I spent the rest of the afternoon focused on work. Mark loved to brainstorm out loud, which was an awesome learning exercise for me, and his confident and amiable way of dealing with his accounts was inspiring. I watched him breeze through two client meetings in which he conveyed an air of command that was both reassuring and nonthreatening.

Then we tackled a baby-toy company’s needs analysis, zeroing in on poor return expenditures as well as untapped avenues, such as mom-blog advertising. I was grateful that my job was a distraction from my personal life, and I was looking forward to going to my Krav Maga class later, so I could burn off some of my edgy restlessness.

It was just past four when my desk phone rang. I answered briskly and felt my heart leap at the sound of Gideon’s voice.

“We should leave at five,” he said, “to get to Dr. Petersen’s on time.”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten that our couples therapy sessions were on Thursdays at six P.M. It would be our first.

Abruptly, I wondered if it would also be our last.

“I’ll come get you,” he went on gruffly, “when it’s time.”

I sighed, feeling far from up to it. I was already raw and irritable from our fight earlier. “I’m sorry I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that. I hate that I did.”

“Angel.” Gideon exhaled harshly. “You didn’t ask the one question that matters.”

My eyes closed. It was irritating how he read my mind. “Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re keeping secrets.”

“Secrets are something we can work through; cheating isn’t.”

I rubbed at the ache behind my forehead. “You’re right about that.”

“There’s only you, Eva.” His voice was clipped and hard.

A tremor moved through me at the fury underlying his words. He was still angry that I’d doubted him. Oh well. I was still angry, too. “I’ll be ready at five.”

He was prompt, as usual. While I put my computer to sleep and grabbed my belongings, he spoke with Mark about the ongoing work on the Kingsman Vodka account. I watched Gideon furtively. He cut an imposing figure with his tall, leanly muscular frame in his dark suit and carried himself in a way that projected impenetrability, yet I’d seen him terribly vulnerable.

I was in love with that tender, deeply emotional man. And I resented the façade and his attempts to hide himself from me.

Turning his head, he caught me staring. I saw a glimpse of my beloved Gideon in his wild blue gaze, which briefly exposed a helpless yearning. Then he was gone, replaced by the cool mask. “Ready?”

It was so obvious that he was holding something back, and it killed me to have that gulf between us. To know there were things he wouldn’t trust me with.

As we exited through reception, Megumi rested her chin on her fist and gave a dramatic sigh.

“She’s crushing on you, Cross,” I murmured, as we made our way out and he hit the call button for the elevator.

“Whatever.” He snorted. “What does she know about me?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question all day,” I said quietly.

That time, I was certain he winced.

Dr. Lyle Petersen was tall, with neatly groomed gray hair and sharp yet kind denim blue eyes. His office was tastefully decorated in neutral shades and his furniture was extremely comfortable, something I noted on every one of my visits to him. It was a little weird for me to see him as my therapist now. In the past, he’d met with me only as my mother’s daughter. He’d been my mom’s shrink for the last couple of years.

I watched as he settled into the gray wingback chair across from the sofa Gideon and I sat on. His keen gaze shifted between us, clearly noting how we’d each taken seats on opposite ends of the sofa, our stiff postures revealing our defensiveness. We’d made the drive over in the same way.

Flipping open the cover of his tablet, Dr. Petersen gripped his stylus and said, “Shall we start with the cause of the tension between you?”

I waited a beat, to give Gideon a chance to speak first. I wasn’t terribly surprised when he just sat there, silent. “Well… in the last twenty-four hours I’ve met the fiancée I didn’t know Gideon had-”

“Ex-fiancée,” Gideon growled.

“-I found out the reason he’s dated brunettes exclusively is because of her-”

“It wasn’t dating.”

“-and I caught her leaving his office after lunch looking like this-” I dug out my phone.

“She was leaving the building,” Gideon bit out, “not my office.”

I pulled up the picture and passed my phone over to Dr. Petersen. “And getting into your car, Gideon!”

“Angus just told you before we got here that he saw her standing there, recognized her, and was being polite.”

“Like he’d say anything different!” I shot back. “He’s been your driver since you were a kid. Of course he’d cover your ass.”

“Oh, it’s a conspiracy now?”

“What was he doing there, then?” I challenged.

“Driving me to lunch.”

“Where? I’ll just verify you were there and she wasn’t, and we’ll get that part out of the way.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I told you. I had an unexpected appointment. I didn’t make it to lunch.”

“Who was the appointment?”

“It wasn’t Corinne.”

“That’s not an answer!” I turned back to Dr. Petersen, who calmly returned my phone to me. “When I went up to his office to ask him what the hell was going on, I discovered him half dressed and freshly showered, with one of his sofas bumped out of place, pillows strewn all over the floor-”

“One goddamned pillow!”

“-and red lipstick on his shirt.”

“There are two dozen businesses in the Crossfire,” Gideon said coldly. “She could have been visiting any one of them.”

“Right,” I drawled, my voice dripping sarcasm. “Of course.”

“Wouldn’t I have taken her to the hotel?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, reeling. “You still have that room?”

His mask slipped, revealing a flare of panic. The realization that he still had his sex pad-a hotel room he used exclusively for fucking and somewhere I’d never go again-hit me like a physical blow, sending a sharp pain through my chest. A low sound left me, a pained whimper that had me squeezing my eyes shut.

“Let’s slow down,” Dr. Petersen interrupted, scribbling rapidly. “I want to backtrack a bit. Gideon, why didn’t you tell Eva about Corinne?”

“I had every intention of doing so,” Gideon said tightly.

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” I whispered, digging for a tissue in my purse so I wouldn’t have mascara running down my face. Why would he keep that room? The only explanation was that he intended to use it with someone other than me.

“What do you talk about?” Dr. Petersen asked, directing the question at both of us.

“I’m usually apologizing,” Gideon muttered.

Dr. Petersen looked up. “For what?”

“Everything.” He raked a hand through his hair.

“Do you feel that Eva’s too demanding or expects too much from you?”

I felt Gideon’s gaze on my profile. “No. She doesn’t ask for anything.”

“Except the truth,” I corrected, turning toward him.

His eyes blazed, searing me with heat. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Do you want her to ask you for things, Gideon?” Dr. Petersen queried.

Gideon frowned.

“Think about that. We’ll come back to it.” Dr. Petersen turned his attention to me. “I’m intrigued by the photo you took, Eva. You were confronted with a situation that many women would find deeply upsetting-”

“There was no situation,” Gideon reiterated coldly.

“Her perception of a situation,” Dr. Petersen qualified.

“A patently ridiculous perception, considering the physical aspect of our relationship.”

“All right. Let’s talk about that. How many times a week do you have sex? On average.”