Reflected In You

By: Sylvia Day

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m so grateful to Cindy Hwang and Leslie Gelbman fo r their suppo rt and enco uragement, and mo st impo rtant, their lo ve fo r Gideo n and Eva’s sto ry. It takes passio n to write a bo o k and passio n to sell it. I’m very thankful they have it.

I co uld write an entire bo o k abo ut everything I need to thank my agent Kimberly Whalen fo r. The Cro ssfire series is a massive multinatio nal, multifo rmat endeavo r and she never misses a trick. Because she’s always o n the ball, I’m freed to fo cus o n my part o f o ur co llabo ratio n—the writing!—and I lo ve her fo r it.

Behind Cindy, Leslie, Kim, Claire Pelly, and To m Weldo n are dynamic teams at Penguin and Trident Media Gro up. I wish I co uld mentio n everyo ne by name, but really, it takes a village. There are literally do zens o f peo ple to thank fo r their hard wo rk and enthusiasm. The Cro ssfire series is being cared fo r and lo o ked after by Trident and Penguin o n a wo rldwide scale and I’m so grateful fo r the time yo u’ve all spent o n my bo o ks.

My deepest gratitude to edito r Hilary Sares, who is so instrumental in making the Cro ssfire series what it is. She keeps me straight.

Big thanks to my publicist, Gregg Sullivan, who makes my life easier in many ways.

I must also thank all o f my internatio nall publishers (o ver three do zen o f yo u at the time I’m writing this) fo r welco ming Gideo n and Eva into yo ur co untries and sharing them with yo ur readers. Yo u’ve all been so wo nderful and I appreciate yo u.

And to all the readers aro und the wo rld who ’ve embraced Gideo n and Eva’s sto ry—thank yo u! When I wro te Bared to You I was so sure I’d be the o nly perso n who lo ved it. I’m so thrilled that yo u do , to o , and that we’re fo llo wing alo ng o n Eva and Gideo n’s jo urney to gether. Ho t, bumpy ro ads are best traveled with friends!





Chapter 1


I loved New York with the kind of mad passion I reserved for only one other thing in my life. The city was a microcosm of new world opportunities and old world traditions. Conservatives rubbed shoulders with bohemians. Oddities coexisted with priceless rarities. The pulsing energy of the city fueled international business bloodlines and drew people from all over the world.

And the embodiment of all that vibrancy, driving ambition, and world-renowned power had just screwed me to two toe-curlingly awesome orgasms.

As I padded over to his massive walk-in closet, I glanced at Gideon Cross’s sex-rumpled bed and shivered with remembered pleasure. My hair was still damp from a shower, and the towel wrapped around me was my only article of clothing. I had an hour and a half before I had to be at work, which was cutting it a little too close for comfort. Obviously, I was going to have to all ot time in my morning routine for sex, otherwise I’d always be scrambling. Gideon woke up ready to conquer the world, and he liked to start that domination with me.

How lucky was I?

Because it was sliding into July in New York and the temperature was heating up, I chose a slim pair of pressed natural-linen slacks and a sleeveless poplin shell in a soft gray that matched my eyes. Since I had no hairstyling talent, I pulled my long blond hair back in a simple ponytail, then made up my face. When I was presentable, I left the bedroom.

I heard Gideon’s voice the moment I stepped into the hallway. A tiny shiver moved through me when I realized he was angry, his voice low and clipped. He didn’t rile easily . . . unless he was ticked off with me. I could get him to raise his voice and curse, even shove his hands through his glorious shoulder-length mane of inky black hair.

For the most part, though, Gideon was a testament to leashed power. There was no need for him to shout when he could get people to quake in their shoes with just a look or a tersely spoken word.


I found him in his home office. He stood with his back to the door and a Bluetooth receiver in his ear. His arms were crossed and he was staring out the windows of his Fifth Avenue penthouse apartment, giving the impression of a very solitary man, an individual who was separate from the world around him, yet entirely capable of ruling it.

Leaning into the doorjamb, I drank him in. I was certain my view of the skyline was more awe-inspiring than his. My vantage point included him superimposed over those towering skyscrapers, an equally powerful and impressive presence. He’d finished his shower before I managed to crawl out of bed. His seriously addictive body was now dressed in two pieces of an expensively tailored three-piece suit—an admitted hot button of mine. The rear view of him showcased a perfect ass and a powerful back encased in a vest.

On the wall was a massive coll age of photos of us as a couple and one very intimate one that he’d taken of me while I was sleeping. Most were pictures taken by the paparazzi who followed his every move. He was Gideon Cross, of Cross Industries, and at the ridiculous age of twenty-eight, he was one of the top twenty-five richest people in the world. I was pretty sure he owned a significant chunk of Manhattan; I was positive he was the hottest man on the planet. And he kept photos of me everywhere he worked, as if I could possibly be as fun to look at as he was.

He turned, pivoting gracefully to catch me with his icy blue gaze. Of course he’d known I was there, watching him. There was a crackling in the air when we were near each other, a sense of anticipation like the coiled silence before the boom of thunder. He’d probably deliberately waited a beat before facing me, giving me the opportunity to check him out because he knew I loved to look at him.

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