Gideon swallowed loudly and drew in a heavy breath, things she felt viscerally with him as she rested her head against his heart. This is love, she thought. The knowing without words. The sharing of both joy and pain.
She sat in stillness a long time, wondering if it was true. Were they both here in this bubble of dawning heart-to-hear
t connection, or just her? Did he love her? A little?
Gideon swore softly and touched the pocket of his jacket. “Paul,” he explained. “I should tell him we’re not going. Is your phone in here?”
“On the dock in the living room.”
“Here. You need to warm up.” He dragged the covers back from the pillows before rising with her in his arms and neatly tucking her in.
Listless after her storm of weeping, Adara turned her back on his departure and let her eyes close and her mind go blank. She couldn’t face that he’d walked out so dispassionately after holding her so tenderly.
She must have dozed because she woke still alone in the bed, but the bedside light was on and someone was rustling in her room. She opened her eyes to see Gideon fitting a hanger into one of her gowns and carrying it into the closet. A tiny smile dawned on her mouth as she surreptitiously watched him housekeep for her. He’d changed out of his tuxedo, which was always a pity because he made one look so good, but pajama pants were fine too. Even when they were obviously crisp and new from a package. Had he ever worn pajamas before tonight? she wondered.
His critical eye scanned the room for anything else out of place before he moved to the door.
Her heart fell. He wasn’t going to join her. They were back to separate beds and separate lives.
But no. She heard the distant beep of him setting the alarm, then his footsteps padded back to her. He gently lifted the covers and eased into bed behind her.
She sighed and spooned herself into him.
“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. I won’t be able to sleep anyway. I’ve already started thinking about doctor’s appointments and taking vitamins and...” She sighed with heartfelt sadness. It seemed like such a futile effort to go through it all again. “...everything.”
“I put in a call to Karen, letting her know we want an appointment tomorrow,” he said, referring to her ob-gyn.
“Oh, um, thank you.” His thoughtfulness startled her. She wouldn’t have guessed that he even knew her doctor’s name. Snugging herself a little more securely into him, she nuzzled the bent elbow beneath her cheek. “One less thing to worry about.” Oddly, she found herself amused again. “Especially because you might actually get me an appointment tomorrow. I’d take whatever they offered, something next week if that’s all they had, but no one says no to you, do they?”
“Not unless it’s the answer I want to hear.”
She snickered and turned in his arms. “Why are you like that?” she asked with sudden curiosity. “What made you so bullish?”
“Having nothing and hating it. You should get some sleep.” He rolled back to reach for the light switch.
“Honestly, if I try to sleep, I’ll just lie here and worry. Tell me something to distract me. What were you like as a child? Before your mom died,” she prompted.
“Scared,” he admitted, letting her glimpse the flash of angry honesty in his expression before he doused the light and drew her body into alignment with his. Her robe was bunched, her bra restrictive and the fabric of his pajama pants annoying when she wanted to stroke her bare leg on his.
At the same time, she was caught by the single word that didn’t seem to fit with a mother he’d described as “maternal.”
“Why were you scared?” she asked gently.
Gideon sighed. “I really don’t like talking about it, Adara.”
“Mmm,” she murmured in old acquiescence, then said into his chest, “But I told you about my childhood, unhappy as it was, and we’re closer for it. Aren’t we?”
He sighed and rolled onto his back, arms loosening from his hold on her. “My story’s a hell of a lot uglier than yours. I don’t know much about my mother except what I told you before. I give her credit for somehow getting us into a rented room by the time she died, but before that, I can remember her leaving me in, literally, holes in the wall. Telling me to stay there until she came back. Can you imagine a woman—a child—trying to keep a baby alive while living on the street? I never felt safe.”
“Oh, Gideon,” she whispered, reaching her hand onto his chest.
He clasped her hand in his, taking care not to crush her fine bones, but was torn between rejecting her caress of comfort and clinging to it. He was sorry he’d started this, but part of him wanted to lay the groundwork. If his past ever came out, he wanted Adara to understand why he’d become who he was.
“I hate remembering how powerless I felt. So when you ask me why I go after what I want however I have to, that’s why.”
“How did she die?”