Bared to You: A Crossfire Novel

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” I exhaled in a rush. “Listen, I have something for you, but I just realized it’s one of those gifts—wel , it’s not real y a gift. I’m already thinking it’s not appropriate and—”

He thrust out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“You can total y decide not to take it—”

“Shut up, Eva.” He crooked his fingers. “Give it to me.”

I pul ed it out of my bag and handed it over.

Gideon stared down at the framed photograph in complete silence. It was a novelty frame depicting die-cut images of things relating to graduation, including a digital clock face that read 3:00 A.M. The picture was of me posing on Coronado Beach in a coral bikini with a big floppy straw hat—I was tanned, happy, and blowing a kiss to Cary, who’d playacted the role of a high-fashion photographer by cal ing out ridiculous encouragements. Beautiful, dahling. Show me sassy.

Show me sexy. Brilliant. Show me catty…rawr…

Embarrassed, I squirmed a little on the seat. “Like I said, you don’t have to keep—”

“I—” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Eva.”

“Ah, wel …” I was grateful to see the Crossfire outside my window. I jumped out quickly when the driver pul ed over and ran my hands over my skirt, feeling self-conscious. “If you want, I can hang on to it until later.”

Gideon shut the door of the Bentley and shook his head. “It’s mine. You’re not taking it back.” He linked our fingers together and gestured toward the revolving door with the hand holding the frame. I warmed when I realized he intended to take my picture into work with him.

One of the fun things about the ad business was that no day was ever the same as the one before it. I was hopping al morning and was just beginning to contemplate what to do about lunch when my phone rang. “Mark Garrity’s office, Eva Tramel speaking.”

“I’ve got news,” Cary said by way of greeting.

“What?” I could tel by his voice that it was good news, whatever it was.

“I landed a Grey Isles campaign.”

“Oh my God! Cary, that’s awesome! I love their jeans.”

“What are you doing for lunch?”

I grinned. “Celebrating with you. Can you be here at noon?”

“I’m already on my way.”

I hung up and rocked back in my chair, so thril ed for Cary I felt like dancing. Needing something to do to kil the fifteen minutes remaining before my lunch break, I checked my inbox again and found a Google alert digest for Gideon’s name. Over thirty mentions, in just one day.

I opened the e-mail and freaked out a little at the numerous “mystery woman” headlines. I clicked on the first link and found myself landing on a gossip blog.

There, in living color, was a photo of Gideon kissing me senseless on the sidewalk outside of his gym. The accompanying article was short and to the point:

“Gideon Cross, New York’s most eligible bachelorsince John F. Kennedy Jr., was spotted yesterday ina passionate public embrace. A source at Cross

Industries identified the lucky mystery woman associalite Eva Tramell, daughter of multimillionaireRichard Stanton and his wife, Monica. When queriedabout the nature of the relationship between Crossand Tramell, the source confirmed that Miss Tramellis ‘the significant woman’ in the mogul’s life atpresent. We imagine hearts are breaking across thecountry this morning.”

“Oh, crap,” I breathed.

I quickly clicked through other links in the digest to find the same picture with similar captions and articles.

Alarmed, I sat back and thought about what this meant.

If one kiss was headline news, what chance would Gideon and I have to make a relationship work?

My hands weren’t quite steady as I closed the browser tabs. I hadn’t considered the press coverage, but I should have. “Damn it.”

Anonymity was my friend. It protected me from my past. It protected my family from embarrassment, and Gideon, too. I didn’t even have any social networking accounts so people who weren’t actively in my life couldn’t find me.

A thin, invisible wal between me and exposure was gone.

“Hel ,” I breathed, finding myself in a painful situation I could have avoided if I’d dedicated any of my brain cel s to something other than Gideon.