Page 26 of Illusive
Knowing what she wanted, Gideon asked for the lights in the closet to be set to their dimmest setting. In the hush, they began undressing. As he lowered her zipper, he brushed his lips across her nape. Lucky settled into his bed beneath the café table, where she sometimes enjoyed a cup of coffee while she watched her husband dress for his day. She watched him now, as he pulled open his watch drawer and removed his timepiece. Whenhe turned his attention to his cufflinks, she made herself stop watching and finish undressing herself.
As the minutes passed, Eva felt some of the tension in the enclosed space start to ease. When she eyed Gideon’s reflection in the mirror, the way he moved began to seem more fluid. Nothing had been normal for hours. They’d been functioning in survival mode while their entire world was disintegrating. This pause, brief as it was, was necessary.
She left her gown puddled on the floor, along with her undergarments. She placed her jewelry on a velvet tray until she’d removed it all, then turned toward the safe. Gideon stood nearby, arms crossed as he watched her. He was fully naked, tanned all over except the parts especially sensitive to the sun. Sculpted muscle defined him everywhere. His skin was matte in the pale light, but his eyes gleamed.
Walking up to him, Eva extended the tray of jewels. “How ‘bout you lock these up,” she whispered, “and I’ll get the shower started?”
“Deal.”
She padded out to the bedroom, then on to the bathroom. The long window at the end welcomed the moonlight, but she gathered a few of the candles from the table near the claw-footed tub and lit them on the bench in the large walk-in shower.
When Gideon entered, it was to flickering light and humid air fragranced by a lavender, chamomile, and cedarwood shower steamer. She saw his reflection as she stood before the mirror with a makeup remover wipe, grateful to look away from her own strained face and dilated eyes. He paused on the threshold, his gaze locked with hers. Lucky sat on the floor at his feet, yawning.
“I feel you, Lucky,” she said, resuming wiping off the mascara and eyeliner that had rimmed her now-reddened eyes. “You don’t have to wait for me, ace,” she told her husband as hewalked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. His skin was cooled by the air conditioning, and she shivered a little.
Gideon managed a faint, lopsided smile. “Sorry about that.”
“I’d take a chilly hug from you over being warm any day.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said quietly. “You’re all that’s keeping me sane right now.”
Leaning her head back against his shoulder, she conveyed as much confidence as she could in her gaze. They both couldn’t have doubts at once. In this, too, they had to share in holding on to hope. “We’re all going to make it through this, baby.”
His chest lifted and fell against her back. “I can’t say Ireland’s never experienced trouble—sometimes of her own making—but we’ve all done our absolute best to reduce any friction for her. I can’t and wouldn’t change that. Still…”
“Of course, you’re worried about her.” She turned in his arms and wrapped him in a hug. “We all are. But I keep reminding myself that she’s your sister. She has a lot of your traits built in. She can be stubborn, like you. And wily. And she knows you’ll do everything in your power to get her home as soon as possible, and that you have resources beyond the norm. She has every reason to believe she’ll survive this, and that will give her strength.”
Gideon held her for a long moment, his head bowed to press his cheek to hers. “I’m so angry,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’m so fucking mad I want the world to burn.”
She tightened her embrace as he trembled with his fury, understanding why he felt the way he did. Gideon Geoffrey Cross was the master of games. His fortune was built on vice—casinos, resorts, video games, alcohol, and so much more—and started with seed money built from counting cards. He was an elite-level strategist who enjoyed pitting his wits against his competitors and rivals.
No one won a battle of wills against her husband.
No one had the leverage to soften the aggression of his response.
Until now.
His childhood trauma had instilled the need to control everything around him, and it made him such a force to be reckoned with.
It was also his greatest weakness.
Ireland crouched in the corner of the box, facing the doorway she now knew was there.
When it was opened earlier, the light outside had blinded her. The figure in the doorway loomed large, a dark shadow with shape but no defined features. A man.
She’d felt a new degree of fear.
The camera’s flash sent pain like a spike through her forehead, doubling her over. When the door shut again, Ireland was grateful for the darkness and the relief it provided. She cried hot tears of hope, desperately convincing herself the photo would be paired with a ransom demand and her release was imminent. She tried not to listen to the voice in her head that whispered the photo might be sent to a stranger. A buyer. A trafficker.
No!
Denied her sight, her hearing became more acute. Every sound was a clue.
There were at least two people. A man and a woman. She always spoke in dulcet tones, even when he was incensed. Ireland cowered when his raised voice penetrated the walls of the box; there was such malevolence in his spat-out words. The woman encouraged it, goading him until he threw, punched, orkicked anything nearby. The crashing sounds of destruction left Ireland trembling until it felt as if her bones might rattle into pieces. It was an endless nightmare waiting for him to direct that maliciousness at her.
He was yelling now. Breaking things. The woman was changing the plan. Again. And every change put him more at risk. Her voice was always too low to make out the words, but her tone was relentlessly sweet and sunny.
A woman in charge. Making the rules. Barely in control of a violent man. That was the most visceral terror of all.
