“Thank you,” I said breathlessly, because he’d begun to tug rhythmically on my nipple, making me whimper in delight.
“I’m going to do whatever the hell I want with melted chocolate and your body because it’ll please me and that will please you. I say when, I say how. Repeat that.”
“You say—” I gasped as his mouth wrapped around my other nipple through the ribbed cotton. “Oh, God.”
He nipped me with his teeth. “Finish.”
My entire body tightened, so quick to respond to that authoritative tone. “You say when. You say how.”
“There are things you can bargain with, angel, but your body and sex aren’t negotiable.”
My hands clutched his hair, an instinctive response to his relentless, delicious milking of my sensitive nipple. I gave up trying to understand why I wanted him in control. I just did. “What else can I bargain with? You have everything.”
“Your time and attention are the two things you can leverage. I’ll do anything for them.”
A shiver moved through me. “I’m wet for you,” I whispered.
Gideon stepped away from the railing, carrying me with him. “Because that’s how I want you.”
Chapter 12
Gideon and I arrived back in Manhattan just before midnight on Sunday. We’d spent the previous night sleeping apart, but most of the day together in the master bed. Kissing and touching. Laughing and whispering.
By silent agreement we didn’t talk about painful things during the rest of our time away. We didn’t turn on the television or radio, because it seemed wrong to share our time with anyone. We walked on the beach again. We made long, slow, lazy love on the third-story deck. We played cards and he won every hand. We recharged and reminded ourselves that what we’d found with each other was worth fighting for.
It was the most perfect day of my life.
We returned to my apartment when we got back into the city. Gideon unlocked the door for us with the key I’d given him, and we entered the darkened space as quietly as possible so that we didn’t wake Cary. Gideon gave me one of his soul-melting kisses good night and headed to the guest room, and I crawled into my lonely bed without him. Missing him. I wondered how long we’d be sleeping apart from each other. Months? Years?
Hating to think of it, I closed my eyes and started to drift.
The light flicked on.
“Eva. Get up.” Gideon strode into the room and straight to my dresser, digging through my clothes.
I blinked at him, noting that he’d changed into slacks and a button-down dress shirt. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Cary,” he said grimly. “He’s in the hospital.”
* * *
A cab was waiting for us at the curb when we left my apartment building. Gideon ushered me in, then slid in beside me.
The cab seemed to pull away very slowly. Everything seemed to be moving slowly.
I clutched at Gideon’s sleeve. “What happened?”
“He was attacked Friday night.”
“How do you know?”
“Your mother and Stanton both left messages on my cell phone.”
“My mother . . . ?” I looked at him blankly. “Why didn’t she . . . ?”
No, she couldn’t call me. I hadn’t had my phone. Guilt and worry drowned me, making it hard to breathe.
“Eva.” He put his arm around my shoulders, urging me to rest my head against him. “Don’t worry until we know more.”
“It’s been days, Gideon. And I wasn’t here.”
Tears poured down my face and wouldn’t stop, even after we arrived at the hospital. I barely registered the exterior of the building, my attention dulled by the hard driving anxiety pounding through me. I thanked God for Gideon, who was so calm and in control. A staff member provided the number of Cary’s room, but his helpfulness ended there. Gideon made a few middle-of-the-night phone calls that got me access to see Cary, even though it was well outside visiting hours. Gideon had been a very generous benefactor at times and that wasn’t easily dismissed or forgotten.
When I stepped into Cary’s private room and saw him, my heart shattered so completely, my knees went weak. Only Gideon kept me from falling. The man I thought of as my brother, the best friend I’d ever had or ever would have, lay silent and unmoving in the bed. His head was bandaged and his eyes blackened. One of his arms was stuck with intravenous lines, while the other was in a cast. I wouldn’t have recognized him, if I hadn’t known who he was.
Flowers covered every flat surface, cheerful and colorful bouquets. There were balloons, too, and a few cards. I knew some would be from my mother and Stanton, who were certainly paying for Cary’s care as well.
We were his family. And everyone had been there for him but me.
Gideon led me closer, his arm tight around my waist to hold me up. I was sobbing, the tears flowing thick and hot. It was everything I could do to remain silent.
Still, Cary must have heard me or sensed me. His eyelids fluttered, then opened. His beautiful green eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. It took him a minute to find me. When he did, he blinked a few times, and then tears started rolling down his temples.
“Cary.” I rushed to him and slipped my hand in his. “I’m here.”
He gripped me so tightly, it was painful. “Eva.”
“I’m sorry I took so long. I didn’t have my phone. I had no idea. I would’ve been here if I’d known.”
“S’okay. You’re here now.” His throat worked on a swallow. “God . . . everything hurts.”
“I’ll get a nurse,” Gideon said, running his hand down my back before slipping silently out of the room.
I saw a small pitcher and cup with straw on the rolling tray table. “Are you thirsty?”
“Very.”
“Can I sit you up? Or no?” I was afraid to do anything to cause him pain.
“Yeah.”
Using the remote lying near his hand, I raised the top part of the bed so that he was reclined. Then I brought the straw to his lips and watched him drink greedily.
He relaxed with a sigh. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, baby girl.”
“What the hell happened?” I set the empty cup down and grabbed his hand again.
“Fuck if I know.” His voice was weak, almost a whisper. “Got jumped. With a bat.”
“With a bat?” Just the thought made me physically ill. The brutality of it. The violence . . . “Was he insane?”
“Of course,” he snapped, a deep line of pain between his brows.
I backed up a half step. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t. Shit. I’m—” His eyes closed. “I’m exhausted.”
Just then the nurse came in wearing scrubs decorated with cartoon tongue depressors and animated stethoscopes. She was young and pretty, with dark hair and sloe eyes. She checked Cary over, took his blood pressure, then pressed the button on a remote wrapped around the guardrail.
“You can self-administer every thirty minutes for pain,” she told him. “Just press this button. It won’t dispense a dose if it’s not time, so you don’t have to worry about pressing it too often.”