I WAS DREAMING of a private beach and na**d Gideon when I was jerked awake by the sound of my phone ringing. Rolling to my side, I thrust my arm out and smacked around on the top of my nightstand, trying to find my smartphone in the dark. My fingers brushed against the familiar shape and I grabbed it, sitting up.
Ireland’s face lit up my screen. I frowned and glanced at the space beside me in the bed. Gideon wasn’t home. Of course, he could’ve found me sleeping and gone next door to go to bed . . .
“Hello?” I answered, noting that the time on the cable box said it was after eleven o’clock.
“Eva. It’s Chris Vidal. I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m worried about Gideon. Is he all right?”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with Gideon?”
There was a pause. “You haven’t talked to him tonight?”
I slid out of bed and turned on the lamp. “No. I fell asleep. What’s going on?”
He cursed with an intensity that made the hairs rise on my arms. “I met with him earlier about . . . the things you told me. He didn’t take it well.”
“Oh my God.” I spun around blindly. Something to wear. I needed something to put on over the racy teddy I’d planned to seduce Gideon with.
“You have to find him, Eva,” he said urgently. “He needs you now.”
“I’m going.” I tossed the phone on my bed and yanked a wool trench coat out of my closet before racing out of my room. I grabbed the keys to the next-door apartment from my purse and ran down the hall. Fumbling with the deadbolt, I took too long to open the door.
The place was as shadowy and silent as a tomb, the rooms empty.
“Where are you?” I cried into the darkness, feeling the scratch of panicked tears in my throat.
I ended up back in my apartment, my fingers trembling as I opened the app on my smartphone that would track his.
He didn’t take it well.
God. Of course, he didn’t. He hadn’t taken it well when I’d told Chris initially. Gideon had been furious. Aggressive. He’d had a horrible nightmare.
The blinking red dot on the map was right where I was hoping it would be. “The penthouse.”
I shoved my feet into flip-flops and hurried back out to my purse.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Cary asked from the kitchen, jolting me.
“Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me!”
He sauntered up to the breakfast bar in just his Grey Isles boxer briefs, his chest and neck glistening with sweat. Since the air-conditioning was working fine and Trey was spending the night, I knew exactly how and why Cary was overheated.
“It’s a good thing I did—you can’t go out like that,” he drawled.
“Watch me.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed toward the door.
“You’re a freak, baby girl,” he shouted after me. “A woman after my own heart!”
—
GIDEON’S doorman didn’t bat an eye when I climbed out of the back of the taxi in front of his building. Of course, the man had seen me in worse shape before. So had the concierge, who smiled and greeted me by name as if I didn’t look like a crazy homeless person. Albeit one in a Burberry coat.
I walked as fast as I could in flip-flops to the private penthouse elevator, waited for it to descend to me, then keyed in the code. It was a straight shot up, but the ride felt endless. I wished I could pace the confines of the small, elegantly appointed car. My worried face stared back at me from the spotless mirrors.
Gideon hadn’t called. Hadn’t sent me a text after the flirtatious one promising me a steamy night. Hadn’t come to me, even if only to sleep next door. Gideon didn’t like being away from me.
Except when he was hurting. And ashamed.
The elevator doors slid open and pounding, screaming heavy metal music poured in. I cringed and covered my ears, the volume of the ceiling-mounted speakers so loud it hurt to hear them.