Sometimes you got a little hot when someone stroked your fancy, and her fancy had been good and stroked. Actually being stroked sounded damn nice.
Shaking his head, Owen folded his hamburger wrapper into a tidy little square, tucked it into the fries’ container, and placed both in the bag. The crinkle of the wrapper shook her out of the fantasy she’d been building. Just like that. He was through watching her.
Wow. She blinked.
Done. Over. Dismissed.
This want was making her feel sluggish and heavy, but not him. Not at all. Now the bag was being neatly set to the side, and he gathered up the leftover stack of napkins. He’d used one. One single napkin. Apparently, the lettuce placement was crucial to controlling mess. Still, she’d put less work into doing her taxes than he did into disposing of his trash.
He’d felt something. She knew he’d felt something. She’d seen it in his eyes.
“What do you normally do then?” he asked, without looking up.
“I’m a massage therapist,” she said.
Her real profession turned on about ninety-five percent of the male population. It ranked right up there with exotic dancer in their minds. It didn’t in her mind, but there was a connection for men she’d prefer didn’t exist. It made for great tips, but she also had to be careful to maintain a professional demeanor.
He looked up and nodded in the direction of her shake. “Are you finished? I can throw it away with mine.”
Owen Savoy was in the remaining five percent. Ouch. Her stomach was never going to be the same after this roller coaster. At least her heart rate was returning to normal with a “there’s nothing here to see—move along” mentality. Remy tried to look away from the mirror so she wouldn’t have to see any further signs of disinterest. Her eyes were drawn back there like he was a magnet, but she made the attempt. Again and again.
“No, I’m not quite done,” Remy said. It was a shame he was.
“Are you sure you should be drinking that while driving?”
She clenched her teeth and mentally counted to five. First of all, she wasn’t currently driving. Second of all, it appeared the only thing she’d be doing today was driving, oh, and fighting this strange perverse attraction—the one he wasn’t feeling.
She picked up the shake and took a long drag on it. The shake crackled up the straw in a loud slurp that caused a line to form between Owen’s eyebrows. Then, his eyes dropped from hers to her lips, formed around that straw, and the hunger was back. A blink later, it was gone again. No man had a right to have that much control.
“You’re right. It sounds dangerous.” She handed him back the empty shake container, and he got out of the car to throw them away.
She watched him walk. Watched the sway of his hips. There was something so sexy about a confident man—even a nutty one like Owen. They walked differently. Also the view wasn’t bad. Owen had a nice ass. She looked away when he turned back. If he wasn’t interested, he sure wasn’t going to catch her drooling.
Maybe the whole lip gloss thing was because he was a cross-dresser looking for a new lip color, or maybe his lips were chapped. His lips didn’t look chapped. They looked soft and warm and…
She mentally slapped herself and bit down hard on her lower lip.
Oh, for hell’s sake, Remy, knock it off.
He slid back into the car and his tone was all business. “Okay, here is the itinerary for today.” Pulling out a clipboard, he passed it over the seat to Remy. The top sheet was a typed list of five different addresses, complete with suggested routes between each address. She stared at it. Would she have to follow those?
Denny had called him particular—she had a few adjectives to add to that now. She should really just do this and not talk…all day.
Yeah, that so wasn’t going to happen.
“Does it have to be in this order, Mr. Savoy?” She flipped the paper with her finger. Why was she getting on and off the freeway so much? For fun? To practice merging?
“It should be.”
Remy sighed and tried not to wriggle in her seat. Of course it should be in that order. It was crazy that she’d even asked. He’d folded up his hamburger wrapper for crying out loud.
Remy set the clipboard on the passenger seat beside her. She could just program the first address into the GPS and see if it agreed with the stupid route below it. There was no way that was the best way to go, but that would at least force her to follow it.
“Is there something wrong?” He slid forward, and—damn. Heat rushed across her skin as he leaned close. Not good.
“Well, Mr. Savoy—”
“Call me Owen.”
She felt her heart skip—like literally—like she had a heart condition or something. She shouldn’t be getting all flustered over a guy who played by a whole separate set of rules from her. Hell, he played by rules—that was enough.
“Well, Owen, you’re doing this all out of order.” She picked up the clipboard and waved it back and forth. The movement disturbed the wall of tension between them, so she waved it a little more enthusiastically.
“That’s the order my assistant arranged it in.” The clipboard almost caught him in the face, and he ducked back before stilling her nervous waving with his hand on hers. Lightning shot across her skin again. His hand was on hers, and she could feel every single millimeter. He cleared his throat and let go. Then, he shifted backward and straightened up his spine.
If he could act unaffected and professional, so could she. She forced every single brain cell in her head to focus on the paper with the lame routes on it.
“So, you’ve got meetings arranged for certain times, then?” That would be good to know. In fact, that would be much more useful than this bogus route between locations.
“No, I simply need to stop in and check on a few things at each location. I do random drop-ins to make sure my business interests are functioning well on a day-to-day basis.”
She’d bet that random and Owen Savoy had never shaken hands. Judging by the meticulously arranged schedule, he didn’t even know what the word meant.
“You’re burning a lot of unnecessary fossil fuel this way, and it’ll take you probably an extra hour or more,” she said. “Plus, if you really leave this one until last, we’ll get stuck in some nasty traffic.”
“Well, what order would you suggest?”
Grabbing a scarlet-colored felt pen from her purse, she drew arrows and scratched out the numbers until the order was much better before turning to look at Owen. He couldn’t have looked more horrified if he’d actually screamed and clutched the sides of his face. She would have reserved that face for someone killing puppies in the street.
“You’ve marked it.” The muscles in his neck clenched as he swallowed thickly before gesturing at the clipboard.
Oh crap. Denny had mentioned not messing with his stuff enough times she’d snarkily told him to embroider it on a throw pillow already, and now she’d just done it. “We can do it the way it was originally.”
“Well, your way is fine, but…” He gestured at the paper on the clipboard again. Wincing, he said, “I’m sorry, Remy. I just…like things a certain way, but…no, your way is fine.”
He shoved himself back into the seat with a hissed sigh from both the leather upholstery and the man. Remy’d turned sideways in the seat during their discussion, and she glanced from the marred page to Owen. A frown pulled at his lips but he was shuffling papers back into the bag with an urgency that belied how casual he was trying to be about it. The masseter muscle in his jaw flexed and then he stretched his mouth wide and rubbed a hand across it, loosening it. He was trying so hard to be okay with what she’d done.
She’d gone from stressed to happy to aroused to worried and now to horribly and completely ashamed. Denny had warned her. She wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel. It made no sense, but he was so pathetically dejected she just wanted to give him a hug.
She could fix this. She could.
Pulling the marred page from the clipboard, she handed the rest of it back to him. “I’ll just keep this up here with me.” She set it on the passenger seat. “There. See? Better. You can keep all the rest of the papers away from me.”
That drew a smile from him. “I can still see it, though.” He looked slightly embarrassed by the admission.
There was something so utterly charming about that. Looking at the paper, she could see how it seemed rather messed up—the red ink had probably pushed it over the top for someone like Owen. Picking up the list, she folded it into a small square as he watched. Pulling the neckline of her silk camisole to the side, she tucked it into her bra. “There. Gone.”
Now, he was staring at her with a bemused smile. “You’re right. It does appear to be gone. Won’t you need to consult it?” He gestured at her chest.
She shrugged. “I can get you to the first place and then peek at it while you’re inside.”
“Peek?” he repeated. He actually looked interested. Her heart went nuts again, and she fought looking smug. Huh. Maybe not a cross-dresser.
Nodding, she started the car. She’d just let him think on that.
Chapter Three
The first location, a lab of some kind, was easy enough to find. It was the closest anyway, so she’d left it first. Owen directed her to park in the spot with the giant sign saying Management Only. Okay then.
She got out to open his door, but he was already opening it.
“You don’t have to open my door, Remy,” he said.
“Does Denny open your door?”
“Yes, but—”
“I can open your door.” She was his driver. This wasn’t like a date.
He frowned. She tried to remember he was paying the company a substantial amount for her to do this. They needed that paycheck. Their landlord was not a man who gave to puppy charities. He was more like the kind of man who let himself into your apartment and stole money from your coffee can.
“Or not,” she said. If he wanted to get all crazy and gentlemanly, she could probably go without opening his door.
“I should be around twenty-eight minutes.” He glanced at his watch. “They have a very nice atrium you can wait in.”
Remy shifted from foot to foot. It was good to be out of the car and standing, but their atrium was probably just as he said—very nice. Someplace that would emphasize how different they were. She didn’t need anything yelling out her inadequacies with its cushy seats and well-placed indoor water feature.
“I can sit in the car.” If she sat in the car, she could turn up the stereo really loud. That would really yank the chain of anyone walking by and seeing her parked in the Management spot.
He frowned again.
“Okay. Atrium it is.” She waited until he’d turned to lead her before she rolled her eyes. Remember, Remy, you have rent due. Also, he’s sort of cute—in a bent sort of way. Humor him. Besides, she did want to time him to see how long it took.
Twenty-eight tedious minutes later, he was shaking hands with someone who looked far too happy for this to have been a truly random visit. There was no way he’d been taken by surprise. No way. She’d bet someone had tipped all these companies off that Owen would be by today.
When they’d gotten back in the car, he asked, “Where are we going next?”
Shoot. She’d forgotten to look. She pulled the paper out of her bra and unfolded it. In her peripheral vision, she could swear he’d been watching her do that. Okay, so…
“Are you following those directions too?” he asked, from right beside her, startling her. He’d scooted forward to look over her shoulder. His warm breath fanned her skin, sliding across her neck in a caress.
He smelled like warm cotton and…pine—like he would smell if she dragged him into the woods for something delicious. Only that might kill a guy like him. Getting dirty. In the woods. Still, a girl could fantasize. What guy wore cologne if he wasn’t interested in girls? They didn’t. Mmm.
“Remy?”
She jumped, this time from the thrum of his deep voice across her live-wire nerve endings. Yikes. She needed a cold shower just from hearing him say her name and the smell of his cologne. Blinking rapidly, Remy stared down at the marked-up list and scoured her brain for the missing question and an answer to go with it.
“You want to know if I’m following these directions? Really?” Hopefully, that was what he’d asked when she’d been in her fantasy—deep in the woods where she’d been ripping off his shirt…before letting him fold it neatly and set it aside.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” he said.
“Not at all. Whoever put these directions together had way too much fun with right turns. There’s one point where we would go in a complete circle for no reason at all.” She folded the paper—under his close supervision—and tucked it back in her bra. Her whole body felt rosy and warm from his attention. “There. Gone again. Even if you wanted it, you couldn’t get it.”
“Well, technically, I could.”
She’d been adjusting her mirror so she caught his smile as he said it, and then that furtive look up at her. Her pulse pounded as if she’d just run a marathon. He could slay women with a cool glance from those eyes, and she was far from immune.
“Oh yeah? I dare you. I don’t think you would.” Two could play that game. Her heart was hammering loud enough for him to hear, but she was never one to walk away from a chance to get it broken.
Their eyes met in the mirror. She held her breath. He raised a single eyebrow, and that smile hovered at the edge of his lips. Lips that liked to frown but looked glorious spread in a smile, and probably tasted amazing. If she were a betting woman, she’d bet he was just as into her as she was into him. She’d have bet the money stolen from their coffee can.
He glanced away first, but the smile remained. “Perhaps later,” he said.
Hmm.
She left him alone for the first five minutes of the drive. She was absolutely, supernaturally silent for those five minutes. She deserved a parade for that.
Her mind was racing. What if she’d imagined that spark of attraction between them? She liked to test things, try things, push limits. When the waiter said “hot plate,” she usually just touched the edge because it was only a matter of time before she gave in to her curiosity. How hot could it be? She glanced in the rearview mirror and shifted in her seat. Seriously, how hot could it be?
It would be hot. Really hot.
The light ahead flipped to yellow, and she silently cursed as she eased to a stop. There was no way she’d run a light with this passenger, but even in a car, she liked to be moving at all times.
The expensive sedan was practically soundproof, and Denny had told her she wasn’t to turn on the radio while Owen was in the car. The only sound in the car was the purr of the engine and their breathing. Hers was much faster than his. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed.
She tapped on the steering wheel while muttering, “C’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”
“You really don’t like being quiet, do you?”
Her cheeks flushed with heat. Oh, geez. And this was her “A” game. “I’m trying.”
“It’s okay. I don’t seem to mind it as much when it’s you.” His eyebrows drew down as he stared at the paper in his hands. She wasn’t sure which was perplexing him—the paper or the fact that he didn’t mind her inability to be silent.
“Yeah, well, Denny told me not to talk to you.”
“Even if I start it? That’s a little…unfriendly.”
Damn that was a hot plate. You’d have to be an idiot not to catch the subtext there. Right? Right?
Maybe she’d test it again.
“Well, if you started something, it’d only be polite to respond.” She glanced in the mirror. He was still staring at that paper, but he was smiling again. She mentally willed him to start something. Start something, Owen. You want me. You know you want me.
“Hmm.”
She snorted. She couldn’t restrain it.
“Hmm?” Maybe he was new to this game.
He glanced up, met her eyes, and nodded ahead of her. “Your light’s green.” His eyes were pinched at the edges, and his jaw was tight—he was holding back a laugh. It was all about control with him. That was a turn-on too. What would it be like to make a man like that lose control?
Behind them, a car horn sounded in staccato beats that increased in length.
Not one to be goaded—by either the man in the backseat or the driver behind them about to pop a vein in their head—Remy held his gaze for an extra second and raised her eyebrows. “Uh-huh.” And then she floored it and started counting green cars. As far as she was concerned, the ball was in his court. And, damn, that was a hot plate.
When they arrived at their destination twenty-eight green cars later, she asked him, “So, how long here?”
He glanced at his watch. “Thirty-five minutes. Last time I was here, it took around that long. You should…”
“I’ll walk around the building. Burn off some energy.”
He glanced down at her heels. Yeah, she hadn’t completely thought it through. She’d gone for sensual, not practical, and these spiked heels made her legs look fantastic—long and muscular. Hopefully he noticed while he was evaluating the impracticality of her shoes.
“I’ll be fine, Owen,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
She shoved him at the doors of the building, which made him laugh. A woman who’d been taking a call outside looked startled as he went in.
Remy was wandering around the well-manicured lawn when the woman caught up with her.
“I’m sorry. This is probably a bit presumptuous of me, but my name is Mallory Frank.” She held out her hand.
“Remy Maison.” Remy shook the woman’s hand—even though the other lady’s grip was so light it was like shaking a glove without a hand in it.
Mallory Frank looked like the starchy female version of Owen. That was one expensive business suit. It looked enough like the guys’ version to say she was power-hungry, but female enough to say that she was all soft and curvy and moisturized when needed. You didn’t get that look without throwing lots of money at shops.
On His List (Entangled Flirts) Page 2