“There’s only you, Eva.” His voice was clipped and hard.
A tremor moved through me at the fury underlying his words. He was still angry that I’d doubted him. Oh well. I was still angry, too. “I’ll be ready at five.”
He was prompt, as usual. While I put my computer to sleep and grabbed my belongings, he spoke with Mark about the ongoing work on the Kingsman Vodka account. I watched Gideon furtively. He cut an imposing figure with his tall, leanly muscular frame in his dark suit and carried himself in a way that projected impenetrability, yet I’d seen him terribly vulnerable.
I was in love with that tender, deeply emotional man. And I resented the fa?ade and his attempts to hide himself from me.
Turning his head, he caught me staring. I saw a glimpse of my beloved Gideon in his wild blue gaze, which briefly exposed a helpless yearning. Then he was gone, replaced by the cool mask. “Ready?”
It was so obvious that he was holding something back, and it killed me to have that gulf between us. To know there were things he wouldn’t trust me with.
As we exited through reception, Megumi rested her chin on her fist and gave a dramatic sigh.
“She’s crushing on you, Cross,” I murmured, as we made our way out and he hit the call button for the elevator.
“Whatever.” He snorted. “What does she know about me?”
“I’ve been asking myself that same question all day,” I said quietly.
That time, I was certain he winced.
*
Dr. Lyle Petersen was tall, with neatly groomed gray hair and sharp yet kind denim blue eyes. His office was tastefully decorated in neutral shades and his furniture was extremely comfortable, something I noted on every one of my visits to him. It was a little weird for me to see him as my therapist now. In the past, he’d met with me only as my mother’s daughter. He’d been my mom’s shrink for the last couple of years.
I watched as he settled into the gray wingback chair across from the sofa Gideon and I sat on. His keen gaze shifted between us, clearly noting how we’d each taken seats on opposite ends of the sofa, our stiff postures revealing our defensiveness. We’d made the drive over in the same way.
Flipping open the cover of his tablet, Dr. Petersen gripped his stylus and said, “Shall we start with the cause of the tension between you?”
I waited a beat, to give Gideon a chance to speak first. I wasn’t terribly surprised when he just sat there, silent. “Well . . . in the last twenty-four hours I’ve met the fiancée I didn’t know Gideon had—”
“Ex-fiancée,” Gideon growled.
“—I found out the reason he’s dated brunettes exclusively is because of her—”
“It wasn’t dating.”
“—and I caught her leaving his office after lunch looking like this—” I dug out my phone.
“She was leaving the building,” Gideon bit out, “not my office.”
I pulled up the picture and passed my phone over to Dr. Petersen. “And getting into your car, Gideon!”
“Angus just told you before we got here that he saw her standing there, recognized her, and was being polite.”
“Like he’d say anything different!” I shot back. “He’s been your driver since you were a kid. Of course he’d cover your ass.”
“Oh, it’s a conspiracy now?”
“What was he doing there, then?” I challenged.
“Driving me to lunch.”
“Where? I’ll just verify you were there and she wasn’t, and we’ll get that part out of the way.”
Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I told you. I had an unexpected appointment. I didn’t make it to lunch.”
“Who was the appointment?”
“It wasn’t Corinne.”
“That’s not an answer!” I turned back to Dr. Petersen, who calmly returned my phone to me. “When I went up to his office to ask him what the hell was going on, I discovered him half dressed and freshly showered, with one of his sofas bumped out of place, pillows strewn all over the floor—”
“One goddamned pillow!”