” he said urgently. “He needs you now.”
“I’m going.” I tossed the phone on my bed and yanked a wool trench coat out of my closet before racing out of my room. I grabbed the keys to the next-door apartment from my purse and ran down the hall. Fumbling with the deadbolt, I took too long to open the door.
The place was as shadowy and silent as a tomb, the rooms empty.
“Where are you?” I cried into the darkness, feeling the scratch of panicked tears in my throat.
I ended up back in my apartment, my fingers trembling as I opened the app on my smartphone that would track his.
He didn’t take it well.
God. Of course, he didn’t. He hadn’t taken it well when I’d told Chris initially. Gideon had been furious. Aggressive. He’d had a horrible nightmare.
The blinking red dot on the map was right where I was hoping it would be. “The penthouse.”
I shoved my feet into flip-flops and hurried back out to my purse.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Cary asked from the kitchen, jolting me.
“Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me!”
He sauntered up to the breakfast bar in just his Grey Isles boxer briefs, his chest and neck glistening with sweat. Since the air-conditioning was working fine and Trey was spending the night, I knew exactly how and why Cary was overheated.
“It’s a good thing I did—you can’t go out like that,” he drawled.
“Watch me.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed toward the door.
“You’re a freak, baby girl,” he shouted after me. “A woman after my own heart!”
GIDEON’S doorman didn’t bat an eye when I climbed out of the back of the taxi in front of his building. Of course, the man had seen me in worse shape before. So had the concierge, who smiled and greeted me by name as if I didn’t look like a crazy homeless person. Albeit one in a Burberry coat.
I walked as fast as I could in flip-flops to the private penthouse elevator, waited for it to descend to me, then keyed in the code. It was a straight shot up, but the ride felt endless. I wished I could pace the confines of the small, elegantly appointed car. My worried face stared back at me from the spotless mirrors.
Gideon hadn’t called. Hadn’t sent me a text after the flirtatious one promising me a steamy night. Hadn’t come to me, even if only to sleep next door. Gideon didn’t like being away from me.
Except when he was hurting. And ashamed.
The elevator doors slid open and pounding, screaming heavy metal music poured in. I cringed and covered my ears, the volume of the ceiling-mounted speakers so loud it hurt to hear them.
Pain. Fury. The raging violence of the music crashed over me. I ached deep in my chest. I knew. I understood. The song was an audible manifestation of what Gideon felt inside himself and couldn’t let out.
He was too controlled. Contained. His emotions so tightly leashed, along with his memories.
I dug into my purse for my phone and ended up dropping the whole bag, spilling the contents onto the elevator car floor and across the checkerboard foyer. I left it all where it fell except for my smartphone, which I picked up and swiped through to get to the app that controlled the surround sound. I synced it to softer music, lowered the volume, and hit enter.
The penthouse fell silent for an endless moment, and then the gentle chords of “Collide” by Howie Day began to play.
I felt Gideon approaching before I saw him, the air crackling with the violent energy of an impending summer storm. He rounded the corner from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I lost my breath.