Soldier of Fortune: Gideon Quinn Adventures Book One

Chapter 29

In the over-warm, over-decorated bedroom, Gideon stared at Celia and wondered...

If he and Celia had never met—if Commander Radesh had sent some other company to exfiltrate Rand's wife—how different would his life have been?

Because if Gideon hadn't been the one to recover Celia back in the day, Celia would not have developed an unhealthy obsession for Gideon (a term that seemed over the top until Gideon remembered he was tied to a chair in the woman's bedroom).

And if Celia had not developed an unhealthy obsession with Gideon, she'd never have used her husband as a weapon of revenge. Following the thread, Rand would then never have sent the 12th Company to Nasa, or blackmailed Gideon into a confession of treason.

Gideon would never have sent Dani away, those six years in the Barrens wouldn't have happened, and he most certainly would not be tied to a chair in a silk-papered room filled with antiquities that probably cost enough to feed a company—no, make that a regiment—for a full fourteen months.

He also wouldn't be half-starved, all-the-way beaten, dizzy from the scent of Celia's perfume, and yearning to let his hands roam that indolent body, tangle in the arrow-straight hair, shred the teasing excuse for a dress...

"Gideon," she murmured from her languid repose, "you're staring."

"What can I say," he said, managing an indolent shrug, "seven years haven't made you less of a walking heart attack."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, shifting so the gown rippled to yet more revealing effect.

"Don't," he said. "Really. Don't."

At that, he thought he saw the flash of hurt again, but it was so quickly replaced by predatory amusement, he might have imagined it.

"Do you know why I find you so fascinating?" she asked now, running a hand up one of those amazing legs, then continued before he could kick his misfiring synapses into answering. "Because you're the only one who's ever said no. Men, women—every single one of my assets—they all fell for my charms. Willingly. Happily. Every one of them.

"Until you."

Which was... wrong.

Not that he didn't believe her claims to conquest. He pretty much hated Celia's silk-wrapped guts, but he still wanted her.

No, what was wrong was the other bit, the thing about the... "Assets," he repeated. "As in..."

Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say the rest.

"As in," she agreed. Idly, she set the glass on the long low table in front of the chaise, exchanging it for one of the knickknacks littering its surface.

It was, he noted distantly, a music box. One she wound now, so when she set it back in its place, it began to play.

"I've always loved this piece," she told him, taking up the goblet and unfolding herself from the chaise.

As he watched, still uncertain she really was what she was telling him she was, Celia began to dance, rising lightly on her bare feet, extending a leg here, an arm there, graceful as any swan before spinning her way across the room with such ease, not a drop of the deep red liqueur spilled from the glass.

Gideon was near to breathless by the time she spun to a stop in front of him.

And then her gown's one lonely strap lost the battle to hold on, slipping over the smooth terrain of her shoulder.

Suddenly, there was a great deal more of Celia to see.

In that moment, Gideon was sure every bit of blood rushed out of his brain. Even the struggle to free his hands, so constant as to be habitual by now, came to a sudden halt as his body reminded him in no uncertain terms that six years is a long, long time to live in a desert—of any sort.