The Gideon Affair

“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 a

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 when 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 sca

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

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 gri

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 di

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 fla

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 fla

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.”