Day, Sylvia - Bared to You - A Crossfire Novel

“I’m guessing the ‘I want to fuck you’ approach has a high success rate for you.”

Gideon’s

face

smoothed

into

unreadable

impassivity. “I’m not touching that one, Eva.”

“Okay. You want to figure out what it’s going to take to get me into bed. Is that why you’re here in this club right now? Because of me? And don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

His gaze was clear and steady. “I’m here for you, yes. I arranged it.”

Suddenly the threads the street hawker had been wearing made sense. We’d been hustled by someone on Cross Industries’s payrol . “Did you figure that getting me here would get you laid?”

His mouth twitched with suppressed amusement.

“There’s always the hope, but I expected it would take more work than a chance meeting over drinks.”

“You’re right. So why do it? Why not wait until Monday lunch?”

“Because you’re out trol ing. I can’t do anything about B.O.B., but I can stop you from picking up some asshole in a bar. You want to score, Eva, I’m right here.”

“I’m not trol ing. I’m burning off tension after a stressful day.”

“You’re not the only one.” He fingered one of my silver chandelier earrings. “So you drink and dance when you’re tense. I work on the problem that’s making me tense in the first place.”

His voice had softened, and it stirred an alarming yearning. “Is that what I am? A problem?”

“Absolutely.” But there was a hint of a smile around his lips.

I knew that was a lot of the appeal for him. Gideon Cross wouldn’t be where he was, at such a young age, if he took “no” graceful y. “What’s your definition of dating?”

A frown marred the space between his brows.

“Lengthy social time spent with a woman during which we’re not actively fucking.”

“Don’t you enjoy the company of women?” The frown turned into a scowl. “Sure, as long as there aren’t any exaggerated expectations or excessive demands on my time. I’ve found the best way to steer clear of those is to have mutual y exclusive sexual relationships and friendships.”

There

were

those

pesky

“exaggerated

expectations” again. Clearly, those were a sticking point with him. “So, you do have female friends?”

“Of course.” His legs tightened around mine, capturing me. “Where are you going with this?”

“You segregate sex from the rest of your life. You separate it from friendship, work…everything.”

“I’ve got good reasons for doing that.”

“I’m sure you do. Okay, here are my thoughts.” It was difficult concentrating when I was so close to Gideon. “I told you I don’t want to date and I don’t. My job is priority number one and my personal life—as a single woman—is a close second. I don’t want to sacrifice any of that time on a relationship and there’s real y not enough left over to squeeze in anything steady.”

“I’m right there with you.”

“But I like sex.”

“Good. Have it with me.” His smile was an erotic invitation.

I shoved his shoulder. “I need a personal connection with the men I sleep with. It doesn’t have to be intense or deep, but sex needs to be more than an emotionless transaction for me.”

“Why?”

I could tel he wasn’t being flippant. As bizarre as this conversation must be for him, Gideon was taking it seriously. “Cal it one of my quirks, and I’m not saying that lightly. It pisses me off to feel used for sex. I feel devalued.”

“Can’t you look at it as you using me for sex?”

“Not with you.” He was too forceful, too demanding.

A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparked in his eyes as I bared my weakness for him.

“Besides,” I went on quickly, “that’s semantics. I need an equal exchange in my sexual relationships. Or to have the upper hand.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You said that real y quickly considering I’m tel ing you I need to combine two things you work so hard to avoid putting together.”

“I’m not comfortable with it and I don’t claim to understand, but I’m hearing you—it’s an issue. Tel me how to get around it.”

My breath left me in a rush. I hadn’t expected that.

He was a man who wanted no complications with his sex and I was a woman who found sex complicated, but he wasn’t giving up. Yet.

“We need to be friendly, Gideon. Not best buds or confidants, but two people who know more about each other than their anatomy. To me, that means we have to spend time together when we’re not actively fucking.

And I’m afraid we’l have to spend time not actively fucking in places where we’re forced to restrain ourselves.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“Yes. And see, that’s what I mean. I wasn’t giving you credit for that. You should’ve done it in a less creepy manner”—I covered his lips with my fingers when he tried to cut me off—“but I admit you did try to set up a time to talk and I wasn’t helpful.” He nipped my fingers with his teeth, making me yelp and yank my hand away.

“Hey. What was that for?”

He lifted my abused hand to his mouth and kissed the hurt, his tongue darting out to soothe. And incite.

In self-defense, I tugged my hand back to my lap. I stil wasn’t completely confident that we’d worked things out. “Just so you know there are no exaggerated expectations—when you and I spend time together not actively fucking, I won’t think it’s a date. Al right?”

“That covers it.” Gideon smiled and my decision to be with him solidified for me. His smile was like lightning in the darkness, blinding and beautiful and mysterious, and I wanted him so badly it was physical y painful.

His hands slid down to cup the backs of my thighs.

Squeezing gently, he tugged me just a little bit closer.

The hem of my short black halter dress slipped almost indecently high and his gaze was riveted to the flesh he’d exposed. His tongue wet his lips in an action so carnal and suggestive I could almost feel the caress on my skin.

Duffy began begging for mercy, her voice drifting up from the dance floor below. An unwelcome ache developed in my chest and I rubbed at it.

I’d already had enough, but I heard myself saying, “I need another drink.”

I had a vicious hangover on Saturday morning and figured it was no less than I deserved. As much as I’d resented Gideon’s insistence on negotiating sex with as much passion as he would a merger, in the end I’d negotiated in kind. Because I wanted him enough to take a calculated risk and break my own rules.

I took comfort in knowing he was breaking some of his own, too.

After a long, hot shower, I made my way into the living room and found Cary on the couch with his netbook, looking fresh and alert. Smel ing coffee in the kitchen, I headed there and fil ed the biggest mug I could find.

“Morning, sunshine,” Cary cal ed out.

With my much-needed dose of caffeine wrapped between both palms, I joined him on the couch.

He pointed at a box on the end table. “That came for you while you were in the shower.”

I set my mug on the coffee table and picked up the box. It was wrapped with brown paper and twine, and had my name handwritten diagonal y across the top with a decorative cal igraphic flourish. Inside was an amber glass bottle with Hangover Cure painted on it in a white old-fashioned font and a note tied with raffia to the bottle’s neck that said, “Drink me.” Gideon’s business card was nestled in the cushioning tissue paper.