Reflected in You: A Crossfire Novel

black-framed glasses approached us. “Mr. Cross,” he greeted Gideon, extending his hand. “I didn’t know you’d be coming tonight.”
    Gideon shook the man’s hand. “I didn’t tell you,” he replied smoothly, reaching his other hand out to me.
    I caught it and he pulled me forward, introducing me to Robert Phillips, Six-Ninths’ manager. Shawna and Arnoldo were introduced next; then we were led back through the wings, where activity was high and groupies loitered.
    I suddenly didn’t want to catch even a glimpse of Brett. It was so easy to forget how it’d been between us while I was listening to him sing. It was so easy to want to forget after listening to the song he’d written. But that time in my past was something I was far from proud of.
    “The band’s right in here,” Robert was saying, gesturing to an open door from which music and raucous laughter poured out. “They’ll be excited to meet you.”
    My feet dug in suddenly and Gideon paused, glancing at me with a frown.
    I pushed up onto my toes and whispered, “I’m not all that interested in meeting them. If you don’t mind, I’m going to hit the backstage bathroom and head out to the limo.”
    “Can you wait a few minutes and I’ll go with you?”
    “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”
    He touched my forehead. “Are you feeling all right? You look flushed.”
    “I’m feeling great. I’ll show you exactly how great as soon as we get home.”
    That did the trick. His frown faded and his mouth curved. “I’ll hurry this along, then.” He looked at Robert Phillips and gestured at Arnoldo and Shawna. “Can you take them in? I need a minute.”
    “Gideon, really . . .” I protested.
    “I’m walking you over there.”
    I knew that tone. I let him walk me the twenty feet to the bathroom. “I can take it from here, ace.”
    “I’ll wait.”
    “Then we’ll never get out of here. Go do your thing. I’ll be fine.”
    He gave me a very patient look. “Eva, I’m not leaving you alone.”
    “I can manage. Seriously. The exit is right there.” I pointed down the hall to the open double doors beneath a lighted exit sign. Roadies were already transporting equipment out. “Angus is right out there, isn’t he?”
    Gideon leaned his shoulder into the wall and crossed his arms.
    I threw up my hands. “Okay. Fine. Have it your way.”
    “You’re learning, angel,” he said with a smile.
    Muttering under my breath, I went into the bathroom and took care of business. As I washed up at the sink, I looked into the mirror and winced. I had raccoon eyes from sweating so damn much and my pupils were dark and dilated.
    “What does he see in you?” I asked myself derisively, thinking of how awesome he still looked. As hot and sweaty as he’d been, he looked none the worse for wear, while I looked damp and limp. But more so than my exterior, it was my personal failings I was thinking of. I couldn’t get away from them. Not while Brett was in the same building with us.
    I rubbed a dampened square of paper towel under my eyes to get rid of the black smudges, then headed back out to the hall. Gideon waited a few feet away, talking with Robert, or more accurately, listening to him. The band’s manager was clearly excited about something.
    Gideon spotted me and held up a hand to get me to wait a minute, but I didn’t want to take the risk. I gestured down the hall at the exit, then turned and headed that way before he could stall me. I hurried past the green room door, chancing a quick glance inside to see Shawna laughing with a beer in her hand. The room was packed and boisterous, and she looked like she was having a great time.
    I made my escape with a sigh of relief, feeling ten times lighter the moment I left. Spotting Angus standing next to Gideon’s limo on the far side of the line of buses, I waved and set off toward him.
    Looking back on the night, I was tantalized by how uninhibited Gideon had been. He sure as hell hadn’t been the man who’d used mergers and acquisitions as parlance for getting me into bed.
    I couldn’t wait to get him naked.
    A burst of flame in the darkness to my right startled me. I jolted to a halt and watched Brett Kline lift a match to the clove cigarette hanging from his lips. As he stood in the shadows to the side of the exit, the flickering light of the flame caressed his face and threw me back in time for a long minute.
    He glanced up, caught me in his gaze, and froze. We stared at