Текст книги "The Gideon Affair"

Автор книги: Suzanne Halliday

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

As much as Edward was enjoying the curious give-and-take from the two other people in the room, the real focus of his attention was on Paige. After their long years together, he’d come to expect the calm, focused, self-confident way she had about her. It was her thing. Sometimes, she was so quietly dynamic that he’d stop and marvel at her poise in the midst of a tense situation. Those qualities were what made her a top-notch assistant.

But right this very moment, even with her cool self-control on display, he sensed the storm at work inside her. She was just putting on a good show. For Mickey and Moira—but not for him. Nope. For him, she made no attempt to hide her bewilderment, and like him, in the last surreal few hours, she’d been all over the map emotionally.

Good god. He’d asked her to marry him. And fuck … he’d meant it, the asking. When the moment came, nothing had ever seemed so right. But he’d fucked up by letting the Gideon situation force his hand.

Shit.

He saw her repeatedly search the folds of her skirt; only she never produced the roll of mints he knew she reached for. Paige didn’t have a lot of nervous tells—those little habits that give a person’s inner life away. But the mints? Sometimes they were all that stood between her and a major freak-out.

Ignoring the bizarre performance his agent and Moira were putting on, he moved closer to Paige and put his arm around her waist. He’d meant the gesture to convey comfort but the minute he got close enough to inhale her scent, he was fucked.

“Edward,” she whispered, not showing any resistance to his proprietary hold. “Are we in some alternate universe? When did M become so … normal?”

His answering smile felt good on his face. “I know, right?”

They both watched silently for another minute, and then Paige turned in his hold and met his gaze. Her face appeared passive, but her eyes told a much different story.

“Is this really what you want?”

Ah, god. How could he explain?

Yeah, marrying her was exactly what he wanted. Go figure, but once clarity had entered the picture, he became too emotional to let the idea go. But he also knew that doing it this way was not fair to Paige. Instead of having some romantic lovey-dovey bride moment, she was being fast-marched to the altar in what was essentially a business move.

Edward wanted a chance to explain himself, but things were moving way too fast and they weren’t alone. Plus, though they were whispering, the two Ms across the room were staring at them intently as though they’d heard her question and had read his thoughts.

“You know what?” Moira interjected. “Why don’t we all have a seat? There are things to discuss, and now that the introductions are out of the way, I believe we should get down to business. While we trade quips, the Internet is blowing up with malicious gossip that needs to be put down. Immediately.”

Steering Paige to a chair, he held it out and waited till she was comfortably seated before pulling a chair for himself that he placed right next to hers. He noticed that her hand was trembling when she sat and tucked in the ends of her skirt.

Mickey commandeered the entire end of the rectangular table, draping his suit jacket over a nearby chair, and immediately working his phone the minute everyone was seated. Edward wondered who he was texting while they sat around and discussed not only his future, but also Paige’s part in the way they’d decided to go forward. The guy took multitasking to new heights.

As Moira launched into her spiel, he had a moment of sheer panic and feared Paige wouldn’t want any part of this insanity. He worried she might even bolt from the meeting.

“This is a small town,” the venerable woman began. “When people fuck up, the insider community closes ranks. Managing and containing the inevitable shit and blowback is essential to keep the shine on Tinseltown. No tarnish allowed.”

Mickey grunted his agreement but kept up with the speedy texting.

“I think people overlooked Joann’s … activities … because she’s generally regarded as batshit crazy and vindictive as fuck.”

“Don’t gloss over what she’s trying to pull, Mo.”

Edward took note of the anger in Mickey’s voice.

Moira turned all of her attention on Paige, who squirmed in her seat.

After giving Mickey a side-glance that screamed zip it, she softened her tone. “My dear, I know this is a lot to take on, but you’re a sensible girl. We could try to put this fire out, but believe me,” Moira snipped, “it’ll just keep coming back unless we throw a tsunami at it. And to do that, we need something that will make a fool of Joann and give the upper hand to Team Shaw.”

She paused like a stage actress who was building a scene’s momentum with just dialogue.

“Short of some unimpeachable dick pics,” she snickered, “the next best thing is a romance.”

Paige sat back and stared at the woman. Edward held his breath, wondering what she’d say.

“A marriage is out of the question,” his no-nonsense assistant bit out. “I am not chattel.”

“Oh, my dear!” Moira chortled gleefully. “How wonderful that you know the word and how to use it in a sentence.” Looking directly at him, she added, “Is Mensa mentioned on her résumé?”

Mickey thought this was hilariously funny because he stopped what he was doing and barked with laughter. “My solnyshko moya is no idiot.”

“You’re much more valuable than mere chattel, my dear,” Moira drawled, sounding impressed.

“Yes, well,” Paige sniffed with a stern frown, “I’m also not stupid about how this town works. I get the whole ‘deflect their attention with a romance thing’ but why does that have to include marriage?”

“Paige,” Edward started, “let’s just …”

“No, Edward. There’s no just.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. “Resistance? My goodness. Don’t suppose you have another, more willing assistant—do you, Gideon?”

Shit. Calling him by his professional name was Moira’s way of getting him to pay attention. Another assistant? He thought of Caro and imagined her wrapped around him like an adoring clinging vine should he ask this same scenario of her. He snorted at the notion of the inevitable Saturday Night Live sketch.

A thick haze of tension gathered and began to spread through the room. Whatever happened next was all on him.

“Let me make something clear to both of you,” he drawled.

Mickey looked up. Moira went still. Paige turned and stared at him.

“Paige and I have a real relationship. She’s not here as my assistant and nothing happens without her complete consent.”

Dammit. He needed to talk to her. Alone. This bullshit wasn’t working for him. At all.

In the next instant, the door to the conference room flew open. He expected to see a puff of smoke that would clear and reveal an evil queen or at the very least some flying monkeys. Instead, the presence of none other than Mrs. Mikhail Klein filled the doorframe.

Holy fuckballs. Shirley was here. This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

Moving quickly, she went to her husband and put a hand on his shoulder so he’d sit back down, then turned to give a scathing up and down of the woman openly smirking at her.

“Mo,” Shirley cooed, only her tone suggested something not-so-subtly dismissive. “Who moved the rock and let you out? I thought you were … adverse … to appearing during the daylight hours.”

Edward bit back a laugh. Mickey did too judging by his quick throat clear. Paige? Not so much.

“Shirls,” Moira answered as she picked some imaginary lint from her dress. “I’m surprised you can still walk after laboring under that blob you married.”

Uh-oh. That sounded an awful lot like a burn.

Next thing he knew, both women started laughing and flew to each other for a fierce hug.

“You bitch,” Moira drawled.

“Takes one to know one,” Shirley answered pithily.

Then, some weird Ya-Ya type shit went down with both women reciting a bunch of words and making a series of gestures. His acting experiences and the different movies he’d had a role in offered a great deal of insight into how women’s relationships worked. Just because, as a guy, he didn’t understand half of what they were doing didn’t mean it wasn’t meaningful to them.

When they were finished and back to laughing, they stood arm in arm and faced the three of them.

Mickey muttered, “Sorority bullshit,” in answer to the silent questions swirling in the air.

Shirley pushed Moira into a chair and then immediately turned to Paige.

“We need to talk, sweetie.”

It was a statement, not a request. Mickey swiftly rose to his feet and gestured for Edward to get in line and follow him out of the room.

“Wait a minute,” he mumbled. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t leave Paige.

The lady herself settled his quandary with a curt nod and a fake, tremulous smile. “Go on. Let me talk to Moira and Shirley.”

“Are you sure, babe?” he asked. “I think I should stay.”

He eyed everyone with suspicion though he knew no harm would come to Paige or him by any of these people.

“Come on, my boy,” Mickey commanded as he made for the door. “It’s three against two so we might as well back away while we still have our dignity.”

What a day. In the annals of weird times, this one would go down as one of the most bizarre.

A soft drizzle of steamy water from the wide showerhead rained down on Paige. She was kind of engaged. To Gideon Shaw. Or was it Edward Banning? She wasn’t entirely sure.

After putting her foot down, she let Moira and Shirley know that an engagement, plenty of dinners out on the town, and shopping at the Grove where the paps could photograph them together was all she was willing to allow. For now.

The two women tried to change her mind, insisting that an elopement would shut the gossip stream in half without any effort, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

The blending of her personal feelings and professional activities was seriously messed up. She’d barely had time to absorb the change in her real relationship with Edward and what it could mean for the future before this other thing seriously blurred the lines.

Shit. The last thing she needed was Robin Thicke invading her mind with an earworm.

Distracted, she’d poured way too much of her favorite bodywash onto her shower pouf before she realized what she was doing.

Aargh. This whole thing sucked. Big time.

As the calming scents of vanilla with a hint of coconut filled the shower, Paige worked up a ton of foamy lather, stroking the pouf from shoulder to shoulder and around her breasts. Breasts that had been achingly tight since the moment Edward had locked eyes with her and suggested she marry him. Like for real or something.

Throughout the entire afternoon as everyone around them had plotted, arranged, organized, and once or twice even threatened, she’d felt Edward’s watchful scrutiny.

Okay, so maybe watchful was an understatement. While Moira and Shirley took over her life and Mickey worked the phone and did what he did, Edward had said next to nothing. He’d been too busy to talk. Too damn busy studying her like a bug under a microscope.

Had the attention freaked her out? Maybe a little. What was rattling her cage was the overwhelming feeling that she was his priority. Not his career and not this damnable predicament.

He’d always been her priority. Always. This was the first time she felt that focused intensity the other way around.

An involuntary, low-pitched moan—was that her making such a raw sound—shook her up when the sudsy pouf stroked near her mound.

Fuck.

She was ridiculously on edge and ready to jump out of her skin, sexual tension gripping her body.

Right then and there, the relaxing shower became a test of her will. Hurriedly finishing, she rinsed off and wrapped up in a huge towel, moving about on autopilot, as she got ready for the evening ahead.

Mickey had been truly amazing and the one to apply the brakes and slow down the speeding bullet train overtaking her life. He’d told them that like everyone else in town, the self-proclaimed Blog King, even the guy who interviewed Gideon, just really wanted a chip in the game. A seat at the big boy’s table.

Give the shitheads what they wanted, he’d argued. The best way to shut ‘em the fuck up, he’d insisted.

Despite the fact that the situation was a complete shit show, in the end, it wasn’t about Gideon Shaw. He’d been dragged into the mess as a distraction. If they played things right, their plan to shut down the chatter with a carefully orchestrated sideshow—starring her—would detour the media attention and give them time to frame the story to their advantage.

The doorbell chimed. Shit. She wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot but of goddamn course, Edward would be punctual. And then some.

Running to the door, Paige flipped the lock after peeking through the blinds, shouted, “It’s open!” then started to dash back to the bedroom.

“Whoa,” Edward chuckled after stepping through the door.

Dammit. He’d caught her in mid-flee. Aargh.

“Next time cover up with something bigger than a hand towel.”

Amusement and a hint of something else laced his drawl.

Hurrying to the safety of her room, she tossed a reply over her shoulder, “Next time text before knocking.”

His laughter filled her small house. “Hey,” he yelled after her. “Can I do anything for you, babe?”

“Yeah,” she hollered from behind her half-closed bedroom door. “Write me a goddamn bonus check.”

Edward’s low chuckle gave her goosebumps. Dressing as fast as she could, Paige heard the TV turn on and relaxed. Thank god, he found something to do.

There was no hope of fixing her hair; the steam shower made it an unruly mop, so she gathered it into a sloppy but chic upsweep and stuck a clip in to keep it in place.

Ordinarily, putting on her face took less than five minutes. Moisturizer, sunscreen, and a swipe of mascara usually did it, but tonight, she would be on display, so she needed more.

Waaaait a minute. Why in the hell am I hurrying? Pfft. Mr. Back-Me-Into-A-Corner could cool his jets. No use in me working myself to an anxiety attack for no damn reason.

Twenty minutes later, Paige was in front of the mirror and wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself involved in.

“Ah, jeez,” she groaned aloud. “I’m gonna murder Shirley.”

The outfit hand delivered by a high-end personal shopper without any input from her was so not her usual style.

Preferring a conservative but feminine and funky edge to her clothing, the short, slinky little black dress was light years away from anything she’d choose. Or feel comfortable in.

Having her hair piled atop her head left Paige’s neck and shoulders exposed, and she toyed with the idea of releasing the tangled mess. “Grrrr.” Nope, no duck and cover for her tonight.

The draping neckline and long sleeves seemed modest enough, but the damn dress clung to her like a second skin, stopping several inches above her knees. From there, it was quite a haul down her long bare legs.

And then there were the shoes.

She sighed and studied her reflection. Turning this way and that, she checked out the outrageous footwear from every conceivable angle. Posing like a runway model, Paige had to give it up for the stylish sandals with the wide leather ankle straps and satin ribbons. They were bangin’ and had overkill heels that made her legs appear even longer.

She looked like … she didn’t know what. Feeling like an alien in unfamiliar circumstances, she grabbed a couple of her favorite chunky bracelets for reassurance.

“Well, no more delay.” She’d signed on for this madness, and there was nothing to do now but see it through.

Grabbing the enormous designer bag, she squared her shoulders. “Remember who you are,” she said with determination.

Showtime.

“And the survey says … bananas!” Wild applause and game show music caught Edward’s attention. Good thing too, ‘cause he’d been drifting.

Catching Paige in a sorry excuse for a towel had shot his just be cool plan straight to hell. It was her ridiculous legs. The damn things needed a warning label.

“Ahem.”

His head swiveled toward the sound. Mother of God. He was a dead man.

“I’m ready.”

Ready for what? To be thrown on the sofa and eaten alive? Calculating how fast he could get those mouth-watering limbs over his shoulders had momentarily distracted him.

She shifted from foot to foot. Was she nervous? God, he hoped so because all of a sudden he felt like a pimply teenager with braces on his teeth and a crappy strip mall haircut getting all moony over the homecoming queen.

It wasn’t at all normal for them to feel weird around each other. Worry pierced Edward’s brain. Balls. Screwing with their friendship wasn’t worth it if this crazy plan ruined what was starting to bloom.

“Shit,” Paige muttered darkly. “I look stupid, don’t I? It’s all right. You can tell me.” Her full-body shrug made a lie of the nonchalance she was projecting. “Shirley got carried away, huh?”

Edward swallowed and tried to find his voice. And his balls.

She tugged at the hem of the seductive dress and frowned. “I’ll change. Just give me five.”

Huh? “You’ll do no such thing.”

She tensed and looked at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

“You look fucking amazing, babe,” he assured her while rising from his chair.

A half-smile played around her lips.

“Tell you what,” he quipped with a chuckle. “You wear those shoes more often, and I’ll double that bonus check.”

“Such a guy,” she joshed, but he saw the pleasure in her eyes before she looked away.

“What the hell with the suitcase, though,” he joked in return. “Is there a purpose for such a huge bag?”

Paige held up the enormous leather purse and laughed. “I know, right? Since I don’t want a purse-puppy to carry around, it’s okay with me if you stash a six pack of cold ones in here.”

He approached and pointed at the accessory that he figured was worth thousands of dollars. “Seriously, what do you carry in a bag that size?”

She opened it, and they both stared down into the black hole. “I have no idea,” she drawled. “Tossed my wallet in and my cell. That’s what’s rattling at the bottom. Whadayathink?” she questioned in all seriousness.

Pure Paige. Of course, she’d search for meaning in a designer handbag.

A hilarious thought occurred to him. “Hey, did you ever sneak candy and sodas into the movie theater when you were a kid?”

“Hehehe! Of course. Was a rite of passage in Dog Patch USA.”

Good comeback. She was a great conversationalist.

“Yeah, well, with this bag, you could stock up and make serious dollars cutting out the concession stand. Paige’s Purse.” He laughed.

It was good to laugh with her. Sharing their appreciation of the absurd was so Edward and Paige, and the thought warmed him. Edward and Paige. Yep, totally worked for him.

“Shall we go?” she asked. “I’m assuming the press has been tipped off?”

Oh. Right. The press. It was time for the Gideon Show with Paige as his latest arm candy. Fuck. Navigating this shit wasn’t easy. How was he supposed to explore his feelings for this intriguing woman when this dinner date felt as fake as a movie set?

“Paige,” he murmured, taking the bag they’d been mocking off her arm. “Come here a moment. We should talk.”

He led her to the sofa by her hand and sat them down without letting go. There were things to say—important things—that he’d be a fool to overlook.

She sighed heavily and flopped down like a ragdoll, all gangly legs and waving arms. Before he got a single word out, she hurriedly blurted, “Nobody’s going to believe this, you know.”

That was where she was wrong. This charade that wasn’t said more about him than any carefully crafted press release ever could. Maybe Gideon Shaw was a pussy magnet with an overactive libido, but he was a different sort of animal. Edward craved what his parents had. A loving marriage with a partner who challenged and supported. Who knew the meaning of family and the importance of commitment.

“Honey,” he assured her with a squeeze of her hand, “one look at your legs in that dress and all the bullshitters will shut the fuck up.”

She looked at him skeptically.

“And we have a secret weapon, babe. Something I bet you never thought would come in handy.”

“What’s that?”

“Caro,” he drawled. Looking at his watch, he rolled his eyes and grinned. “Mickey called her. Said he had an important assignment that only she could handle. About half an hour ago, the first leak referring to our secret romance will find a way onto every social media feed in North America. By tomorrow night, your pink ball of fluff assistant will be ‘caught’ out, probably at the Grove, when she’ll spill the beans with firsthand info.”

“Oh.” She seemed perplexed and not at all convinced. “So she knows this is all fake?”

And there it was. The real problem. Fake, my aunt Bessie’s ass.

Edward brought her hand to his mouth. Kissing her knuckles, he shook his head and made her look at him. “No, Paige. This isn’t fake. That night at my house changed everything.”

“Edward, come on,” she groused.

“Give it up, babe. Pretending our only motivation is my career just cheapens what we know is going on.”

“It feels like cheating,” she murmured.

“Look at me.” Uh, shit. He hadn’t meant to sound like an ogre. Oops.

“Oh, no you didn’t.”

She had him. He grinned.

“Babe,” he chortled, glad for his slip because her reaction gave him more than a foot in the door. At this one moment, he was going to slip right past her defenses. “How can this be cheating if we’re close enough for you to call me on my shit? Think about it, honey. We’ve known each other a long time.”

She nodded solemnly, her eyes wide with cautious agreement.

“Saying we’re friends is the fucking understatement of all time.”

“You know this sucks, right?” She sounded peeved, but the warmth of her hand and the way she softened under his touch told him there was a lot more going on.

“It does, it does,” he murmured. Time to lighten the mood. “But you know … from a dude’s perspective—this shit is priceless.”

The arched eyebrow and pursed lips almost got her pinned to the sofa. “Do tell.”

Ha! He predicted an arm slap or shoulder shove and some stifled laughter.

“Babe,” he answered in a practiced Gideon Shaw sexy drawl. “Guys don’t get all dewy-eyed over the details. By cutting out the dating dance and going straight to an engagement, I can focus on your seduction and fuck that other shit.”

Her shriek of outraged laughter made him smile, and he hit the daily double on his prediction earning two arm slaps, a shoulder shove, and a surprise tickle attack.

They laughed and rolled around on the sofa—Paige gave as good as she got until he took the advantage when she lost her balance and managed to roll her under him. With both of her wrists extended above her head in his grip and a thigh wedged high between her legs, she was helpless to his tickling as he reduced her to shuddering wails of pleading to stop.

In her struggle to buck him off, the dress had slid up to reveal not much in the way of undies. The playful moment vanished. He looked at her. She stilled and went wide-eyed with recognition of the provocative position they were in.

Time got wonky as the kidding turned to passion. How long did they stare at one another? Hard to tell when the only thing his mind could process was Paige pinned beneath him. Her heat was burning the thigh pressed to her mound.

“This is not fake. We are not cheating. None of this sucks.”

He used his free hand to massage her breast through the slinky fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. When his thumb rubbed a hardened nipple, he groaned. And that sound she made? Fuck, it cut right through him and went straight to his groin.

“Shit.” He kissed her because he had to. Her long, lithe body fit his perfectly, allowing him to drown in the allure of her unique femininity. In a nutshell, she turned his dick to stone.

Paige was the one to slow things down and thank god for that because he’d lost it way too fast.

“E-Edward,” she groaned. “Oh, oh. Stop. Please.”

Releasing her wrists, he dropped his forehead to hers and eased off. Catching his breath was no easy task.

She put her hands into his hair and held on. “I have something to tell you.”

It was weird how with just a few words, an explosion of fear, something he’d only ever felt when he was in Iraq, could completely wipe everything else out.

Was she going to blow his world up? That was what a rejection would feel like. His true feelings for Paige were a fuck-ton more powerful than he’d previously thought. He raised his head and searched her eyes.

“I, uh … well, what I mean to say is …”

Oh, pooh. Why was she stalling? Things were moving so fast that unless she interjected some very basic truth into the proceedings, she was afraid things might quickly careen out of control.

She’d never been a bullshitter and felt no need to play word games. ‘Straightforward or fuck off’ had been her tongue-in-cheek motto ever since she could remember. This was not the time to disregard her inner voice. The one that demanded she put it all out there. She’d see how he reacted and then maybe know what to do.

“I think …” She paused and frowned. “No, that’s not right. Um, actually, I’m sure that I’m kind of in love with you. Have been for a while, too.”

She figured he’d be shocked. Or skeptical. She briefly wondered if her admission would be like throwing ice water on their ardor. Mostly, she didn’t know what to expect. This was a relationship on the supersonic fast track. Her fingers on his scalp tensed.

Edward’s gaze softened, and he slowly smiled. The smile reached his eyes, and he looked at her as if she was a long-lost masterpiece, newly discovered. What would he say? She held her breath waiting for his reaction.

Surprising her, he sat up, scooping her with him so easily she was grateful for the assist. Grabbing the hem of her dress, she grappled with pulling it over her exposed thighs, crossing her legs in a ladylike way as much as possible.

He didn’t hide that he was quite thoroughly checking her out with this thrilling half-grin that did nothing to ease the ache of want she could no longer deny.

They were side by side on the sofa, turned toward each other, his knees touching hers. It was intimate yet oddly comforting, too.

“Paige Turner,” he murmured with a deep chuckle. “I knew you were going to fuck with my head from the first time we talked.”

What the hell did that mean? “Well, you started it,” she stammered.

Edward lowered his tone and answered as if he was doing a stern voice-over. “Yes, and you finished it.”

She watched mesmerized when his hand drew lazy circles on her crossed knee. Oops, had she just whimpered?

“Those 'kind of in love with you' feelings are returned.”

Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.

He let his words sink in while doing some sexy mojo, panty-melting thing to her leg. This time, the whimper was real. So was his shit-eating grin.

Filled with a sort of electric jolt of pure, unequaled happiness, Paige arched an eyebrow at him and quipped, “How the hell did you end up with the upper hand in this? From where I’m sitting, buddy, you should be kissing my ass for putting up with your crap. Not distracting me with your sexiest man moves.”

He laughed loudly. Then, in one smooth move, he took one of her forearms and gave a short but meaningful tug that propelled her half across his legs. Her legs flailed about in a most unladylike way, and she ended up laying across his lap.

“If ass kissing is on the menu, I propose this position,” he snorted with amusement as his big hands framed her bottom.

“Edward!” she shrieked, frantically trying to back off his lap. “Don’t you dare.”

Wow. They’d always been physically playful with one another. Paige was never one to shy away from a challenge, especially one thrown down by a boy.

But this? This was new. And awfully exciting. The idea of some naked bed wrestling sounded moooost appealing.

One problem. He wasn’t just anybody. Getting intimate with Edward would change everything. For the only time in her life, she understood the fine line of emotion separating sex from making love.

“I won’t sleep with you,” she blurted clumsily before thinking it through. Damn. Really? She sounded like an outraged nun.

“S’cool with me.”

He. Was. Laughing.

At her.

“Babe. Relax. If all this was about was getting laid, you’d be butt-fucking naked, on your back, with those damn sexy legs wrapped around my neck.”

Heat shot into her neck and onto her face at his evocative words. As far as descriptions went, that was a good one. When she finally found the nerve to look him in the eye, he was openly smirking. “The part where I’d be hammer-fucking you into next month was implied, right?”

Instinct. That was what it was. Reflex. Her hand shot out, closed fisted, and walloped him on the bicep. Hard.

“Fuck you, Shaw.”

She bit her lip to stop from smiling, but the effort was useless. His booming laughter was infectious. Good time for a pivot.

“Don’t you have a beard contract or something like that for me, ‘cause there’s only so much of this nonsense I’m gonna put up with.”

Hot fucking damn but she was good. He suddenly understood why she was so effective in a negotiation. The lightning bolt admission of her feelings was a smart play. He respected that Paige wasn’t going to let this turn into a game and good for her. Showed him she was the woman he’d always assumed her to be.

But that admission also put him in the position of having to re-evaluate how this evening was going to go. They were in this for real. Sure, putting on a show for the media was business. But pinching her nipples and giving her a throat exam with his tongue … well, that had been personal.

Because timing was everything, Edward started to rethink what he was doing. His hand slipped into his pocket as he rose to stand before her. The soft, velvet pouch was easy to find with his fingers. Feeling the little square, he located the impression that the ring inside left.

His gran’s ring. Marsh and he had several pieces of her jewelry, but Edward ended up with the unique 1920’s Art Deco style diamond ring. It was distinctive and beautiful, just like Paige. But now wasn’t the time.

The military had taught him many things including how to think on his feet when conditions changed and plans were shot to hell. The gods must have been paying attention because with a flash of rock-solid certainty, he knew what to say next … something guaranteed to bring a smile to her face.