The stationary equipment zone was packed. All around her were bodies in motion under the bright lights of the fancy workout space. At that moment, she was just another gym rat trying to squeeze in a workout.
There were two women on elliptical trainers in the row in front of Paige, who were laughing somewhat loudly and gesturing between the push-pull of the moving handlebars.
“Oh lordy, he’s hot!” one chortled.
Her friend laughed. “I’d do him. No problem.”
Paige glanced at the TV and immediately stumbled when Gideon’s smiling headshot filled the giant screen.
Having lost her footing, she grabbed for the treadmill safety bar to stop from falling, but it was too late. Next thing she knew, as Gideon’s unseeing face looked on, the still moving machine ejected her, and she had landed like a bumbling clown on her hands and knees.
Immediately, one of the gym staffers came running over to see if she was okay. Distracted by the TV, she brushed off the help and got up with a groan. A knee had smacked the equipment on her way to the floor, tearing a hole in the thin pants that upon inspection showed a bloody gash.
Hobbling to a nearby bench, she sat down and shushed the attendant blathering on about getting the first aid kit because she needed to hear what the TV was saying.
Gideon’s headshot faded, and a clip from an interview began. A cute entertainment reporter was asking him questions, and the snippet they chose had to do with his professional name.
“So, the name Gideon Shaw. Many have said it’s the perfect marquee name. How’d you come up with it?”
Paige remembered this interview. The reporter had soft balled her questions and then offered up her phone number in the hopes of a personal one-on-one. There wasn’t any need to clarify what that meant, and she recalled having thought of the reporter as an idiot for being so blatant and unprofessional. No wonder it was damn hard for women to gain power and be taken seriously in this town when that kind of stuff was the norm.
Turning on the mega-wattage of his growing superstardom, he’d given as good as he got by smirking a little and grinning a lot.
“Actually, I was drunk when the name came to me, Alycia. So if it’s perfect,” he stopped and laughed for emphasis, “Captain Morgan gets all the credit.”
Paige rolled her eyes. Yeah, right. The truth was that the name had been a group effort that the three of them had come up with that had involved a PowerPoint but no swashbuckling alcohol.
The gym attendant returned with a tiny Band-Aid and a disinfecting wipe as if those two things would stop the blood trickling from the gash.
Not that Paige cared. She could just as easily have brought over a chainsaw and a stick for her to bite down on, and her disinterested reaction would have been the same. An important entertainment program was doing a story on Gideon and that almost always signaled fresh gossip building in the wings. Paying attention was her job, and if that meant she bled to death on the gym floor while she kept an eye on the TV, well … so be it.
The taped piece returned to the two hosts who immediately launched into a performance of raised eyebrows and subtle insinuations that made Paige’s blood curdle.
“Well, Avery,” the blonde with the obvious extensions tittered to her on-air partner, “it looks like our sexiest celeb has a bit of a PR nightmare on his hands. Sources close to his latest production, the much anticipated screen adaptation of Forward and Back, report that he’s been putting in extra time with one of his co-stars, the phenomenal Joann Jones. And that she might know more than anyone dreamed about his now famous sex tape.”
The styled to perfection hipster next to her picked up a stack of papers in front of him and arranged them with deliberate flair while murmuring a bitchy sounding, “Mmmhmm.”
Next, he fanned himself with the pages and made a couple of suggestive faces. “Shaw Me the Way,” he snickered as Paige held back a howl of anger.
Those assholes!
Story over, she picked up a gym towel, assured the staff that she was fine, and then limped to the locker room.
This really and truly was getting ri-goddamn-diculous.
“W ant me to kiss your boo-boo and make it better?”
Making an exaggerated frown, Paige eyed Edward as he knelt in front of her to inspect her banged up knee.
“I don’t know,” she pouted. “It hurts, and it’s all your fault.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled from the effort of suppressed laughter as he gave her a lopsided grin.
“My fault, hmm?” he answered. “So … what? I’m a bad boy for making you fall?”
Paige squirmed. The gash hurt and his word games weren’t making it any better.
Pushing his hands away, she whined petulantly. “Maybe.”
His eyes, gleaming with amusement, bored into hers. “Would it make you feel better to give me a good spanking? For being bad.”
A spanking. Well, really, kids. How could she resist the challenge of his taunt? Dipping her head so he wouldn’t see the fire his teasing suggestion ignited, she thought, only Edward.
“Oh, right!” she hooted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? On your hands and knees, bare-assed …”
The minute she’d said it, Paige knew she’d played right into his hands. The knowing smirk on his face said it all.
“Is that how it works, then?” he mocked with a straight face. “Not exactly a ‘been there-done that’ scenario for me, but I sure am happy to learn you’ve already done the research.”
Done the research. Oooooh, that man! Coming back with a zinger was critical if she wanted to keep him on his toes.
Snorting with amusement, Paige scrunched her face. “Hardly my idea of a good time. Now, if there were a tied to the bed and blindfolded option, we’d be on the same page.”
Edward’s head jerked slightly. Ha! She’d shocked him. Good. Sometimes he needed a reminder of who he was dealing with.
“Who’s tied? You or me?”
This time, it was her head snapping to attention. How the hell did he turn the table on her with such ease?
“Whaa-aat?” Her attempt at a dirty look failed when she saw his eyes narrow right before they went on an obvious balls-out inspection of her entire body.
When his gaze finally returned to her face, an unmistakable glint in those spectacular blue eyes made her tummy do some impressive somersaults.
As if having the big man on his knees at her feet wasn’t disconcerting enough, he reached for her wrists and turned her hands over, so the palms faced up, lightly stroking his thumbs over her pulse.
His gentleness was so electrifying that there was no way for her to stop the delicious shiver that his touch set off.
“You have such delicate wrists,” he murmured as he studied them.
What happened to all the oxygen in the room? Her mouth gaped open as she struggled to breathe in short, little pants that did nothing to alleviate the swimming sensation overtaking her senses.