Bared to You: A Crossfire Novel

things out. “Just so you know there are no exaggerated expectations—when you and I spend time together not actively fucking, I won’t think it’s a date. Al right?”

“That covers it.” Gideon smiled and my decision to be with him solidified for me. His smile was like lightning in the darkness, blinding and beautiful and mysterious, and I wanted him so badly it was physical y painful.

His hands slid down to cup the backs of my thighs.

Squeezing gently, he tugged me just a little bit closer.

The hem of my short black halter dress slipped almost indecently high and his gaze was riveted to the flesh he’d exposed. His tongue wet his lips in an action so carnal and suggestive I could almost feel the caress on my skin.

Duffy began begging for mercy, her voice drifting up from the dance floor below. An unwelcome ache developed in my chest and I rubbed at it.

I’d already had enough, but I heard myself saying, “I need another drink.”

I had a vicious hangover on Saturday morning and figured it was no less than I deserved. As much as I’d resented Gideon’s insistence on negotiating sex with as much passion as he would a merger, in the end I’d negotiated in kind. Because I wanted him enough to take a calculated risk and break my own rules.

I took comfort in knowing he was breaking some of his own, too.

After a long, hot shower, I made my way into the living room and found Cary on the couch with his netbook, looking fresh and alert. Smel ing coffee in the kitchen, I headed there and fil ed the biggest mug I could find.

“Morning, sunshine,” Cary cal ed out.

With my much-needed dose of caffeine wrapped between both palms, I joined him on the couch.

He pointed at a box on the end table. “That came for you while you were in the shower.”

I set my mug on the coffee table and picked up the box. It was wrapped with brown paper and twine, and had my name handwritten diagonal y across the top with a decorative cal igraphic flourish. Inside was an amber glass bottle with Hangover Cure painted on it in a white old-fashioned font and a note tied with raffia to the bottle’s neck that said, “Drink me.” Gideon’s business card was nestled in the cushioning tissue paper.

As I studied the gift, I found it very apt. Since meeting Gideon I’d felt like I’d fal en down the rabbit hole into a fascinating and seductive world where few of the known rules applied. I was in uncharted territory that was both exciting and scary.

I glanced at Cary, who eyed the bottle dubiously.

“Cheers.” I pried the cork out and drank the contents without thinking twice about it. It tasted like sickly sweet cough syrup. My stomach quivered in distaste for a moment, and then heated. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shoved the cork back into the empty bottle.

“What was that?” Cary asked.

“From the burn, it’s hair of the dog.”

His nose wrinkled. “Effective but unpleasant.” And it was working. I already felt a little steadier.

Cary picked up the box and dug out Gideon’s card.

He flipped it over; then held it out to me. On the back Gideon had written, “Call me” in bold slashing penmanship and jotted down a number.

I took the card, curling my hand around it. His gift was proof that he was thinking about me. His tenacity and focus was seductive. And flattering.

There was no denying I was in trouble where Gideon was concerned. I craved the way I felt when he touched me, and I loved the way he responded when I touched him back. When I tried to think of what I wouldn’t agree to do to have his hands on me again, I couldn’t come up with much.

When Cary tried to hand me the phone, I shook my head. “Not yet. I need a clear head when dealing with him and I’m stil fuzzy.”

“You two seemed cozy last night. He’s definitely into you.”

“I’m definitely into him.” Curling into the corner of the couch, I pressed my cheek into the cushion and hugged my legs to my chest. “We’re going to hang out, get to know each other, have casual-but-physical y- intense

sex,

and

be

otherwise

completely

independent. No strings, no expectations, no responsibilities.”

Cary hit a button on his netbook and the printer on the other side of the room started spitting out pages.

Then he snapped the computer closed, set it on the coffee table, and gave me al his attention. “Maybe it’l turn into something serious.”

“Maybe not , ” I scoffed.

“Cynic.”

“I’m not looking for happily-ever-after, Cary, especial y not with a mega-mogul like Cross. I’ve seen what it’s