Reflected in You: Chapter 5

“As far as death traps go,” Cary said, “this one’s pretty swank.”

I shook my head as I preceded him into the main cabin of Gideon’s private jet. “You are not going to die. Flying is safer than driving.”

“And you don’t think the airline industry paid for the compilation of those statistics?”

Pausing to smack him in the shoulder with a laugh, I glanced at the amazingly opulent interior and felt more than a little awe. I’d seen my share of private planes over the years, but as usual, Gideon went to lengths to which few could afford to go.

The cabin was spacious, with a wide center aisle. The underlying palette was neutral with accents of chocolate brown and ice blue. Deep, swiveling bucket seats with tables were positioned on the left, while a sectional sofa sat on the right. Each chair had a private entertainment console beside it. I knew a bedroom would be found at the back of the plane and a luxurious bathroom or two.

A male flight attendant took my duffel bag and Cary’s, then gestured for us to take a seat at one of the groupings of chairs that had a table. “Mr. Cross is expected within the next ten minutes,” he said. “In the meantime, can I serve you something to drink?”

“Water for me, please.” I glanced at my watch. It was just past seven thirty.

“Bloody Mary,” Cary ordered, “if you’ve got it.”

The steward smiled. “We’ve got everything.”

Cary caught my look. “What? I haven’t had dinner. The tomato juice will hold me over until we eat, and the alcohol will help the Dramamine kick in faster.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I protested.

I turned to look out the window at the evening sky, and my thoughts settled on Gideon, as usual. He’d been quiet all day, starting with when he’d woken up. The ride to work had been made in silence, and when my day ended at five, he’d called just long enough to tell me that Angus would take me home alone, then drive me and Cary to the airport where he’d meet us.

I opted to walk home instead, since I hadn’t hit the gym the night before and didn’t have time to work out prior to the flight. Angus had cautioned that Gideon wouldn’t like me refusing the ride, even though I’d done it politely and with good reason. I think Angus thought I was still upset with him for giving Corinne a ride, which I kind of was. I was sorry to say that a tiny part of me hoped he’d feel bad about it. A bigger part of me hated that I could be that petty.

As I’d walked through Central Park, taking a meandering path through tall trees, I had determined that I wasn’t going to be small over a guy. Not even Gideon. I wasn’t going to let my frustration with him get in the way of having a good time in Vegas with my best friend.

Halfway home, I’d stopped and turned, picking out Gideon’s penthouse high above Fifth Avenue. I wondered if he was there, packing and planning for a weekend without me. Or if he was still at work, wrapping up the week’s pressing business.

“Uh-oh,” Cary singsonged, as the flight attendant returned with a tray laden with our drinks. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The hell-on-wheels look.” He clinked his tall, slender glass against the side of my squat tumbler. “Wanna talk about it?”

I was about to reply when Gideon stepped onto the plane. He looked grim and carried a briefcase in one hand and a duffel in the other. After passing his bag over to the attendant, he paused by me and Cary, giving my roommate a cursory nod before brushing the back of his fingers across my cheek. The simple touch shot through me like a surge of electricity. Then he was gone, slipping into a cabin in the back and shutting the door.

I scowled. “He’s so damn moody.”

“And seriously hot. What he does for that suit . . .”

Most suits made the man. Gideon did things to a three-piece suit that should’ve been illegal.

“Don’t distract me with his looks,” I groused.

“Give him a blowjob. That’s a guaranteed mood improver.”

“Spoken like a man.”

“You expected something different?” Cary grabbed the frosty glass bottle holding the excess water that wouldn’t fit in my crystal tumbler. “Check this out.”

He showed me the label, which was branded to the Cross Towers and Casino. “Now that’s swank.”

My lips twisted wryly. “For the whales.”

“What?”

“Casino high rollers. Gamblers who don’t blink an eye at dropping a hundred grand or more on the turn of a card. They get a lot of comps to lure them in—food, suites, and travel to and fro. My mom’s second husband was a whale. It’s one of the reasons why she left him.”

He shook his head at me. “The shit you know. So this is a company jet?”

“One of five,” the attendant said, returning with a fruit and cheese tray.

“Jesus,” Cary muttered. “That’s a damned fleet.”

I watched as he dug a travel packet of Dramamine out of his pocket and washed the pills down with his Bloody Mary.

“Want some?” he asked, tapping at the wrapper on the table.

“Nope. Thanks.”

“You gonna deal with Mr. Hot and Moody?”

“Not sure. I may just pull out my e-reader.”

He nodded. “Probably safer for your sanity.”

Thirty minutes later, Cary was snoring lightly in his fully reclined seat, his ears covered with noise-canceling headphones. I watched him for a long minute, appreciating the sight of him looking restful and relaxed, the shallow grooves around his mouth softening in slumber.

Then I got up and went to the cabin I’d seen Gideon disappear into earlier. I debated knocking, then thought against it. He was shutting me out elsewhere; I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to do so now.

He glanced up when I walked in, his face showing no surprise at my abrupt appearance. He sat at a desk, listening to a woman who was speaking to him via satellite video. His coat was hung on the back of his chair and his tie was loosened. After that one brief glance at me, he resumed his conversation.

I started stripping.

My tank top came off first, followed by my sandals and jeans. The woman continued talking, mentioning “concerns” and “discrepancies,” but Gideon’s eyes were on me—hot and avid.

“We’ll pick this up in the morning, Allison,” he interjected, hitting a button on the keyboard that darkened the screen just before my bra landed on his head.

“I’m the one with PMS,” I said, “but you’re the one having mood swings.”

He pulled my bra into his lap and leaned back in his chair, setting his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers together. “And you’re putting on a striptease to improve my mood?”

“Ha! Men are so predictable. Cary suggested I blow you to make you happy. No . . . don’t get excited. That’s not going to happen.” I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and rocked back on my heels. I had to give him points for keeping his eyes on mine and not on my breasts. “I think you owe me, ace. Big-time. I’ve been an exceptionally understanding girlfriend under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

His brow arched.

“I mean, I’d like to see what you would do,” I went on, “if you came over to my place and caught an ex-boyfriend stepping outside still tucking his shirt in his pants. Then, when you came upstairs, you found my couch messed up and me fresh from a shower.”

Gideon’s jaw tightened. “Neither of us wants to see what I’d do.”

“So we’re both agreed that I’ve been pretty damn awesome under extraordinary circumstances.” I crossed my arms, knowing how that would showcase the assets he loved. “You’ve made it very clear how you’d choose to punish me. How would you choose to reward me?”

“Is it my choice?” he drawled, his eyes heavy-lidded.

I smiled. “No.”

He set my bra on his keyboard and unfolded from the chair in a leisurely, graceful rise. “Then that’s your reward, angel. What do you want?”

“I want you to stop being grumpy, for starters.”

“Grumpy?” His lips twitched with a suppressed smile. “Well, I woke up without you, and now I face two more mornings of the same.”

I dropped my arms to my sides and went to him, placing my palms flat to his broad chest. “Is that really all it is?”

“Eva.” He was such a strong, physically powerful man, and yet he could touch me with such reverence.

I ducked my head, knowing something in my voice had given me away. He was too perceptive.

Cupping my jaw in his hands, Gideon tipped my head back and searched my face. “Talk to me.”

“I feel like you’re pulling away.”

A low growl rumbled through the air between us. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. That doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about you.”

“I feel it, Gideon. There’s distance between us that wasn’t there before.”

His hands slid down to my neck, wrapping around it. “There’s no distance. You’ve got me by the throat, Eva.” His grip tightened fractionally. “Can’t you feel that?”

I sucked in a quick, tight breath. Agitation spurred my heartbeat, a physical response to fear that came entirely from within and not from Gideon, who I knew absolutely would never physically harm me or put me in danger.

“Sometimes,” he said huskily, watching me with searing intensity, “I can hardly breathe.”

I might’ve broken free if not for his eyes, which revealed such yearning and turmoil. He was making me feel the same loss of power, the same sense of being dependent on someone else for every breath I took.

So I did the opposite of running. Tilting my head back, I surrendered, and the tingles of fear left me in a rush. I was learning that Gideon was right about my desire to give up control to him. Doing so soothed something inside me, some need I hadn’t realized I possessed.

There was a long pause, filled only by his breathing. I sensed him warring with his emotions and wondered what they were, wondered why he was so conflicted.

He released the tension with a deep exhalation. “What do you need, Eva?”

“You—a mile high.”

His hands slid over my shoulders and squeezed, then caressed the length of my arms. His fingers linked with mine and he nuzzled our temples together. “What is it with you, sex, and modes of transportation?”

“I’ll take you anyway I can get you,” I told him, repeating the sentiment he’d once said to me. “It’ll probably be next weekend before I’m good to go again, thanks to my period.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea.”

Reaching for his coat, he wrapped it around me and ushered me out of the cabin.

* * *

“Oh, God.” My hands fisted the sheets beneath me, my back arching as Gideon pinned my hips to the bed and fluttered his tongue across my clit. My skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, my vision blurring as my core tightened viciously in preparation for orgasm. My pulse was thrumming, racing in unison with the steady hum of the jet’s engines.

I’d come twice already, as much from the sight of his dark head between my legs as from his wickedly gifted mouth. My panties were ruined, literally shredded by his grip, and he was still fully dressed.

“I’m ready.” I pushed my fingers into his hair, feeling the dampness at the roots. His restraint was costing him. He was always so careful with me, taking the time to make sure I was soft and wet before filling me too full with his long, thick cock.

“I’ll decide when you’re ready.”

“I want you inside—” The plane shook suddenly, then dropped, leaving me weightless but for the suction of Gideon’s mouth. “Gideon!”

I trembled through another climax, my body arching with the need to feel him in me. Through the roaring of blood in my ears, I heard a voice making an announcement over the comm system, but I couldn’t register the words.

“You’re so sensitive now.” Lifting his head, he licked his lips. “You’re coming like crazy.”

I gasped. “I’d come harder if you were inside me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It doesn’t matter if I get a little sore now,” I argued. “I’ll have days to recover.”

Something sparked in the depths of his gaze. He rose up. “No, Eva.”

My postorgasmic haze faded at the harshness of his voice. I levered up onto my elbows and watched him begin to strip, his moves quick and economically graceful.

“My choice,” I reminded.

In short order he removed his vest, tie, and cuff links. His voice was too even when he asked, “You really want to play that card, angel?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“It’ll take more than that for me to hurt you deliberately.” His shirt and slacks followed more slowly, a striptease that was far more seductive than mine had been. “For us, pain and pleasure are mutually exclusive.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.” He straightened from shoving his boxer briefs down, then knelt on the foot of the bed and crawled toward me like a sleek panther on the prowl. “You ache without my cock inside you. You’ll say anything to have me there.”

“Yes.”

He hovered over me, his hair falling in a dark curtain around his face, his big body casting a shadow over mine. Tilting his head, he lowered his mouth and lightly traced the seam of my lips with the tip of his tongue. “You crave it. You feel empty without it.”

“Yes, damn you.” I gripped his lean hips, arching upward to try to feel his body against mine. I never felt closer to him than when we were making love, and I needed that closeness now, needed to feel like we were okay before we spent the weekend without each other.

He settled between my legs, his erection lying hard and hot between the lips of my sex. “It hurts you a little when I push all the way in, and there’s no help for that—you have a tight little cunt and I cram you full. Sometimes I lose control and get rough, and there’s no help for that, either. But don’t ever ask me to hurt you deliberately. I can’t.”

“I want you,” I breathed, rubbing my wet cleft shamelessly along the heated length of his cock.

“Not yet.” He moved, rolling his hips to find me with the broad head of his penis. He pushed gently against me, parting me, spreading me open as he slipped just the tip inside. I writhed against the tight fit, my body resisting. “You’re not ready yet.”

“Fuck me. God . . . just fuck me!”

He reached down with one hand and grabbed my hip, stemming my frenzied attempts to push up and take more of him. “You’re swollen.”

I fought his hold. My nails dug into the tight curves of his ass and I tugged him against me. I didn’t care that it might hurt. If I didn’t get him in me I thought I’d lose my mind. “Give it to me.”

Gideon slid his hand into my hair, fisting it to hold me where he wanted me. “Look at me.”

“Gideon!”

“Look at me.”

I stilled at the command in his voice. I stared up at him, my frustration melting as I watched a slow, gradual transformation sweep over his handsome face.

His features tightened first, as if he were pained. A wince knit his brow. His lips parted with a gasp, his chest beginning to heave with labored breaths. A tic began in his jaw, the muscle spasming violently. His skin grew hot, searing me. But what mesmerized me most was his piercing blue eyes and the unmistakable vulnerability that sifted through them like smoke.

My pulse quickened in response to the change in him. The mattress shifted as he dug his feet in, his body bracing—

“Eva.” He jerked, then started coming, spurting hotly into me. His pleasured groan vibrated against me, his cock sinking through the sudden flood of semen to bottom out inside me. “Ah . . . Christ.”

All the while he looked at me, showing me his face when he usually hid in the crook of my neck. I saw what he’d wanted me to see . . . the point he’d wanted to make—

There was nothing between us.

Rolling his hips, he rubbed out the rest of his orgasm, emptying himself inside me, lubricating me so there would be no pain or resistance. He released my hip and let me rock upward; let me seek the perfect pressure on my clit to set me off. With his eyes still on mine, he reached behind him to claim my wrists. One at a time, he lifted my arms over my head, restraining me.

Pinned to the mattress by his grip, his weight, and his unflagging erection, I was completely at his mercy. He began to thrust, stroking through the trembling walls of my sex with the thickly veined length of his big cock. Claiming me. Possessing me.

“Crossfire,” he whispered, reminding me of my safe word.

I moaned as my sex rippled in climax, tightening and squeezing, milking him greedily.

“Feel that?” Gideon’s tongue traced the shell of my ear, his breath gusting in humid pants. “You’ve got me by the throat and the balls. Where’s the distance, angel?”

For the next three hours, there was none.

* * *

The hotel manager threw open the double doors to our suite and Cary gave a long, low whistle.

“Hell yeah,” he said, hustling me into the room with a hand on my elbow. “Look at the size of this place. You could do cartwheels in here.”

He was right, but I’d have to wait until the morning to prove it. My legs were still shaky from my induction into the Mile-High Club.

Directly in front of us was a dazzling view of the Vegas Strip at night. The windows were floor to ceiling, wrapping around a corner that was filled with a piano.

“Why are there always pianos in high-roller suites?” Cary asked, flipping up the cover and tapping out a quick tune on the keys.

I shrugged and looked toward the manager, but she’d already moved off, her stilettos moving silently over the thick white carpet. The suite was decorated in what I’d call fifties Hollywood chic. The double-sided fireplace was faced with rough gray stone and decorated with a piece of art that resembled a hubcap with spacey spokes protruding from the center. The sofas were seafoam green with wooden legs as slender as the manager’s heels. Everything had a retro vibe that was at once glamorous and inviting.

It was way too much. I’d expected a nice room, but not the presidential suite. I was about to refuse it when Cary gifted me with a big grin and two thumbs up. Having no willpower to refuse his joy, I gave in and hoped we weren’t putting Gideon out of a more profitable reservation.

“Still want a cheeseburger?” I asked him, reaching for the room service menu on the console table behind the sofa.

“And a beer. Make that two.”

Cary followed the manager into a bedroom on the left side of the living area, and I picked up the vintage rotary phone to place our order.

Thirty minutes later, I was fresh from a quick shower and dressed in my pajamas, eating chicken Alfredo cross-legged on the area rug. Cary was plowing through his burger and looking at me with happy eyes from his position on the opposite side of the coffee table.

“You never eat a massive pile of carbs this late,” he noted between bites.

“My period’s coming.”

“I’m sure the workout you got on the way here helped, too.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How would you know? You were passed out.”

“Deductive reasoning, baby girl. When I went to sleep, you looked irritated. When I woke up, you looked like you’d just smoked a fat joint.”

“How did Gideon look?”

“He looked the same—tight-assed and hot as hell.”

I stabbed my fork into my noodles. “That’s not fair.”

“Who cares?” He gestured around us. “Look how he puts you up.”

“I don’t need a sugar daddy, Cary.”

He munched on a French fry. “Have you thought any more about what you do need? You’ve got his time, his rockin’ bod, and access to everything he owns. That’s not bad.”

“No,” I agreed, twirling my fork. I knew from my mom’s many marriages to powerful men that getting their time was the most important thing of all, because for them, it was truly the most valuable thing in their lives. “It’s not bad. It’s just not enough.”

* * *

“This is the life,” Cary pronounced, while lying like a god on a lounger by the pool. He wore pale green trunks and dark shades and caused an unusually large volume of women to walk on our side of the pool. “The only thing missing is a mojito. Gotta have alcohol to celebrate.”

My mouth curved. I was sunbathing on the lounger beside him, enjoying the dry heat and occasional splashes of water. Celebrating was habitual for Cary, something I’d always considered quite charming. “What are we celebrating?”

“Summer.”

“Okay, then.” I sat up and slid my legs off the lounger, tying my sarong around my hips before I stood. My hair was still damp from an earlier dip in the pool and pinned atop my head with a lobster clip. The scorching sun felt good on my skin, a sensual kiss that was nearly enough to make me less self-conscious about the water I was retaining—thanks to my period starting.

I headed over to the pool bar, my gaze raking the other loungers and cabanas through the purple tint of my sunglasses. The area was packed with guests, many of whom were attractive enough to warrant second and third looks. One couple in particular caught my eye, because they reminded me of myself and Gideon. The blonde lay on her stomach, her torso propped up on her arms and her legs kicking playfully. Her very yummy dark-haired man stretched out on the chair beside her, his head propped on one hand while the fingers of the other hand stroked up and down her spine.

She caught me staring and her smile instantly faded. I couldn’t see her eyes behind her Jackie O shades, but I knew she was glaring at me. With a smile, I looked away, knowing just how she felt about finding another woman checking out her man.

I found an empty space at the bar and gestured at the bartender to let him know I was ready to order when he was. Misters attached to the ceiling cooled my skin and lured me to slide onto a suddenly vacated bar stool while I waited.

“What are you drinking?”

Turning my head, I looked at the man who’d talked to me. “Nothing yet, but I’m considering a mojito.”

“Let me buy you one.” He smiled, revealing perfectly white but slightly crooked teeth. He extended his hand to me, a movement that brought my attention to his nicely defined arms. “Daniel.”

I placed my hand in his. “Eva. Nice to meet you.”

He crossed his arms on the bar and leaned over it. “What brings you to Vegas? Business or pleasure?”

“R and R. You?” Daniel had an interesting tattoo written in a foreign language on his right biceps, and I admired it. He wasn’t traditionally good-looking, but he had confidence and poise, two things I found more attractive in a man than just his physical features.

“Work.”

I shot a look at his swimming trunks. “I’ve got the wrong job.”

“I sell—”

“Excuse me.”

We both turned to face the woman who had intruded on our conversation. She was a compact brunette dressed in a dark polo shirt embroidered with both her name—Sheila—and Cross Towers and Casino. The earpiece in her ear and the utility belt around her waist gave her away as security.

“Miss Tramell.” She greeted me with a nod.

My brows rose. “Yes?”

“There’s a server who can take your order by your cabana.”

“Cool, thanks. But I don’t mind waiting here.”

When I didn’t move, Sheila turned her attention to Daniel. “If you’ll move to the other end of the bar, sir, the bartender will see that your next drinks are on the house.”

He gave a cursory nod, then smiled winningly at me. “I’m good here, too, thanks.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”

“What?” His smile turned into a scowl. “Why?”

I blinked at Sheila as realization sank in. Gideon had me under watch. And he thought he could control what I did from a distance.

Sheila returned my look, her face impassive. “I’ll escort you back to your cabana, Miss Tramell.”

For a minute, I considered making her day hell, maybe grabbing Daniel and kissing him senseless just to send a message to my overbearing boyfriend, but I managed to restrain my temper. She was only doing what she was paid to do. It was her boss who needed the kick in the ass.

“Sorry, Daniel,” I said, flushing with embarrassment. I felt like a scolded kid and that really irked me. “It was nice meeting you.”

He shrugged. “If you change your mind . . .”

I felt Sheila’s gaze on my back as I preceded her to my lounger. Abruptly, I faced her. “So, is getting hit on the only time you’re instructed to step in? Or do you have a list of situations?”

She hesitated a moment, then sighed. I could only imagine what she must think of me, the pretty blond piece of ass who couldn’t be trusted to be out mingling in public. “There’s a list.”

“Of course there is.” Gideon wouldn’t leave anything to chance. I wondered when he’d worked on the list, if he’d compiled it just since I mentioned Vegas or if he’d had it on hand. Maybe it was a list he had formed while he was with other women. Maybe he’d written it for Corinne.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

“Un-fucking-believable,” I complained to Cary when she’d stepped a discreet distance away, as if that action alone would be enough to make me forget she was hovering. “I’ve got a babysitter.”

“What?”

I told him what happened and watched his jaw tighten.

“That’s crazy, Eva,” he snapped.

“No shit. And I’m not putting up with it. He’s got to learn that relationships don’t work that way. And after all the crap he gave me about trust.” I collapsed on my lounger. “How much does he trust me, if he’s got to have someone shadowing me to chase strangers away?”

“I’m not down with this, Eva.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of his chair. “This isn’t okay.”

“You think I don’t know that? And what’s with her being a woman? Nothing against my gender and tough jobs. I’m just wondering if he expects her to follow me into ladies’ rooms or just doesn’t trust a guy to watch me.”

“Are you serious? Why the hell are you sunbathing instead of chewing him a new one?”

The idea I’d been toying with fully formed in my mind. “I’m plotting.”

“Oh?” His mouth curved in a wicked grin. “Do tell.”

I picked my smartphone up from the little mosaic-topped table between us and scrolled through my contacts until I found Benjamin Clancy—my stepfather’s personal bodyguard.

“Hey, Clancy. It’s Eva,” I greeted him when he answered after the first ring.

Cary’s eyes widened behind his shades. “Ooh . . .”

Pushing to my feet, I mouthed, I’m going upstairs.

He nodded. “Everything’s fine,” I said, in answer to Clancy’s query. I waited until I’d ducked indoors and knew Sheila was several paces behind me and still outside. “Listen, I have a favor to ask you.”

* * *

I’d just ended my call with Clancy when another call came in. I grinned when I saw the Caller ID and answered with an exuberant, “Hi, Daddy!”

He laughed. “How’s my girl?”

“Causing trouble and enjoying it.” I spread my sarong out on a dining room chair and took a seat. “How are you?”

“Stopping trouble from happening and occasionally enjoying it.”

Victor Reyes was an Oceanside, California street cop, which was why I’d chosen to attend SDSU. My mom had been going through a rough patch with husband number three and I’d been in a rebellious phase, making my own life hell as I tried to forget what Nathan had done to me for so long.

Moving out of my mom’s suffocating orbit had been one of the best decisions I’d ever made. My dad’s quietly unshakeable love for me, his only child, had changed my life. He gave me much-needed freedom—within clearly defined limits—and arranged for me to see Dr. Travis, which led to the start of my long journey of recovery and my friendship with Cary.

“I miss you,” I told him. I loved my mom dearly and know she loved me back, but my relationship with her was a rocky one and it was just so easy with my dad.

“You might be happy about my news, then. I can come out and see you in about two weeks—the week after this upcoming one—if that works for you. I don’t want to put you out.”

“Oh my God, Dad. You could never put me out. I’d love to see you!”

“It’ll be a short trip. I’d come in on the red-eye Thursday night and fly out again Sunday evening.”

“I’m stoked! Yay! I’ll make plans. We’ll have a blast.”

My dad’s soft chuckle sent warmth flowing through me. “I’m coming to see you, not New York. Don’t go crazy with any sightseeing or anything.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure we have lots of downtime. And you’ll get to meet Gideon.” Just the thought of the two of them together made my tummy flutter.

“Gideon Cross? You said nothing was going on there.”

“Yeah.” I wrinkled my nose. “We’d hit a rough spot at the time. I thought we were over.”

There was a pause. “Is it serious?”

I paused, too, shifting restlessly. My dad was a trained observer; he’d see right away that Gideon and I had tension between us—sexual and otherwise. “Yes. It’s not always easy. It’s a lot of work—I’m a lot of work—but we’re both making the effort.”

“Does he appreciate you, Eva?” My dad’s voice was gruff and far too serious. “I don’t care how much money he has; you don’t have anything to prove to him.”

“It’s not like that!” I stared at my wriggling pedicured toes and realized the meeting would be more complicated than just a protective father being introduced to his daughter’s new boyfriend. My dad had issues with rich men, thanks to my mom. “You’ll see how it is when you meet him.”

“All right.” Skepticism colored his voice.

“Really, Dad.” I couldn’t begrudge him his concern, since it’d been my self-destructive run with not-so-good-for-me guys that had led him to finding Dr. Travis. He’d especially had trouble with a lead singer for whom I’d been little more than a groupie and a tattoo artist whom my dad had pulled over to find him getting a blowjob while driving—and not from me. “Gideon’s good for me. He gets me.”

“I’ll keep an open mind, okay? And I’ll e-mail you a copy of my itinerary when I book the flight. How’s everything else going?”

“We just started working on a campaign for blueberry-flavored coffee.”

Another pause. “You’re kidding.”

I laughed. “If only. Wish us luck trying to sell that! I’ll be sure to stock some up for you to try.”

“I thought you loved me.”

“With all my heart. How’s your love life going? Did your date go well?”

“Yeah . . . it wasn’t bad.”

Snorting, I asked, “Are you going to see her again?”

“That’s the plan so far.”

“You’re a font of information, Dad.”

He chuckled again and I heard his favorite chair creak as he shifted. “You don’t really want to know about your old man’s love life.”

“True.” Although I did sometimes wonder what his relationship had been like with my mom. He’d been the Latino boy from the wrong side of the tracks and she’d been the golden debutante with dollar signs in her blue eyes. I figured it must’ve been pretty hot between them.

We talked for a few more minutes, both of us excited to see each other again. I’d hoped we wouldn’t drift apart after I moved away after college, which was why I’d made it a necessity to have a weekly catch-up call on Saturdays. Having him visit so soon helped to ease that worry.

I’d just hung up when Cary strolled in, looking every bit like the model he was.

“Still plotting?” he asked.

I stood. “All done. That was my dad. He’s coming out to New York next week.”

“Really? Rock on. Victor’s cool.”

We both moved into the kitchen, and he grabbed two beers out of the refrigerator. I’d noticed earlier that a number of items and products I used at home had been stocked in the suite. I wondered if Gideon was just that observant or if he’d found the information another way—like from looking at my receipts. I couldn’t put it past him. Recognizing the boundaries between us was very difficult for him, as evidenced by his siccing his guards on me.

“When’s the last time your parents were in the same state together?” Cary asked, prying the caps off the bottles with a bottle opener. “Let alone the same city.”

Ah, God . . . “I’m not sure. Before I was born?” I took a long pull on the beer he handed me. “I’m not planning on putting them together.”

“Here’s to best-laid plans.” He clinked the necks of our beers together. “Speaking of which, I was considering a quick bang with a chick I met at the pool, but I came up here instead. Figured you and I’d both go without today and just spend the time together.”

“I’m honored,” I said dryly. “I was going to come back down.”

“Too hot out. That sun is brutal.”

“Same sun we have in New York, isn’t it?”

“Smart-ass.” His green eyes sparkled. “How about we clean up and go out to lunch somewhere? My treat.”

“Sure. But I can’t say Sheila won’t insist on tagging along.”

“Fuck her and her boss. What is it with rich people and control issues?”

“They get rich because they take control.”

“Whatever. I prefer our kind of crazy—we pretty much only screw with ourselves.” He crossed one arm over his chest and leaned into the counter. “You gonna put up with his bullshit?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

I grinned and started backing out toward my bedroom. “Get ready. I’ll tell you about it over lunch.”