Denny sputtered into the phone. “Please tell me he isn’t in the car with you.”
Oh. Right. There was a sinking sensation in her stomach just before her cheeks flamed pink. “Yeah, like I’d mention something like that with him in the car.” It almost sounded convincing.
“Do you need me to take over?” Denny asked.
Remy glanced over at Owen, her insides at war. She wanted to stay with him, but that would get her deeper into whatever this was. “Do I need you to take over?” she repeated.
Owen shook his head. He flipped to a new page on the legal pad and scribbled, I’d rather have you, in long, slashed print. The double entendre of the word “have” didn’t do anything for her roiling insides, or her heart—which had picked up its pace.
“No, I think I’m good,” she said into the phone.
“You’re not touching his stuff, right? I told you how particular he is about that. He won’t even let me handle his bag.”
“I’m not!” Her protest must have reeked of “guilty” because Denny sighed.
“Remy, promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Say it.”
She groaned. “I promise I won’t touch his stuff.” She cleared her throat. “Unless he asks me to.”
Owen had turned back to the window, but she could see his shoulders shaking. Great, he was laughing.
After muttering a “bye” to Denny, she hung up and tossed the phone away.
Owen turned back to her, a smile still stretching his lips. It impaled her heart. She was in way too deep with this guy. His smile was a double rainbow, the best song on repeat, and a shooting star all rolled into one. “You’re not to touch my stuff?”
“No, I’m not to touch your stuff.” She cleared her throat and wriggled in her seat. “So, Alcatraz?”
“I haven’t finished the list.” He flipped back to the previous page and tapped the pen on it.
She snatched the list, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it out the window. When she turned back, the pad still displayed the words I’d rather have you. She grabbed the pad and flung it in the backseat. Yeah. That was better—and not at all neurotic.
The horrified look was back. “Not only did you throw out our list, but you also littered.”
Starting the car, she said, “See, that’s an even better reason to make a getaway. Oakland takes a hard stance on litterers.”
Owen buckled in and glanced around at the seedy strip mall with more boarded-up stores than open ones. “Really?”
Yeah, they were in a crappy part of town. They were near her apartment in fact. His list had joined a pile of crap to the side of the car. “Nah. I saw a guy shot over stealing the last Ho Ho at the 7-Eleven last week,” she said.
“Really?”
She laughed. “Don’t you have crime in Miami?”
“You know that’s where I’m from?”
“Denny told me which flight I was meeting.” She could tell what he was doing, though. He was trying to figure out how interested she was in him. If she was remembering the little details about him, that said something. And she was, but where he lived was sort of a gimme. The scent of his cologne, the exact shade of his eyes, that small scar under his left ear were more telling things she’d remember, but she wasn’t about to volunteer that.
“Oh. Yeah. We do. I tend to get wrapped up in my own projects a lot. I don’t follow that part of the news. Mostly I just read the business sections.”
“Have you always been rich?”
“No, I developed a computer program in college and sold it for several million, and a good friend’s father talked me into becoming an investor in a few companies. I’ve just gone from there.”
Remy fought a smile. He was both nerdy and wealthy. She’d never dated a guy who was either. Not that this was a date.
He glanced her way. “I’m not that wealthy. It’s mostly tied up in investments.”
“Uh-huh. Did you fly first class here?” she asked.
“Yes, but I used airline miles.”
He probably had a list somewhere for airline miles he earned from each trip. “So, did I get your assistant in trouble?” she asked.
“Michael? No. I’ll talk with him about this when I get back, but I can see what he was trying to do.”
His assistant was a man. Interesting. “What was he trying to do?”
“I like things to be smooth and predictable.” Huge understatement. He glanced at her and added, “Normally, anyway.”
Well, she might have to shake up his world then.
She kept him talking the whole way. It was difficult, like prying gum out of her running shoes. She stopped asking him questions that could be answered with yes or no, because he was literal about answering just what she asked. In fact, when she’d asked him about his flight, he’d told her it was six hours and fifteen minutes.
“No, how was your flight?”
Owen sat there, staring straight ahead, like she’d given him a question impossible to answer.
“Was it good? What did you do for six hours and fifteen minutes?” she asked. It was seriously like prying out gum.
“Oh, I worked. I finished typing two reports and responded to six emails.”
“So, you’re saying it was fun?”
He actually smiled. “Loads of fun.”
“What do they give you in first class? Gold-dusted peanuts?”
He shook his head. “They just hand us gold. It’s hard on your teeth at first, but you get used to it.”
She’d have never guessed he could actually tell a joke. Every time he smiled, she felt that gap between them lessen…just a little, and it made the prying worth it.
When they arrived at Pier 33, they were lucky enough to find tickets still available. He’d insisted they needed a guided tour. She never went on guided tours. Still, she could survive this one. It would give them more time together anyway.
“They have a night tour?” he asked.
“I guess so. I’ve never actually done this,” she admitted.
“Never?”
“I don’t usually visit prisons in my spare time,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He smiled. “C’mon, Remy, live a little.” She felt his hand on the small of her back as they boarded the ferry. It made her feel safe and dangerous all at once. He didn’t remove it when they got on board. They stood by the railings and the wind made her shiver. Yeah, the wind. A moment later, he had to steady her as the boat shifting knocked her off balance.
“You’re not really dressed for being on the water.” Owen nodded in particular at her heels and added a frown for good measure. If he knew his frowning left her feeling hot, he probably wouldn’t be frowning.
“Hey, I hadn’t planned on this when I got dressed,” she said. “Besides, Denny said you might freak out and request a different driver, so I was going for sexy-but-not-desperate.”
His gaze slid down her from head to toe, appreciation mingled with concern. He’d definitely lingered on her shoulders and legs, though. “You’ve succeeded. You also might freeze.”
“We can go inside.”
“I don’t have a coat to loan you, but I can try to keep you warm.” He moved behind Remy and wrapped his arms around her.
A shiver of pure, unadulterated pleasure hummed through her body, and she closed her eyes with a deep sigh. Oh. My. It felt so completely right. He felt right.
Live in the moment, Remy. Live in the moment. Besides, he visits here every so often. She leaned back against him, and he tightened his embrace. The pressure and warmth felt so good—a constant reminder of being wanted. Another shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. For the first time that she could remember, Remy felt like being quiet and still and just enjoying the sensation of being with someone. She tipped her head just a bit and inhaled. Mmm. He’d probably notice if she licked his neck, and she had promised Denny there’d be no licking, so she contented herself with breathing in deeply. Deep breaths were good for you anyway. Normally, they rel
axed you. She was anything but relaxed.
When they arrived and she saw the hill climb, she didn’t think anything of him grabbing her hand and towing her up. When he didn’t let go at the top, she felt her world shift. It was hard to concentrate on the tour with him holding her hand. A prison had to be the least romantic first date in the entire world, but it felt like a date, and it felt romantic. His eyes met hers time and time again—like the world was their private joke. The whisper of a smile hung on his lips constantly, and the inches between them were dissolving. This was a date, and a good one at that.
“If I were going to prison, I’d prefer one with a view,” Owen whispered to her. Everyone else had been chatting so loudly and the echo of voices had bounced so that it’d been hard to hear the tour guide at points. She loved that he was whispering.
“So, on your list of future prison requirements, a view would rank highly?”
“Well, also a window. Otherwise it just really adds miles to your escape plan.” He held up his free hand, and ticked off. “One, a view. Two, a window. Three, decent food.”
“Four, low probability of being shanked while sleeping.”
“I don’t know if you can negotiate that. It is a prison.”
“Well, I’m not going then. That’s a dealbreaker. Yours is a view. Mine is not getting shanked.”
He smiled, but tried really hard not to. “Mine are more quantifiable, more controllable. Lists, ideally, should be more succinct like that. Items you can achieve or hope to achieve. I can have a window.”
“Well, sure, if you’re alive and unshanked.”
Owen laughed…which drew the tour guide’s attention to them. He’d paused in the middle of some story obviously not meant to be laughed at. Owen cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, with a wave of apology. Turning, he gave Remy a significant look for getting them in trouble.
“This is why I don’t take tours.” When the tour guide looked at her, she shrugged and grinned.
Deciding it might be better to put some distance between them and the tour group, they walked the grounds of the prison in a slow meander. “So, what’s your full name?” he asked.
“Remy Maison.”
He rolled his eyes and looked at her. “That’s not what I meant. What’s your first name?”
“I told you. It’s a secret. I even had it changed legally.”
“So, none of the other guys you date know your full name?”
Hmm. So, he thought of this as a date too? That was probably good—even if it worried her.
“No,” she said.
“Boyfriends?”
“You’re not my boyfriend,” she pointed out.
“But…if I were, you’d tell me?”
Her feet quit moving, and she turned to face him, raising her eyebrows. Was he trying to say something? The wind coming off the water tossed his short black hair around. It would probably annoy him if he knew it was getting mussed.
“I like to have things defined,” he said.
“Yes, I have told boyfriends what my full name was.” If he wanted boyfriend status, that would definitely mean them being in the same state a good portion of the time—at the very least. Besides, they’d only known each other a short time. This was just a business trip fling for him—with someone very, very different from his norm.
But maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe she could visit Miami…with her hordes and hordes of money. Her stomach soured at that.
“What if I guessed it? Would you tell me if I were right?” he asked.
She felt the weight of her expectations as they crashed and burned in a glorious four alarm fire. A loophole. He was trying to find a loophole to the boyfriend rule to satisfy his curiosity about her name. “No,” she said, trying not to stiffen up and drop his hand. A loophole. Damn.
“Oh, c’mon, Remy,” he said, laughing.
“It’s getting a little cold.” She used the excuse to drop his hand and rub her arms, which backfired completely when he put his arms around her.
“You’re very sensitive about your name.”
His breath on her neck sent electricity down her spine. Mmm. He was so delicious, but if it ended in a few hours, that might destroy her. She tended to invest with her whole heart and soul.
Live a little, Remy. Take a chance. Why did her heart always seem to get the final say in everything? Her mind had just given up with a “well, we tried.” Idiot.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“C’mon, let’s break out of this joint and go get some grub,” he said.
“Had to throw out some prison lingo? I don’t think grub is prison talk, though. That’s more like an old prospector.”
He slid his hand down her arm and grabbed her hand. “I’m clearly not meant for the criminal class.”
They wandered back toward the dock. “Tell me about Miami.”
“What about it?”
“Well, you must like it because you live there.” Would she really visit him in Miami if he wanted it? Her heart tickled at the thought. Crap. She totally would. She hadn’t felt this way about her ex-boyfriends here. She’d broken it off with a guy when gas prices had skyrocketed, and she’d realized he wasn’t worth the gas money. Now, she was thinking of plane tickets and getting a second job to afford them. Maybe she could waitress at night again. This was bad. So very bad.
“You really want to know?” he asked her.
“I really do.”
Owen Savoy, control freak, who’d probably made more money in the last five minutes than she’d make all day, grinned like she’d offered him the world.
He told her about the beaches and the Art Deco. He was big into Art Deco. She’d have never figured him for an art guy—it seemed too unstructured and emotional. Art was a bit messy, in her opinion. Then he described his condo’s style and referred to the clean, crisp lines of Art Deco for the eightieth time. Okay, maybe Art Deco was the exception to creative chaos.
The apartment she shared with Denny was clean, but could only be described as cast-off heaven. Their kitchen table was older than her. The couch had been a sidewalk find they’d scooped up before the garbage truck had.
What am I doing?
They were so different.
Chapter Five
They ate fish and chips down on the wharf and watched seagulls dive-bomb someone foolish enough to set their food down to take a phone call. Owen had his arm around her, and she was starting to get the vibe that he was going to kiss her.
“Remy?” a voice called behind her. She turned on the bench to see a guy carrying takeout from one of the restaurants.
“Hey, Cade, how’s it going?” she asked, standing up.
“Good. I haven’t been by to see you for a couple months.” Cade looked at Owen with eyebrows raised.
Was it her imagination or did Owen shift closer to her? “This is Owen. Owen, this is Cade.” They shook hands but neither looked friendly about the exchange.
“I was going to call you, when are you available again?” Cade asked.
Owen’s arm tightened around her shoulders. What was his deal?
“I’m pretty open,” she said.
“Okay.” Cade glanced back and forth between Owen and her. “I’ll let you get back to your date, and just give you a call.” He smiled uncomfortably and waved before walking off.
Remy turned to see Owen staring after Cade with his eyes narrowed.
“Owen?”
He glanced down. “Sorry. Did you want to talk to him more? I mean, I didn’t even…” He took his arm from around her.
“He can just call me at work and schedule an appointment,” she said.
The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out and he grinned. “Oh…that’s what he was talking about?”
Oh my hell. He was jealous? “He’s one of my massage clients.”
“So, you give massages to men too?”
“Yeah, I do some work for a local physical therapy place, so I get a few athletes from time to time in add
ition to my regular clients. Cade tore a muscle playing football two years ago.”
“I thought he was maybe a boyfriend or something,” Owen said.
She scooted a few inches away. “If I were dating someone, I wouldn’t have let you buy me dinner.” That dinner was sitting heavy in her stomach. “I’m not like that. I don’t play games.”
Owen winced. “No, I’m sorry. I just…don’t normally do this. So, I’m not quite thinking things through.”
“Do what?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Anything without planning it out. Doing something because I want it and not because it’s logical. I…uhh…normally like to list pros and cons before making any decisions, but I’ve bypassed that step because there weren’t any cons. And there still aren’t, none that I’m seeing, but I’m not behaving very rationally.”
She shifted on the bench, then cleared her throat. “Are you saying you want me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Her heart started pounding. She shrugged. He’d had his arm around her, but didn’t anymore. He’d been holding her hand, but wasn’t anymore.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”
He leaned toward her slowly, giving her plenty of time to back away. Live in the moment, Remy. She met his mouth with hers while sliding a hand along his jaw, caressing below his ear, and into the hair at the nape of his neck. They both parted their lips with the second kiss. He tipped his head and licked her lower lip tentatively. She brushed his tongue with hers and pulled his mouth tighter against hers. His arm slipped back around her shoulders, his other hand stroked her thigh where her skirt ended. She pulled his tongue into her mouth, which made his hand grip tightly on her leg. Her nails dug into the skin on his neck, coaxing a moan from deep in his throat.
He liked that?
She liked that.
She could kiss like this for hours. For being so uptight, Owen had some moves. She wanted to climb onto his lap and straddle him, but she wasn’t so far gone to the world that she thought he’d be okay with that.
When they pulled back to catch their breaths, he said, “I’ve never made out on a bench before.” He glanced around and added, “In public.”
She smiled at his discomfort. He was looking around as if they’d just yanked each other’s clothes off and given a spectacular show. Yeah, he would have really freaked out if she’d climbed onto his lap. Licking her lips, she leaned in to get back to kissing when he looked around again. Crap. He was uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable than normal.
On His List (Entangled Flirts) Page 4
