Captivated by You (Crossfire 4)

I called her and she answered on the first ring.

“Eva. You’ve been deliberately avoiding me. How am I supposed to plan your wedding without your input? There are so many decisions to make and if I make the wrong one, you’ll—”

“Hi, Mom,” I interrupted. “How are you?”

“Stressed,” she said, her naturally breathy voice conveying more than a little accusation. “How could I be anything else? I’m planning one of the most important days of your life all by myself and—”

“I was thinking we could get together on Saturday and hash it all out, if that fits into your schedule.”

“Really?” The hopeful pleasure in her voice made me feel guilty.

“Yes, really.” I had been thinking of the second wedding as being more for my mother than anyone else, but that was wrong. The wedding was important to Gideon and me, too, another opportunity for us to affirm our unbreakable bond. Not for the world to see, but for the two of us.

He had to stop pushing me away to protect me, and I had to stop worrying that I would disappear when I became Mrs. Gideon Cross.

“That would be wonderful, Eva! We could have brunch here with the wedding planner. Spend the afternoon going over all our options.”

“I want something small, Mom. Intimate.” Before she argued, I pressed forward with Gideon’s solution. “We can go as crazy as you want with the reception, but I want our wedding to be private.”

“Eva, people will be insulted if they’re invited to the reception and not the ceremony!”

“I really don’t care. I’m not getting married for them. I’m getting married because I’m in love with the man of my dreams and we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. I don’t want the focus to ever shift from that.”

“Honey . . .” She sighed, as if I were clueless. “We can talk more about this on Saturday.”

“Okay. But I’m not changing my mind.” I felt a tingle race down my back and turned.

Gideon stood just beyond the threshold to the kitchen, watching me. He’d pulled on the sweatpants from the night before and his hair was still mussed from sleep, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“I’ve got to go,” I told my mom. “I’ll see you this weekend. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Eva. That’s why I only want the best for you.”

I killed the call and set my phone down on the island. Sliding off the seat, I faced him. “Good morning.”

“You’re not at work,” he said, his voice raspier, sexier, than usual.

“Neither are you.”

“Are you going in late?”

“Nope. And you’re not, either.” I went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He was still warm from the bed. My sleepy, sensual dream come true. “We’re going to hole up today, ace. Just you and me hanging out in our pajamas and relaxing.”

His arm cinched around my hips, his other hand lifting to brush the hair back from my face. “You’re not mad.”

“Why would I be?” Lifting onto my tiptoes, I kissed his jaw. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” He cupped my nape, pressing my cheek to his. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’ll always be here. Until death do us part.”

“You’re planning the wedding.”

“You heard that, huh? If you’ve got requests, tell me now or forever hold your peace.”

He was quiet for a long time, long enough that I figured he didn’t have anything to add.

Turning my head, I caught his lips and gave him a quick, sweet kiss. “Did you see what I left you by the bed?”

“Yes, thank you.” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth.

He looked like a man who’d been well fucked, which filled me with feminine pride. “I got you off the hook at work, too, but Arash said he had some papers to send over to us. He wouldn’t tell me what they were.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

I brushed my fingertips over his brow. “How are you doing?”

His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know. Right now, I just feel like shit.”

“Let’s revisit that bath you missed last night.”

“Umm, I’m feeling better already.”

Linking our fingers together, I started leading him back toward the bedroom.

“I want to be the man of your dreams, angel,” he said, surprising me. “I want that more than anything.”

I looked back at him. “You’ve got that in the bag already.”

—

I stared down at the contract in front of me, my heart racing with a dizzying combination of love and delight. I looked up from the coffee table as Gideon entered the room, his hair still damp from our bath, his long legs encased in black silk pajama bottoms.

“You’re buying the Outer Banks house?” I asked, needing his confirmation despite having the proof in front of me.

His sexy mouth curved. “We’re buying the house. We agreed we would.”

“We talked about it.” The agreed-upon price was a bit staggering, telling me the owners hadn’t been easy to persuade. And he’d asked them to convey the copy of Naked in Death with the property, along with the furnishings in the master bedroom. He always thought of everything.

Gideon settled on the couch beside me. “Now, we’re doing something about it.”

“The Hamptons would be closer. Or Connecticut.”

“It’s a quick hop down by jet.” He tipped my chin up with his finger and pressed his lips to mine. “Don’t worry about the logistics,” he murmured. “We were happy there on the beach. I can still picture you walking along the shore. I remember kissing you on the deck . . . spreading you across that big white bed. You looked like an angel and that place, for me, was like heaven.”

“Gideon.” I rested my forehead against his. I loved him so much. “Where do we sign?”

He pulled back and slid the contract over, finding the first yellow sign here flag. His gaze roved over the coffee table and he frowned. “Where’s my pen?”

I stood. “I’ve got one in my purse.”

Catching my wrist in his hand, he tugged me back down. “No. I need my pen. Where’s the envelope this came in?”

I spotted it lying on the floor between the couch and table, where I’d dropped it when I realized what Arash had sent over. Picking it up, I realized it was still weighted and upended it over the table to let the rest of the items inside spill out. A fountain pen clattered onto the glass and a small photo floated out.

“There we go,” he said, taking the pen and slashing his signature on the dotted line. As he went through the rest of the pages, I picked up the picture and felt my chest tighten.

It was the photo of him and his dad on the beach, the one he’d told me about in North Carolina. He was young, maybe four or five, his small face screwed up in concentration as he helped his dad build a sand castle. Geoffrey Cross sat across from his son, his dark hair blowing in the ocean breeze, his face movie-star handsome. He wore only swimming trunks, showing off a body very much like the one Gideon boasted today.

“Wow,” I breathed, knowing I was going to make copies of the image and frame one for each of the places we lived in. “I love this.”

“Here.” He pushed the contract, with the pen lying atop it, over to me.

I set the photo down and picked up the pen, turning it over to see the GC engraved on the barrel. “You superstitious or something?”

“It was my father’s.”

“Oh.” I looked at him.

“He signed everything with it. He never went anywhere without it tucked in his pocket.” He raked his hair back from his face. “He destroyed our name with that pen.”

I set my hand on his thigh. “And you’re building it back up with the same pen. I get it.”

His fingertips touched my cheek, his gaze soft and shining. “I knew you would.”

15

“HIS-AND-HERS MASTER SUITE—a classic.” Blaire Ash smiled as his pen flew across the large notepad clipped to a board.

His gaze lifted to roam the entirety of Eva’s bedroom in the penthouse, the one I’d had him design specifically to look exactly like the room my wife had in her Upper West Side apartment.

“How big a change are you looking for?” the designer asked. “Do you want to start with a blank slate, or are you just looking for the easiest structural change that will combine the two rooms?”

I left it to Eva to answer. It was difficult for me to participate, knowing this change was one neither of us really wanted. Our home would soon reflect how fucked up I was and how badly our marriage was affected because of it. The whole exercise was like a knife in the gut.

She glanced at me, then asked, “What would the easy way look like?”

Ash smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth. He was attractive—or so Ireland assured me—and sported his usual attire of ripped jeans and a T-shirt under a tailored blazer. I couldn’t care less about his looks. What mattered was his talent, which I’d admired enough to hire him to decorate both my office and my home. What I didn’t like was the way he was looking at my wife.

“We could simply adjust the layout of the master bath and knock out an arched entry through this wall, effectively joining the two rooms via the bathroom.”

“That’s just what we need,” Eva said.

“Right. It’s quick and efficient, and the actual construction wouldn’t be all that disruptive to your lives. Or”—he went on—“I could show you some alternatives.”

“Like what?”

He moved to her side, so close that his shoulder pressed against hers. Ash was nearly as blond as Eva, the image of them striking as he bent his head to hers.

“If we work with the square footage of all three bedrooms and master bathroom,” he replied, speaking only to her as if I weren’t there, “I could give you a master suite that’s balanced on both sides. Both bedrooms would be the same size, with his-and-hers adjoining home offices—or sitting room, if you prefer.”

“Oh.” She nipped absently at her lower lip for a second. “I can’t believe you sketched that up so quickly.”

He winked at her. “Fast and thorough is my motto. And getting the job done so well that you think of me when you want to do it again.”

I lounged against the wall, my arms crossing as I watched them. Eva seemed oblivious to the designer’s double entendre. I was anything but.

The house phone rang and her head came up. She looked at me. “I bet Cary’s here.”

“Why don’t you get that, angel?” I drawled. “Maybe you should bring him up yourself, share your excitement.”

“Yes!” She ran her hand over my arm as she hurried from the room, a fleeting touch that reverberated through me.

I straightened, focusing on Ash. “You’re flirting with my wife.”

He stiffened abruptly, the smile leaving his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want Miss Tramell to feel comfortable.”

“I’ll worry about her. You worry about me.” I didn’t doubt that he questioned the arrangement we’d consulted him to implement. Everyone who saw it would. What red-blooded man in his right mind would have a wife like Eva, yet sleep not just in a different bed but a different room altogether?

The knife dug in a little deeper and twisted.

His dark eyes went flat and hard. “Of course, Mr. Cross.”

“Now, let’s see what you’ve sketched so far.”

—

“WHAT do you think?” Eva asked, between bites of pepperoni and basil pizza. She leaned over the island, with one leg kicked up behind her, having chosen to stand on the opposite side from where Cary and I sat.

I debated my reply.

“I mean the idea of a master suite with two mirroring sides is lovely,” she went on, wiping at her mouth with a paper napkin, “but if we go the easy route, it’ll be faster. Plus we could close up the wall again one day, if we want to use the room for something else.”

“Like a nursery,” Cary said, shaking crushed red pepper onto his slice.

My appetite died and I dropped the slice I’d been eating onto my paper plate. Lately, eating pizza at home hadn’t been working out for me.

“Or a guest room,” Eva corrected. “I liked what you talked to Blaire about for your apartment.”

Cary shot her a look. “Quick dodge.”

“Hey, you may have babies on your mind, but the rest of us have other things to check off our lists first.”

She was saying exactly what I wanted her to say, but . . .

Did Eva have the same fears I did? Maybe she’d taken me as a husband because she couldn’t help herself, but drew the line at taking me as a father to her children.