Entwined with You: A Crossfire Novel (Crossfire Book 3) (30 page)

When I stumbled into my apartment a little after eight, I headed straight to the bathtub. I soaked in vanilla-scented water, surrounded by candles, and hoped Gideon would show up before I pruned.

He ended up coming in just as I was wrapping a towel around me, his damp hair and jeans telling me he’d showered after a visit with his trainer.

“Hi, ace.”

“Hi, wife.” He came up to me, tugged open my towel, and lowered his head to my breast.

My breath left me when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, drawing rhythmically until it hardened.

Straightening, he admired his handiwork. “God, you’re sexy.”

I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed his chin. “How’d things go tonight?”

He looked at me with a wry curve to his lips. “Dr. Petersen congratulated us, then went on about how important couples therapy would be.”

“He thinks we got married too soon.”

Gideon
laughed. “He didn’t even want us having sex, Eva.”

Wrinkling my nose, I resecured my towel and grabbed a comb for my wet hair.

“Let me,” he said, taking the comb and leading me to the wide lip of the tub. He urged me to sit.

As he combed my hair, I told him about seeing Detective Graves at my Krav Maga class.

“My lawyers tell me the case has been shelved,” Gideon said.

“How do you feel about that?”

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

There was no inflection in his voice, which told me it mattered to him more than he’d tell me. I knew that somewhere, deep down inside him, Nathan’s murder was haunting him. Because
I
was haunted by what Gideon had done for me and we were two halves of the same soul.

That was why Gideon had wanted us to get married so badly. I was his safe place. I was the one person who knew every dark, tormented secret he had, and I loved him desperately anyway. And he needed love more than anyone I’d ever met.

There was a vibration against my shoulder and I teased, “Is that a new toy in your pocket, ace?”

“Should’ve turned the damn thing off,” he muttered, digging his phone out. He looked at the screen, then answered with a clipped, “Cross.”

I heard a woman’s agitated voice coming through the receiver, but I couldn’t make out the words.

“When?” After hearing the answer, he asked, “Where? Yes. I’m on my way.”

He hung up and raked a hand through his hair.

I stood. “What’s wrong?”

“Corinne’s in the hospital. My mother says it’s bad.”

“I’ll get dressed. What happened?”

Gideon
looked at me. Goose bumps swept across my skin. I’d never seen him look so … shattered.

“Pills,” he said hoarsely. “She swallowed a bottle of pills.”

W
E
took the DB9. While we waited for the attendant to bring the car to us, Gideon called Raúl, telling him to meet us at the hospital to take over the Aston Martin when we arrived.

When Gideon slid behind the wheel, he drove with tight focus; every turn of the wheel and press of the accelerator was skilled and precise. Enclosed in the small space with him, I knew he’d shut down. Emotionally, he was unreachable. When I placed my hand on his knee to offer comfort and support, he didn’t even twitch. I wasn’t sure he even felt it.

Raúl was waiting for us when we pulled up to the emergency room. He opened the door for me, then rounded the hood and took the driver’s seat after Gideon got out. The gleaming car was moved out of the drop-off driveway before we walked through the automatic doors.

I took Gideon’s hand, but I wasn’t sure he felt that, either. His attention was riveted on his mother, who stood when we entered the private waiting area we’d been directed to. Elizabeth Vidal barely glanced at me, going straight to her son and hugging him.

He didn’t hug her back. But he also didn’t pull away. His grip on my hand tightened.

Mrs. Vidal didn’t even acknowledge me. Instead, she turned her back to me and gestured at the couple seated together nearby. They were clearly Corinne’s parents. They’d been talking to Elizabeth when Gideon and I came in, which seemed odd to me since Jean-François Giroux was standing alone by the window, looking as much like an outsider as Elizabeth was making me feel.

Gideon’s hold on my hand slackened as his mother pulled him toward
Corinne’s family. Feeling awkward standing in the doorway alone, I went to Jean-François.

I greeted him softly. “I’m very sorry.”

He looked at me with dead eyes, his face seeming to have aged a decade since we’d met at the wine bar the day before. “What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Vidal called Gideon.”

“Of course she did.” He looked over to the seating area. “One would think he was her husband and not I.”

I followed his gaze. Gideon was crouched in front of Corinne’s parents, holding her mother’s hand. A sick feeling of dread spread through me, making me cold.

“She would rather be dead than live without him,” he said tonelessly.

I looked back at him. Suddenly, I understood. “You told her, didn’t you? About our engagement.”

“And look how well she took the news.”

Jesus. I took a shaky step toward the wall, needing the support. How could she not know what a suicide attempt would do to Gideon? She couldn’t be that blind. Or had his reaction, his guilt, been her aim all along? It made me sick to think of anyone being that manipulative, but there was no denying the result. Gideon was back at her side. At least for now.

A doctor entered the room, a kind-looking woman with cropped silvery blond hair and faded blue eyes. “Mr. Giroux?”

“Oui.”
Jean-François stepped forward.

“I’m Dr. Steinberg. I’m treating your wife. Could we speak privately for a moment?”

Corinne’s father stood. “We’re her family.”

Dr. Steinberg smiled gently. “I understand. However, it’s Corinne’s husband I need to speak with. I can tell you that Corinne will be fine after a few days’ rest.”

She
and Giroux stepped out of the room, which effectively cut off the sound of their voices, but they were still visible through a glass wall. Giroux towered over the much shorter doctor, but whatever she said to him had him crumbling visibly. The tension in the waiting room ratcheted up to an unbearable degree. Gideon stood beside his mother, his attention snared by the heartrending scene unfolding before us.

Dr. Steinberg reached out and placed a hand on Jean-François’s arm, still speaking. After a moment, she stopped and left him. He just stood there, staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped as if a great weight pressed down on them.

I was about to go to him, when Gideon moved first. The moment he stepped outside the waiting room, Giroux lunged at him.

The thud as the two men collided was teeth-rattling in its violence. The room shook as Gideon slammed into the thick glass wall.

Someone shouted in surprise, then yelled for security.

Gideon threw Giroux off and blocked a punch. Then he ducked, avoiding a blow to the face. Jean-François bellowed something, his face contorted with fury and pain.

Corinne’s father rushed out at the same moment security arrived with stun guns drawn and aimed. Gideon shoved Jean-François off again, defending himself without once throwing a punch of his own. His face was stony, his eyes cold and nearly as lifeless as Giroux’s.

Giroux shouted at Gideon. With the door left open by Corinne’s father, I caught part of what was said. The word
enfant
needed no translation. Everything inside me went deathly still, all sound lost to the buzzing in my ears.

Everyone rushed out of the room as both Gideon and Giroux were flex-cuffed and hustled toward a service elevator by the guards. I blinked when Angus appeared in the doorway, certain I was imagining him.

“Mrs. Cross,” he said softly, approaching me carefully with his cap in his hands.

I
could only imagine how I looked. I was stuck on the word
baby
and what that could possibly mean. After all, Corinne had been in New York as long as I’d known Gideon … but her husband hadn’t been.

“I’ve come to take you home.”

I frowned. “Where’s Gideon?”

“He texted me and asked me to come get you.”

My confusion turned into a sharp pain. “But he needs me.”

Angus took a deep breath, his eyes filled with something that looked like pity. “Come with me, Eva. It’s late.”

“He doesn’t want me here,” I said flatly, latching on to the one thing I was beginning to comprehend.

“He wants you home and comfortable.”

My feet felt rooted to the floor. “Is that what the text said?”

“That’s what he’s thinking.”

“You’re being kind.” I started to walk, running on autopilot.

I passed one of the orderlies picking up the mess made when Giroux had been shoved into a cart of supplies. The way he avoided looking at me seemed to confirm the harsh reality.

I’d been set aside.

G
IDEON DIDN’T COME
home that night. When I checked his apartment on my way out to work, I found the beds neatly made.

Wherever he’d spent the night, it hadn’t been near me. After the revelation of Corinne’s pregnancy, I was stunned that I’d been left on my own with no explanation. I felt like this huge bomb had exploded in front of me and I was left standing in the rumble, alone and confused.

Angus and the Bentley were waiting for me downstairs when I stepped outside. Irritation simmered. Every time Gideon pulled away from me, he sent Angus in as a surrogate.

“I should’ve married
you
, Angus,” I muttered, as I slid into the backseat. “You’re always there for me.”

“Gideon makes sure of it,” he said, before shutting the door.

Always loyal,
I thought bitterly.

When I got to work and learned that Megumi was still out sick, I
was equally concerned about her and relieved for me. It wasn’t like her to miss work—she was always at her desk early—so the repeated absences told me something was really wrong with her. But not having her there meant she couldn’t catch my mood and ask questions I didn’t want to answer. Couldn’t answer, actually. I had no idea where my husband was, what he was doing or feeling.

And I was angry and hurt about it. The one thing I
wasn’t
was scared. Gideon was right about marriage fostering a settled feeling. I had a grip on him he’d have to work to break. He couldn’t just disappear or ignore me forever. No matter what, he would have to deal with me at some point. The only question was: When?

Focusing on work, I willed the hours to rush by. When I got off at five, I still hadn’t heard from Gideon and I hadn’t reached out to him, either. As far as I was concerned,
he
needed to bridge the gap he’d created between us.

I headed to my Krav Maga class after work, where Parker worked one-on-one with me for an hour.

“You’re on fire tonight,” he said, when I threw him to the mat for the sixth or seventh time.

I didn’t tell him I was imagining Gideon in his place.

When I got home, I found Cary and Trey hanging out in the living room. They were eating torpedo sandwiches and watching a comedy show.

“We’ve got plenty,” Trey said, pushing half of his sandwich toward me. “There’s beer in the fridge, too.”

He was a great guy, with an awesome personality to match. And he loved my best friend. I looked at Cary and for a second, he let me see his confusion and pain. Then he hid it behind his bright, gorgeous smile. He patted the cushion next to him. “Come sit, baby girl.”

“Sure,” I agreed, partly because I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in my room with my thoughts driving me crazy. “Just let me take a shower first.”

Once
I was freshly scrubbed and cozy in worn sweats, I joined the two men on the couch. I brooded over getting a “not found” error when I tried to track Gideon’s smartphone with the instructions he’d given me.

I ended up sleeping in the living room, preferring the couch to a bed that might smell like my missing husband.

I woke up to the smell of him anyway, and the feel of his arms around me as he lifted me. Weary, I rested my head against Gideon’s chest and listened to the sound of his heart beating strong and sure. He carried me to my bedroom.

“Where have you been?” I muttered.

“California.”

I jolted. “What?”

He shook his head. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Gideon …”

“In the morning, Eva,” he said sternly, putting me to bed and pressed a rough kiss to my forehead.

I caught his wrist as he straightened. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

“I haven’t slept in damn near two days.” There was an edge to his voice that set off alarms.

Pushing onto my elbows, I tried to see his face in the semidarkness, but it was too hard and I was still trying to shrug off sleep. I could tell he was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and that was about it. “So? Got a bed right here.”

He heaved out an exasperated, weary breath. “Lie down. I’ll get my prescription.”

It wasn’t until he’d been gone too long that I remembered he kept a bottle of his pills in my bathroom. He’d left for no other reason than to leave. I shoved the blankets off me and stumbled out of the room, making my way through my darkened living room to find my keys. I went
to Gideon’s apartment and let myself in, nearly tripping over a suitcase left carelessly by the door.

He must have taken just enough time to drop it off before coming to me. And yet he hadn’t intended to spend the night in my bed. Why had he come? Just to see me sleep? To check up on me?

Fuck. Would I ever understand him?

I searched for him and found him sprawled facedown on the master bed, his head on my pillow and his clothes still on. His boots lay a few feet apart from each other at the end of the bed, as if he’d kicked them off in a rush, and his smartphone and wallet were tossed on the nightstand.

The phone was irresistible.

I picked it up, typed in
angel
as the password, and scrolled through it without shame. If he caught me doing it, I wouldn’t care. If he wasn’t going to give me answers, I had every right to search for them myself.

The last thing I expected to find were so many pictures of me in his photo album. There were dozens: some of us together taken by paparazzi, others that he’d taken with his phone when I was unaware. Candid shots that afforded me the opportunity to see myself through his eyes.

I stopped worrying. He loved me. Adored me. No man could take the pictures he did of me otherwise, with messy hair and no makeup, doing nothing more interesting than reading something or standing in front of an open refrigerator contemplating what I wanted. Pictures of me sleeping and eating and frowning in concentration … Boring, commonplace things.

His phone log showed mostly calls placed between him and Angus, Raúl, or Scott. There were voice mails from Corinne I refused to torture myself by listening to, but I could see he hadn’t answered her or called her in a while. There were calls between him and business associates—a couple with Arnoldo, and several with his attorneys.

And three calls exchanged between him and Deanna Johnson.

My
gaze narrowed. Those ranged from several minutes long to a quarter of an hour.

I checked his text messages and found the one he’d sent to Angus when we were at the hospital.

I need her out of here.

Sinking into the armchair in the corner of the room, I stared at the message.
Need
, not
want
. For some reason, the word choice changed my perception of what happened. I still didn’t get it completely, but I didn’t feel quite so … pushed aside.

There were also texts between him and Ireland, which made me happy. I didn’t read them but could see that the last one had come in on Monday.

Returning the phone to its former spot, I watched the man I loved sink into the deep sleep of exhaustion. Sprawled as he was, dressed as he was, he looked his age. He carried so much responsibility and he made it look so effortless … so innately artless, that it was easy to forget he was as vulnerable to being overworked and stressed out as anyone.

It was my job as his wife to help him deal with it. But that was impossible for me to do if he shut me out. In saving me worry, he took more onto himself.

We’d be talking about that as soon as he caught some sleep.

I woke with a crick in my neck and the lingering sense that something was wrong. Moving gingerly so as not to pull something, I unfolded from my curled-up position in the armchair and noted that the dawn was well on its way. Pinkish-orange light was visible through the windows, and a quick glance at the bedside clock told me it was creeping into morning.

Gideon groaned and I stilled, dread sliding through me at the sound.
It was a terrible noise, the sound of a creature wounded in both body and soul. A chill swept over me as he moaned again, everything in me reacting violently to his torment.

Rushing to the bed, I climbed on it, kneeling as I pushed at his shoulder. “Gideon. Wake up.”

He flinched away from me, curling around my pillow and squeezing it. His body jerked as a sob escaped him.

I spooned behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist. “Shh, baby,” I whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

I rocked him as he cried in his sleep, my tears wetting his shirt.

“W
AKE
up, angel mine,” Gideon murmured, his lips brushing over my jaw. “I need you.”

I stretched, feeling lingering aches from the last two nights of hard training and the few hours I’d spent sleeping in the armchair before moving to the bed and joining him.

My T-shirt was pushed up, exposing my breasts to his avid, hungry mouth. A hand pushed beneath the waistband of my sweats and then my panties, finding my cleft and expertly coaxing me to a swift arousal.

“Gideon …” I could feel the need in his touch, the desire that was far more than skin deep.

He took my mouth, hushing me with a kiss. My hips arched as his fingers pushed into me, fucking me gently. Eager to answer his silent demand for more, I pushed at my sweats, kicking restlessly until I got them off.

I reached for the button fly of his jeans, yanking it open and shoving the denim and cotton boxer briefs out of the way.

“Put me inside you,” he whispered against my lips.

I circled his thick erection with my fingers, positioning him and then lifting to take the first inch of him inside me.

Burying
his face in my neck, he thrust, sinking into me, moaning with pleasure as I closed tight around him. “Christ, Eva. I need you so much.”

My arms and legs caged him, holding him tight.

Time and everything else in the world ceased to matter. Gideon renewed all the promises he’d made to me on the sands of a Caribbean beach, and I tried to heal him, hoping to give him the strength he needed to face another day.

I was putting on my makeup when Gideon joined me in the bathroom, setting a steaming mug of creamy sweet coffee on the marble counter next to me. He wore nothing but pajama pants, so I guessed he wasn’t going into the office or at least not right away.

Eyeing him in the mirror, I searched for signs that he remembered his dreams. I’d never seen him so deeply troubled, as if his heart were breaking.

“Eva,” he said quietly, “we need to talk.”

“I’m on board with that.”

Leaning back against the counter, he held his mug in both hands. He stared down into his coffee for a long minute before asking, “Did you make a sex tape with Brett Kline?”

“What?” I faced him, my hand tightening on the handle of my makeup brush. “No. Fuck no. Why would you ask me that?”

He held my gaze. “When I came back from the hospital the other night, Deanna caught up with me in the lobby. After the situation with Corinne, I knew brushing her off was the wrong approach.”

“I told you that.”

“I know. You were right. So I took her to the bar up the street, bought her a glass of wine, and apologized.”

“You took her out for wine,” I repeated.

“No,
I took her out to tell her I’m sorry for how I treated her. I bought her the wine so we had a reason to be sitting in the damn bar,” he said irritably. “I figured you’d prefer a public place over bringing her up to the apartment, which would have been more convenient and private.”

He was right, and I appreciated his thinking of how I’d react and making accommodations for it. But I was still annoyed that Deanna had snagged a pseudo date with him.

Gideon must have known what I was feeling because his lips tilted up on one side. “So possessive, angel. You’re lucky I like it so much.”

“Shut up. What does Deanna have to do with a sex tape? Did she tell you there was one? It’s a lie. She’s lying.”

“She’s not. My apology smoothed things over enough for her to throw me a bone. She told me about the tape and that an auction for it was imminent.”

“I’m telling you, she’s full of shit,” I argued.

“You know a guy named Sam Yimara?”

Everything stopped. Anxiety pooled in the pit of my stomach. “Yes, he was the band’s wannabe videographer.”

“Right.” He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes hard as they looked at me over the rim of his mug. “He apparently set up remote cameras at some of the band’s shows to gather backstage material. He claims to have re-created the ‘Golden’ video with actual explicit footage.”

“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth, feeling sick.

It was bad enough thinking about strangers watching Brett and me fucking, but it was a million times worse imagining Gideon seeing it. I could still picture the look on his face when he’d watched the music video, and
that
had been terrible. He and I would never be the same if he viewed the real deal. I knew I’d never be able to scrub images of him and another woman out of my mind. And over time, they’d eat at me like acid.

“That’s
why you went to California,” I whispered, horrified.

“Deanna gave me what information she had, and I secured a temporary injunction barring Yimara from licensing or selling the video.”