Gideon leaned his back against the front of the sofa. “I just want to be with you, angel. I don’t care what we’re doing.”
WE cleaned up the mess from dinner together. As I reached for the rinsed dish Gideon held out for me to put in the dishwasher, he faked me out. He grabbed my hand instead and deftly set the plate on the counter. Catching me around the waist, he spun us into a dance. From the living room, I caught the strains of something beautiful laced with a woman’s pure, haunting voice.
“Who is this?” I asked, already breathless from the feel of Gideon’s powerful body flexing against mine. The desire that always smoldered between us flared, making me feel vibrant and alive. Every nerve ending sensitized, preparing for his touch. Hunger coiled tight with heated anticipation.
“No clue.” He swept me around the island and into the living room.
I surrendered to his masterful lead, loving that dancing was a passion we shared and awed by the obvious joy he felt in just being with me. That same pleasure effervesced within me, lightening my steps until it felt like we were gliding. As we approached the sound system, the music rose in volume. I heard the words dark and dangerous in the lyrics and stumbled in surprise.
“Too much wine, angel?” Gideon teased, pulling me closer.
But my attention was riveted to the music. The singer’s pain. A tormented relationship she likened to loving a ghost. The words reminded me of the days when I believed I’d lost Gideon forever, and my heart ached.
I looked up into his face. He was watching me with dark, glittering eyes.
“You looked so happy when you were dancing with your dad,” he said, and I knew he wanted treasured memories like that between us.
“I’m happy now,” I assured him, even as my eyes stung at the sight of his yearning, a longing I knew intimately. If souls could be mated with wishes, ours would be inextricably entwined.
Cupping his nape, I pulled his mouth down to mine. As our lips touched, his rhythm faltered. He stopped, hugging me so tightly my feet left the floor.
Unlike the heartbroken singer, I wasn’t in love with a ghost. I was in love with a flesh-and-blood man, one who made mistakes but learned from them, a man who was trying hard to better himself for me, a man who wanted us to work as desperately as I did.
“I’m never happier than when I’m with you,” I told him.
“Ah, Eva.”
He took my breath away with his kiss.
“IT was the kid,” I said.
Gideon’s fingertips drew circles around my navel. “That’s twisted.”
We were sprawled lengthwise on the couch, watching my favorite police procedural television show. He was spooned behind me, his chin on my shoulder and his legs tangled with mine.
“That’s the way these things work,” I told him. “Shock value and all that.”
“I think it was the grandmother.”
“Oh my God.” I tilted my head to look back at him. “And you don’t think that’s twisted?”
He grinned and smacked a kiss on my cheek. “Wanna bet on who’s right?”
“I don’t gamble.”
“Aw, come on.” His hand splayed against my belly, anchoring me as he rose up on his elbow to look down at me.
“Nope.” I felt him against the curve of my buttocks, a solid, weighty length. He wasn’t erect, but that didn’t stop him from gaining my attention. Curious, I reached between us and cupped him in my hand.
He hardened instantly. One black brow arched. “You copping a feel, angel?”
I squeezed him gently. “Now I’m hot and bothered, and wondering why my new neighbor isn’t putting the moves on me.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to push you too far, too fast and scare you off.” Gideon’s eyes glittered in the light of the television.
“Is that so?”
He nuzzled his nose against my temple. “If he has half a brain, he’d know not to let you get away.”
Oh … “Maybe I should make the first move,” I whispered, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. “But what if he thinks I’m too easy?”