Page 73 of City of Love

He nodded in understanding. “Excellent. It might take him some time to get back across town. Get comfortable and have a drink on the house while you wait.” With a knowing wink that seemed to acknowledge her nervousness, he poured her a shot of whiskey and headed off.

“Gideon? Are you there?” The pause before he responded seemed an eternity, and she downed the shot while she waited.

“Whoa, little Heroine. That’s a hell of a greeting. Burned all the way down.” She giggled, and relaxed at the sound of his voice. “You’re in my club? I’ll be right there.”

He disconnected, but was on his way to her, and the tone of his words gave her hope that Matthew was right, and he’d been waiting for her. A quick search of his mind would have told her one way or the other, but barging in like that had never been their way.

She turned back towards the bar, setting the glass down and noticing that her hands were shaking. Now that she’d made up her mind, she wondered how it had ever been a question before, why she had ever delayed. The thought that in a matter of minutes Gideon might refuse the risk, was getting the best of her.

She covered one hand with the other on the countertop in an effort to quell the shaking, but it didn’t work. Looking around for the bottle of whisky to pour herself another shot, something caught her eye. It was a spoon sitting on the bar, next to the napkins, the toothpicks, and the maraschino cherries. It sparked a memory of the night she met Gideon, and she picked it up, recalling the details of their first encounter. She gazed at her distressed expression in the reflection.

“The physics haven’t changed, you know. You’re still going to be upside down and backwards in there.” His voice was a deep, sultry whisper in her ear.

She swung around on the barstool, once again her knees hitting his big, hard thighs, and she looked up into his face. His gaze locked to hers in an unreadable expression of relief, concern… and hope.

He reached a hand to cup her cheek. “You’re here. Tell me, is something wrong? Something with the Prometheus Group or—”

“No.” She dipped her cheek into his palm, nuzzling, then took his hand, clasping it in both of hers, smiling up at him. “Gideon, I have our answer. I now know what will happen.”

His eyes widened, his lips pulling into a short, tentative smile. He moved his hands to her waist, lifting her off the stool to stand in front of him. “You had a vision. The transition, it’ll be successful?”

She shook her head, but her smile grew. “No vision. I don’t know how the transition will go.”

His brow furrowed. “But you just said…”

“The thing is, I don’t know what will happen if I attempt the transition, but I do know what will happen if I don’t.”

Now he was the one who sat down on a stool, pulling her to stand between his legs. “Sweetheart, I don’t understand.”

“I can stay in my world, have a life, a career. Be successful in my way. But there are no guarantees there either. Except one. If I stay there, I’ll be guaranteed to regret it—to regret not trying—every single day. I’ll be guaranteed to miss you and mourn you. My successes will be empty, because I won’t be able to share them with you.” She slipped her arms around his neck, their faces drawing close. “What I know, Gideon, is that living a life without you is not the life I want. Do you still want me, Hero? If so, take this risk with me. Please say yes.”

He sat silent for what seemed to her a lifetime, his jaw muscles working and his eyes locked to her. But something shifted and he relaxed, his mouth parting open, and his eyes going softer at the edges. Lifting her face gently into his hands, he looked as though he was about to say something when he stopped. Instead, he rose from the stool, scooped her into his arms. She held him around his neck as he carried her quickly and with obvious purpose into his office, kicking the door closed behind them.

He set her down, her back against the private bar, and stepped back, studying her. His gazed moved from the top of her head to the tips of her black boots, returning once again to her eyes. She refused to fidget under his gaze, feeling vulnerable and protected all at once, his expression one of appreciation… no… admiration. Even awe. As though he were viewing a miracle.

Heat burned across her skin as she waited for a response. Finally, he shook his head. “Still want you? Still want you, sweetheart?” He spreads his hands to the side, palms open. “Just… look.”

He opened his mind to her, pushed it onto her more accurately, as it was already open, and welcomed his own vulnerability. He reveled at feeling her in his mind even as she witnessed the longing and deep sadness that had been his companions for months, strangely mixed with contentment at knowing she was safe in her home world. She saw his pride and joy over her accomplishments, which Matthew had shared with him. And at the base of it all, love without measure.

Her eyes grew glossy, mirroring his own as he let her see everything, along with a new wash of emotion. Hope, relief, and a red-hot rush of desire as his gaze raked over her.

He moved to her in one stride. Shoving his hands into her hair, he pulled her toward him and took her mouth as though they were a pair of magnets that had been held apart for too long and when released had come slamming back together. He explored the tip of her tongue with his own, then forced his way in deeper, moaning into her mouth.

His thumb, running along the collar of her tunic, grazed a cool crystal at her chest. Pulling back, he noted the top edge of polished rose quartz. The pendant he’d given her months ago. Seeing it there between the upper swells of her curves, he had to see more, see his gift lying fully upon her flesh. He slid the leather duster from her shoulders, placing it gently on the bar. Then he removed the belt at her waist, letting it fall to the floor before addressing the buttons of her tunic slowly, one by one, until the blouse swung open, revealing her bare breasts, the pendant lying deliciously between them.

A surge of lust—his lust, her lust, he couldn’t tell the difference—ripped through them as he stepped back and studied her, basking in the sight as she finally stood before him again. Damn, how he’d missed her, and painfully needed her.

His hands brushed across her chest, his palms teasing her nipples, before he grabbed the lapels of the blouse and tossed it, too, aside. Hooking his thumbs under the edge of leggings, he began to pull them down before realizing they’d be trapped within her boots. With a growl of frustration, he took a deep breath and ripped them apart and off of her, her panties right along with them. It was effortless for him, but she moaned at his power and a shiver swept through her as the heat of his breath fanned her aching sex. He felt it all, her sensations and responses burning through the very heart of him.

She wore nothing now but her boots and pendant, and he was rock hard at the sight of her. He grabbed her about the waist and set her on the bar top in front of him. Without any words, he opened his pants, freed his cock, wrapped her smooth legs around his waist, and slid home.

Home. God, he was home.

He didn’t pump. Instead stood stock still as he filled her, and she cocooned him. He slid his hands up her neck to cup her face, holding her gaze. “You’re willing to attempt the transition. Without knowing the outcome. Are you sure?” No longer afraid of the answer, he knew what it was, but he had to hear her say it definitively.

“Yes, I’m willing. I’m sure,” she said, and her smile lit up the room.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, completely happy in this moment. What he might feel when the time actually came to attempt the transition, he didn’t yet want to think about. He felt her own thoughts push the worry away, too, both of them locking their fears into little metal boxes in their minds and tossing away the keys as he finally began to move inside her.

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