Paige chuckled. “What the hell does that mean?”
Edward put a hand on her hip, his thumb pressing a spot that turned her to jelly. With her crossed legs angled his way and the way she was leaning close to caress his tie—and now as he crowded close and claimed her with his warm touch—there was no doubt they were much more than friends.
“It means, babe, that my mom beat it into Marshall and me that a gentleman always wears a suit when taking a real lady to dinner. I think this occasion qualifies,” he added with a chuckle.
Oh, my dear sweet baby Jesus … how did you make a guy so perfect and then let me fall for him? He just called her a real lady and said he was a gentleman. Good grief—she felt a lovesick giggle building and struggled to contain it.
“And while we’re on wardrobe choices …” He smirked. “Anytime a woman wears a little black dress and sexes it up with some nasty-girl shoes, well …”
“Well, what?” she asked when he let the sentence hang unfinished.
“Well … what would turn on such a woman? A flannel shirt and jeans or a fancy Italian suit? I went with the suit and hoped it wasn’t a major mistake.”
After she spent the time to memorize his tie, Paige moved on to Edward’s impressive scruff. She touched his jawline and studied the scratchy beard-in-progress. He’d always made light of his hot guy status, and she wondered if the real man had any idea how gorgeous she found him.
“The suit is perfect for the occasion,” she assured him, “but the flannel shirt and jeans will work for our RV adventure.”
With his fingers doing strange things to her hip, rump, and upper leg, they stared at each other, and for her, everyone else melted away. At that moment, it was just Edward and she, the surf crashing in the distance, the stars twinkling overhead, and that was it.
Delight was shining in his eyes. “Don’t forget to pack a few sundresses along with the jeans, babe. I like when I can see your legs.”
Yep. That did it for her. She was definitely jumping his bones the second this charade was over, and they were alone.
Dessert and two coffees later, they were wrapped around each other and headed for the door as they shared a private laugh over some random thing. It struck Paige that nothing had ever felt so right. Being Gideon didn’t take away from the Edward-Paige dynamic. If anything, it gave them a spot of comic relief that only they shared. Something that was theirs alone and really … how cool was that?
Edward made zero attempt to behave on their way out of the restaurant. At that moment, he couldn’t have cared less if the entire global media was circling when they stepped outside. All he knew was how fucking fantastic Paige’s ass felt with his big ol’ paw gripping her fleshy butt. Everything else? What-fucking-ever.
With her pressed to his side and laughing as if all this was the funniest shit ever, he ushered her from the restaurant with a playful butt squeeze followed by a half-assed shove. “Time to strut your stuff, Miss Turner.”
“Hey,” she yelped. “Why’d you take your hand off my ass?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I thought you said the handsy thing was a no?”
Pressing against him, her hands on his chest, she wiggled her wicked body and giggled. “It’s a real lady’s prerogative to change her mind whenever she wants.”
“Oh, good,” he drawled. “So it won’t be a problem then when I peel this dress back,” he told her while pulling at the fabric, “to bare your tits so I can suck your pretty nipples?”
She gasped and went still. Oops. “What?” he asked. “I went too far, didn’t I? Shit, babe. I’m sorry.”
Instead of ripping his head off, which was kind of what he’d expected, she responded with an earthy growl. “Can I put my hands in your hair while you do?”
Shit. There was no way he was going to keep from making love to her if she kept it up. They were in dangerous territory, but he dug seeing her this way. Made him hard as a rock.
“Please do.” Yeah. Thinking about her grabbing his head while he went to town on her delicious body was crazy hot. “Pretty soon, you’re gonna have to teach me how to do a man-bun.”
“I know! Right?” she hooted with glee. Fiddling with the lapels of his suit jacket, she whined adorably. “Don’t know how I feel about being with a guy whose hair is longer than mine.” Tugging hard, she threatened, “Oh, and keep your hands off my hair products. Unless, of course, you like smelling like a chick.”
They were laughing together, having a regular Edward-Paige moment, when the door swung open, and they stepped outside.
“Holy fuckballs,” he heard a man snicker. “If it isn’t old low-hanging Richard. How’s it going, Shaw?”
A big, beefy hand thrust into his. Johnson Wyatt. They’d hung around in the early days, after he left the Army, when he was just finding his way in Hollywood, but it had been years since their paths crossed.
“Wyatt! Jesus, man. Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. I thought you gave Hollywood the finger and moved up to Santa Barbara.”
They did a bro hug punctuated with some hearty back slaps, separating with matching grins and a series of fake out punches.
“Dude!” Edward proclaimed. “Check out my girlfriend.” With a hand on Paige’s elbow, he did a quick introduction.
“Babe, this poser with a goatee is Johnson Wyatt. We hung out together years ago. Wyatt, this is Paige Turner.”
“Hey, I remember you,” Wyatt easily replied as he grabbed Paige’s hand and shook it. “Aren’t you that college genius who made this shithead a big time movie star?
She laughed and made a funny face. “Guilty. And I remember you, too. Didn’t Mr. Sexist Man have to borrow your bug truck to go on an audition?”
They all threw back and laughed. Shit, the woman had a great memory ‘cause he had borrowed Wyatt’s exterminator buggy when his old Chevy finally broke down.
“Low hanging, um, dick?” she asked with a grin in his direction. “Please tell me that’s not a personal observation.”
Wyatt laughed along but held on to her hand far too long for Edward’s liking. “Nah. No worries there, pretty Paige. Gideon is one hundred percent pussy magnet. We called him low hanging because he was always the last guy to show up. Not necessarily late but cutting it close.”
“Oh, for god’s sake. I’m trying to impress the lady not …” He shook his head in feigned disbelief.
“What?” Wyatt drawled. “You think she doesn’t know by now that you tell time like it’s a Sesame Street skit?”
The valet attendant from earlier, the one he thought was being a bit too friendly with his lady, approached them slowly. The guy’s face screamed tentative. Good. That meant he got the message. The last thing this situation needed was him heavy breathing some menacing Alpha shit at a poor twit who didn’t have a clue.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Edward turned slowly and regarded the clearly intimidated guy. He didn’t answer, just nodded and looked the little shit right in the eye.
“Uh, your car, Mr. Shaw.”
At his side, Wyatt snickered, and Edward realized his frigid belligerence was a bit obvious. And rude. Since there was little doubt people from the sidewalk were photographing them, he knew that dialing it back was the way to go. But still … he didn’t like anyone trying to get chummy with Paige.
“Thanks,” he muttered in what barely passed as a begrudging tone as he took the keys from the attendant. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and clumsily shoved it in the guy’s hand. It was too much, but he’d been a dick to the poor guy.
“Star-fucker,” Wyatt mumbled. “I was here five minutes before you but look who gets his car first.”
“Dude, it was great seeing you again. Why don’t you come out to the beach house and we’ll throw some cow on the grill.” Edward pulled Wyatt’s phone out of his hand and entered his info into the contact list. “That’s my direct line, you fucking asshole, so don’t be giving it out to any strippers.”
; Wyatt chuckled and gave him a side hug. “I’ll call you next time I’m around. Got an out-of-town assignment that’ll keep me busy till fall.”
“That’s cool.” Edward shrugged. “I’m on location next month for who the fuck knows how long. But let’s get together after that, for sure.”
“Pretty Paige,” Wyatt drawled as he took her hand. “Good luck, darlin’. Being with this dick can’t be fun.”
Edward was thrilled and then some when she slid her hand into the crook of his arm and held on tight. His old friend was hardly competition, but by her actions, she was letting Wyatt know where and with whom she stood. And as if that wasn’t enough, she made sure to get the last word right before he led her to the car. “Having Johnson for a first name couldn’t have been easy, huh?”
When Wyatt barked a laugh and high-fived her, Edward couldn’t have been prouder. She had a facetious and snarky sense of humor that he enjoyed—especially when directed at someone else.
As she slid carefully into the passenger seat, he noted her knees clamped together and couldn’t help teasing. “Aww. Saving those panty flashes for me? Good girl, babe.”
Through lips pinched as tight as her knees, she muttered, “Ha, ha, ha. I’d like to see you try and maneuver in a short skirt.”
Before shutting her door, he leaned down and dropped a kiss on her sweetly pouting mouth. Moving swiftly to the driver’s side, he got in and buckled up while keeping his eyes on the end of the driveway where half a dozen guys with big cameras were having a fucking field day. By tomorrow morning, shots of Paige and him joking around with Wyatt on the pavement outside Nobu would light up the entertainment and celebrity news sites. And he was pretty sure the lead pic would be of him kissing his mystery companion.
“Medieval woman,” she belted out with gusto, enthusiastically singing along to a classic rock station.
“What?” Edward chuckled. “Medieval woman? You know those aren’t the words, right?”
“Who says?” She laughed. Rolling down the window, she gave her made-up lyrics a full-throated moment to shine along with some comically goofy faces.
“Actually, sweetheart, I think E-L-O says.”
She shrugged with an exaggerated wave of dismissal. “Oh, pooh. Lyrics should be fluid so they can change depending on the situation. Especially with classic rock. Keeping songs relevant in the changing times.”
“Oh, and this situation called for something medieval?”
This was what they did really, really well. The banter. The smart, funny, clever-as-shit small talk that said so much about who they were as individuals. Not many people could keep up with her. She’d been taught well. Her mom was a second-generation smartass; a foul-mouthed country girl who knew when to play the game and when to take down whatever idiot was in her verbal crosshairs.
When Edward drove toward the road taking them back to her side of town, she bristled and before she knew what the hell she was saying, she’d whined, “But I don’t wanna go home!”
“Hmph. So what’s that mean? Where do you wanna go?”
Turning in her seat, she wiggled up and down and grabbed on to his arm. “I know! Let’s go to the beach house and get in the Jacuzzi. Please, Edward. Pretty, pretty please.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he chortled. “Only one problem. I don’t have a Jacuzzi, remember?”
“Oh.” Drat. She’d forgot. Her thoughts had drifted to another time and place when they’d gotten rambunctious in a spa. Some fabulous place up in the mountains above Santa Fe with private enclosed outdoor tubs. Another example of their unusual friendship.
That time they’d gone off adventuring during a break in filming, exploring New Mexico, and ended up at the unique resort. Having no clue what they were getting into, the pleasant woman at the front desk had signed them up for everything from the hot tub to a couple’s massage, a luxurious spa treatment, and a gourmet meal to die for. They’d talked of returning in the winter to enjoy an outdoor tub, hoping to catch a snowfall so they could experience a soft snow falling while relaxing in the warm water.
All of it had been memorable, but she’d been thinking about their playful behavior during an hour-long private tub session. First, they’d relaxed in the warm bubbling tub, but after a bit, that got old and the antics had started.
He’d suggested she grace him with a watery lap dance. "Research," he’d said with a straight face. She’d suggested he fuck off. After that, it had been two bad kids screwing around in a hot tub until Edward gave her a leg and foot massage that had fried her brain.
He was smiling as he pulled off the PCH and stopped the car. In the darkness with just the dashboard lights, he looked so darkly handsome with his long hair and facial scruff that Paige had to give it up for that whole America’s Sexiest Guy nonsense. There was no denying the man was hot—and those eyes. Oh, my god. How could she keep her shit together with those sexy blue eyes watching her every move?
“Okay, sweetheart.” His voice was heavy with indulgent humor, reminding Paige that she was calling all the shots. Mmm. Now there was a delicious thought.
“What’s swirling in that head of yours, hmm?”
“I’m not ready to call it a night, is all.” She squirmed in the plush seat, the sound of her bottom moving on the leather punctuating her words. Putting her head on the backrest, Paige turned her face toward him. “My thoughts were drifting, and I remembered when we went to that place in Santa Fe. The hot tubs. That’s why I was thinking about a Jacuzzi.”
Edward’s expression visibly softened. His smile grew from a smirk to a teeth-baring grin.
“We said we’d go back,” she murmured. “Try and catch …”
“A snowfall,” he cut in. “I remember. Ten Thousand Waves.”
He remembered! She was stunned. Her smile got so big it hurt. On sheer impulse, she sat forward, ran her fingers through his shaggy hair, and rubbed her knuckles on his stubble-covered cheek. She liked being able to touch him whenever she wanted. Her heart was racing with excitement.
“Sweetheart,” he growled. “If you’re gonna look at me like that, there needs to be some kissing.”
Laughing was the easiest thing in the world.
“Yep. Kissing. I demand some kissing, Miss Turner, and then we can talk about where we go next.”
Well, shit. She knew exactly where she wanted them to go next. Somewhere private where they could lose their clothes in a hurry.
With her hand cradling his jaw, she purred, “Kiss me then, big guy … and make it good.”
And oh, hell yeah, did he ever make it good. The things he did with his lips made her giddy with want. She liked when he kissed her fast and deep. It felt like a claiming. But then there was this slow, seductive approach that claimed her in a different way. By the time he slid his tongue against hers, she was already so far gone that all she could do was whimper and moan. She’d have crawled through glass to hang on to his kiss.
“Better?” he quipped when he’d finished taming her mouth.
Yeah. She couldn’t speak, so Paige bit her lip and nodded her head while her eyes stayed glued to his magic mouth. Dammit. She wanted more.
“So I take it that you don’t want me to take you home. Right?”
And there it was. The crossroads. She’d be an idiot to pretend she didn’t know the importance of what this was. Did she want to go home? Spend the rest of the night in her pjs, attacking a pint of Chunky Monkey in front of a TV she didn’t watch? Or did she want to throw all caution out the window and see where this thing with Edward took her?
Her brows furrowed. Why the hell was her stomach churning like a washing machine? Good lord—she was nervous. Dammit. She never got nervous and didn’t know which coping skill to employ to get her through.
“Babe,” Edward murmured softly.
Without moving a muscle, her eyes swung to his. His expression was hot enough to activate a fire alarm. Paige’s breath caught in her chest.
“I’m not asking for your panties.” He sm
irked and laughed at his jest. “Well,” he teased, “at least not yet.”
Typical Edward. The wisecrack was enough to break her tension.
“We can head to the beach house and go for a walk on the sand. How’s that sound?”
Okay then, so what we just learned was that he could read her mind and knew just what to say so she didn’t jump ship. Now that was what she called a coping mechanism.
“Oh, crap.” Why was there always a practical fly in the ointment? Tugging at the hem of her dress, she snapped, “I always keep a go-bag in my car, but you picked me up so … no bag and no change of clothes.”
He looked her over for a long minute. With a finger lightly tracing the exposed skin around her neckline, he licked his lips twice then pinned her to the spot with his eyes. “I like this dress …”
She protested by letting out a deep grunt. The dress so wasn’t her.
“I know it’s not your usual preference, which,” he hurriedly assured her, “I find delightful. Quirky Paige as a style choice totally works for me, but this bad girl ensemble of slinky black seduction has shown me a whole new side to you that I didn’t know about.”
What was he doing with his voice? Was this some kind of magic sex mojo or something? With every word, her senses filled until a shocking heat fired off in her core. Mesmerized, she didn’t know what to make of the strange response.
“So, you keep the dress on, and I’ll lend you one of my hoodies if it’ll make you feel better.”
He could have offered her a cup of steaming vinegar topped with whipped cream, and she would have taken it.
“Deal,” she drawled. Oh, my god, what have I done?
Looking rather pleased, Edward gave her another head-to-toe once-over, pausing on the peaked nipples barely concealed by the stretchy fabric of her dress.
Back on the road, she willed her anxiety away as they drove the short distance to the exclusive gated beach road leading to Casa Shaw. Shit was about to get real.
“Ready?” Edward asked with his hand held out for her to grab. “I turned off the light at the bottom of the stairs so hang on to me and be careful.”
The Gideon Affair Page 18