Was it comfort he felt—knowing she was with him?
Pfft. Being honest might help. Comfort was the least of it. There was so much pleasure in his relationship with the feisty brunette that he couldn’t define but half.
Going still, his eyes drifted shut when a wave of serenity briefly washed over him. It didn’t last long—perfect moments never seemed to stick around—but it was enough to shut down the agitation threatening to choke the life out of him.
She did that. Just thinking about her and especially when in her presence, Paige acted like a bypass circuit for whatever was messing with him.
With a relieved sigh, he shifted position, stretching his legs out. Crossing his ankles, he then leaned back on hands he’d dug firmly in the sand. Tilting his head back, Edward inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth and brightness of the sun on his upturned face.
Knowing she wouldn’t rush out and start giving him the third degree was part of Paige’s allure and a big reason why he’d quickly calmed down.
Completely the opposite of Caro’s devoted puppy shtick, his faithful assistant managed to keep the mockery to a simmer most of the time. But they both knew and laughed about how unimpressed she was with the whole sexed-up celebrity thing. She kept his ego in check, called him out on his macho bullshit, and never failed to snicker, just loud enough for him to hear, at the most inopportune times.
Paige also possessed an uncanny ability to hover on the periphery of things while actually being right in the middle.
Her energy, fiercely protective and totally focused on him, was a balm for his soul. Edward needed that more than he wanted to admit. He needed Paige in a way that messed with his head.
He’d have to tell her, of course, and not just about Dave and the gotcha interview. They’d have to talk, seriously talk about the sex tape fiasco, something that made him big time nervous…and also about the real possibility of Joann interjecting herself into the scandal, re-igniting the whole thing and triggering a cavalcade of bullshit that might very well derail his career.
Their career. Gideon Shaw was as much her creation as it was his.
Thinking back to when the gossip rags started tittering endlessly about a mysterious tape circulating and the moment when that shit exploded right on top of them made him squirm in the sand. Next to the disappointment in his mother’s eyes, the blazing fury Paige put off when the story broke nearly eviscerated him. She’d been hurt by the salacious accusation of his so-called debauchery even though she’d never fucking admit to it, and he’d beaten himself up over it ever since.
Hurting Paige was a deal-breaker. Especially when there were so many other things he’d rather make her feel. Things that robbed him of sleep.
Edward had a favorite fantasy; one he’d been working on for some time. A remarkably detailed visual, loaded with sensory cues that awakened some powerful urges.
Urges. Hmm. Needs might be a better way of putting it. He had a fucking urge to eat his way through a BBQ festival—the point being that Edward would survive if that never happened.
But need—now that was an entirely different story. Needs were more necessary than urges. Essential to life, deprivation of certain needs could chip away at a man’s satisfaction toward a lot of other things.
So … aware of the invisible line in the sand that kept him from acting on his needs, Edward visited his Paige fantasy with brow-raising regularity.
It started the same way every time. He’d touch her face and run his fingers across her brow line down to her ear. She had cute ears and most of the time wore delicate earrings that never failed to grab his attention.
Enjoying the telltale shiver his touch wrung from her, he’d gently finger the little spot where the rim of her ear joined her face.
Her skin would be soft and responsive to his caress. Maybe she’d angle her head to give him complete access—an invitation to explore her neck. Fan the flames of desire.
Edward could go on and on about Paige’s neck. Almost as fascinated with that patch of real estate as he was with her tits, he’d spent many an unsatisfied night longing to lick and suckle the skin that he felt sure would taste delicious.
Shifting his hips in the sand as his sex pulsed to life so swiftly the tightness in his pants threatened damage, he let out a strangled groan that immediately became lost in the sound of the surf. Usually, this was the moment when he’d reach for his cock. But since it was broad daylight and he was on a public beach instead of naked in his bed, he’d have to suffer through a spontaneous hard-on that could not be satisfied.
Out of nowhere, an enormous burst of laughter rolled out of him. Thinking about the delicious Paige Turner and her ridiculously soft skin had vanquished the anxiety he’d been nursing.
Nobody and nothing else had ever done that for him. No amount of random, high-intensity fucking, top shelf alcohol, or any other number of available recreational substances had ever so quickly or so efficiently reset his mood. More reminders that this woman, so essential to every facet of his double life, was inside him in a way that was making him stop. And think.
A sensation at the back of his neck briefly scattered all thoughts. Shutting his eyes so he could concentrate on the tingling feeling as it spread across his shoulders, Edward let a welcome calm fill him up. She was coming to him, and he didn’t need to turn around to confirm with his eyes what his body already knew.
With a mocking glance at the anatomy lesson his aroused body was going to make, he chuckled in resignation.
Yeah, whatever!
He was beyond being able to hide his response to her anymore, and if she’d noticed, she hadn’t said anything so far. Damn shame too ‘cause he’d gladly explain in excruciating detail how much she turned him on.
Ugh. He needed her to hurry and almost jumped up and rushed at her. Good lord, he thought, I’m worse than a lonely puppy.
The need and anticipation eventually won out. Sharply swiveling his head, his eyes scanned the beach until he found her coming around a short rise in the sand, walking straight for him.
Should he be alarmed that just seeing her triggered an instant Zen? The feeling was like a large dose of euphoria.
Paige Turner was his bliss.
But why the hell did she have to be dressed like that? Edward’s fierce battle to rein in his desires fractured as he took in the vision walking toward him.
If his assistant imagined for one second that being completely natural and at ease was not a ferocious turn on for him, she was fucking delusional. Nobody had legs like Paige. They really did seem to go on forever. Long, toned, and tanned, she had this charmingly tomboyish swagger that sent shards of pleasure straight to his groin.
Barefoot—he’d have to check out her toenail color—she was rocking a pair of cutoffs that rode her slim hips, exposing her belly button and several tantalizing inches of skin between the waistband and the hem of a gauzy, see-through crop top.
As she got closer, he could easily make out the teal colored halter of a bathing suit under the gauzy top. She was trying to kill him, right?
My god. He wanted her so bad right then that staying seated and doing nothing became an agony.
Marching straight up to him, she stopped next to his shoulder and just stood quietly.
Fuck. Even though the breeze off the ocean was brisk, he’d picked up her scent the moment she got close. Fresh, clean, sexy as shit. Oh yeah, and with just a hint of wintergreen.
He almost missed her passing a water bottle off to him when the desire to claim her mouth to see if she tasted like the speckled mints she obsessed over brutally tightened his sex.
Grasping the frigid water bottle, Edward hastily poured a stream of ice water down his throat hoping to douse the inferno of desire that was burning him up on the inside.