Spreading everything out across the black marble, he surveyed and made a mental list of what else he needed.
Like something to boil the water in. Yanking a cookware organizer out from a bottom cabinet, he took a tall pot and twirled it by the handles with a flourish worthy of the Top Chefs then plunked it onto the massive professional cooktop.
After he’d set the water to boil, he washed his hands then tucked a large kitchen towel into his waistband for an apron and got started.
It was mindless busywork—cooking. Stalking Paige while she did what she did made him feel a bit pathetic, so he’d made a snap decision, changed into something comfortable, and headed for the kitchen.
In no way a foodie or anything that came close to being like Gordon Ramsey, he was just an American boy raised on his mom’s home cooking, and that fact alone went a long way.
His mom was one of those ‘here is why we do things’ types who transformed practically every moment of every day into a learning opportunity. He and Marsh could cook, sew on a button if necessary, do laundry in a way that wasn’t a complete disaster, and scrapbook like a motherfucker.
Yep. Scrapbook. Don’t be hatin’
Tonight’s mindless culinary offering was a basic chopped salad … organic vegetables only, thank you very much, and a throw together pasta pot that he hoped Paige would enjoy.
She was staying for dinner whether she wanted to or not. He’d tie her ass to a chair if he had to. No way was he letting her skip out after the day they’d had.
And he wasn’t referring to the Gideon kerfuffle.
Two opposing viewpoints around his relationship with Paige had crashed head-on and, between one moment and the next, they’d crossed that invisible line—the one that tore the lid off everything. Where once there had been nothing but iron-willed control, there was now a million unlimited possibilities.
She wasn’t going anywhere until they had talked about what was happening. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Adding a second heavy bottom pot to the cooktop, he made quick work of some garlic, onion, Portobellos, fresh tomatoes, and finely diced carrots while his mind clocked in at maximum overdrive.
Keeping an eye on the softening veggies, his forehead furrowed from the effort of taking in the magnitude of how altering the dynamic of their association would change things.
As fucked up as it sounds, he’d never been best friends with any of his previous lovers. Not like he was with Paige.
Edward snorted disbelief. No, seriously man. I’m being real here.
On some level, he supposed, his high school girlfriend had been close, but the tell was in how he framed that thought. She’d been close, yeah, because he’d allowed it. But he’d be full of shit trying to make the case that the exchange was intentional.
It wasn’t.
He was a horny teenager with one thing and one thing only on his mind. She was the adoring girlfriend who gave in to his horn-dog demands because, and probably only because, he’d let her in enough for her to think she was different. What they had—special.
In other words … Teenage Fuckery 101.
Then there was his brief foray at the university with all the college insanity that was so much a part of the growing up experience. But after that? Fuck. After that, he’d gone Army all the way, where stuff like emptying his balls took on a new meaning when staying alive was a twenty-four-seven reality.
It wasn’t until his life collided with Paige Turner’s that he finally knew what it meant to have a true friend. Especially one of the female persuasion. Keeping that friendship was vital to his sanity, which was precisely why they had to talk.
Once he was satisfied that dinner was covered, he pulled a bottle from the wine refrigerator, uncorked it, and set the red Zin next to a couple of wine glasses on the table, where he removed his makeshift apron and tossed it aside.
She’d been at it long enough. No amount of working the phones or crisis management was going to change what had already happened. Time for her to downshift.
Plodding barefoot to the study, Edward paused outside the French doors and listened. Nothing. Good. He didn’t want to wrangle the phone from her hands any more than he wanted to talk about business right now.
Quickly rounding the doorway, he stepped into the room. He found her hunched over, forearms resting on her thighs, with her hands clasped between her knees. Head down, it was bobbing as if she was coming to a decision.
She glanced up and froze when she saw him. Her eyes flared. Actually, really and truly flared like the pop of sparks at the end of a July 4th glory torch.
Pfft. Being a visual sort of a guy had its advantages. Now he was thinking of Paige in firecracker terms. Cool.
“Made dinner.”
She blinked, tilted her head, blinked again, and the corner of her mouth quirked up.
“So my nose gathered,” she quipped. “Bit heavy handed with the garlic, don’t you think?”
Banter. He could do banter.
Gesturing to her discarded phone, he said, “Garlic is an aphrodisiac. Ask Mickey.” With a shrug of feigned innocence, he further explained, “Something about eating garlic on Fridays to promote love and arouse desire.”
Her amused laugh made him smile.
“But it isn’t Friday,” she cooed with a smirking wink.
He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she was playing along, and it wasn’t about giving as good as she got. Paige wasn’t a game player, and she was hands down, next to his mom, of course, the most clever girl he’d ever encountered. She knew they were ushering in a new dynamic in their relationship. And she wasn’t pushing back. At all.
Folding his arms across his chest, his mouth twitched with a smile he fought while he gave her his best movie star leer. “Consider it research then.”
She stood. A deep chuckle rumbled between lips pressed together while she worried one corner with her teeth. “Mmmhmm. Research. Quick thinking, Banning.”
He grinned.
“Wash your hands, Turner,” he drawled. “Then get your ass in gear and set the table. Make yourself useful, woman.”
She was coming around the table as he finished, and without thinking, he reached out and swatted her behind as she tried to scoot by.
Her yelp of surprise struck him as endlessly funny. He’d just smacked Paige Turner on the ass, and she hadn’t throttled him.
Fuck yeah, this was going to be fun.
“Hands, Mr. Banning,” she mockingly admonished while rubbing her behind.
And then he lost his ever-loving mind. With a gesture that felt totally natural, he reached his hand out and curled it around her neck, pulling her to him.
“Mouth, Miss Turner,” he replied.
He hadn’t intended to kiss her, but she’d set it up with her flirty manner.
It wasn’t a long kiss, but it certainly was deep. Offering zero resistance, she let him take her mouth through a soft brush of lips and on to something firmer until she gave in and opened—an invitation he quickly accepted. The second the unhurried dance of their tongues started to get out of hand, he softened the kiss and gently led her back till their mouths drew slowly apart.
Every fantasy he’d ever had about Paige was confirmed when her taste, a combination of the mints she seemed to live on and something else—something more sweet and pleasurable than he ever imagined—filled his senses.
Releasing her, he swiped his thumb over the corner of her mouth, gathering the remnants of the kiss. Then, with their eyes locked, he sucked the end of his thumb.
“More research?” Her voice was hushed and breathy.
He gave her a half shrug and smiled. “Think of it as before and after.”
There it was again. That flare in her eyes.
“You are a bad man,” she teased, shoving against his chest for effect.
He considered taking the moment further—she was being awfully receptive—but it suddenly struck him like a speeding freight train that this wasn’t about seducing Paige. Not at all.