On His List (Entangled Flirts) (2 page)

Chapter Two

After they’d picked up their food, she parked the car underneath a shady tree, far away from a car bouncing out a heavy rap from its subwoofers. See how accommodating she was being?

“You look like your brother,” Owen said as he organized papers across the large backseat of the sedan.

She winced. She was hot for this guy, and he thought she looked like
Denny
? She was half Denny’s size, and not in a stick-thin sort of way—she had curves. Nice curves. Hard-to-maintain curves. She and her brother both had brown hair and blue eyes, but that was where the resemblance took a sharp turn. Her hair was long, clear to the middle of her back. She’d left it loose, other than a red hair band keeping wispy strands out of her lip gloss. She’d even taken the time to brush on some mascara to make her blue eyes pop.

Mascara. On her day off.

Today was feeling blown. She brushed imaginary lint off her A-line skirt and glanced in the rearview mirror. She could have worn a pair of sweatpants and her ripped-up Oakland A’s T-shirt and Mr. Owen Savoy might not have noticed.

That was her normal day-off attire—days off were also laundry days. She’d catch up on a few TV shows while keeping an eagle eye on the time so no one else stole her underwear from the apartment’s scary laundry room. Now, she’d be washing thongs at midnight after a day spent with this man who made her want to rub the shake cup across her face and neck just to cool down but who also thought she looked like her brother.

Like her brother. Yikes.

She checked the rearview again. He’d asked for a gazillion extra napkins when they’d arrived at the window and was treating his burger like it was a biohazard. He could single-handedly run the Amazon out of trees with his napkin consumption.

He ate in silence. It was as if the air around him was a vacuum for sound. It was
that
quiet.

Remy set the shake in the cup holder and waited patiently for this explanation regarding his schedule. As patiently as she could. She started fiddling with things to pass the time, making minute adjustments to the outside mirrors. Then, she tried to get her seat at the exact perfect distance from the steering wheel. Once she’d shifted it back and forth a hundred times, she wriggled into the stiff leather seating, trying to get her skirt to ride up just the perfect amount. She was hovering between a “hey, I’m an attractive woman with great legs” and “I’m easy” when a cough from the seat behind her made her freeze.

“Do you need to use the restroom?” he asked politely.

“No.” Should she tack on a “thank you” there? Who knew?

“Are you sure? You’re moving around a lot. We have time, and I can delay my explanation.”

“I’m just not used to sitting still.” She pulled out her “outrageous raspberry” lip gloss—more for something to do than anything. He made her nervous, both in a good way and in a bad way. It wasn’t like her to be so hyperaware of a man, but all of her nerve endings were screaming that he was sitting less than four feet behind her—with his seat belt on—despite being parked.

When she pulled the rearview mirror down, she realized he was staring at her, appearing somewhat fascinated with the process of her putting on lip gloss. She was normally good at reading people, and she could swear she saw some real hunger in those soft brown eyes of his. Her body tingled with awareness, and her heart started thumping.

“Uhh,” he said, blinking out of the daze. “Doesn’t driving normally involve sitting still?”

“I’m not normally a driver.” Remy rubbed her lips together.

He went back to staring. His tongue darted and caressed that lower lip of his, which looked delicious and in need of biting, when it wasn’t pursed in a disapproving frown, but even more so when it was.

There was something seriously wrong with her. On the other hand, he’d just licked his lips while staring at her: he wanted her.

The tingles all over wouldn’t stop. She pushed herself deeper into the seat to avoid vaulting over the back of it and demanding he fulfill that promise in his eyes. Even though she sent up a prayer of gratitude that she’d remembered her deodorant, Remy might also have to turn on the AC in the car. Maybe she shouldn’t have been mocking that guy at the airport.

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.

“Mr. Savoy has just never brought anyone with him,” she said. “It’s nice to see he’s human after all.”

Remy stood there, blinking at her. Uhh. Okay. She wasn’t really
with
Owen even if she technically was.
Even if she wanted to be. In all the bad ways.

Mallory’s eyes widened. “Oh, don’t tell him I said that. That sounds horrible. I mean, he’s very nice. Just, well, I’m sure you know, he’s very driven.”

“Driven,” Remy repeated, smiling. This woman wasn’t aware Remy was the literal “driving force” behind him being here. Remy didn’t correct her, though. She should have, but she didn’t. It was validating that Mallory thought a guy like Owen could be with a girl like her. “Can I ask you a question, Mallory?”

Mallory nodded in an “eager to please” way that sort of creeped Remy out.

“Are these visits of his actually secret or do you all know?”

“Oh, we know. We know several weeks in advance. His assistant keeps us updated. It’s less stressful for everyone that way.” Here, she frowned and added, “He wasn’t actually expected until later today, though. So,
that
was a surprise.”

“Yeah. For him too,” Remy murmured.

“Well, I should go make sure my group is doing well.” Mallory waved—possibly the most controlled and least spontaneous effort that movement had ever seen. She was like Owen’s twin.

Ever contrary, Remy waved back enthusiastically.

As Mallory disappeared into the gray, boring monolith of a building, Remy set off to circle the building until this ache in her gut for Owen, her polar opposite, went away.
Yeah right.
Her heels would cripple her feet before that happened. Still, the pop and scrape of those heels was a nice beat after the quiet she’d been through.

She was back at the front door, bent over, fishing a rock out of her shoe when that door opened.

“Are you okay?” Owen asked.

She held up the rock. “It must have gotten in there when I took off my shoes to walk through the garden on the east side.”

Owen shifted sideways and looked at the building. “There’s a garden?”

“Yeah, it’s got this cool bench with your name on it. Well, you were one of the names.” She grabbed his shoulder to steady herself as she put her heel back on. He had the sexiest deltoid muscle she’d ever felt. The casual touch overheated her more than her entire walk. Her breath hitched when she said, “I can show you the garden,” as she straightened. She brushed a strand of brown hair from her face and tried to slow her breathing.

Blinking, he glanced at her hand on his shoulder. She should have removed it. She didn’t. Not right away. His muscle tensed up beneath her fingers. In her mind, she pictured a cougar gathering strength to pounce—that was how he looked.

“Maybe next time.” He sounded distracted, confused, and just a little…out of control.

She pulled her hand back, and they both took a breath like they’d just surfaced from drowning. Okay, sexual tension that could be cut with a knife—check.

Remy cleared her throat. “Your estimate was wrong?” she asked, gesturing at his watch. He was out after only twenty-five minutes, a whole ten minutes early.

“I think I rushed it. I checked everything off my list, but it still should’ve taken more time.”

“You have a list for in there too?”

“Lists are logical.”

“I never said they weren’t.”

“It was implied.”

No, she’d been closer to implying they were boring and lame. She had no doubt they were logical. She just wasn’t a list sort of girl.

On the way back to the car, he walked more closely than before—so close they brushed shoulders a few times. Rather than going to his door, he stopped to open hers.

She blushed.
Like a schoolgirl.
Hopefully he didn’t notice.

As he sat, Owen picked up a piece of paper with a scowl and muttered under his breath as he noted the time. “One of the directors in marketing made a point to tell me that you’d spoken and how nice you were.”

Mallory was a total kiss-up.

“She thought I was with you.” Remy started up the car.

“Do you know where we’re going next?”

“Yes, I looked at the schedule while you were inside.”

“Oh,” he said. In the rearview mirror, she caught his surreptitious glance at her camisole.

Remy smothered a smile.

She’d been driving for a minute when he said, “But you are with me.” As it was the first time he’d initiated a conversation while she was driving, she nearly slammed on the brakes.

“Yes, but I’m not
with
you.”

She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw him nod and look out the window while worrying his lower lip. He’d barely even glanced out the window thus far. He’d always returned to his papers or laptop. This wasn’t a particularly lovely portion of the Bay Area, but it was good to see he could notice the scenery once in a while.

He was so distracted by his thoughts he didn’t even give her a time estimate when they arrived, but he did ask when she walked him to the door, “You’ll be okay out here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, go do your unrandom, random visit.”

“Unrandom, random?” he repeated, grinning, but did as she’d asked.