Crave Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 3)

by Cecy Robson

  As I watch her walk away, I start to wonder that myself.

  CHAPTER 2

  Evan

  I open the passenger door to the dark blue Explorer, ushering Wren through. She pauses before slipping inside. “Hey, check it out,” she says. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

  I chuckle because I have nothing better to say. Even if witty comebacks were my forte, this woman would still have me at a loss for words. It didn’t take her long to verify my credentials or acquire an impressive vehicle to test drive, her command and efficiency, making the process smooth.

  I take a quick look at the interior as I glide inside, adjusting the seat to accommodate my height.

  “What made you decide on an Explorer?” I ask, concentrating on the vehicle’s features so I don’t openly stare at Wren.

  She tilts her head. “You’re a suit, a businessman, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “For starters, you don’t need a truck. Trucks are good for hauling equipment, wood, things like that.” She laughs a little. “That’s not something you need. But a big guy like you does need something comfortable, and seeing how you’re taking the Blue Route to work, you also want a vehicle that’s going to keep you safe. The maniacs on the highway will bowl over a smaller ride, but in this, even the crazies will think twice before messing with you.”

  “That’s understandable, but why didn’t you lead me to the Expedition? They’re more expensive and will guarantee you a higher commission should I decide to purchase.”

  Her smile will be my undoing. Perhaps she’s aware, and why she widens it further. “I’m not here to sell you something for the sake of filling my pockets. That’s not what I’m about. My experience is the Explorer is easier to navigate in the city, not to mention slightly better on gas. If you lived in the mountains or commuted from a more rural environment, I might have considered an Expedition. But for a badass, city guy like you, the Explorer is perfect.” Her stare flickers over my body. “You feel me?”

  As taken as I am with her, I wish she would have chosen a better phrase. “I do.”

  She winks. “Then see? I’m giving you exactly what you need.”

  “It would seem so,” I respond. This woman is honest and ethical, but it’s her ability to charm that continues to captivate me. “Shall we?” I ask, motioning to the road.

  “Prepared to be awed,” she responds.

  I shift into gear and pull away from the building. “You’re given name is Erin,” I say, wanting to know more about her.

  “Yup,” she replies.

  “But you go by Wren.”

  “I kind of had to,” she says. “My brothers apparently thought Erin was too long and nicknamed me Rin, which morphed into Wren. The name stuck.” She shrugs. “I can only imagine what I would have been called if my Ma named me Ivory like my Grammie O’Malley—God rest her soul—wanted.”

  “Ivory is quite lovely. But Wren appears to suit you.”

  “Yeah? I don’t know. I think I could have pulled off Ivory seeing how my skin only knows white and whiter with the occasional freckle.”

  “If you say so,” I say chuckling.

  No sooner do I pull onto the main road than my phone rings.

  “Alfred, answer,” I say.

  “Who’s Alfred?” Wren asks.

  Before I can explain that it’s the technology that commands my phone, Ashleigh’s voice belts through the speaker. “Evan, where are you?”

  I grumble. Is there no escape from this woman? “Ashleigh, I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

  She sighs. “A meeting? Can you be more specific?”

  “No,” I practically growl, well aware Wren is watching me.

  “I’m trying to help,” she says. “Do you understand that? Anne and Clifton are beside themselves without you here.”

  “If that were the case, they’d contact me directly,” I respond.

  She pauses then adds, “They need you, Evan.”

  “Ashleigh, they’re more than capable of getting on without me. I won’t discuss this any further.”

  “Will you at least tell me what time you’ll be back so I can reassure them?”

  Her voice is terse which only adds to my aggravation. When I first transferred from London, I counted on Ashleigh tremendously and appreciated her insight. Now I find her vexing and rather intrusive.

  “Evan,” she presses. “When can we expect you?”

  “When I’m finished with my current business,” I snap. “Alfred, end call.”

  The line shuts off. I turn to offer Wren an apology only to find her laughing.

  “Uh, uh, uh. The little woman isn’t happy,” she teases. “I’m thinking you earned yourself a trip to the nearest florist and dinner out to make it up to her.”

  Wren’s comment causes me to chuckle, dissolving my lingering annoyance. “She’s not my wife.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “No, she’s my secretary,” I respond, steeling a glance her way. “I’m single.”

  My hope is to spark her interest, but I can’t be sure I succeeded.

  “By the way she was nagging you, you could have fooled me.” Her lips curve. “So then who are Anne and Clifton?”

  “Not my children, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  She waggles her finger at me. “It’s exactly what I was thinking seeing how Ashleigh doesn’t feel they can tie their own shoes without you.”

  She shifts in her seat and crosses her legs. I was hoping to keep my attention on the road and off her body, but I don’t stand a bloody chance. Her smile widens. “You may want to go the speed limit there, big guy. My brother’s a cop, but he’ll kill me if I ask him to fix a ticket.”

  I ease off the accelerator when I realize I’m well over the legal limit. “It’s fast,” I mutter, surprised by the ease of control.

  “It’s the 3.5L EcoBoost®. It combines all the advanced technologies of turbocharging and direct injection.” She points ahead. “Make a right at the light. Then a right on the next block. The neighborhood there has a lot of hills and is always the last one in the area to get plowed. If this doesn’t convince you that you need this baby, nothing will.”

  I follow her directions, appreciating how the vehicle handles the overabundance of dips and potholes we encounter in the neighborhood. Mostly though, I relish Wren’s presence.

  It’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed the company of a woman, let alone one this lovely.

  Again, she crosses her legs, and once more my eyes are upon her.

  Her smooth dark eyebrows lift into an arch. “You like what you see?”

  “I do,” I respond, my voice lowering.

  Her hand smooths across the console. “They come in cream and tan.”

  “What?” I ask, jerking my focus between her and the road.

  “The interior,” she says, tilting her chin. She laughs when my face heats. “What did you think I was talking about?”

  I pretend to adjust the mirror. “I thought you were discussing the vehicle in general.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she says. She pauses as my body temperature rises several degrees. “Were you looking at my legs?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, you were. You were totally checking me out.”

  I pause with my fingers over the controls. I’m an educated man, the CEO of a robotics and technological empire. There are times when I’m challenging a roomful of brilliant engineers and questioning their designs, and moments where I’m discussing complex technological breakthroughs with potential buyers. I know how to present myself in a professional and articulate manner, always.

  Except perhaps now. “I was admiring your muscle tone.”

  “Is that so?” she asks.

  “Yes.” Among other things.

  I steel myself for a verbal tongue-lashing given my asinine response. Wren may arm herself with a tough exterior, but she’s very much a lady and deserves to be treated as such.

  Yet
anger isn’t what comes.

  “Thanks,” she says. “I love to eat so I work out a lot.”

  Her response appears genuine, but I imagine she already suspects I’m attracted her. Given my deportment, how could she not?

  My foot lowers on the accelerator when we reach another hill. The Explorer easily climbs with a simple tap. I’m impressed with how easy it is to maneuver a vehicle this large, but not to the point that I forget this woman beside me, or my desire to know her.

  “What do you do to stay in shape, aerobics?” I ask.

  She purses her lips, appearing to think about it. “Sure, if it were the 80’s and I was into headbands.” She laughs when I do. “If you want to know the truth, I kick box, dabble in jujitsu, and teach women’s self-defense.”

  “Because of your job?” My voice softens when she hesitates. “I imagine climbing into a car with a stranger is not without risks, despite the safety checks implemented by your employer.”

  Her voice softens. “No. A girl can’t be too careful. A lot of shit―sorry. There are a lot of bad things that can happen to a woman.”

  Wren’s voice is unique, not simply because of her thick Philadelphia accent, but because of the confidence behind it . . . a confidence that was very much present until now.

  “My apologies,” I offer, glancing her way. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You’re not,” she says, glancing away. “Oh, turn right. This leads up one of the steepest hills in the area. I want you to get a feel for how this ride handles through the slush and snow.” She turns back, tossing me an impish grin. “Can’t keep you away from the missus too long.”

  I smirk at her good-natured needling. “Ashleigh and I have a strictly professional relationship, I assure you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she muses. “How old is Ashleigh?’

  I give it some thought. “I believe she’s younger than me by a few years, twenty-eight or so.”

  “Is she in a relationship?”

  My mind plays with the idea. She’s young and pretty so it’s likely she could be. Yet like me, Ashleigh is always at the office and has made no mention of a significant other. At least not that I recall. “I don’t think so.”

  “Hmm,” she says, fidgeting with the lapels of her black leather coat. “Then unless Ashleigh plays for the other team, I’m not so sure she wants a ‘strictly professional relationship’ as you put it.”

  “What?” she asks, her face lighting up at the sight of my frown. “There’re a few things I know, and know well. Cars and women. If Ashleigh hasn’t put the moves on you, it’s because she’s waiting for the right moment to pounce.”

  “That’s absurd,” I say, laughing.

  “Is it?”

  I give some thought to what she says. Ashleigh is hardworking and intelligent . . . as well as mothering and overbearing. She’s attractive, but there’s certainly no attraction there. My gaze flickers to Wren. Not like there is here. “It’s not what you think,” I begin.

  “Sure it is.”

  I chuckle. “Why are you so certain she’ll pounce, as you put it?”

  “Because you’re good-looking, in shape, and apparently have a decent job.” She taps her fingers against her knee. “She may not have hit on you, yet, but trust me, she will.”

  “You think I’m good-looking?” I ask, smiling her way. “Or are charm and flattery part of your sales tactics?”

  Her eyes fly open. “Look out!”

  My foot slams on the brake as a dog runs out in front of me. I stop almost immediately, my grip to the steering wheel loosening only when the dog speeds away unharmed.

  “Woo!” Wren yells. She points to the dash. “You see that? Best breaking system in its class!” She drops her hands, beaming at me. “So what do you think?

  I shift the SUV into park in the middle of the road, stunned I didn’t run over that poor creature yet impressed how Wren incorporated the experience into her sales pitch. I should apologize for my carelessness. But I can’t explain that my inability to focus was due to her presence.

  “Come on,” she says, giving me a playful nudge. “If you were driving anything else we’d be scraping Snoopy off the tires and telling some poor family we killed their dog.”

  “I’ll take it,” I say, my voice lowering as I continue to take her in. I’ll take three if it means staying with her a moment longer.

  Her mesmerizing stare holds me in place. “In that case, I’m taking you to lunch.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Wren

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  Evan lowers his plastic menu, laughing softly at my remark. When he first walked into the dealership, I couldn’t figure this guy out. The sides of his cashmere coat parted when he moved, exposing what looks like a pricey suit. But while he’s clean shaven, he’s not exactly clean-cut.

  His dark wavy hair curls around his ears, long enough that I can tell he’s overdue for a trip to the barber, but not so long that he appears disheveled. I take another long look at his straight nose, broad shoulders, and perfect posture. No, he’s not disheveled. He’s cute. Damn cute if you like pretty boys with deep green eyes with specks of gold, and a jawline angels must have chiseled from granite. Oh, and don’t get me started on that accent. He sounds like David Gandy, and dear God, looks a little like him, too.

  “I’m serious,” he tells me, the way he looks at me taking him from damn cute to sexy. “I’ve never had a cheesesteak.”

  I reach for the iPad tucked in the bag at my feet, not that I want to. But I need an excuse to break away from those gorgeous eyes and thick lashes that curl at the tips. “So when I asked you if you wanted to go out for steaks, you weren’t picturing enough flat screens to fill a cruise ship and Yuengling on tap.”

  “What’s a Yuengling?” he asks.

  I cringe, setting my iPad in front of me. “Oh, Evan, you have a lot to learn if you plan on staying in Philly for the long haul.”

  He chuckles, his attention trailing to the foosball and pool tables on the other side of the room before drifting to the bar, where Sal’s Sports Bar sign lights up in red, almost directly where Sal himself stands. “I didn’t picture anything close to this,” he admits. “I imagined a traditional restaurant and found your desire to eat a steak this time of day odd.”

  I point at him. “But you still came.”

  “I did,” he agrees, tilting his head slightly. “And I’m glad.”

  There he goes, looking at me that way again. Most guys leer at me. Having grown up in one of the worst parts of town, I’m used to it, not that I like it. But Evan’s not leering. Not even close. It’s more like he’s genuinely interested in what I have to say, even with all the ball-busting I’ve done.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks. His voice is soft yet so deep and profoundly clear I have no trouble hearing it over the clamor of dishes being slammed down on the table behind us. “Wren?” he asks, his hypnotic baritone making it hard to concentrate on the contract agreement taking up my iPad screen. “I asked what you were thinking.”

  That I should keep my eyes off you, I want to say. But that’s not what I say or do. “Just wondering why you’re so un-American,” I offer instead.

  The two dimples on the right side of his cheek deepen when he grins. It should be fucking illegal to pull off this cute-sexy vibe he has going on. “Not having had a cheesesteak makes me un-American?” he asks.

  “Yup,” I say lifting my glass of water. “And don’t tell me you’ve never been to a Phils game cause then I’ll have to run you out of town.” His smirk and another flash of those dimples gives him away. “Evan,” I say, throwing out a hand. “You’ve seriously never seen the Phils?”

  “No.”

  “The Eagles?” I ask.

  “You don’t mean the band, do you?”

  My shoulders slump. I’d like to say it’s a grossly exaggerated gesture, but this is Philadelphia and we’re talking about our two major sports teams.

  “
Please tell me you don’t root for another team,” I ask, like it pains me, because it physically does.

  “Do you mean the Giants and Yankees—?”

  I throw out my hands, shushing him when the table full of meatheads behind us grow abruptly silent. “Are you trying to get us in a fight?”

  “Ah—”

  “Damn it, Evan,” I say glancing over my shoulder. “I can’t kick ass in these shoes and I just paid off this suit. Don’t get us in a fight.”

  My eyes narrow at the idiot behind us scowling at Evan. “You a Yankees fan, asshole?” he yells.

  “He’s from England or some shit and doesn’t know better,” I fire back, cutting Evan off. “Turn around and mind your damn business.”

  “Someone like him doesn’t belong in Sal’s,” he counters.

  “And someone with an ass crack that matches the Liberty Bell shouldn’t be so judgmental,” I snap. “Pull your pants up and shut up.”

  His face turns as red as the lipstick I’m wearing when his friends bust out laughing. That doesn’t stop him from tugging up his waistband and returning to his food, grumbling something he’s damn lucky I don’t hear. It’s only when I’m sure he’s not going to do anything that I turn back to Evan, leaning in close. “We can’t be friends,” I tell him truthfully.

  He shifts his stunned expression from the men back to me. “Why?”

  “You’re New York. I’m Philly. It’s a religious thing.”

  Fuckin’ A. Here comes that grin again. “I’m not a fan of any New York team,” he assures me. He pauses and adds, “I’m not a fan of sports at all.”

  I blink a few times. “You don’t watch sports?” He shakes his head. “I suppose the races are out of the question.”

  “Horse races?”

  Jesus God, help me. “NASCAR,” I clarify. I should revoke his man card and rip it to tiny pieces in front of him. But he’s hot and there’s too much alpha lingering beneath that suit. It’s subtle, but I can see and sense it under all those straight-laced layers.

  I lean in a little closer, skimming my gaze over his polished exterior, but it’s what I catch beyond the expensive suit and a blue silk tie that must have cost more than my shoes, that give me a peek of who he really is. There’s an allure there, a playfulness buried deep beneath all that controlled discipline, it’s repressed and sealed tight, but I see it, and maybe taste it, too.