The Gideon Affair (8 page)

Paige was worried. After keeping an eye on Edward from the bank of windows across from the kitchen for the last half an hour, she was puttering, trying to decide when or even if she should go to him and find out what was up.

Familiar with his body language, she knew not all was right the second she saw him down by the shoreline.

He was a lot like her—the water called to his psyche. If he were prowling the edge of the blue ocean instead of lounging on the deck, that could only mean he was in clenched-fist mode.

She called it the Edward-Gideon paradox—the inner battle he sometimes fought that had everything to do with who he really was coming up against what he did in Hollywood.

With a mocking grunt, she considered what a great daytime TV this situation would make. Not that he’d ever allow such an intrusion into his personal life and not like she was serious anyway. Nobody was more protective of Edward-slash-Gideon than she was except for his family, and he’d done everything possible to keep them off the radar and far from this part of his life.

Going to him by making her way across the massive deck and down onto the sand to take him by surprise finally won out. Time for action.

Grabbing his water bottle off the counter, she filled it with some chilled to almost icy fluid—just the way he liked it—and made a mental plan.

Heading for the stairway that led to the beach, Paige stumbled over her own feet and nearly face-planted at the bottom of the stairs when her so-called plan smacked headfirst into one of her Edward fantasies.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

Those thoughts were strictly forbidden, but that didn’t stop the veritable tsunami of need and want that body slammed her.

Shit. Why’d it have to be this way?

Reining in the traitorous thoughts, she stepped onto the warm sand and willed her body to behave. Something wasn’t right, which made now the wrong time to go easy on her carnal side.

Edward first. Hormones second. Or a distant third, or not at all.

It was low tide, so she had a bit of a trek out to where he sat. Overhead, puffs of white clouds softened the blue sky as birds scoured the waterline, occasionally swooping low in search of small marine life to gobble up.

Though summer was in full swing and other areas of the Malibu coastline would be teeming with beach-goers and surfers, the fabulous house that was part of Gideon Shaw’s world was situated in the middle of a stretch of exclusive properties that made beach access difficult if not damn near impossible for the public. As a result, there was barely anyone around.

Each step she took across the sand became a silent meditation.

He’s not for you, Paige. He’s not for you.

Twin reactions—a soulful anguish that came from knowing she could never cross that line and a ravenous desire—were taking a toll on her.

He knew she was approaching—she could tell when his posture changed. Even from behind, she could read him. Another thought that although satisfying left her feeling cheated on some level.

In the perfect world of her mind, instead of plopping down next to him and passing off a water bottle, she would sink to her knees at his back and wrap her arms around him. Let the man for which she had such intense feelings know she was there, always—no matter what.

When she was maybe fifty feet away, he turned his head and immediately zeroed in on her face. His relief when he saw her was palpable. She’d been correct in guessing that something wasn’t right.

Oh, Edward. Tell me what’s wrong.

And then something happened that rocked her. When the relief cleared his expression, she was shocked to find something else. Something fierce, demanding, and covetous.

Eyebrows rising toward her hairline, she was glad sunglasses kept her response from view. And then … snap … just like that, he shuttered the look, and what had seemed like hunger was replaced with a friendly smile.

Stopping alongside where he’d planted in the sand, Paige looked out at the vast ocean stretching to the horizon. She said nothing, just quietly handed off the water bottle.

After taking a sip, he snapped the cap shut with a dramatic, “Ahhh,” as the cold fluid hit his system.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

She just stood there, in silence, looking back and forth between the waves and the man she couldn’t have. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to reach down and run her fingers through his mane of thick, black hair.

She squealed with surprise when he suddenly reached up, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her down till she was left in an unladylike sprawl on the sand next to him.

“Hey!” The thundering surf swallowed her yelp. “Was that necessary? Shit, Edward!” she playfully groaned. “Now I’ll have sand in my shorts.”

She was trying to make a funny, and any other time, he would have laughed and probably attempted to shovel handfuls of sand into her pants just for the hell of it. But not today. Today, he didn’t play along or laugh at her innocent comment.

Awkwardly repositioning on the shifting sands, Paige studied him as she thoroughly chewed the inside of her cheek. “How long have you known I was here?”

He shrugged and took a second swig of water. “Long enough.”

Okay, then. “Wanna talk about it?” Seemed best just to cut to the chase.

More waves crashed along the shoreline. Gulls squawked overhead. Far off near the horizon, she made out the shape of a container ship. Two surfers ran ashore, laughing and high-fiving each other.

Paige sat there, squishing her toes in the warm sand, and waited him out.

Finally, his head swiveled toward her.

“Lose the sunglasses.”

E
dward felt her presence practically the second Paige appeared in the house, and he didn’t question how that happened to be. It just was. Somehow, he always knew when she was nearby.

Was it comfort he felt—knowing she was with him?

Pfft
. Being honest might help. Comfort was the least of it. There was so much pleasure in his relationship with the feisty brunette that he couldn’t define but half.

Going still, his eyes drifted shut when a wave of serenity briefly washed over him. It didn’t last long—perfect moments never seemed to stick around—but it was enough to shut down the agitation threatening to choke the life out of him.

She did that. Just thinking about her and especially when in her presence, Paige acted like a bypass circuit for whatever was messing with him.

With a relieved sigh, he shifted position, stretching his legs out. Crossing his ankles, he then leaned back on hands he’d dug firmly in the sand. Tilting his head back, Edward inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth and brightness of the sun on his upturned face.

Knowing she wouldn’t rush out and start giving him the third degree was part of Paige’s allure and a big reason why he’d quickly calmed down.

Completely the opposite of Caro’s devoted puppy shtick, his faithful assistant managed to keep the mockery to a simmer most of the time. But they both knew and laughed about how unimpressed she was with the whole sexed-up celebrity thing. She kept his ego in check, called him out on his macho bullshit, and never failed to snicker, just loud enough for him to hear, at the most inopportune times.

Paige also possessed an uncanny ability to hover on the periphery of things while actually being right in the middle.

Her energy, fiercely protective and totally focused on him, was a balm for his soul. Edward needed that more than he wanted to admit. He needed Paige in a way that messed with his head.

He’d have to tell her, of course, and not just about Dave and the gotcha interview. They’d have to talk, seriously talk about the sex tape fiasco, something that made him big time nervous…and also about the real possibility of Joann interjecting herself into the scandal, re-igniting the whole thing and triggering a cavalcade of bullshit that might very well derail his career.

Their career. Gideon Shaw was as much her creation as it was his.

Thinking back to when the gossip rags started tittering endlessly about a mysterious tape circulating and the moment when that shit exploded right on top of them made him squirm in the sand. Next to the disappointment in his mother’s eyes, the blazing fury Paige put off when the story broke nearly eviscerated him. She’d been hurt by the salacious accusation of his so-called debauchery even though she’d never fucking admit to it, and he’d beaten himself up over it ever since.

Hurting Paige was a deal-breaker. Especially when there were so many other things he’d rather make her feel. Things that robbed him of sleep.

Edward had a favorite fantasy; one he’d been working on for some time. A remarkably detailed visual, loaded with sensory cues that awakened some powerful urges.

Urges. Hmm. Needs might be a better way of putting it. He had a fucking urge to eat his way through a BBQ festival—the point being that Edward would survive if that never happened.

But need—now that was an entirely different story. Needs were more necessary than urges. Essential to life, deprivation of certain needs could chip away at a man’s satisfaction toward a lot of other things.

So … aware of the invisible line in the sand that kept him from acting on his needs, Edward visited his Paige fantasy with brow-raising regularity.

It started the same way every time. He’d touch her face and run his fingers across her brow line down to her ear. She had cute ears and most of the time wore delicate earrings that never failed to grab his attention.

Enjoying the telltale shiver his touch wrung from her, he’d gently finger the little spot where the rim of her ear joined her face.

Her skin would be soft and responsive to his caress. Maybe she’d angle her head to give him complete access—an invitation to explore her neck. Fan the flames of desire.

Edward could go on and on about Paige’s neck. Almost as fascinated with that patch of real estate as he was with her tits, he’d spent many an unsatisfied night longing to lick and suckle the skin that he felt sure would taste delicious.

Shifting his hips in the sand as his sex pulsed to life so swiftly the tightness in his pants threatened damage, he let out a strangled groan that immediately became lost in the sound of the surf. Usually, this was the moment when he’d reach for his cock. But since it was broad daylight and he was on a public beach instead of naked in his bed, he’d have to suffer through a spontaneous hard-on that could not be satisfied.

Out of nowhere, an enormous burst of laughter rolled out of him. Thinking about the delicious Paige Turner and her ridiculously soft skin had vanquished the anxiety he’d been nursing.

Nobody and nothing else had ever done that for him. No amount of random, high-intensity fucking, top shelf alcohol, or any other number of available recreational substances had ever so quickly or so efficiently reset his mood. More reminders that this woman, so essential to every facet of his double life, was inside him in a way that was making him stop. And think.

A sensation at the back of his neck briefly scattered all thoughts. Shutting his eyes so he could concentrate on the tingling feeling as it spread across his shoulders, Edward let a welcome calm fill him up. She was coming to him, and he didn’t need to turn around to confirm with his eyes what his body already knew.

With a mocking glance at the anatomy lesson his aroused body was going to make, he chuckled in resignation.

Yeah, whatever!

He was beyond being able to hide his response to her anymore, and if she’d noticed, she hadn’t said anything so far. Damn shame too ‘cause he’d gladly explain in excruciating detail how much she turned him on.

Ugh. He needed her to hurry and almost jumped up and rushed at her.
Good lord,
he thought,
I’m worse than a lonely puppy
.

The need and anticipation eventually won out. Sharply swiveling his head, his eyes scanned the beach until he found her coming around a short rise in the sand, walking straight for him.

Should he be alarmed that just seeing her triggered an instant Zen? The feeling was like a large dose of euphoria.

Paige Turner was his bliss.

But why the hell did she have to be dressed like that? Edward’s fierce battle to rein in his desires fractured as he took in the vision walking toward him.

If his assistant imagined for one second that being completely natural and at ease was not a ferocious turn on for him, she was fucking delusional. Nobody had legs like Paige. They really did seem to go on forever. Long, toned, and tanned, she had this charmingly tomboyish swagger that sent shards of pleasure straight to his groin.

Barefoot—he’d have to check out her toenail color—she was rocking a pair of cutoffs that rode her slim hips, exposing her belly button and several tantalizing inches of skin between the waistband and the hem of a gauzy, see-through crop top.

As she got closer, he could easily make out the teal colored halter of a bathing suit under the gauzy top. She was trying to kill him, right?

My god. He wanted her so bad right then that staying seated and doing nothing became an agony.

Marching straight up to him, she stopped next to his shoulder and just stood quietly.