The Gideon Affair

And that was where she’d first encountered Gideon; only he wasn’t called that at the time.

There was nothing more enjoyable than yanking Paige’s chain.

Hmm. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. He also enjoyed animal videos. The fu

But when it came to fucking with Paige? Practically his favorite pastime.

He knew she was somewhere in his trailer the second the door flew open and the unmistakable scent of soap and mint filled the air. Those two things had made an impression on him the very first time he’d ever spoken to her.

The years since had been a whirlwind, but she’d stuck by his side. Over time, as their relationship had deepened, she became his closest friend and ally. In a town where your entourage mattered, his consisted of an enigmatic country girl with a fancy degree who made others green with envy. Never without an endless supply of Wintergreen Breathsavers stuffed in every pocket, bag, and center console, she was his most trusted assistant … and the only person besides his family who knew the real man behind the movie star image.

Oh, yeah. And Caro was part of the entourage, only she didn’t actually know him. Her part in his crazy world was as someone with absolute integrity who willingly took a blood oath to serve him faithfully all the days of her life and essentially be his number one groupie. He wasn’t so full of himself that he didn’t recognize the charity of her adoration, always making sure to consider her feelings and talents.

He might be the one in the spotlight, but he knew that Paige was the real star. Her drive and the fact that she had more in the way of balls than half the people he knew had done more to shape his movie career than his acting had.

After six years of working side by side, Paige and he were a formidable duo. During that time, he went from being a pool guy to earning insane sums of money for taking off his shirt, playing bang-bang shoot ‘em up, and nailing his sexy leading lady co-star. She easily finished his sentences, diplomatically dismissed a bedmate five minutes past her welcome, and micromanaged his agent without the crazed dynamo realizing she was playing him. He also asked her to weigh in on every project passed his way.

Paige Turner was unique, and no, he didn’t hesitate to chuckle at her ironic sounding name. Thank god she was eye-rollingly used to it.

She was also indispensable, and that should have been the end of it if for no reason other than that the woman worked for him. The thing was, though, that he was more than just a little in lust with her. Not that she knew it, of course.

Maybe that was why it was such fun messing with her at every opportunity. If he couldn’t have her naked and dripping with arousal—pi

He was a visual kind of a guy. Instead of reading directions, he preferred to see a picture of the end product. Picking simple paint colors required a half a dozen samples for him to consider, one by one. When choosing a part, it wasn’t unusual for him to meditate visually. It was just his way; so, basically, he eyeballed his assistant morning, noon, and night because she was a vision worth getting lost in.

As Caro driveled on about ice cream and who the fuck knows what else, he slapped an expression of faux interest on his face when really, he was watching Paige’s every move.

She’d moved to the far side of the long trailer standing with her back to them as she flipped through the impressive satellite entertainment system in his luxe Star Waggon. He had to admit that the sleek, modern on-set home that Paige insisted be part of his contract was remarkable. It was a far cry from the Triple Banger that he and two other actors had squeezed into when he’d started out. Yeesh, he remembered that those things were little more than holding pens. As he took the plate Carolyn pressed into his hands, he settled against the edge of the counter and absently picked at the frozen treat while Paige’s pink-haired assistant talked nonstop. He was okay with the steady stream of twaddle; it gave him the chance to study the backside of the woman across the room who was deliberately ignoring him.

Having no useable knowledge of women’s fashion besides the ability to differentiate between pants and a dress, he studied Paige’s outfit. It was fine, he guessed. I mean, what the fuck did he know? One of the best goddamn perks of being a movie star was the endless parade of wardrobe, stylist, and makeup pros who maintained the Gideon Shaw mystique. And a good thing, too.

Four years in military issue uniforms had wiped out whatever slim sense of fashion or presentable grooming he’d acquired before that time, something his mother would happily confirm. That shitty war burned all that nonsense right the hell out of him. Something about motherfuckers trying to blow your ass up morning, noon, and night didn’t leave room for worrying about what shirt went with which pants.

This did not however mean that he couldn’t appreciate a well-dressed woman.

In a style best described as an original from the Don’t-Give-a-Fuck-Because-I’ll-Goddamn-Wear-What-I-Want collection, her top was a plain blue and white striped button shirt that was boring as fuck. It was an effect he knew was intentional on her part. Rolling the sleeves to just below her elbows gave the outfit a casual air. So did the multiple bracelets and bangles on each arm.

Even though her back was to him, he knew that around her neck, just barely visible in the open neckline of the shirt, was a silver ball necklace. A birthday gift from him; some Tiffany thing he knew she’d like almost as much as he liked giving her that distinctive blue box. A first for him.

Inhaling sharply, the sinfully delicious ice-cream treat slid onto his tongue with a burst of cold chocolate. His gaze landed on Paige’s beautiful hair. Tamed by a simple headband, the equally decadent blend of chocolate browns and sunlit golds that curled the ends fell in a haphazard tumble across her shoulders to the middle of her back. Long hair was something he liked very much, and as he quietly contemplated hers, his fingers itched to reach out and touch. Explore its texture. See if the lovely curls were as soft as he imagined.

The high-waist blue skirt, which thankfully stopped a couple of inches above her knees, was one of those slightly gathered things that’d flare out if he were to suddenly twirl her around. Several inches of waistband accentuated her lean, lithe shape and from behind? Holy god. Not for the first or last time, he fantasized about coming up on her just like she was now; bending her over the back of the sofa so he could push her skirt up to reveal her bottom.

He’d make her part her long legs in those sexy red suede heels and then, well … and then he’d do something that would destroy the only real relationship he’d allowed in more years than he wanted to remember.

Shit. Had he muttered that last bit out loud?

Paige slowly turned and looked his way, a deadpan expression on her otherwise sweet face. Then she glanced at Carolyn, and for a second, the coolness he associated with her slipped a little.

Spooning a gooey mound of sugary crap into his mouth, he quietly sighed. That look on her face was something he’d come to recognize—and it fucking bothered him. This was where his two lives crashed headlong into each other.