CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Give me that,” she ordered, reaching for the card. “You don’t know what my type is.” She wondered why was it that the scent of Gannon’s deodorant and laundry detergent was so sexy to her.
“Do you?” Gannon countered. “I’ve never seen you date.”
“You only see me four months out of the year,” Paige reminded him.
The band slowed it down again, and Gannon, with the practiced smoothness of a highly skilled ladies’ man, encircled her waist and guided her back onto the dance floor. His palms burned into her skin through the thin layer of her silky shirt. She didn’t feel protected anymore. Not with Gannon pulling her in too close. He wasn’t interested in keeping a friendly space between them. He wanted to feel her body against his, and the part of Paige’s brain that didn’t give a damn about consequences agreed.
She put her hands on his shoulders in part not to cause a scene and to also control the infinitesimal space between them.
“Your hair smells like piña coladas,” Gannon said, his voice raspy in her ear.
“This isn’t a good idea with everything that’s happened this week,” Paige warned. He was so tall and broad, she couldn’t see the rest of the dance floor behind him. He’d skillfully led her to the darkest corner, and she’d gone along unknowingly or worse, willingly.
“Sometimes bad ideas are the best ideas.”
“Why did you take Marcus’s card?” Paige asked suddenly.
Gannon’s lips quirked. “Because I’m interested.”
“In Marcus?”
“In you, Paige. I’m interested in you.”
“I’m not interested in being interested in you,” she said, feeling panic slick through her stomach.
“That’s different from not being interested,” Gannon observed.
She didn’t know how to respond to that. She could tell him she wasn’t interested, but Paige got the distinct impression he’d call bullshit on her. For someone who hadn’t known her long, he’d figured her out quickly.
“You’re not boyfriend material.”
“I’m not?”
Paige shook her head. “You’re a fixer upper. I don’t have the time to take on a project man right now.”
When he simply squeezed her harder, she sighed.
“Do you want me to go into all the reasons we would be a terrible idea?” Paige asked.
He shook his head. “I’m only interested in one reason why we’d work.”
“I’m not risking my career for a night in your bed.”
“We can use your bed then.”
“I love how you take my concerns so seriously.” Paige scowled up at him.
“What concerns you most about having sex with me?”
“Jesus, Gannon!” There was such a thing as being too unfiltered.
“See? You already have the vocabulary down.”
She stomped on his foot, which had no effect on him whatsoever. “I don’t want to deal with the fallout of having my private life become public interest.”
“It doesn’t have to happen that way.”
“What? You mean sneaking in and out of each other’s hotel rooms and hoping no one notices?”
“Think about it,” he said, sliding his hands lower on her hips, his long fingers digging into the denim of her shorts, and Paige felt herself go wet. “No one would have to know.”
His breath was warm against her face. She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, and when her body brushed up against his, she could feel the hard length of him through his jeans. Her nipples pebbled against the lace of her bralette.
“There’s also the matter of your girlfriend,” she said, trying to remind him as well as her body that what they were discussing was off-limits.
Gannon looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Meeghan Traxx. Your girlfriend.”
His expression darkened. “Meeghan and I are not involved. And you’re pissing me off suggesting that I’d be propositioning you if I were with someone.”
“But the news…”
“Gossip. Rumors. We never dated. Do you really think that’s my type?” He looked pissed off for a whole different reason now.
“This is… intense. I think I need a drink.” The words came out in a rush.
“That makes two of us.” He held her still with one arm and used his free hand to subtly adjust his erection before turning around and leading the way back to the bar. Gannon kept her hand clamped in his, and Paige had to jog to keep up with him.
He ordered for them both, and she was surprised that he knew the beer she preferred.
She took a long swig trying to cool her body down from the inside out.
“Look,” Gannon began. “I’m not thrilled about this either. We work together in an intense environment. It’s a terrible idea to hook up. But I’m starting to think it’s an inevitable, terrible idea. I keep waiting to stop thinking about you, and it only makes me think about you more.”
Raw. Honest. Unfiltered. That was Gannon King.
“Paige!” Cat’s squeal was the only warning Paige had before Cat barreled into her knocking her into Gannon’s solid chest and still-hard cock.
She shoved herself away from Gannon and turned to study her friend. “Oh, boy. Let’s get a water and chicken fingers in you,” Paige assessed.
“That sounds awesome! Gann, you order. I’m gonna take my best friend Paige here out to shake her ass.”
She didn’t wait for Gannon’s consent, just clamped a hand on Paige’s wrist and started dragging. Paige gave herself a second to think about how many Kings had dragged her all over the bar that night. She really needed to look into shoes with better traction.
“My brother looked like he was going to devour you,” Cat shouted in Paige’s face.
“We were just… arguing.”
Cat ignored her lie. “I had a feeling about you two from the very first time I saw you put him in his place. Gannon needs someone who’s not going to kiss his ass. He really likes you.”
“Cat, I don’t want to talk about your brother!”
Cat did a little spin on the floor. “Okay, then tell me about cute polo shirt guy.”
“Why don’t you tell me about tall plaid shirt man?”
Cat lasted two songs on the dance floor before she finally let Paige drag her back to the bar. “It’s my birthday,” she announced at the top of her lungs, and the crowd around them cheered.
Drink tokens started lining up in front of her as if they sprouted out of the bar. Paige slapped one out of her hand. “Uh-uh. Grease and water first.”
Cat picked up a chicken finger and bit into it. “Paige is my baby-sitter,” she explained to Gannon.
“I can see that,” her brother said, enjoying drunk Cat.
Cat stopped chewing abruptly, her face going serious. “Did you know it’s your birthday, too?”
Gannon looked at Paige over his sister’s head. “How much did you let her drink?”
“Hell if I know. I was distracted.”
“Rico?” Paige waved the cameraman down. “Did you see how much Cat drank?”
He shrugged his shoulders under his purple bowling shirt. “Saw her do a couple of shots with that table of college kids. You see Cat drinking anything, Mel?”
Mel cruised up with a gin and tonic in one hand and a fistful of phone numbers in the other. “Cat? I saw that plaid shirt cowboy buy her a couple of rounds. Oh, and then the bartender gave her some pink frothy drink.”
“Crap,” Paige muttered. Between Marcus and Gannon, she’d shirked her duties. There was no way Cat was coming out of this unscathed. And a hungover Cat during shooting was worse than a sober Gannon.
They lasted another hour at the bar before Paige recognized Cat’s puke face and dragged her out. The bushes in the parking lot took the brunt of it, but Cat promised she felt good enough to not throw up in the van. They all piled inside in varying stages of sobriety and inebriation, and Gannon—sober on his birthday—drove them back to the hotel. Cat made good on her word and waited to throw up again in the hotel parking lot. She waved enthusiastically to the desk worker, slurring out something about birthdays.
Gannon and Paige helped Cat to her room. Paige forced her friend to wash off her makeup and brush her teeth before tucking her into bed. She found Cat’s stash of Gatorade in the mini fridge and left a bottle of it on the nightstand next to a bottle of aspirin. Cat was snoring by the time Paige let herself out.
Gannon was waiting in the hallway.
“She’s passed out,” Paige reported. “But we’d better send Mel or Sam for breakfast sandwiches in the morning. She’s going to need the grease.”
Gannon nodded but said nothing.
“I guess I’ll turn in, too,” Paige said, nerves were making her chatty.
“I’ll walk you to your room.”
She shot him a warning look.
“I said I’ll walk you to your room, not peel your shorts off of you.”
The image he planted in her mind taunted her enough to trip over her own feet as they walked side by side down the hall without touching. He grabbed her arm, righting her, and she pulled away.
She stopped in front of her door and fished the key out of her pocket. “Good night, Gannon.”
“Good night, Paige. Dream good dreams.” That sexy smirk told her exactly what he knew she’d be dreaming about.
She let herself in and shut the door before she could lose her mind and invite him inside. They both knew it was a terrible idea. She had no interest in being publicly linked to him. It would be career suicide for her, and she needed one more season before she could move on from this life.
But it was still tempting. He was tempting.
She looked down at the bakery box on the table. “Crap,” she muttered.