Bared to You (Crossfire, #1)(22)

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 still 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-physically-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 all his attention. "Maybe it'll turn into something serious."

"Maybe not," I scoffed.

"Cynic."

"I'm not looking for happily-ever-after, Cary, especially not with a mega-mogul like Cross. I've seen what it's like for my mom being connected to powerful men. It's a full-time job with a part-time companion. Money keeps Mom happy, but it wouldn't be enough for me."

My dad had loved my mom. He'd asked her to marry him and share his life. She'd turned him down because he didn't have the hefty portfolio and sizeable bank account she required in a husband. Love wasn't a requisite for marriage in Monica Stanton's opinion and since her sultry-eyed, breathy-voiced beauty was irresistible to most men, she'd never had to settle for less than whatever she wanted. Unfortunately she hadn't wanted my dad for the long haul.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was ten thirty. "I guess I should get ready."

"I love spa day with your mom." Cary smiled and it chased the lingering shadows on my mood away. "I feel like a god when we're done."

"Me, too. Of the goddess persuasion."

We were so eager to be off that we went downstairs to meet the car rather than wait for the front desk to call up.

The doorman smiled as we stepped outside - me in heeled sandals and a maxi dress, and Cary in hip-hugging jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

"Good morning, Miss Tramell. Mr. Taylor. Will you need a cab today?"

"No thanks, Paul. We're expecting a car." Cary grinned. "It's spa day at Perrini's!"

"Ah, Perrini's Day Spa." Paul gave a sage nod. "I bought my wife a gift certificate for our anniversary. She enjoyed it so much I plan to make it a tradition."

"You did good, Paul," I said. "Pampering a woman never goes out of style."

A black town car pulled up with Clancy at the wheel. Paul opened the rear door for us and we climbed in, squealing when we found a box of Knipschildt's Chocopologie on the seat. Waving at Paul, we settled back and dug in, taking tiny nibbles of the truffles that were worth savoring slowly.

Clancy drove us straight to Perrini's, where the relaxation began from the moment one walked in the door. Crossing the entrance threshold was like taking a vacation on the far side of the world. Every arched doorway was framed by lushly vibrant striped silks, while jeweled pillows decorated elegant chaises and oversized armchairs.

Birds chirped from suspended gilded cages and potted plants filled every corner with lush fronds. Small decorative fountains added the sounds of running water, while stringed instrumental music was piped into the room via cleverly hidden speakers. The air was redolent with a mix of exotic spices and fragrances, making me feel like I'd stepped into Arabian Nights.

It was this-close to being too much, but it didn't cross the line. Instead, Perrini's was exotic and luxurious, an indulgent treat for those who could afford it. Like my mother, who'd just finished a milk-and-honey bath when we arrived.

I studied the menu of treatments available, deciding to skip my usual "warrior woman" in favor of the "passionate pampering." I'd been waxed the week before, but the rest of the treatment - "designed to make you sexually irresistible" - sounded like exactly what I needed.

I'd finally managed to get my mind back into the safe zone of work when Cary spoke up from the pedicure chair beside mine.

"Mrs. Stanton, have you met Gideon Cross?"

I gaped at him. He knew damn well my mom went nuts over any news about my romantic - and not-so-romantic, as the case may be - relationships.

My mother, who sat in the chair on the other side of me, leaned forward with her usual girlish excitement over a rich, handsome man. "Of course. He's one of the wealthiest men in the world. Number twenty-five or so on Forbes's list, if I'm remembering correctly. A very driven young man, obviously, and a generous benefactor to many of the children's charities I champion. Extremely eligible, of course, but I don't believe he's gay, Cary. He's got a reputation as a ladies' man."