“There’s no way your mom and Stanton are going
to let you come out here at night multiple times a
week,” Cary said, hugging his stylish denim jacket
around him even though it wasn’t more than
slightly chilly.
The converted warehouse Parker Smith used
as his studio was a brick-faced building in a
formerly industrial area of Brooklyn presently
struggling to revitalize. The space was vast, and
the massive metal delivery-bay doors offered no
exterior clue as to what was taking place inside.
Cary and I sat in aluminum bleachers, watching a
half-dozen combatants on the mats below.
“Ouch.” I winced in sympathy as a guy took a
kick to the groin. Even with padding, that had to
sting. “How’s Stanton going to find out, Cary?”
“Because you’ll be in the hospital?” He glanced
at me. “Seriously. Krav Maga is brutal. They’re just
sparring and it’s full contact. And even if the
bruises don’t give you away, your stepdad will find
out somehow. He always does.”
“Because of my mom; she tells him everything.
But I’m not telling her about this.”
“Why not?”
“She won’t understand. She’ll think I want to
protect myself because of what happened, and
she’ll feel guilty and give me grief about it. She
won’t believe my main interest is exercise and
stress relief.”
I propped my chin on my palm and watched
Parker take the floor with a woman. He was a
good instructor. Patient and thorough, and he
explained things in an easy to understand way.
His studio was in a rough neighborhood, but I
thought it suited what he was teaching. It didn’t get
more “reality based” than a big, empty
warehouse.
“That Parker guy is really hot,” Cary murmured.
“He’s also wearing a wedding band.”
“I noticed. The good ones always get snatched
up quick.”
Parker joined us after the class was over, his
dark eyes bright and his smile brighter. “What’d
ya think, Eva?”
“Where do I sign up?”
His sexy smile made Cary reach over and
squeeze the blood out of my hand.
“Step this way.”
Friday started out awesome. Mark walked me
through the process of collecting information for
an RFP, and he told me a little more about Cross
Industries and Gideon Cross, pointing out that he
and Cross were the same age.
“I have to remind myself of that,” Mark said. “It’s
easy to forget he’s so young when he’s right in
front of you.”
“Yes,” I agreed, secretly disappointed that I
wouldn’t see Cross for the next two days. As much
as I told myself it didn’t matter, I was bummed. I
hadn’t realized I’d been excited by the possibility
that we might run into each other until that
possibility was gone. It was just such a rush being
near him. Plus he was a hell of a lot of fun to look
at. I had nothing nearly as exciting planned for the
weekend.
I was taking notes in Mark’s office when I heard
my desk phone ringing. Excusing myself, I rushed
over to catch it. “Mark Garrity’s office—”
“Eva love. How are you?”
I sank into my chair at the sound of my
stepfather’s voice. Stanton always sounded like
old money to me—cultured, entitled, and arrogant.
“Richard. Is everything okay? Is Mom all right?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine. Your mother is
wonderful, as always.”
His tone softened when he spoke of his wife
and I was grateful for that. I was grateful to him for
a lot of things actually, but it was sometimes hard
to balance that against my feelings of disloyalty. I
knew my dad was self-conscious about the
massive differences in their income brackets.
“Good,” I said, relieved. “I’m glad. Did you and
Mom receive my thank-you note for the dress and
Cary’s tuxedo?”
“Yes, and it was thoughtful of you, but you know
we don’t expect you to thank us for such things.
Excuse me a moment.” He spoke to someone,
most likely his secretary. “Eva love, I’d like us to
get together for lunch today. I’ll send Clancy
around to collect you.”
“Today? But we’ll be seeing each other
tomorrow night. Can’t it wait until then?”
“No, it should be today.”
“But I only get an hour for lunch.”
A tap on my shoulder turned me around to find
Mark standing by my cubicle. “Take two,” he
whispered. “You earned it.”
I sighed and mouthed a thank you. “Will twelve
o’clock work, Richard?”
“Perfectly. I look forward to seeing you.”
I had no reason to look forward to private
meetings with Stanton, but I dutifully left just before
noon and found a town car waiting for me, idling at
the curb. Clancy, Stanton’s driver and body guard,
opened the door for me as I greeted him. Then he
slid behind the wheel and drove me downtown. By
twenty after the hour, I was sitting at a conference
table in Stanton’s offices, eyeing a beautifully
catered lunch for two.
Stanton came in shortly after my arrival, looking
dapper and distinguished. His hair was pure
white, his face lined but still very handsome. His
eyes were the color of worn blue denim, and they
were sharp with intelligence. He was trim and
athletic, taking the time out of his busy days to
stay fit even before he’d married his trophy wife—
my mom.
I stood as he approached, and he bent to kiss
my cheek. “You look lovely, Eva.”
“Thank you.” I looked like my mom, who was
also a natural blonde. But my gray eyes came
from my dad.
Taking a chair at the head of the table, Stanton
was aware that the requisite backdrop of the New
York skyline was behind him and he took
advantage of its impressiveness.
“Eat,” he said, with the command so easily
wielded by all men of power. Men like Gideon
Cross.
Had Stanton been as driven at Cross’s age?
I picked up my fork and started in on a chicken,
cranberry, walnut, and feta salad. It was delicious,
and I was hungry. I was glad Stanton didn’t start
talking right away so I could enjoy the meal, but
the reprieve didn’t last long.
“Eva love, I wanted to discuss your interest in
Krav Maga.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
Stanton took a sip of iced water and leaned
back, his jaw taking on the rigidity that warned me
I wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “Your
mother was quite distraught last night when you
went to that studio in Brooklyn. It took some time
to calm her down and to assure her that I could
make arrangements for you to pursue your
interests in a safe manner. She doesn’t want—”
“Wait.” I set my fork down carefully, my appetite
gone. “How did she know where I was?”
“She tracked your cell phone.”
“No way,” I breathed, deflating into my seat. The
casualness of his reply, as if it was the most
natural thing in the world, made me feel ill. My
stomach churned, suddenly more interested in
rejecting my lunch than digesting it. “That’s why
she insisted I use one of your company phones. It
had nothing to do with saving me money.”
“Of course that was part of it. But it also gives
her peace of mind.”
“Peace of mind? To spy on her grown
daughter? It’s not healthy, Richard. You’ve got to
see that. Is she still seeing Dr. Petersen?”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Yes,
of course.”
“Is she telling him what she’s doing?”
“I don’t know,” he said stiffly. “That’s Monica’s
private business. I don’t interfere.”
No, he didn’t. He coddled her. Indulged her.
Spoiled her. And allowed her obsession with my
safety to run wild. “She has to let it go. I’ve let it
go.”
“You were an innocent, Eva. She feels guilty for
not protecting you. We need to give her a little
latitude.”
“Latitude? She’s a stalker!” My mind spun. How
could my mom invade my privacy like that? Why
would she? She was driving herself crazy, and me
along with her. “This has to stop.”
“It’s an easy fix. I’ve already spoken with Clancy.
He’ll drive you when you need to venture into
Brooklyn. Everything’s been arranged. This will be
much more convenient for you.”
“Don’t try to twist this around to being for my
benefit.” My eyes stung and my throat burned with
unshed tears of frustration. I hated the way he
talked about Brooklyn like it was a third-world
country. “I’m a grown woman. I make my own
decisions. It’s the goddamn law!”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Eva. I’m simply
looking after your mother. And you.”
I pushed back from the table. “You’re enabling
her. You’re keeping her sick, and you’re making
me sick, too.”
“Sit down. You need to eat. Monica worries that
you’re not eating healthy enough.”
“She worries about everything, Richard. That’s
the problem.” I dropped my napkin on the table. “I
have to get back to work.”
I turned away, striding toward the door to get
out as quickly as possible. I retrieved my purse
from Stanton’s secretary and left my cell phone on
her desk. Clancy, who had been waiting for me in
the reception area, followed me, and I knew better
than to try and blow him off. He didn’t take orders
from anyone but Stanton.
Clancy drove me back up to midtown, while I
stewed in the backseat. I could bitch all I wanted,
but in the end I wasn’t any better than Stanton
because I was going to give in. I was going to
cave and let my mom have her way, because it
hurt my heart to think of her suffering any more
than she already did. She was so emotional and
fragile, and she loved me to the point of being
crazy about it.
My mood was still dark when I got back to the
Crossfire. As Clancy pulled away from the curb, I
stood on the crowded sidewalk and looked up
and down the busy street for either a drugstore
where I could get some chocolate or a cellular
store where I could pick up a new phone.
I ended up walking around the block and buying
a half-dozen candy bars at a Duane Reade on the
corner before heading back to the Crossfire. I’d
been gone just about an hour, but I wasn’t going to
use the extra time Mark had given me. I needed
work to distract me from my crazy-assed family.
As I caught an empty elevator car, I ripped open
a bar and bit viciously into it. I was making strides
toward filling my self-imposed chocolate quota
before I hit the twentieth floor when the car
stopped on the fourth. I appreciated the added
time the stop gave me to enjoy the comfort of dark
chocolate and caramel melting over my tongue.
The doors slid apart, and revealed Gideon
Cross talking with two other gentlemen.
As usual, I lost my breath at the sight of him,
which reignited my fading irritation. Why did he
have that effect on me? When was I going to
become immune to his hotness?
He glanced over and his lips curved into a slow,
heart-stopping smile when he saw me.
Great. Just my crappy luck. I’d become some
kind of challenge.
Cross’s smile faded into a frown. “We’ll finish
this later,” he murmured to his companions without
looking away from me.
Stepping into the car, he lifted a hand to
discourage them from following him. They blinked
in surprise, glancing at me, then Cross, and then
back again.
I stepped out, deciding it would be safer for my
sanity to take a different car up.
“Not so fast, Eva.” Cross caught me by the
elbow and tugged me back. The doors shut and
the elevator glided smoothly into motion.
“What are you doing?” I snapped. After dealing
with Stanton, the last thing I needed was another
domineering male trying to push me around.
Cross caught me by the upper arms and
searched my face with that vivid blue gaze.
“Something’s wrong. What is it?”
The now-familiar electricity crackled to life
between us, the pull made fiercer by my temper.
“You.”
“Me?” His thumbs stroked over my shoulders.
Releasing me, he withdrew a lone key from his
pocket and plugged it into the panel. All the lights
cleared except for the one for the top floor.
He wore black again, with fine gray pinstripes.
Seeing him from the back was a revelation. His
shoulders were nicely broad without being bulky,
emphasizing his lean waist and long legs. The
silky strands of hair falling over his collar tempted
me to clench them and pull. Hard. I wanted him as
pissy as I was. I wanted a fight.
“I’m not in the mood for you now, Mr. Cross.”
He watched the antique-style needle above the
doors mark the passing floors. “I can get you in
the mood.”
“I’m not interested.”
Cross glanced over his shoulder at me. His
shirt and tie were both the same awesome
cerulean as his irises. The effect was striking. “No
lies, Eva. Ever.”
“That’s not a lie. So what if I’m attracted to you?
I expect most women are.” Wrapping up what was
left of my candy bar, I shoved it back into the
shopping bag I’d tucked into my purse. I didn’t
need chocolate when I was sharing air with
Gideon Cross. “But I’m not interested in doing
anything about it.”
He faced me then, turning in a leisurely pivot,
that ghost of a smile softening his sinful mouth.
His ease and unconcern aggravated me further.
“Attraction is too tame a word for”—he gestured
at the space between us—“this.”
“Call me crazy, but I have to actually like
someone before I get naked and sweaty with
them.”
“Not crazy,” he said. “But I don’t have the time or
the inclination to date.”
“That makes two of us. Glad we got that cleared
up.” He stepped closer, his hand lifting to my face. I
forced myself not to move away or give him the
satisfaction of seeing me intimidated. His thumb
brushed over the corner of my mouth; then lifted to
his own. He sucked on the pad and purred,
“Chocolate and you. Delicious.”
A shiver moved through me, followed by a
heated ache between my legs as I imagined
licking chocolate off his lethally sexy body.
His gaze darkened and his voice lowered
intimately. “Romance isn’t in my repertoire, Eva.
But a thousand ways to make you come are. Let
me show you.”
The car slowed to a halt. He withdrew the key
from the panel and the doors opened.
I backed into the corner and shooed him out
with a flick of my wrist. “I’m really not interested.”
“We’ll discuss.” Cross caught me by the elbow
and gently, but insistently, urged me out.
I went along because I liked the charge I got
from being around him and because I was curious
to see what he had to say when afforded more
than five minutes of my time.
He was buzzed through the security door so
quickly there was no need for him to break stride.
The pretty redhead at the reception desk pushed
hastily to her feet, about to impart some
information until he shook his head impatiently.
Her mouth snapped shut and she stared at me as
we passed at a brisk pace, her eyes wide.
The walk to Cross’s office was mercifully short.
His secretary stood when he saw his boss’s
approach, but remained silent when he noted that
Cross wasn’t alone.
“Hold my calls, Scott,” Cross said, steering me
into his office through the open glass double
doors.
Despite my irritation, I couldn’t help but be
impressed with Gideon Cross’s spacious
command center. Floor-to-ceiling windows
overlooked the city on two sides, while a wall of
glass faced the rest of the office space. The one
opaque wall opposite the massive desk was
covered in flat screens streaming news channels
from around the world. There were three distinct
seating areas, each one larger than Mark’s entire
office, and a bar that showcased jeweled crystal
decanters, which provided the only spots of color
in a palette that was otherwise black, gray, and
white.
Cross hit a button on his desk that closed the
doors; then another that instantly frosted the clear
glass wall, effectively shielding us from the view of
his employees. With the beautiful sapphire-hued
reflective film on the exterior windows, privacy
was assured. He shrugged out of his jacket and
hung it on a chrome coatrack. Then he returned to
where I’d remained standing just inside the doors.
“Something to drink, Eva?”
“No, thank you.” Damn it. He was even yummier
in just the vest. I could better see how fit he was.
How strong his shoulders were. How beautifully
his biceps and ass flexed as he moved.
He gestured toward a black leather sofa. “Have
a seat.”
“I have to go back to work.”
“And I have a meeting at two. The sooner we
work this out, the sooner we can both get back to
business. Now, sit down.”
“What do you think we’re going to work out?”
Sighing, he scooped me up like a bride and
carried me over to the sofa. He dropped me on
my butt; then sat next to me. “Your objections. It’s
time to discuss what it’s going to take to get you
beneath me.”
“A miracle.” I pushed back from him, widening
the space between us. I tugged at the hem of my
emerald green skirt, wishing I’d worn pants
instead. “I find your approach crude and
offensive.”
And a major turn-on, but I was never going to
admit it.
He contemplated me with narrowed eyes. “It
may be blunt, but it’s honest. You don’t strike me
as the kind of woman who wants bullshit and
flattery instead of the truth.”
“What I want is to be seen as having more to
offer than an inflatable sex doll.”
Cross’s brows shot up. “Well, then.”
“Are we done?” I stood.
Wrapping my wrist with his fingers, he pulled
me back down. “Hardly. We’ve established some
talking points: We have an intense sexual
attraction and neither of us wants to date. So what
do you want—exactly? Seduction, Eva? Do you
want to be seduced?”
I was equally fascinated and appalled by the
conversation. And, yes, tempted. It was hard not
to be while faced with such a gorgeous, virile
male so determined to get hot and sweaty with
me. Still, the dismay won out. “Sex that’s planned
like a business transaction is a turnoff for me.”
“Establishing parameters in the beginning
makes it less likely that there’ll be exaggerated
expectations and disappointment at the
conclusion.”
“Are you kidding?” I scowled. “Listen to yourself.
Why even call it a fuck? Why not be clear and call
it a seminal emission in a preapproved orifice?”
He pissed me off by throwing his head back
and laughing. The full, throaty sound flowed over
me like a rush of warm water. My awareness of
him heightened to a physically painful degree. His
earthy amusement made him less sex god and
more human. Flesh and blood. Real.
I pushed to my feet and backed out of reach.
“Casual sex doesn’t have to include wine and
roses, but for God’s sake, whatever else it is, sex
should be personal. Friendly even. With mutual
respect at the very least.”
His humor fled as he stood, his eyes darkening.
“There are no mixed signals in my private affairs.
You want me to blur that line. I can’t think of a
good reason to.”
“I don’t want you to do jack shit, besides let me
get back to work.” I strode to the door and yanked
on the handle, cursing softly when it didn’t budge.
“Let me out, Cross.”
I felt him come up behind me. His palms
pressed flat to the glass on either side of my
shoulders, caging me in. I couldn’t think of my own
self-preservation when he was so close.
The strength and demand of his will exuded an
almost tangible force field. When he stepped
close enough, it surrounded me, closing me in
with him. Everything outside of that bubble ceased
to exist, while inside it my entire body strained
toward his. That he had such a profound, visceral
effect on me while being so damn irritating had
my mind spinning. How could I be so turned on by
a man whose words should’ve turned me
completely off?
“Turn around, Eva.”
My eyes closed against the surge of arousal I
felt at his authoritative tone. God, he smelled
good. His powerful frame radiated heat and
hunger, spurring my own wild desire for him. The
uncontrollable response was intensified by my
lingering frustration with Stanton and my more
recent aggravation with Cross himself.
I wanted him. Bad. But he was no good for me.
Honestly, I could screw up my life on my own. I
didn’t need any help.
My flushed forehead touched the airconditioned
glass. “Let it go, Cross.”
“I am. You’re too much trouble.” His lips brushed
behind my ear. One of his hands pressed flat to
my stomach, the fingers splaying to urge me back
against him. He was as aroused as I was, his
cock hard and thick against my lower back. “Turn
around and say good-bye.”
Disappointed and regretful, I turned in his grip,
sagging against the door to cool my heated back.
He was curved over me, his luxurious hair framing
his beautiful face, his forearm propped against
the door to bring him closer. I had almost no room
to breathe. The hand he’d had at my waist was
now resting on the curve of my hip, tightening
reflexively and driving me mad. He stared, his
gaze searingly intense.
“Kiss me,” he said hoarsely. “Give me that
much.”
Panting softly, I licked my dry lips. He groaned,
tilted his head, and sealed his mouth over mine. I
was shocked by how soft his firm lips were and
the gentleness of the pressure he exerted. I
sighed and his tongue dipped inside, tasting me
in long leisurely licks. His kiss was confident,
skilled, and just the right side of aggressive to turn
me on wildly.
I distantly registered my purse hitting the floor;
then my hands were in his hair. I pulled on the silky
strands, using them to direct his mouth over mine.
He growled, deepening the kiss, stroking my
tongue with lush slides of his own. I felt the raging
beat of his heart against my chest, proof that he
wasn’t just a hopeless ideal conjured by my
fevered imagination.
He pushed away from the door. Cupping the
back of my head and the curve of my buttocks, he
lifted me off my feet. “I want you, Eva. Trouble or
not, I can’t stop.”
I was pressed full-body against him, achingly
aware of every hot, hard inch of him. I kissed him
back as if I could eat him alive. My skin was damp
and too sensitive, my breasts heavy and tender.
My clit throbbed for attention, pounding along with
my raging heartbeat.
I was vaguely aware of movement, and then the
couch was against my back. Cross was levered
over me with one knee on the cushion and the
other foot on the floor. His left arm supported his
torso while his right hand gripped the back of my
knee, sliding upward along my thigh in a firmly
possessive glide.
His breath hissed out when he reached the
point where my garter clipped to the top of my silk
stocking. He tore his gaze away from mine and
looked down, pushing my skirt higher to bare me
from the waist down.
“Jesus, Eva.” A low rumble vibrated in his chest,
the primitive sound sending goose bumps racing
across my skin. “Your boss is damned lucky he’s
gay.”
In a daze, I watched Cross’s body lower to
mine, my legs sliding apart to accommodate the
width of his hips. My muscles strained with the
urge to lift toward him, to hasten the contact
between us that I’d been craving since I first laid
eyes on him. Lowering his head, he took my
mouth again, bruising my lips with a fine edge of
violence.
Abruptly, he yanked himself away, stumbling to
his feet.
I lay there gasping and wet, so willing and
ready. Then I realized why he’d reacted so
fiercely.
Someone was behind him.
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