Page 132 of Torrid Love
“Other than the party last night, I’ve been stuck behind the camera. We fly out at six on Friday morning, so I can’t even sleep in on my last day here.”
“But you get to sleep—naked—in my arms Friday night. You know what that means?” he rasps.
I shiver at the delightful, sexy thought.
I grin again. “I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I.”
“How are things with you?” I ask, changing the subject.
“We have another meeting with Veemonth Records on Thursday. Hopefully we can come to an agreement so we can start working with a few of their artists. More work for us and more work for you,” he says.
“They’d be crazy not to want to work with us,” I joke.
“They’d be off their tree to think any other studio video production company or producer could revive their old-timers,” he chuckles.
“Preach!” I joke.
“Oh, guess who’s in town?”
Why don’t you tell me?” I laugh. “I might be here all night trying to guess.”
“Someone we haven’t seen in so long, I didn’t even remember what he looked like.”
I frown at the phone. “Holt is back in town?”
“No. Gideon is.”
Wh—what?
My world comes crashing. Horrific memories come flooding back just at the mention of my aggressor’s name.
I feel light-headed as a wave of nausea bubbles up from my stomach. I hold onto the ramp to avoid falling to my knees.
I swallow the sick feeling rising in my throat. “Gideon Wilding?”
Please God, say it isn’t so.
“Yeah. The one and only. Wild, huh?”
“Wild,” I say in a small voice. Panic surges through me. “He moved back to LA?”
“No. He’s still posted in London. He’s been in town for a few days. He’s dealing with something that involves lawyers, so I assume it’s serious.”
“I see. Did he call you?” I tread carefully.
“He showed up out of the blue at the studio yesterday. In fact, he was waiting for me when I got back from driving you to the airport.”
“Oh. You saw him?”
“I did. I saw him again tonight. We just had dinner.”
“That’s good,” I keep my tone casual.
“Not really.”
“What happened?”
