On His List (Entangled Flirts)

by Wendy Sparrow

  “I wanted to talk with you,” he said.

  It hit her like a blast of cold air. Most of her relationships had ended with those words. Why would he still pay for her whole day if he was trying to end it? They’d barely begun.

  She arranged the face cushion for something to do with her hands. He’d paid for a massage, and she’d give him a massage. She was a professional, dammit. Clearing her throat, she patted the massage table. “Lie down. Facedown,” she said.

  He stared at the table. “I’ve never had a massage. I don’t really care for strangers touching me.”

  Swallowing back the hurt, she folded her arms and glared at him. Oh for hell’s sake, she was going to walk out. Enough was enough.

  He glanced up. “No, not you. I mean, I’ve never done this.” His obvious chagrin at mentally replaying his previous comment made him docile as a lamb, and he lay down on the table quickly, almost eagerly.

  Clenching her jaw tightly, she swallowed her frustration. She’d start at his neck and work down. Hopefully he wouldn’t say anything that would make her want to choke him to death.

  “I can tell you’ve never had a massage. You know these muscles right here.” She rubbed along his trapezius muscles at the base of his neck, which stretched taut into his shoulders. “These aren’t supposed to be so tight you can bounce things off them.” Steel was softer and more pliant than the muscles in his shoulders.

  He laughed and then relaxed, bit by hard-won bit, as she rubbed his shoulders. She’d forgotten to turn on the songs of nature soundtrack she usually played, so she hummed snatches of music softly under her breath.

  “I like your noise,” he murmured.

  “What?” That was a weird thing to say and, besides, Denny had told her over and over Owen preferred quiet.

  “Last night, when I was alone in my hotel room, I realized how cold the air felt without you, humming or talking or moving around in it. It felt dead. You made the air feel alive.”

  Even as her heart skipped, she said, “You’re just being nice. These muscles probably weren’t half as bad yesterday.”

  “No, Remy. I’m not. You’re always humming, always moving. It’s not like me to enjoy that, but I do. With you, I do.”

  She licked her dry lips and went in a little deeper on the muscles at the base of his skull.

  “Do your jaw muscles sometimes pop when you eat?”

  “Are they not supposed to?” he asked.

  She laughed. “No. That’s from clenching your jaw all the time. We need to teach you how to loosen up.” Realizing what she’d said, she clamped her own jaw shut. What was she saying? Stop it, Remy. Stop talking. Let him do all the talking.

  “I can see your feet through this face cushion,” he said, pointing down at her painted red toenails. A minute of silence elapsed as she massaged his tight muscles. He was actually starting to relax up until he cleared his throat to say something. “Last night. In the car.”

  For a moment, she froze like a statue, bracing for the emotional and physical hurt to follow. Waiting for him to say she’d disappointed him somehow. A blink later, she’d put on her game face and was back to massaging his neck. “What about it?”

  “I wanted to go do something with you, but I think I screwed up,” he said.

  “What did you want to go do?”

  He tipped his head to the side so he wasn’t addressing her feet “Anything. It didn’t matter.”

  “I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t imply that I…Remy, I wasn’t ever thinking you were.”

  She swallowed and moved down to rub the taut muscles in his upper back. He had offered to stay another day. Maybe he was saying she was a two-night stand kind of girl. Today was going to be cruel and unusual torture. It was like offering a girl a taste and then taking away the frosted cake and sending it to Miami. “Yeah, well, you don’t live here, and…”

  “I could.”

  She lifted her hands and took a few steps back. “We don’t know each other that well, Owen. You’re probably just curious because I’m so different from what you’re used to.” There was no way she was going to let him make huge changes in his life for her. What if he couldn’t handle that much change? He’d eventually get annoyed with all the little things she did which didn’t follow any of his lists. She was not a list follower. She had firmly jettisoned them after last night, and her list had just been in her head.

  “I took the next two weeks off. I’m staying here for two weeks. I think we can figure things out in that amount of time.” Reaching out, he grabbed her hand, tugging her back toward him. He flipped on his back so he could watch her expression. “You can show me around. I can actually find out how my investments run when the companies don’t know I’m coming. We can see how we are and if it’ll last between us.”

  “I work, and you can’t just use your money to buy me again.” It drew attention to how different they were. Crap, when he saw her apartment, he might run for the hills anyway. She dropped her head in frustration but that drew her eyes to their joined hands, and the small circles he was tracing with his thumb on the outside of hers.

  He tugged on her hand to get her attention. His eyes were so sincere that her heart gave in with a single, fatal thump. She’d put up a token resistance, but he was staying for two weeks. They could get into all sorts of trouble in two weeks.

  “I won’t. I’ll see you at lunch and then after work. Whatever it takes. That was just for today—to make up for using up your day off yesterday.” He smiled. Her doomed heart did backflips. She’d never grow immune to his smile. “On your next day off, I can drive you around.”

  She snorted at that.

  “I also called and left a rather substantial tip for your brother since I was grateful for his misery yesterday. That was something else I might have screwed up last night. I wasn’t thinking…rationally.”

  “Well, we had gone off your list.”

  “Wait, that reminds me, I have a list.”

  She tried not to groan. A list? Not another list.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out a list that had been typed…and printed. Okay, that was sort of adorable. He’d printed it. That had to mean something. She saw her name on the top as he unfolded it, so she snatched it from him.

  Reasons I Need Remy

  1) I want her more than a window in prison.

  2) Watching her put on lip gloss was better than most of my previous dates.

  3) I couldn’t sleep last night because I thought I’d upset her.

  4) I’ve never felt this way about anyone.

  5) I need someone to remind me that I don’t always need lists.

  6) I’d rather be shanked in my sleep than go back to my life in Miami.

  7) She’s a good driver.

  “I’m a good driver?” Remy asked.

  “You are,” he pointed out. “We saved a lot of time yesterday.”

  She smothered a smile and went back to reading.

  8) Because I’ll always regret not taking this chance.

  9) I still don’t know her real first name.

  10) Not kissing her again might kill me.

  “Those are ten good reasons,” she said, folding the list back up. A love note—in list form. Lists might grow on her if they were always like that. He was right about ten being ideal. It felt ideal. Instead of putting it in his outstretched hand, she tucked the folded paper into her bra, and a smile spread across his face.

  “What do you say?” he asked.

  “Remember,” she said.

  He frowned. “Remember what?”

  She leaned down and brushed a kiss across his cheek in a soft caress before stopping her lips beside his ear. “Remember is my real first name,” she whispered. “My parents were cruel and thought it was fun. My last name, Maison, means home in French. So, Remember Home. They thought they were clever.”

  His mouth stretched in a wide grin as the words sunk in. “What’s Denny’s rea
l name?”

  “I can’t tell you. You’ll have to make him fall for you too, Mr. Savoy.”

  Acknowledgements

  There will never be enough of my books published to acknowledge the influence of my husband in my writing and my life. My OCD wins sometimes, and he loves me and helps me keep those days to a minimum. He knew from the beginning the demons I was fighting, and he wanted me. There is no greater gift than to be loved for who you are in addition to the person you can become.

  I couldn’t write a book with a character with OCD without acknowledging the doctor who’s been treating mine for years. One of my worst days, I walked into his office and asked, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Am I crazy?” And he said, “If you can acknowledge the possibility that you’re crazy, you’re not. The crazy ones don’t know they’re crazy.” And that’s why I’m his patient for life—he blinds me with his science.

  I’m trying to thank the awesome community of Twitter in each book, but this might end up being an endless task. Why must you people be so supportive and incredible? So, this time, my thanks go out to (by username, so you can follow them too): AgentAusten09, AngelaKulig, BrittanyMarczak, CynthiaRReese, DaharaDreams, DreamingReviews, Katee_Robert, LaurenDeStefano, MarisaBirns, MicheledeWinton, Ophelia_London, QuickMissive, SkylaDawn, StephanieLMcGee, SWurner, TheCharmingLass, and Vbartles. I have to say this list—my list—in no way encompasses the amazing group of people I’ve met on Twitter.

  Jay, Jami, Tina, Sarah, Heidi, Jaime, Di, Stephanie, Mary, Mom, Mom-in-law, thanks for dealing with someone who moves commas until the bitter end.

  This story was hugged and loved by many people at Entangled, but Lewis, Kerri-Leigh, and Heather especially helped make it happen. Lewis, you put up with a lot of weirdness from me—thank you so much for adjusting the way you edit and advise to accommodate my quirks.

  Thank you, Sarah Yake, for indulging my superstitious side and doing things in odd numbers.

  Special thanks to Jay and TechSurgeons LLC for hosting and helping with my website.

  This year, I talked about some deep and possibly disturbing aspects to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder on my blog, and it just deepened my online friendships. I hope someday to put you all on my list. Thank you.

  About the Author

  At home in the Pacific Northwest, Wendy Sparrow writes for both an adult and young adult crowd. She has two wonderfully quirky kids, a supportive husband, and a perpetually messy house because writing is more fun than cleaning. She enjoys reading with a flashlight under a blanket—the way all the best books should be read—and believes in the Oxford comma, the pursuit of cupcakes, and that every story deserves a happily ever after. Most days she can be found on Twitter where she’ll talk to anyone who talks back, and occasionally just to herself.

  Read on for an excerpt from Wendy Sparrow’s...

  FROSTED

  Chapter One

  Kate skirted the snow as if it were boiling, bubbling lava. Denver was covered with the stuff. It was piled thick on the sides of the road where the plows had shoved it. Kids were throwing it at each other. Cars were slip-sliding around on it. The only safe haven was the sidewalk they were walking down, and she kept skidding on the salt they’d used to get rid of the ice.

  It was everywhere.

  Not that she’d expected any different, coming here in winter. This was just a light dusting according to the locals. Everywhere she went people were complaining it wasn’t enough. She had to get out of here before it got worse. And it would get worse.

  It could get so much worse.

  Kate jumped over a patch of snow clinging to a crack in the sidewalk. It was like the world was icy at its core, and the snow was leaking through the cracks.

  “Some people actually like it,” said the man walking beside her. “They come here for that foul, nasty, white stuff.” She could hear the smile in his voice, but she’d warned him she didn’t like the snow before he’d dragged her up here. It was a little hard to say no to Rick Hutton, partly because he was her boss, but a little because he was so charming. “The client just wants you here for a few days and then it’s back to beach weather in time for Christmas.” He made eye contact. “I swear I’ll get you back by Christmas. I’m sure you have family…”

  Kate blinked back a sudden stinging in her eyes. It was the season. She only got emotional about her family, or lack of a family really, around Christmas. “No. Not family I’m close to or visit. I’m just anxious to be out of the cold.”

  Rick smiled and gestured to a nearby restaurant. “I can help with that at least temporarily,” he said, holding the door open for her. The last seven years she’d practically been in cold storage when it came to men. The warmth from his hand on her back as they navigated through the waiting area didn’t feel…unwelcome.

  It was easier to avoid attachments when no one was interested. Rick had been visiting their division of the company more than warranted, and especially more than anyone expected the CEO to visit. There’d been talk around her office, but she’d dismissed it, explaining he was just a nice guy.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have disregarded it, because the looks he’d been giving her were heated—defrosting.

  The restaurant had high ceilings and exposed wooden beams. It was meant to look like the inside of a ski lodge—and she certainly approved of the wave of heat that had welcomed her when they’d walked in.

  Rick’s gaze never left her while they waited to be seated. A rush of awareness heated her cheeks and made her look away. It had been a long time since she’d gotten that look, and he was her boss. Her boss.

  Rick’s shirt was probably a week’s salary for her, but he casually yanked off his tie and stuffed it in his pocket, unbuttoning the top button. Everything about him always radiated polish. Then he’d smile, and every woman in the company from the receptionist to upper management wanted to be the one taking that tie off. That smile that made every woman breathe a little faster was thrown about indiscriminately, but he always looked like he was wearing it just for you. The only one who seemed immune was Kate—maybe that was the draw for him.

  Okay, she was mostly immune. It wasn’t just his smile, though that would have been enough—he was tall with dark brown hair that looked tousled, the art of a very expensive cut, and he had these brown eyes that reminded her of hot chocolate. Hot, hot, hot chocolate. She needed some of that—right away. The chocolate, not Rick. She couldn’t feel her toes in her wool-lined boots.

  “I can seat you next to the window,” the hostess said.

  “Near the fireplace. My friend is from Florida and doesn’t like the cold,” Rick said. “Please.” Rick’s smile really did it.

  “Well, okay.” She gestured for them to follow her. “My name is Cami, by the way,” she tossed over her shoulder—for Rick.

  Kate felt a little awkward and gangly in her layers of clothing—especially while following the young hostess in her painted-on dress, but she’d never stop shivering without all the layers.

  The roaring fire they headed towards nearly brought her to her knees. The heat actually permeated clear to her skin. She could kiss Rick for that. She wouldn’t, but it’d been a long time since a guy had made her hot—even if only literally.

  After seating them, the hostess lingered, unnecessarily, ridiculously. Rick gifted her with one last smile, and she asked him to come see her if he needed anything.

  “I vote we have a very long lunch,” Kate said, watching the fire in the gigantic stone fireplace beside her. It took up nearly the entire wall of the restaurant, and they were at the closest table. The flames licked upwards, tasting the air, and for a moment she could believe she was warm inside. Heaven. This was heaven. “We should order appetizers and something slow-roasted. I’ll even order dessert for no reason other than being able to sit here.” She pulled off her gloves—something she hadn’t believed she’d be doing the entire time she was in Denver.

  “See, I can keep you warm even in Denver, but it took DeWinter
s’ insistence on speaking with you in person to get you up here.” He smiled at her, and dimples appeared in both his cheeks. She fought a reaction to that smile, willed her heart to keep beating at normal speed.

  She shrugged, nicely casual. She could resist the lure of Rick. “I like Florida.”

  “Yes, but I’ve offered you a great opportunity in upper management—you’ll get out of that dark, dusty office of yours. I swear it looks better suited to a troll. I should have it remodeled over the holidays, but I’m hoping the thought of going back there makes you consider my offer.”

  On their last phone call, just before she’d come up here, he’d offered her a position she wasn’t entirely qualified for, but would be a brilliant career move.

  She’d just have to move. Physically. Here.

  A shiver vibrated down her spine at the thought of staying here. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d stayed out of his grasp for these seven years, but she could feel him in the bite in the air, hear a distant whisper on the frigid wind. He would come for her.

  “You might become acclimated.” Rick sounded skeptical even as he said it. “You can’t avoid the cold forever.”

  “I can damn well try. Besides, you have more qualified people up here.” Kate tucked her gloves away and glanced up at him in time to see the twitch of his lips in a smothered smile.

  “Maybe.”

  Okay, she’d have to be blind to miss his interest. She had her own reasons for not acting on it, but even as it was flattering, it was confusing. Sure, she’d lost all that college weight while managing to keep her curves, and she’d had a lot of guys tell her that her waist-length black hair and deep green eyes drove them crazy. None of that added up to the kind of ex-model trophy wife she’d assumed Rick would end up with. She was just Kate Finley, the girl who couldn’t wait to get back home to Sarasota, Florida, land of retirees, where nothing ever happened—where there was no snow.

  Wars had been won by the cold. You could defend against a lot of things, but the driving chill got inside your veins and never left you, freezing you from within until you just gave up. Anything to stay warm. Anything. She never should have come to Denver.