One with You (Crossfire 5)

Dr. Petersen scrawled across his tablet screen, taking notes. “Is Cary having difficulty adjusting?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He’s not acting like he is. But I worry. He falls into bad habits without support.”

“Do you have any thoughts about that, Gideon?”

He kept his tone neutral. “I knew what I was getting into when I married her.”

“Always a good thing.” Dr. Petersen smiled. “But that doesn’t tell me much.”

Gideon’s hand lifted from my shoulder and went to my hair, playing with it. “As a married man yourself, Doctor, you know there are concessions a husband makes to keep the peace. Cary is one of mine.”

That hurt me to hear, but I understood Cary had started out with a clean slate with Gideon. Then he’d made several wrong moves—like having group sex in our living room one night—that put marks against him.

Dr. Petersen looked at me. “So you’re attempting to balance the needs of both your husband and your best friend. Is that stressful?”

“It’s not fun,” I hedged, “but it’s not really balancing, either. My marriage—and Gideon—comes first.”

I could tell Gideon liked hearing that when his hand fisted gently—possessively—in my hair.

“But,” I continued, “I don’t want to overwhelm Gideon and I don’t want Cary to feel abandoned. Moving a small bag of stuff over every day makes the change gradual.”

Once the thought was out, I had to admit how maternal that sounded. Still, I couldn’t help wanting to protect those in my life who needed it, especially from pain my own actions might cause.

“You’ve mentioned everyone but you,” he pointed out. “How do you feel?”

“The penthouse is starting to feel like home. The only thing I’m struggling with is our sleeping arrangements. We’ve been sharing a bed, but Gideon wants us to sleep separately and I don’t.”

“Because of the nightmares?” Dr. Petersen asked, his gaze on Gideon.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Have you had any lately?”

My husband nodded. “Not the really bad ones.”

“What constitutes a really bad nightmare? One that you act out physically?”

Gideon’s chest expanded on a deep breath. “Yes.”

The doctor looked at me again. “You understand the risk, Eva, but you still want to share a bed with Gideon.”

“Yes, of course.” My heartbeat quickened at the memories. Gideon had pinned me down viciously, ugly words of pain and fury spilling out in terrible threats of violence.

In the grip of a nightmare, Gideon didn’t see me, he saw Hugh—a man he wanted to tear apart with his bare hands.

“Many happily married couples sleep separately,” Dr. Petersen pointed out. “The reasons are varied—the husband snores, the wife steals the covers, et cetera—but they find that sleeping apart is more conducive to marital harmony than sleeping together.”

I straightened away from Gideon, needing them both to understand. “I like sleeping next to him. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and I watch him sleep. Sometimes, I wake up and I don’t even open my eyes, I just listen to him breathing. I can smell him, feel his warmth. I sleep better when he’s beside me. And I know he sleeps better, too.”

“Angel.” Gideon’s hand stroked my back.

Looking over my shoulder, I caught his gaze. His face was impassive. Gorgeous. His eyes, however, were dark blue pools of pain. I reached for his hand. “I know it hurts you. I’m sorry. I just need us to work toward having that. I don’t want us to ever give up on it.”

“What you describe,” Dr. Petersen said gently, “is intimacy, Eva. And it’s one of the true joys of marriage. It’s understandable that you crave it. Everyone does to some extent. For you and Gideon, however, it probably seems particularly important.”

“It does to me,” I agreed.

“Are you implying it’s different for me?” Gideon said tightly.

“No.” I twisted to face him. “Please don’t get defensive. This isn’t your fault. I’m not blaming you.”

“Do you know how shitty this makes me feel?” he accused.

“I wish you wouldn’t take it personally, Gideon. It’s—”

“My wife wants to watch me sleep and I can’t even give her that,” he snapped. “What is that, if not fucking personal?”

“Okay, let’s discuss,” Dr. Petersen said quickly, drawing our attention to him. “The root of this conversation is a craving for intimate familiarity. Human beings, by nature, desire intimacy, but childhood sexual abuse survivors can find this need especially acute.”

Gideon was still tense, but he was listening attentively.

“In many cases,” the doctor continued, “the abuser works hard to isolate the victim to help conceal their crime and make the victim dependent. The victims themselves very often withdraw from friends and family. Everyone else’s lives seem so ordinary and the troubles of others so insignificant next to the terrible secret they feel forced to hide.”

I slid back into place against Gideon’s side, pulling my knees up to hug him with the whole of my body. His arm came tight around me once more, his other hand reaching for mine.

Dr. Petersen’s face softened as he watched us. “That deep loneliness was alleviated when you both opened up to each other, but being starved of true intimacy for so long leaves a mark. I urge you to consider alternative ways to achieve the closeness you crave, Eva. Create signals and rituals that are unique to your relationship, that don’t threaten either one of you and bring you both a sense of connection.”

Sighing, I nodded.

“We’ll work on it,” he said. “And your nightmares, Gideon, are likely to continue to lessen in quantity and severity as we do. But this is just the beginning. We’ve taken some first steps in a long journey.”

Tilting my head back, I looked up at Gideon. “A lifetime,” I vowed.

Gideon touched my cheek with gentle fingers. He didn’t say the words, but I saw them in his gaze, felt them in his caress.

We had love. The rest would come.

10

“I’ve been communicating with Benjamin Clancy,” Raúl said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You and Mrs. Cross will be heading toward the airport at the same time, so you can travel together, if you like.”

“Of course.” I needed that time with Eva before we went our separate ways. The hours in the workday were too long to be away from her. A weekend was going to be torture. “I’ll call her and let her know we’ll be picking her up. We’ll need the limo.”

A professional to the core, Raúl showed no reaction. It would make more sense to use the limo for Eva’s friends, instead of us, but neither the Bentley nor the Benz offered the privacy I required.

Sitting on the couch in my office, I faced both Angus and Raúl, who’d settled into the two club chairs. We’d decided that Angus should stay behind while Raúl headed the security team accompanying me to Brazil.

Angus would be heading to Austin to dig into the background of Lauren Kittrie.

Raúl nodded his understanding. “We’ll make separate transportation arrangements for her friends and yours.”

“How is Eva getting to Ibiza?”

“Private jet,” he replied, “chartered by Richard Stanton. I suggested they stay at the Hotel Vientos Cruzados Ibiza and Clancy agreed. It took some doing, as the resort is fully booked for the summer season, but the property manager was able to make it happen. They’ve stepped up security in anticipation of Mrs. Cross’s arrival.”

“Good.” Having Eva stay in a Cross Industries resort gave me added peace of mind. We had two well-known nightclubs in Ibiza as well, one in Ibiza Town and one in Sant Antoni. I knew without asking that both had been pointed out to Clancy in advance. I expected he’d use the information. He was a smart man and would appreciate the added support provided by their security and staff.