We hung up and I dropped the phone back into my purse. Gideon’s hand captured mine. I glanced at him, but he was reading a lengthy e-mail, his head bent slightly so that the ends of his hair brushed his sculpted jaw.
The warmth of his touch soaked into me. I looked down at the band he wore on his finger, the one that told the world he belonged to me.
Did his business associates pay attention to his hands? They weren’t those of a man who pushed paper and tapped on keyboards all day. They were the hands of a fighter, a warrior who practiced mixed martial arts and pounded out his aggression with both boxing bags and sparring partners.
Kicking off my shoes, I curled my legs under me and leaned into Gideon’s side, setting my other hand on top of his. I ran my splayed fingers between his knuckles and fingers, forward and back, carefully resting my head against his shoulder so that I didn’t mess up his pristine black jacket with my makeup.
I breathed him in, feeling the effect of him—his nearness, his support—permeate my being. The smell of his soap was muted now, the naturally seductive scent of his skin altering the fragrance into something richer and more delicious.
When I was restless, he settled me.
“There’s nothing for him,” I whispered, needing him to know that. “I’m too filled with you.”
His chest expanded abruptly, his sharp inhalation audible. He pushed the tray table up and away, then patted his lap in invitation. “Come here.”
I crawled into his lap, sighing happily when he shifted me into a spot that felt made for me. Every peaceful moment we had with each other was treasured. Gideon deserved the respite, and I longed to be that for him.
His lips touched my forehead. “You okay, angel mine?”
“I’m in your arms. Life doesn’t get better than this.”
—
I spotted three paparazzi outside the Crossfire when we arrived.
With a hand at the small of my back, Gideon ushered me through the entrance ahead of him, escorting me quickly but unhurriedly into the cool lobby.
“Vultures,” I muttered.
“Can’t be helped that we’re such a photogenic couple.”
“You’re such a humble man, Gideon Cross.”
“You make me look good, Mrs. Cross.”
We stepped into the elevator with a few other people and he took the rear corner, hooking me to him with an arm around my waist, his hand pressed flat against my belly, his chest warm and hard against my back.
I savored those few minutes with him, refusing to think about work or Brett until we parted on the twentieth floor.
Megumi was already at her desk when I approached the glass security doors, and the sight of her made me smile. She’d trimmed her hair since I’d seen her Friday night and polished her nails a bright red. It was good to see the small signs that she was reclaiming her spirit.
“Hey, you,” she greeted me after buzzing me in, pushing to her feet.
“You look great.”
Her smile widened. “Thanks. How’d it go with Gideon’s sister?”
“Awesome. She’s a lot of fun. It makes me melt seeing Gideon with her.”
“He makes me melt, period. You lucky bitch. Anyway, I put a call through to your line earlier. They wanted to leave a message.”
I shifted on my feet, thinking of Brett. “Was it a guy?”
“No, a woman.”
“Hmm, I’ll go check it out, thanks.”
I headed back to my desk and got settled in, my gaze coming to rest on the collage of photos of Gideon and me. I still needed to talk to him about Crossroads. There hadn’t been a good time over the weekend. We’d had enough on our plates having Ireland over.