Entwined with You(117)

BY silent, mutual agreement, we refrained from mussing each other up in the limo before our first public appearance as a married couple. I was nervous, and while an orgasm or two would help alleviate that, looking less than perfect would only make it worse. And people would notice. Not only was my silver gown eye-catching, with its brilliant sheen and short train, but my arm-candy husband was an impossible-to-miss accessory.


Attention would be on us, and Gideon seemed determined to keep it that way. He helped me out of the limo when we arrived at Fifth Avenue and Central Park South, taking a moment to slide his lips across my temple. “That dress is going to look amazing on my bedroom floor.”


I laughed at the cheesy line, which I knew he’d intended, and camera flashes went off in a storm of blinding light. Once he turned away from me, all warmth left his face, the beautiful planes settling into a closed expression that gave nothing away. He set his hand at the small of my back and led me across the red carpet and into Cipriani’s.


Once inside, he found a spot he approved of and we stayed there for an hour as business associates and acquaintances circled around us. He wanted me at his side and he wanted to be at mine as well, something he proved a short while later when we were headed to the dance floor.


“Introduce me,” he said simply and I followed his gaze to where Christine Field and Walter Leaman, of Waters Field & Leaman, were laughing along with the group of people they were standing with. Christine looked restrained and elegant in a black beaded dress that covered her from throat to wrists to ankles except for the plunging back, and Walter, who was a large man, looked successful and confident in a nicely cut tuxedo and bow tie.


“They know who you are,” I pointed out.


“Do they know who I am to you?”


I wrinkled my nose a little, knowing my world was going to change drastically once my single-girl self was subsumed by my identity as Eva Cross. “Come on, ace.”


We headed over there, weaving through round tables covered in white linens and decorated with candelabras wrapped in floral garlands that lent a wonderful fragrance to the room.


My bosses spotted Gideon first, of course. I don’t think they even recognized me until Gideon quite obviously deferred to me by letting me speak first.


“Good evening,” I said, shaking Christine’s and Walter’s hands. “I know you’re both familiar with Gideon Cross, my …”


I paused, my brain grinding to a halt.


“Fiancé,” Gideon finished, shaking hands.


Congratulations were exchanged; smiles got bigger, eyes brighter.


“This doesn’t mean we’re losing you, does it?” Christine asked, diamond drop earrings glinting in the soft light of the chandeliers.


“No. I’m not going anywhere.”


That earned me a sharp pinch on my butt from Gideon.


We were going to have to deal with the work issue at some point, but I figured I could hold him off at least until our next wedding.


We talked a bit about the Kingsman Vodka campaign, which was mostly a way to emphasize what a good job Waters Field & Leaman had done so the agency could hook more Cross Industries business. Gideon knew the game, of course, and played it well. He was polite, charming, and clearly not a man who could be easily influenced.


After that, we ran out of things to talk about. Gideon made our excuses.


“Let’s dance,” he murmured in my ear. “I want to hold you.”


We moved onto the dance floor, where Cary was drawing attention with a stunning redhead. Flashes of a pale, shapely leg could be seen through the risqué slit in her emerald green dress. He moved her into a spin, then a dip. Undeniably suave.


Trey hadn’t been able to come because of an evening class, and I was sorry about that. I was sorry, too, that I was glad Cary hadn’t brought Tatiana instead. Thinking that way made me feel bitchy, and I seriously disliked catty bitches.


“Look at me.”


I tilted my head at Gideon’s command and found his eyes on me. “Hi, ace.”


With his hand at my back and my hand in his, we swept casually around the dance floor.


“Crossfire,” he whispered, his gaze hot on my face.


I touched his cheek with my fingertips. “We’re learning from our mistakes.”


“You read my mind.”


“It feels good.”


He smiled, his eyes so blue and his hair so damn sexy I wanted to run my fingers through it right then and there. He pulled me closer. “Not as good as you feel.”


We stayed on the dance floor through two songs. Then the music ended when the bandleader turned to the mic and made an announcement: Dinner was about to be served. Seated at our table were my mother and Richard, Cary, a plastic surgeon and his wife, and a guy who said he’d just wrapped up shooting the pilot episode to a new television show he hoped would be picked up for a full-season run.


The meal was some sort of Asian fusion and I ate everything, because it was good and the portions weren’t that big. Gideon had his hand on my thigh beneath the table, his thumb rubbing lightly in small circles that made me squirm.


He leaned over. “Sit still.”