Chapter 79
"Gideon." Her voice was just right-not gus.h.i.+ngly sympathetic, not shocked. Just...right. It gave him the courage to speak further.
"My father's in jail. Life in prison. Drug dealing, killed a guy during a deal once." He laughed a grating, ironic chuckle. Fiona's hand brushed over his chest to rest across it and onto his shoulder, half-hugging him. "He was a musician. Music was his life. He lived it, breathed for it-to the detriment of everything else in his life.
"He attracted women as most musicians do, and my mother was no exception. She loved him, but eventually couldn't handle the gigs, the drugs, the focus on living for the moment...which was all he ever did. She took a bottle of pills when I was sixteen, and they couldn't save her."
Fiona didn't speak. Her breathing had increased, but its waves still moved, soft and smooth, next to him. He was aware of the length of her body lined up along his, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing into the side of his ribs, her arm a vee over his chest.
"My grandfather-my father's father, of course-took me in, thank G.o.d. I wouldn't admit it at first, but it was the best thing for me, to have a solid, stable home. He made sure I had the best education, and even though he wasn't around much-and when he was, he was always focused on work-I felt like I had a place. I was so grateful to him for taking me in that I was determined to be a better son than his own son had been. Make him proud of me."
"You've obviously succeeded." He felt her lips move against his shoulder when she spoke and a bit of husk tinged her words.
"I'm not so sure about that. He came rus.h.i.+ng home from his honeymoon the minute he found out about Valente's death, as if I couldn't handle a simple probate."
"Gideon, your grandfather is very proud of you. I can see it in his eyes, and the way he acts around you. There is no doubt about that. What does he think about your art? Your drawings?"
He had to resist to keep from pulling away, but he knew she felt him tense because her face snapped up to look at him. "He doesn't know about them. He...he believes it's a waste of time, and in truth, so do I. It's a silly hobby left over from high school."
Gideon felt her draw her breath to speak, so he headed her off. "I don't want to talk about it anymore, Fiona. Tell me what it was like growing up on a commune."
"You are a fool, man."
Gideon frowned at himself in the rearview mirror as he pulled into the parking structure of Leslie van Dorn's building. What ever had possessed him to make good on his promise to escort Leslie to her company's IPO unveiling?
He wouldn't worry about it so much except that he was wasting an evening he could be spending with Fiona...lovely, fiery, the-only-woman-for-him Fiona...to play trophy-man at a dry, all-business dinner meeting he had no interest in whatsoever.
At least Fiona had been understanding...and she really had been. Although there had been just the slightest flare of jealousy in her cinnamon eyes, it had disappeared with his earnest explanation-stolen from Leslie's own imploring speech not to leave her high and dry on such an important night-and she sent him off with kisses, and promises of her own.
"If it's not too late, I'll come by after," he'd vowed. And he would d.a.m.n well make good on that promise.
Straightening the bow tie of his tux, he took a quick, last glance in the rearview mirror before leaving the car to rush up and collect Leslie. She would be ready, and pacing her condo's living room, as always.
A flash of familiarity washed over him as he rode up in the elevator. This would be the last time he would do so, he mused, unless he and Leslie maintained their friends.h.i.+p. A sudden thought caused him to grin suddenly. She and Fiona might actually get along, if given the opportunity. He did like Leslie-as a friend, and business a.s.sociate.
She was, indeed, waiting for him, pacing like a caged tiger. Although she was put together perfectly as usual, he noticed tightness and stress in her face, and unusual weariness around her eyes. Her sleek black hair was pulled back into a simple black velvet bow studded with sequins that matched the sparkles on her floor-length gown.
"You look stressed, Les," he commented as they rode down in the elevator.
She jerked and looked at him, as if pulled from some deep thoughts. "I am. But soon this night will be over." Then she busied herself by digging through her impossibly tiny handbag-tiny, as compared to Fiona's monstrosity.
"I can't even imagine what you've been going through."
She shook her head as the elevator doors opened. "No, you can't," she murmured enigmatically.
Philly's Ritz-Carlton hosted Interworks' dinner celebration, this night before the company was to go public. Gideon pulled smoothly into the valet parking drive and escorted Leslie into the crisply elegant hotel, already counting the minutes until he could leave.
Once inside, he made a trip to the bar for a Scotch, and wine for Leslie, and then remained at her side as she turned on her corporate persona and schmoozed her way through the cl.u.s.ter of people.
She worked the crowd and Gideon watched her, realizing suddenly that this was a lot more boring without Fiona at his side. He used to enjoy these types of functions-still did, sometimes...but he had been spoiled by a fiery, funny, f.e.c.kless red head who always made him laugh. Even when he was trying to be proper.
Leslie approached to guide him to the head table, where they'd sit during dinner. After the meal, she and her consultants would do their final presentation to the potential investors, schmooze some more, and then they could leave. Looking covertly at his watch, Gideon guessed that he could perhaps make it to Fiona's by midnight, crawl into her warm bed, and gather that soft, supple body into his arms.
A tiny tremor raced through him. It was wonderful to be in love.
It was ten-thirty, and Gideon couldn't stop thinking about Fiona. He'd been a good companion this evening, making conversation, complimenting Leslie and her work at the company-which was well-deserved-but now he was getting a bit antsy. He firmed his lips, jutting his chin out, just as Leslie turned to look up at him. He immediately rearranged his features into a more relaxed expression, but he saw the question in her eyes.
"I think I'd like to get some air," she told him, squeezing his arm.
"All right," he agreed, nodding to their companions, then looking down at her in surprise. It was very unlike Les to want to leave a situation where she was the center of attention, but she seemed a bit uncomfortable and he thought, in a moment of shame, that perhaps she was annoyed with his lack of attention this evening.
Indeed, once they had stepped outside into the balmy July night, she looked up at him, scrutinizing him with sharp eyes. "Are you all right
An easy smile crossed his face. "Just a bit distracted," he responded. "I'm sorry if it was noticeable. I hope I didn't make you feel awkward."
"No, no. I know you'd rather be elsewhere. Thank you again for coming with me, even though things have changed. I know all of this specific talk about the IPO can become tedious, but it's going to be well worth it." A smile curved her red lips, reminding him how attractive he found her...when he wasn't thinking about a redheaded woman with wildly curling hair. "I'm ready to leave myself-I've already made my excuses. All I have to do is say goodnight to Blake, and we can go."
"Great." Though it seemed odd she was willing to cut the evening short, he wasn't about to question her desire to leave early.
Moments later, they were in his Mercedes, gliding silently through the streets of Philadelphia. "I hope you'll come up for a drink," Leslie commented idly as they pulled up to the valet parking at her high-rise condo.
Gideon would have refused, but he felt more than a bit guilty about his distraction this evening-it was such an important night for her, and he'd been barely there. And it was early yet. Hardly past ten. "A quick one would be nice."
Les was unusually silent in the elevator, and Gideon stood with his hands plunged into his pockets, staring at his gleaming black shoes as the car rose to the twenty-third floor, again, feeling the familiarity of the situation. Once inside her s.p.a.cious condo, Gideon stripped off his tux jacket and loosened the hand-tied bow tie around his neck, stuffing it into one of his pockets.
Leslie was more deliberate: she slipped off her shoes and, tucking them under her arm, took off the one-carat diamond earrings she wore, gathering them into the palm of her hand. "Help yourself," she said unnecessarily-for Gideon had already made his way to the gleaming gla.s.s-topped bar to pour a short whiskey. He made her a drink as well-her usual gin and tonic with an olive garnish.
As he turned back, absorbing the scene in which he was in the midst, realization zipped through him. They moved about with the ease and familiarity of an old married couple-he flinging his clothing on the sofa, she divesting herself of earrings and shoes without a thought for him as a guest. He helped himself to her bar, even going to far as to pour her regular drink. It was a routine. It felt natural...yet it did not. If he hadn't met Fiona, would he have gone on along with this arrangement until his five-year-plan indicated it was time to get married?
Gideon took a large sip of whiskey, suddenly very uncomfortable. Wordlessly, he handed Leslie her drink, then sank onto a thick leather chair, hanging his hands over his knees.
She took the gla.s.s, stirred it with her finger, then took a quick sip and set it on a nearby table. "I'm glad you came up," she said, looking at him with a sudden intensity. "We need to talk."
Oh Jesus. Gideon felt his head begin to pound and he took another drink. "Oh?" he replied belatedly, trying to keep an even expression on his face.
She raised her gla.s.s to her lips, sipped, and then, frowning, pulled it away. "Are you still seeing that redhead-Fiona? How is it going, Gideon?"
Gideon swallowed. What was she up to? "Things are fine. We're seeing each other. Occasionally." Why he felt the need to downplay their relations.h.i.+p wasn't clear to him in that hazy moment, but perhaps it was merely an attempt to keep Les from feeling bad. "How about you?" The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Of course she wasn't seeing anyone-or else why would she need him for an escort tonight?
"I need to talk to you about something."
The look on her face was weary, resigned, and a bit fearful. Leslie van Dorn, woman warrior, fearful? It made him distinctly uncomfortable. "Go ahead."
"I know this is something you're not going to want to hear," she began, looking down at her perfectly manicured fingernails, "but I felt it only right to be perfectly honest. We had an arrangement for years, and...well, there's something I need to tell you."
"Yes?"
"I'm pregnant."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
Gideon silently opened the door to Fiona's room, stepping in with care. The last thing he wanted was for her to wake up and want to talk.
Like a wraith, he moved about the room without a sound, slipping his shoes off, unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt, folding it and his tux trousers over a chair. He didn't want to think, didn't want to talk...he just wanted Fiona.
A very heavy sleeper, she lay unmoving in an embryo-like lump under a patchwork quilt in the middle of her bed. The faint scent of some pleasing fragrance hung in the air, and he noticed two candles that had burned low next to her side of the bed.
Gideon slid under the covers, reaching for her, needing her. She sensed him, turning in her sleep, and rolled into his arms. Her soft hair ama.s.sed under his chin, and he tilted his head to bury his lips and his nose in its warm comfort.
His body, his mind, his emotions-all were numb, stuck, frozen back in that moment at Leslie's house.
He shouldn't be here-that one thing was certain...but when he'd left Leslie's, after downing a second whiskey, he found himself unable to keep away from the one thing he was clear about.
Fiona sighed in her sleep, adjusting her warm body, brus.h.i.+ng against the hair on his chest. He held her closer, breathing in her scent, staring into the darkness over her head. Trying not to think.
When he moved to drop a kiss onto her cheek, Fiona sighed and wriggled slightly in his arms. "Gideon?" she murmured, half asleep. "Mmmm." She moved, s.h.i.+fting against him, brus.h.i.+ng her b.r.e.a.s.t.s over his chest, and sliding her knee up between his legs.
Gideon pulled back, still holding her, but away so that he wouldn't be tempted into the web she spun. He swallowed a hard lump, throat convulsing against her head, and closed his eyes.
She rolled toward him, and her hand moved into the hair on his chest, then she smoothed slim fingers over his shoulder as she nuzzled against his throat. His body, numb though it was, began to respond to her touch and he couldn't still his fingers from brus.h.i.+ng over the mounds of hair and across her soft cheek. Fiona arched against him, sighing, still half-asleep, but with a small moan that sent a pang of arousal straight into his belly.
Even as he knew he shouldn't, he did: he slid his hands to cover her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, one thumb brus.h.i.+ng over a nipple that tautened beneath it like a flower awakening. He covered her mouth with his, he pulled her hips tightly against him. The moan from the back of her throat was louder this time, and he could see her eyes flutter in the dim light as she tipped her head back to leave her neck bare to him.
With a fierceness that still surprised him, Gideon bent to her, covering her body with his, sliding his fingers into and around the deepest, warmest part of her. He closed his eyes and coaxed from Fiona the deepest, most shattering response he'd ever done with any woman.
And when it was over, he felt, rather than heard, her lips move against him.
I love you, Gideon.
Fiona hummed as she dumped a cup of fresh blueberries into the bowl, carefully folding the batter over them with a spatula.
"Good morning," came Gideon's scratchy voice.
She looked up at him, tossing a coil of hair out of her face, and smiled. "h.e.l.lo, love. Sleep well?"
"What are you making?"
"Whole wheat blueberry m.u.f.fins. My specialty...one of them, anyway." She flashed him a coy smile, but he didn't seem to notice. "Coffee?"
He grunted an a.s.sent as he sank onto a chair at the small breakfast-nook-like table.
She poured him coffee, then returned to her m.u.f.fin batter-dropping healthy spoonfuls into the battered m.u.f.fin pan her mother had given her. "How was the party?"
"Boring."
Fiona flashed him a glance. It wasn't like him to be so reticent. Maybe he was just tired. She slid the m.u.f.fin pan into the oven and came over to the table, sliding onto Gideon's lap and wrapping her arms around his sleep-scented body, burying her face in his neck. His hands moved to caress her back for only a moment before dropping away.
"You know, Gideon," she murmured into his shoulder, her heart thumping madly at the suggestion she was about to make, "I've been thinking."
"Oh?"
She pressed a light kiss onto his warm, smooth shoulder and allowed her lips to curve into a smile there. "We've been seeing a lot of each other, lately...and...."
He s.h.i.+fted so that she was forced to sit up, away from him. "Fiona, could you get me some sugar?"
"Sugar?" she looked at him in surprise.
"For my coffee?" He stared intently at the cup of sable liquid, not meeting her eyes.
"Sure." She got up, mentally shaking her head. Gideon always took his coffee black. Ah well, maybe it would be easier to say it when she wasn't cuddled in his arms. "Anyway, I was thinking...you've been staying over so much lately that I thought you might want to...leave a toothbrush here."
"A toothbrush?" The moment he'd been waiting for for weeks now had finally come...and he would have to say no.
Fiona banged into the corner of the big oaken desk, and winced and swore, tears springing to her eyes. Her thigh screamed with pain where the edge-though dull and rounded, but lethal nevertheless-met her tender skin.
She dropped the bundle of dust rags that she'd been carrying and stood there, soundly rubbing the sore spot while moaning in frustration. "For crying out loud!" she groaned, glaring at the monstrosity of the desk on which The Lamp sat. "I should have moved your big b.u.t.t much earlier instead of letting you block my aisle way."
The pain ebbed and she stooped to pick up the rags. Just as she stood, she saw a flicker from The Lamp on top of the desk...and saw the fringe on its shade s.h.i.+ft and sway as though someone had run a single finger through it.
As always, a p.r.i.c.kle of coolness s.h.i.+mmered up her neck, but Fiona felt too annoyed and ornery to even care. Of course, it didn't help that Gideon had been acting remote and distracted for the last few days, either. He'd been really busy with work, and they hadn't seen each other since the morning she made blueberry m.u.f.fins for him. She tried not to worry about it, so for now she focused her irritation on the lamp.
Thus far the ghost-or whatever it was-hadn't caused her any harm other than a few startles, and she wasn't about to let it start bothering her now-especially when she was going to have the mother lode of bruises on her thigh.
"What do you want?" she snapped at The Lamp. "I sure wish you'd do something other than flicker at me. If you're trying to tell me something, why don't you find some other way to communicate?"
Abruptly, everything went still.
The fringe stopped in mid-sway, every light in the shop went black-even the constant hum of the air conditioning ceased as though strangled into silence.
Fiona swallowed and looked above her, half-expecting to see some specter-like apparition hovering overhead-but there was nothing to see except the railing of the balcony above...and Gretchen-sitting in her spot, tail twitching, green eyes gazing coldly down at Fiona.
The room became cooler, and then the stillness began to soften as a faint whisper of rose-scented breeze brushed her cheek.
"What?" she whispered. "What is it? What can I do?"