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."

My face heated.

I looked at Gideon, who returned my look with a smirk.

"Umm ."

My lips twisted ruefully.

"A lot."

"Daily?" Dr.

Petersen's brows rose when I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, nodding.

"Multiple times daily?" Gideon stepped in, "On average."

Laying his tablet flat on his lap, Dr.

Petersen met Gideon's gaze.

"Is this level of sexual activity customary for you?" "Nothing about my relationship with Eva is customary, Doctor."

"What was the frequency of your sexual encounters prior to Eva?" Gideon's jaw tensed, and he glanced at me.

"It's okay," I told him, even as I conceded that I wouldn't want to answer that question in front of him.

He reached his hand out, spanning the distance between us.

I placed mine in his and appreciated the reassuring squeeze he gave me.

"Twice a week," he said tightly.

"On average."

The number of women quickly added up in my mind.

My free hand fisted in my lap.

Dr.

Petersen sat back.

"Eva has brought up concerns of infidelity and lack of communication in your relationship.

How often is sex used to resolve disagreements?" Gideon's brow arched.

"Before you assume Eva's suffering under the demands of my overactive libido, you should know that she initiates sex at least as often as I do.

If one of us were going to have concerns about keeping up, it'd be me just by virtue of possessing male anatomy."

Dr.

Petersen looked at me for confirmation.

"Most interactions between us lead to sex," I conceded, "including fights."

"Before or after the conflict is considered resolved by both of you?" I sighed.

"Before."

He dropped the stylus and started typing.

I thought he might end up with a novel's worth by the time all was said and done.

"Your relationship has been highly sexualized from the beginning?" he asked.

I nodded, even though he wasn't looking.

"We're very attracted to each other."

"Obviously."

He glanced up and offered a kind smile.

"However, I'd like to discuss the possibility of abstinence while we - " "There is no possibility," Gideon interjected.

"That's a nonstarter.

I suggest we focus on what's not working without eliminating one of the few things that is."

"I'm not sure it is working, Gideon," Dr.

Petersen said evenly.

"Not the way it should be."

"Doctor."

Gideon set one ankle on the opposite knee and settled back, creating a picture of unyielding decisiveness.

"The only way I'm keeping my hands off her is if I'm dead.

Find another way to fix us."

* * *

"I'm new to this therapy thing," Gideon said later, after we'd gotten back into the Bentley and were heading home.

"So I'm not sure.

Was that the train wreck it felt like it was?" "It could've gone better," I said wearily, leaning my head back and closing my eyes.

I was bone tired.

Too tired to even think about catching the eight o'clock Krav Maga class.

"I'd kill for a quick shower and my bed."

"I have some things to take care of before I can call it a day."

"That's fine."

I yawned.

"Why don't we take the night off and see each other tomorrow?" Thick silence greeted my suggestion.

After a moment, it became so fraught with tension that I was motivated to lift both my head and my heavy eyelids to look at him.

His gaze was on my face, his lips thinned into a frustrated line.

"You're cutting me off."

"No, I'm - " "The hell you're not! You've tried and convicted me, and now you're shutting me out."

"I'm exhausted, Gideon! There's only so much bullshit I can take before I'm buried in it.

I need sleep and - " "I need you," he snapped.

"What is it going to take to make you believe me?" "I don't think you cheated.

Okay? As suspicious as it all looks, I can't convince myself you'd do that.

It's the secrets that are getting to be too much.

I'm giving all I've got to this and you're - " "You think I'm not?" He twisted in the seat, sliding one bent leg in between us so that he faced me directly.

"I've never worked so hard for anything in my life as I have for you."

"You can't make the effort for me.

You have to do it for you."

"Don't give me that crap! I wouldn't need to work on my relationship skills for anyone else."

With a low moan, I rested my cheek against the seat and closed my eyes again.

"I'm tired of fighting, Gideon.

I just want some peace and quiet for a night.

I've been feeling off all day."

"Are you sick?" He shifted, cupping the back of my neck gently and pressing his lips to my forehead.

"You don't feel hot.

Is your stomach upset?" I breathed him in, absorbing the delicious scent of his skin.

The urge to press my face into the crook of his neck was nearly overwhelming.

"No."

And then it hit me.

I groaned.

"What is it?" He pulled me into his lap, cradling me close.

"What's wrong? Do you need a doctor?" "It's my period," I whispered, not wanting Angus to overhear.

"It should start any day now.

I don't know why I didn't realize it before.

No wonder I'm so tired and cranky; I'm hormonal."

He stilled.

After a heartbeat or two, I tilted my head back to search his face.

With his lips twisted ruefully, he admitted, "That's a new one for me.

Not something that comes up in the course of a casual sex life."

"Lucky you.

You get to experience the inconvenience reserved for men with girlfriends and wives."

"I am lucky."

Gideon brushed loose strands of my hair away from my temples, his own luxuriant hair falling around that chiseled face.

"And maybe, if I'm really lucky, you'll feel better tomorrow and like me again."

Ah, God.

My heart ached in my chest.

"I like you now, Gideon.

I just don't like you keeping secrets.

It's going to break us up."

"Don't let it," he murmured, tracing my brows with his fingertip.

"Trust me."

"You have to trust me back."

Folding over me, he pressed his lips softly to mine.

"Don't you know, angel?" he breathed.