The Gideon Affair (2 page)

She’d been hard pressed not to fall to her knees and sing out “Hallelujah” when she got a firsthand look at the magnificent body he'd been blessed with. The only thing she’d never seen happened to quite literally be just the ol’ cock and balls.

But the rest of that remarkably sexy ink? It flowed across his hip, edging close to the seam where thigh met torso before ending perilously close to what the annoying cock sock covered. She’d never know if it went further.

With that randy memory thoroughly rattling her composure, Paige tidied a tendril of hair that had escaped her hairband and put some real effort into appearing unmoved by his display.

“Who’s got a lighter?” Carolyn chirped excitedly.

The helium-filled bouquet with the obnoxiously large
Over-the-Hill at 30
center balloon mocked the occasion. It was his thirty-second, but in Hollywood, the longer you believably stayed in the younger demographic, the harder your agent’s dick was. Paige wouldn’t know, but Gideon certainly did. It was his quote, after all.

Snatching a promo lighter from a pile of swag the studio had sent over, he tossed it across the room barking, “Catch,” with a teasing chuckle.

Carolyn snagged it with one hand and absolutely no effort. According to her résumé, she’d been co-captain of the girls’ softball team in high school. It showed.

Applauding, their birthday boss heartily declared, “You‘re trying out for the studio team, Caro. And no whining! We need to beat those special effects guys this year.”

With a grumpy smirk in Paige’s knowing direction, he drawled, “Sick of having to salute every time one of ‘em walks by.”

She snorted loudly, unable to stop the rude noise because, after all, that part of winning the championship was amusing. The team that came out on top after a winner-takes-all three-game series walked away with sports glory, a hideous trophy, and the opportunity to bestow a penalty on the losing team. Nothing too outrageous, usually just a small dig that scoffed at the second-place status. The salute was minor compared to the stunts from previous winners.

Waving a red flag opportunity at her hopelessly starstruck assistant to hang out with their boss after work hours was a recipe for disaster, but Paige bit her tongue rather than pop the girl’s happiness balloon.

“Dibs on center field!” Carolyn hooted. “Suh-wing, right up the middle, straight for my magic glove.”

Paige sighed, her brows snapping together. Shoot. Was the girl ridiculously infatuated? Hmm. She had to stay on top of this situation—make sure it didn’t get ugly. Carolyn was a key member of Team Shaw. Paige could only realistically do so many things in a day. Without a competent assistant she could trust, her work life would be hell.

There was only one small complication with her reasoning, and that was Gideon himself. Paige’s primary function as his personal assistant was to support the phenomenon that was Gideon Shaw.

After a meteoric rise through a brutal industry and having starred in several blockbusters, he was the latest mega-action star and designated sexiest man. His two most recent roles, both highly successful romantic comedies, effectively silenced a chorus of naysayers and critics. Overnight, he became a romantic lead with huge dollar signs above his head.

Bottom line—they worked for a man who all the guys wanted to be, and every woman wanted to sleep with. Perfect.

It was natural that Caroline would have stars in her eyes. She was twenty-one years old and new to Tinseltown. Paige remembered what that was like. She’d been just twenty-two when she’d first arrived, but not as a starstruck kid.

In her case, she’d been at the jumping off point in a promise she’d made to herself. She’d decided that after graduation, she’d take a year to try something different. After acing four rigorous years at Cornell University, she walked away with a management degree that positioned her incredibly well for almost any industry. She had chosen courses to hone her skills in leadership, human resources, business law, entrepreneurship, and even intercultural-global business communication. She could mobilize resources like a queen bitch. In short, thanks to an incredibly expensive education, she, Paige Marie Turner from a little redneck mud fest in the boondocks, was set to tackle anything thrown her way.

With her parents’ blessing, she emptied her dorm room, packed everything she could into her aging Nissan, and, within thirty-six hours of taking off her cap and gown, was MapQuesting her way west. All the way west. To Los Angeles, California. The City of Angels—with no idea what was next for her.

She enjoyed thinking back on those early days. Back when all that she took for granted today was new and exciting. A planner by nature, Paige disliked flying by the seat of her pants, so she gave herself ten days to freak out and act like a typical tourist. Get it out of her system so she could concentrate on the work before her—finding a job and a new life.

Managing on a shoestring budget in the outrageously expensive town presented endless challenges but luck had been on her side. She'd been in the right place at the right time to land a studio apartment in the Valley that she rented on the cheap.

God, she had loved that apartment. Situated on the top floor of a two-story complex shaped like a crooked U, her front window had looked out over the pool in the courtyard and the bougainvillea and palm tree-lined driveway. To Paige, it had been a slice of heaven.

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

T
here was nothing more enjoyable than yanking Paige’s chain.

Hmm. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. He also enjoyed animal videos. The funnier, the better. His all-time favorites were of a smiling kitten sliding on its back across a polished floor. And another of a huge Great Dane, who must’ve thought he was the size of a handbag, trying to squeeze into a child’s car seat. That shit never failed to make him laugh.

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—pinned to a bed by his dick while she cried out his name—he’d find his release in other ways. Jacking her up for the hell of it then jumping feet first into her reaction and holding on for a wild ride was always a good time.

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.

Edward Banning was no more Gideon Shaw than the gaffers walking by outside. He’d thought that by creating a persona from scratch, he’d protect his personal life from celebrity scrutiny. And for the most part, that had been true.