Still… Mission accomplished.
I shouldn’t be upset. This is a marriage in name only. It’s only right that we broke off before things went too far. I want to give the world a good show, not a sex tape. She’s made it clear this is a professional arrangement, and I haven’t really objected. She’s never panted over my body, and I like it that we can talk to each other like normal people. The number of women who treat me like a person…well, it wouldn’t even take the fingers on one hand to list them up.
The drive back home is silent. I don’t want to talk, and Paige apparently doesn’t either. Her phone pings, and then she’s busy texting. Which of her friends gets the news first?
I look at the road. Why do I care?
I tell myself at least a hundred times we did the right thing to end the kiss. It’s too bad it hasn’t penetrated yet. It isn’t every day I kiss a woman who makes me forget about everything except her.
Even right now, need hums through my body. The interior is full of her presence…her body heat, her scent…I want to pull over and kiss her silly and let things progress to their natural conclusion.
Except she doesn’t look at all receptive to that idea. Her face is tilted away, her gaze focused on something just beyond the other cars on the highway.
Honestly speaking, the situation is starting to bug the crap out of me. Women don’t ignore me after I kiss them. They cling to me like an extra-sticky piece of duct tape.
Figure it out later, man. I have a more pressing concern—namely, getting inside my home without reporters inundating the car. I have a plan, but they get smarter and sneakier all the time.
The main gates are off limits, unless I want to be mobbed. By now, the so-called news hounds are swarming around them like ants over a drop of honey. They know we’re out. They’ll have seen the photos. They’re counting on cornering the Ferrari.
I don’t think so.
I drive to the service gates in the back.
“Why are we going this way?” Paige asks.
“Reporters.”
“Already?”
I frown. Didn’t she get at least a couple congratulatory texts from her friends? “I’m sure they’ve heard by now. Check the news.”
She pulls out her phone. A soft gasp follows a few moments later. She lets me see the screen; sure enough, there’s a close-up of us canoodling on the terrace.
“Okay,” I say. “Have security call the police and push the reporters back for trespassing.”
“I don’t think any of them are brave and nimble enough to climb over the barbed wired walls.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. But in any case, my property stretches for a one-mile radius outside the wall. And I’m sure they’re all standing right by the main gates. The cops know what to do. They’re well aware of the property line at my house.”
She nods and calls the head of security, while I make sure I don’t draw any attention to my Ferrari. Maybe I should’ve taken the Maserati. It’s new, and the vultures won’t be expecting it.
Thankfully, reporters aren’t camped out at the back entrance. Idiots. I drive through the open gates. They lock immediately afterward.
The garage door opens, the inside lighting up. I pull the Ferrari into the huge space. High-end sports cars I’ve been collecting over the years sparkle with a fresh coat of wax under the fluorescent light. I park my Ferrari in its spot. Just as I’m about to get out, Paige’s phone starts ringing.
She glances at the screen. A small frown pinches her face. She presses the red button.
“Reporters?” I ask.
“No. They don’t know this number.”
I laugh. “They don’t know it yet.” But she’s right. They’re probably calling my publicist for comments. Still, they’ll get Paige’s number before long. “If they call you, just hang up. They don’t get to talk to you without going through the publicist first.”
She hits the headrest with the back of her head and sighs. “I didn’t realize the news would hit so fast or create this much of a circus.”
“Any gossipy news creates a circus, but the fact that it’s me is adding the fuel to the fire. I’m surprised Elizabeth and Mom aren’t calling.” My sister might be busy with one of her feed the poor campaigns, but Mom… Oh, that’s riiiight… I sort of “forgot” to text her my new digits after I changed my number—again—this summer.
As Paige gathers her things, I open the door for her. She steps out. I don’t move, so she’s only an inch away, her body heat so sweet and alluring. All I have to do is dip my head a fraction, and her full, soft lips are mine to taste again.