The Gideon Affair

by Halliday, Suzanne

  She was blushing. Good lord! Paige Turner was blushing. Tugging the hem of her dress down, unnecessarily in his opinion, she made a cute moue with her mouth and snorted. “The hostess all but whipped off her panties and stuffed ‘em in your suit pocket.”

  Had she? He hadn’t noticed. Not when the lady by his side was earning the appreciative gaze of every man in her vicinity. Shit, to be honest, that hostess could have stripped naked, jumped up on the bar, and sang “It’s Raining Men,” and he wouldn’t have blinked.

  “Then, the waiter had to ask for your drink order. If you were in any way a regular, he’d have known your preferences and been prepared with some waitery-shtick. He also wouldn’t have had to explain the chef’s special in such specific detail.”

  She sat back and looked at him with comic triumph. “Plus, you gave poor Chase a heart attack when you turned green while he gushed about the squid pasta.” She chuckled, reaching for her drink, and smiled mischievously. “I think he was worried you were going to hurl on his shoes.”

  Edward shared her laughter, murmuring, “I’m sorry, but the words ‘squid’ and ‘pasta’ should never be used in the same sentence.”

  “It’s not what you think,” she teased. “Your reaction was hilarious, but I get what you’re saying.” Her mocking smile made it hard not to kiss the smirk off her pretty face.

  A soft, warm ocean breeze swept across the patio. The occasional gusts made more and more tendrils of her hair escape confinement. As if he’d been doing it for a thousand years, he reached for the wayward curls and feathered them softly behind her ear. The act felt so natural and easy. He liked this new aspect of being with Paige. The touching. Yep. He liked it very much.

  “I see why it’s such a trendy restaurant. They’ve covered all the bases starting with a fantastic menu.” She wiggled on the loveseat and turned toward the ocean. “And seriously …” Her voice lowered with a conspiratorial inflection. “This view. I mean … come on. When nature is the lead designer, well …” Her swift shrug was so damn cute.

  He remembered her saying something similar when they were viewing the Wyoming property for his folks. Somehow, the gods saw it fit to bless him with an outdoor girl who took stopping to smell the roses to an eleven. Or maybe even a twelve.

  When she turned back, Paige leaned close and ducked her head briefly then met his gaze with a bashful, hesitant grin. “Thanks for bringing me here. I know how much you love sushi …”

  Goddamn, she was charming as shit. Keeping things light and humorous was working well, so he cut off her little speech with a provocative comeback.

  “Yeah, well,” he wagged his eyebrows and growled, “I figured watching you eat slimy raw fish was a surefire way to douse the flames. Make sure you get safely home without being defiled along the way.”

  He shuddered with mock dramatic emphasis and ground out a gag-worthy, “Blech.”

  Paige’s gurgling laugh was music to his ears so when her hand shot out and smacked him hard on the chest, he was startled and raised his hands to ward off her attack.

  “Asshole.” She snickered, smacking him again as he tried in vain to fend her off.

  “Don’t make me haul you over my knee, young lady,” he barked.

  Before he knew it, they were playing handsies on the beach patio of Nobu where everyone could see their antics. She’d try to whack him, and he’d smack her hands away and laugh. They were putting on quite a show.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” In the blink of an eye, she went from playful to Nancy Drew. “What’ve you got stashed in your coat pocket?”

  Leaping on him, she had the advantage of surprise until he realized what was happening. Stopping her questing fingers from slipping inside his coat until she zeroed in on the pocket, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close.

  Thinking they were still kidding around, she struggled against the restraint and nudged him with her body. If he were to lean back any further, she’d be lying on top of him. This was getting out of hand. Moving the wrist he held behind her back, he grabbed the hand still roaming his chest and pressed her fingers till they stilled.

  “Enough,” he growled. “This isn’t the place … or the time.”

  She immediately stopped moving. Hell. She might even have stopped breathing. He wasn’t sure. They stared at each other in silence for a long time. Sweat broke out at his hairline as he watched her face. She was biting and wetting her lips, her eyes glittering. Just as he began to speak, she interrupted.

  “I was serious about the water torture. Cut it out, Ed … er, uh, Gideon. There’s no time like the present, so either put up or shut up.”

  What the hell was he up to? Not having a clear picture of the situation was worrisome and threw her off. She’d just been kidding about whatever he had stashed in his pocket, but his swift reaction stunned her into silence.

  Was he wired? The assumption, though ridiculous, matched his unusual response and showed her how far her imagination was willing to go. Did not help any that he was restraining her or that people were watching. And snickering.

  Shit.

  “I have to visit the ladies’ room,” she announced out of the blue. It was the only thing she could think of that would quickly get them both sitting up again.

  Edward reacted as any guy would, practically jumping up as he glanced around looking for the restrooms. Nodding to the back corner, he muttered, “I think it’s over there.”

  Embarrassed, although not sure why, Paige pulled it together and finally stood up, pushing the short black dress into some sort of order.

  He wasn’t looking at her, and she didn’t miss the way his hand slid to the inner pocket she’d been trying to investigate.

  The silence was awkward—just what they didn’t need.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I was overstepping.” She was babbling and couldn’t help the terse head shake and eye roll that followed her lame apology. The put up or shut up comment might have been a road too far. “I’ll behave.”

  She didn’t know why she said that—it was so unlike her. But aware of the many curious eyes observing them, she was reminded that they were there for a reason and that they were playing parts.

  Edward surprised her by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against his warm body.

  “Like hell you will, Paige Turner. I don’t want you to behave, and you weren’t overstepping, babe. Just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  Her eyes darted around the patio. The way he was holding her left little to the imagination as far as the nature of their relationship was concerned.

  “And we’re not putting on a show.” He said it like the notion was an insult.

  She sighed and patted his chest. When he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face, it was a struggle not to get lost in his startling blue-eyed gaze.

  “Hey,” he murmured. “This is your reminder that it’s just you and me, sweetheart. Remember?”

  She did. Hearing him call her sweetheart, though, completely wiped her brain of coherent thought. All the looky-loos watching them so closely might be getting an eyeful of super-sexy Gideon Shaw, but she’d just experienced a new side to Edward Banning.

  Damn. She liked being his sweetheart. Nobody had ever called her that before.

  Gently releasing her, he teased, “And don’t go making up lists of ground rules. That’d be like working from a script.””

  She looked at him shocked. Was he reading her mind because she’d just thought that maybe they should have come up with some guidelines before jumping into the breach unprepared.

  He pushed her in the direction of the ladies’ room. “You go freshen up, and I’ll have coffee and dessert at the table when you get back.”

  Dessert? She could do dessert. “See if there’s ice cream. Vanilla is fine.”

  His knowing smirk was all kinds of cute. Oh, my god, really? He’d even noticed her recent descent into ice-cream purgatory? Oy.

  It seemed like overkill to haul the enorm
ous bag for a trip to the ladies’ when she didn’t carry anything in it, so she left it and set off to find the bathroom. Almost the second she stepped away from their table, a waiter appeared with some helpful directions to get her moving in the right direction.

  Her mind overflowing with thoughts of Edward and her, Paige ambled along in her usual loose-limbed way. When her eyes caught a couple who were balls-out pointing at her as they huddled together talking, she winced.

  She was on display. She hated being on display. Instantly transforming herself, Paige slowed her walk, squared her shoulders, and rocked along on her undeniably sexy shoes. Considering what she was getting into, it occurred to her that she had better get used to the scrutiny.

  With dozens of eyes on her judging and gossiping, she headed straight for the privacy of the restroom, hoping with each step that she didn’t wobble or fall flat on her face.

  “Thank god,” she murmured once she was alone in the bathroom. Giving her reflection half a glance in a large mirror, Paige opted for one of the water closets in the corner and closed herself in the stall.

  She really did need to pee and quickly relieved her poor bladder. They’d been drinking Sapporo nonstop since they sat down, and while Edward had slowed down because he was driving, she’d been having a high old time. There was nothing like a cold beer and some melt-in-your-mouth sushi. Complemented the wasabi and ginger flavors. Her favorite.

  Maybe it was her buzz or maybe it was the interference of that pesky librarian part of her personality … she couldn’t be sure, but she was certain that she wanted this show and tell part of the evening to be over so they could go back to being who they really were.

  And then she intended to jump his bones.

  Whoooa. What? Jump his bones? “Oh, my god,” she groaned quietly, her head shaking in denial. She wasn’t sure if that was the alcohol or her libido talking.

  The door whooshed open and shut, and right away, voices filled the room. Damn. Other people. Paige didn’t want to stumble out and put up with anyone gawking at her, so she stayed put, perched sideways on the closed toilet, and waited them out.

  “I swear if he calls me his baby girl one more time, I’m going to throat punch him. Honestly.”

  Hmph. “Make sure you get paid first and remember, any number followed by four zeroes is going to come along with an ass-load of stupid comments. Ignore it, blow him in the limo, fuck him in the pool, he signs the check, and you’re out … baby girl.”

  Oh, my god. Was this really happening? Paige couldn’t believe what she was overhearing. From the sound of it, the two women were veterans of the pay-for-pussy squad. Just … great.

  “Shut up, Vanessa. I can’t believe I have to put out for that old jerk. I get that he’s Hollywood royalty and all, but what the fuck with the obnoxious laugh. And to think, we used to love his movies. Ugh.”

  “Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. One week with Mr. Hollywood and your rent and car payments for a whole fucking year are paid. Stop your whining.”

  Paige heard the sound of running water then what sounded like someone dumping an entire purse on the table. Having heard quite enough, she wished they’d hurry up and be gone before anyone gave any actual names.

  “Well,” the complaining stranger cooed in a completely different tone than the harsh one she’d been using, “it’s not that I mind. Not really. I mean the guy has a barrel of boner pills and has been quite the old-school gentleman, making sure I get off, too. But …”

  More running water and a few hushed giggles.

  “I’d much rather have that gorgeous hunk of Gideon Shaw man meat handing me a check. Did you see him, Chloe? Holy Christ that man is hot.”

  Laughter rang out.

  “Yeah, I saw him. Are you kidding? The guy reeks of testosterone.”

  Paige froze. Gideon Shaw man meat? Testosterone? Her heart started to beat harder. Sudden warmth rushed into her head, and she swore the walls and floor wobbled.

  A heavy, cloying scent invaded her senses, and she clapped a hand loosely over her mouth and nose to block the disgusting smell. Really? Who used that much perfume? Argh. Blech.

  The mumbling from the two women made Paige strain to hear what they were saying. Then they started talking louder, and goddammit, what an earful she got.

  “But what the hell with that stick figure he brought out? I’d like to bitch-punt that little nobody and show Mr. Big Stuff a very good time.”

  The two tittered while Paige’s teeth ground.

  “Do you know who she is? Never seen that one before. I’d remember some itty-bitty tittie cardboard cutout in the mix, and she def isn’t a model. Not with that walk. Jeez,” the woman snickered, “first time in heels?”

  Paige silently gasped, outraged. Itty-bitty titties? What a fucking bitch. There was nothing wrong with her boobage. Just because she hadn’t installed made-to-order lady lumps did not mean she was lacking. Some people, like her—like things natural. Real. That overused twat went too far, she fumed, ready to leap from the water closet and smack whoever was leading the insult barrage.

  "Well," the other sniffed to highlight her response, “whoever she is, he’s making a damn fool of himself, right? I mean, the suit’s a nice touch, but this is Malibu, for Christ’s sake. He looks like he’s meeting with a bank’s loan officer—hardly date wear.”

  “Maybe she’s his accountant.” Their snorts of mocking amusement showed what they thought of the bean counters who managed the cash flow.

  “It’s a shame that grade A prime meat stick has to go slumming for ass. Miss Prissy Pants doesn’t look like she could handle what Gideon Shaw is packing.”

  “Oooh, baby girl … Shaw Me the Way.”

  As raucous laughter filled the space, Paige cringed in private. Feeling like a quickly deflated balloon, she slumped and fought for composure. Any other time she would have laughed off their catty comments. Wouldn’t she? What was different about tonight? Was it because she was playing the part of Gideon’s date or because she was out with her best friend. A best friend with whom she was unexpectedly involved?

  Wounded, she was tempted to give the two strangers a piece of her feminist-swayed mind. The only thing stopping her was Paige’s deep disdain for public scenes. She loathed all the table-flipping, drink-throwing, foul-mouthed antics that dominated every news cycle. Anything for attention was not how she rolled.

  Several long minutes later, she was finally on her way back to their table. Walking a straight line with blinders on, she was determined not to let the inquisitive stares and whispered commentary from complete strangers get into her head.

  Edward rose the second she stepped into view, his happy smile immediately replaced by a questioning frown. By the time she'd stomped to her seat, his frown was a cross scowl.

  “What’s wrong,” he demanded. The way he was scrutinizing her every move and expression went a long way to calming her ruffled feathers. His concern was real. A tiny jolt struck her nerves. Hidden inside their performance was a truth no one could ever imagine. The realization was just the reminder she needed.

  Screw those bitchy dick-riders. A week ago, she’d have given her eyeteeth to be where she was right now. On a date. With Edward. Fuck the haters. She was Paige Marie Turner, goddammit, and she had a fuck-you-very-much degree from Cornell University. She owed no one, except maybe the guy next to her, an explanation about anything, and as far as she was concerned, all the Hollywood haters could feel free to blow her anytime.

  Straightforward or fuck off, right?

  Paige softened. She settled into the sofa, crossed her legs, and leaned closer to her companion. He wore the fierce scowl and his eyes were darting around, searching for someone or something to annihilate. He wasn’t stupid. The second she sat down, he’d known she was pissed.

  Wetting her lips, she scooted even closer and offered up a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

  The mockingly arched brow, she was used to. Edward did adorable skepticism with quite the actor’s flair. But w
hen you put the comical expression on a face sporting some serious scruff under a mop of hair that was more than a bit out of hand with lips that tasted like sin set in a knowing grin, you got yourself a four-alarm thong-on-fire blaze.

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

  She offered a flash of a smirk and smacked him on the arm. “Put the death rays away. I’m not a distressed damsel and can take care of myself.”

  “What does that mean? Did someone say something to you?” He whirled around and scanned the room.

  “Hey,” she murmured. “I’m fine.” Sending her fingers on a scouting mission, she ran them down his tie and grinned. “Better than fine, actually.”

  The moment she touched him, the contact circumvented whatever else had been flying around in his head. He turned back and angled toward her, his head lowered as he watched what her fingers were doing.

  “Mmm, I like this tie.” Paige had a long-standing love-hate relationship with men’s neckwear. Watching a breaking news story on TV, her first reaction was often to the anchor’s tie. It wasn’t uncommon for her to dislike a person on sight if their tie rubbed her the wrong way.

  “You gave it to me.”

  Indeed, she had. An impulse buy that she insisted made his eyes even bluer—if that was possible. It made her freakishly giddy that he remembered.

  Using the excuse of admiring the tie, she pressed her fingers against his muscled chest, making a tactile map in her mind.

  “Why did you wear a suit tonight?” she asked because she was genuinely intrigued by what his answer would be. Had he been dressed, as she had been? Was someone else calling their wardrobe shots?

  “My suit?” He looked confused. “You like it, right?”

  Oh, right. She almost forgot. Gideon was a dress-up doll, but Edward was a clueless, insecure mess where clothes were concerned.

  Feeling flirty, she dipped a shoulder his way and murmured in a throaty growl, “Grrrr, Mr. Shaw. I like the suit and tie thing very much.”

  He grinned, and she relaxed. “Oh, well good then because some asshole named Banning picked it out. And I wore a suit because my mama done taught me right.”