"God." He shook slightly and buried his face in my neck. "Eva."

I hugged him back. He was fresh from a shower, making me achingly aware of my need for one.

"I can't be here," he said hoarsely, pulling back to cup my face in his hands. "I can't be in public right now. Will you come home with me?"

Something on my face must have betrayed my lingering wariness, because he pressed his lips to my forehead and murmured, "It won't be like the hotel, I promise. My mother's the only woman who's ever been to my place, aside from the housekeeper and staff."

"This is stupid," I muttered. "I'm being stupid."

"No." He brushed the hair back from my face and bent closer to whisper in my ear. "If you'd taken me to a place you reserved for f**king other men, I would've lost it."

The waiter returned and we pulled apart. "Should I get you a menu, sir?"

"That won't be necessary." Gideon dug his wallet out of his back pocket and handed over his credit card. "We're leaving."

We took a cab to Gideon's place and he held on to my hand the entire time. I shouldn't have been so nervous riding a private elevator up to a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. The sight of high ceilings and prewar architecture wasn't new to me, and really, it was all to be expected when dating a man who seemed to own damn near everything. And the coveted view of Central Park...well, of course he'd have one.

But Gideon's tension was palpable, and it made me realize that this was a big deal to him. When the elevator opened directly into his apartment's marbled entry foyer, his grip on my hand tightened before he released me. He unlocked the double-door entrance to usher me inside, and I could feel his anxiety as he watched for my reaction.

Gideon's home was as beautiful as the man himself. It was so very different from his office, which was sleek, modern, and cool. His private space was warm and sumptuous, filled with antiques and art anchored by gorgeous Aubusson rugs laid over gleaming hardwood floors.

"It's...amazing," I said softly, feeling privileged to see it. It was a glimpse into the private Gideon I was desperate to know and it was stunning.

"Come in." He tugged me deeper into the apartment. "I want you to sleep here tonight."

"I don't have clothes and stuff..."

"All you need is the toothbrush in your purse. We can run by your place in the morning for the rest. I promise to get you to work on time." He pulled me into him and set his chin on the crown of my head. "I'd really like you to stay, Eva. I don't blame you for running, but it scared the hell out of me. I need to hang on to you for a while."

"I need to be held." I pushed my hands under the back of his T-shirt to caress the silken hardness of his bare back. "I could also use a shower."

With his nose in my hair, he inhaled deeply. "I like you smelling like me."

But he led me through the living room and down a hall to his bedroom.

"Wow," I breathed when he flicked on the light. A massive sleigh bed dominated the space, the wood dark - which he seemed to prefer - and the linens a soft cream. The rest of the furnishings matched the bed and the accents were brushed gold. It was a warm, masculine space with no art on the walls to detract from the serene night view of Central Park and the magnificent residential buildings on the other side. My side of Manhattan.

"The bathroom's in here."

As I took in the vanity, which appeared to have been made out of an antique claw-footed walnut cabinet, he pulled towels out of a companion armoire and set them out for me, moving with that confident sensual grace I admired so much. Seeing him in his home, dressed so casually, touched me. Knowing I was the only woman to have this experience with him affected me even more. I felt like I was seeing him more na**d now than I ever had. "Thank you."

He glanced at me and seemed to understand that I was talking about more than the towels. His stare burned through me. "It feels good to have you here."

"I have no idea how I ended up like this, with you." But I really, really liked it.

"Does it matter?" Gideon came to me, tilting my chin up to press a kiss to the tip of my nose. "I'll lay out a T-shirt for you on the bed. Caviar and vodka sound good to you?"

"Well...that's quite a step up from pizza."

He smiled. "Petrossian's Ossetra."

"I stand corrected." I smiled back. "Several hundred steps up."

I showered and dressed in the oversized Cross Industries shirt he laid out for me; then I called Cary to tell him I'd be out all night and give him a brief rundown about the hotel incident.

He whistled. "I'm not even sure what to say about that."

A speechless Cary Taylor spoke volumes.

I joined Gideon in the living room, and we sat on the floor at the coffee table to eat the prized caviar with mini toast and creme fraiche. We watched a rerun of a New York-set police procedural that just happened to include a scene filmed on the street in front of the Crossfire.

"I think it'd be cool to see a building I owned on TV like that," I said.

"It's not bad, if they don't close off the street for hours to film."

I bumped shoulders with him. "Pessimist."

We crawled into Gideon's bed at ten thirty and watched the last half of a show while curled up together. Sexual tension crackled in the air between us, but he didn't make any overtures so I didn't either. I suspected he was still trying to make amends for the hotel, trying to prove that he wanted to spend time with me not "actively f**king."