“That’s not what I meant. How did you get Cross Industries started? Where did you get the capital to get things going?”
His eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Where do you think I got it?”
“I have no idea,” I told him honestly.
“Blackjack.”
I blinked. “Gambling? Are you kidding?”
“No.” He laughed and tightened his arms around me.
But I couldn’t see Gideon as a gambler. I’d learned, thanks to my mom’s third husband, that gambling could become a very nasty and insidious disease that caused total lack of control. I just couldn’t see someone as rigidly controlled as Gideon finding anything appealing about something so dependent on luck and chance.
Then it hit me. “You count cards.”
“When I played,” he agreed. “I don’t anymore. And the contacts I made over card tables were as instrumental as the money I made.”
I tried to absorb that information, struggled with it, then let it go for the moment. “Remind me not to play cards with you.”
“Strip poker could be fun.”
“For you.”
He reached down and squeezed my ass. “And for you. You know how I get when you’re naked.”
I shot a pointed glance down at my fully dressed body. “And when I’m not naked.”
Gideon’s grin flashed, dazzling and entirely unapologetic.
“Do you still gamble?”
“Every day. But only in business and with you.”
“With me? With our relationship?”
His gaze was soft on my face, filled with a sudden tenderness that made my throat tight. “You’re the greatest risk I’ve ever taken.” His pressed his lips gently to mine. “And the greatest reward.”
When I got to work Monday morning, I felt like things were finally settling back into their natural pre-Corinne rhythm. Gideon and I were dealing with adjusting to my period, which had never been an issue for either of us in any previous relationship we’d had, but was in ours because sex was how he showed me what he was feeling. He could say with his body what he couldn’t with words, and my lust for him was how I proved my faith in us, something he needed to feel connected to me.
I could tell him I loved him over and over again, and I know it affected him when I did, but he needed the total surrender of my body-a display of trust he knew meant a great deal because of my past-to really believe it.
As he’d told me once, he had been the recipient of many I love yous over the years, but he’d never believed them because they hadn’t been backed up with truth, trust, and honesty. The words meant little to him, which was why he refused to say them to me. I tried not to let him see how it hurt me that he wouldn’t say them. I figured that was an adjustment I’d have to make to be with him.
“Good morning, Eva.”
I glanced up from my desk and found Mark standing by my cubicle. His slightly crooked smile was always a winner. “Hey. I’m ready to roll when you are.”
“Coffee first. You up for a refill?”
Grabbing my empty mug off my desk, I stood. “You bet.”
We headed toward the break room.
“You look like you got a tan,” Mark said, glancing over at me.
“Yeah, I did a little sun lounging over the weekend. It was good to be lazy and do nothing. Actually, that’s probably one of my favorite things to do, period.”
“I’m envious. Steven can’t sit still for too long. He always wants to drag me somewhere for something.”
“My roommate’s the same way. It’s exhausting how he runs around.”
“Oh, before I forget.” He gestured for me to enter the break room first. “Shawna wants you to get in touch. She’s got concert tickets for some new rock band. I think she wants to see if you’d want them.”
I thought of the attractive red-haired waitress I’d met the week before. She was Steven’s sister, and Steven was Mark’s longtime partner. The two men had met in college and had been together ever since. I really liked Steven. I was pretty sure I’d really like Shawna, too.
“Are you okay with me reaching out to her?” I had to ask, because she was-for all intents and purposes-Mark’s sister-in-law and Mark was my boss.
“Of course. Don’t worry. It won’t be weird.”
“All right.” I smiled and hoped to add another girlfriend to my new life in New York. “Thanks.”
“Thank me with a cup of coffee,” he said, pulling out a mug from the cupboard and handing it to me. “You make it taste better than I do.”
I shot him a look. “My dad uses that line.”
“Must be true, then.”
“Must be a standard guy finagle,” I shot back. “How do you and Steven divvy up coffee making?”
“We don’t.” He grinned. “There’s a Starbucks on the corner by our place.”
“I’m sure there’s a way to call that cheating, but I haven’t had enough caffeine to think of it yet.” I passed over his filled mug to him. “Which probably means I shouldn’t share the idea that just came to me.”
“Go for it. If it really sucks, I can hold it against you forever.”
“Gee. Thanks.” I held my mug between both hands. “Would it work to market the blueberry coffee like tea instead? You know, the coffee in a chintz teacup and saucer with maybe a scone and some clotted cream in the background? Give it a high-end, midafternoon snack sort of treatment? Throw in a fabulously handsome Englishman to sip it with?”
Mark’s lips pursed as he thought about it. “I think I like it. Let’s go run it by the creatives.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Las Vegas?”
I sighed inwardly at the high note of irritated anxiety in my mother’s voice and adjusted my grip on my desk phone receiver. I’d barely returned my butt to my chair when the phone had rung. I suspected if I checked my voice mail, I’d find a message or two from her. When she got worked up about something, she couldn’t let it go. “Hi, Mom. I’m sorry. I planned on calling you at lunch and catching up.”
“I love Vegas.”
“You do?” I thought she hated anything remotely related to gambling. “I didn’t know that.”
“You would’ve if you’d asked.”
There was a hurt note in my mother’s breathy voice that made me wince. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said again, having learned as a child that repeated apologies went a long way with her. “I needed to spend some downtime with Cary. We can talk about a future trip to Vegas, though, if you’d like to go sometime.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun? I’d like to do fun things with you, Eva.”
“I’d like that, too.” My eyes went to the picture of my mother and Stanton. She was a beautiful woman, one who radiated a vulnerable sensuality to which men responded helplessly. The vulnerability was real-my mom was fragile in many ways-but she was a man-eater, too. Men didn’t take advantage of my mom; she walked all over them.
“Do you have plans for lunch? I could make a reservation and come get you.”
“Can I bring a co-worker?” Megumi had hit me up with a lunch invitation when I’d come in, promising to regale me with the tale of her blind date.
“Oh, I’d love to meet the people you work with!”
My mouth curved with genuine affection. My mom drove me nuts a lot, but at the end of the day, her biggest fault was that she loved me too much. Combined with her neurosis, it was a maddening flaw, but one motivated by the best of intentions. “Okay. Pick us up at noon. And remember, we only get an hour, so it’ll have to be close by and quick.”
“I’ll take care of it. I’m excited! See you soon.”
Megumi and my mother took to each other right away. I recognized the familiar starry-eyed look on Megumi’s face when they met, because I’d seen it so often over the years. Monica Stanton was a stunning woman, the kind of classic beauty you couldn’t help but stare at because you couldn’t believe anyone could be that perfect. Plus, the royal purple hue of the wingback she’d elected to sit in was an amazing backdrop for her golden hair and blue eyes.