And he definitely wouldn't want her to fall for him. Noooo... Not her, a mousy nobody.
Well, if he didn't want her, that was okay. She certainly didn't want to fall for an arrogant jerk like him either, and she'd have great satisfaction in doing it. Or not doing it. Whatever.
"I'm going," he announced.
"Fine. I've got a lot of things to do anyway."
"Fine. I'll pick you up tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? What for?"
"A ride." He strode to the door, opened it and was gone without even a backward glance.
She sighed and flopped back on the couch. Wonderful. Zack thought she was a loser. Worse, a desperate loser who wanted him. Problem was, she did want him. Only physically of course. But he'd made it clear he'd never want her in the same way. Just as well. She wasn't a casual fling kind of girl.
***
Zack closed the front door of his Beverly Hills house and leaned back against it with a loud sigh. That had been close. He'd had a lucky escape. Annie looked so good lying on her couch, her skirt riding high on her slim legs, her body responding to his touch. He'd felt her tension ease as he massaged her feet.
Oh yeah, those feet! He wasn't a foot fetishist—in fact, he'd never noticed a woman's feet before, never touched them the way he'd touched Annie's. But she had soft soles, high arches and sensitive toes. Sexy toes.
He stripped off his T-shirt and headed to the bar. He poured a strong Scotch, no rocks, and swallowed it in one gulp. He made another but didn't drink it. He'd develop a drinking problem by the end of this assignment if he wasn't careful. He needed to keep reminding himself that Annie was just that—an assignment. Nothing more.
Definitely nothing more.
***
The next morning, Annie rummaged through her closet for something suitable to wear. It didn't take long before her bed disappeared under a mountain of clothes. She'd tried on every pair of shorts, Capri pants and trousers she owned, but none of them seemed right for a ride with LA's sexiest businessman. That was assuming he was talking about a motorbike ride and not a horseback ride.
Boy, she hoped he hadn't meant a horseback ride. The thought of getting onto the back of a live animal with Zack watching was too frightening. Imagine all the things that could go wrong! The horse could bolt and she'd fall off. She could step in horse poop. She could slip on horse poop and end up on her ass, or on her back with it in her hair.
She rifled through the clothes-mountain. What do I have that's poop-proof? She paused, then searched again. What do I have that's dork proof?
Nothing. Everything in her closet screamed 'conservative'. She settled on a pair of navy Capri pants and a white T-shirt, then checked herself out in the mirror. She looked great—for a day of sailing.
The doorbell chimed. She glanced at the clothes strewn around her room and sighed. No time to change or tidy up. She made a mental note not to ask Zack back inside after the ride, in case he wanted to make wild passionate love to her in the bedroom. There was a perfectly good sofa in the lounge.
Yeah, right. Like he'd want to see her naked.
She hurried to open the door just as the bell rang a second time.
"What took you so long?" Zack asked when she opened the door. He wore black jeans and a heavy, black leather jacket over a black T-shirt. He also wore a cheeky grin and two adorable dimples. At least he was over his little spat from the previous night. He was more fickle than...well, than her with PMT. "Couldn't decide what to wear, huh?" He was a mind reader too.
She grabbed her purse and shuffled out the door but he blocked her path.
"You're not going anywhere dressed like that." He pushed past her. "Let's see what else you've got."
"But, but...wait!"
He didn't stop and she had to run to catch up to him. Too late. He'd already reached her bedroom door and opened it.
"You really aren't very decisive are you? Or neat."
She shrugged, trying to appear as if she didn't care that Zack DiMarco was in her bedroom picking up her clothes and studying them with a casually discerning eye.
He handed her a black T-shirt without looking her way. "Put this on. Do you have any leather pants?"
None that she could squeeze into. "No."
"Then put on these." He held up a faded pair of jeans with a rip at the knee and yellow paint splotches down the legs from the time she'd painted her kitchen cupboards. "What about a leather jacket?"
"No."
"Denim jacket?"
"Nothing I'd be caught dead wearing this decade. Even I've got fashion standards."
He laughed softly. "Too bad. Find it and put it on. Fashion's not the issue. Yet."
She crossed her arms. She certainly was not going to be seen wearing that jacket. It had Spice Girls patches sewn onto it for crying out loud! Her father had got it for her years ago. It had been cool in the Nineties. She hadn't worn it then either.
"Do you always tell women what to do?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And do they listen?"
"Some do," he said, studying a pair of flat, brown sandals she wore to the beach on the occasional visit.
"Which ones?"
"The ones who want to sleep with me," he said from the depths of her closet.
She blushed. "I guess that means I don't."
"The day's not over yet."
What sort of ego trip was this guy on anyway? And how did he know she'd thought about sleeping with him? "You're arrogant, you know that?"
"So they tell me."
"Oh yeah? Who?"
He turned around, a pair of sturdy hiking boots dangling from his fingers. His eyes sparkled as he fought back a grin. "The ones who pretend they don't want to sleep with me."
She snatched the boots, spun on her heel and marched into the bathroom, a trickle of quiet laughter following her.
CHAPTER 4
Annie followed Zack out to the street where a gleaming black motorbike parked at the curb screamed rebel. He pulled on a helmet and settled onto the seat. The soft leather molded to his rear end like it was made for him. Mmmm, yum. He looked sexy sitting astride the sleek machine. She had to admit, he was cool.
Way too cool to hang out with the sort of girl who wore dated denim jackets. It must be torture for him to appear in public with her a second time. His reputation would take a beating if they were seen together too often.
"Get on," he said, holding her helmet.
Still annoyed by his arrogant comments in her bedroom, she really wanted to refuse, but one look at where she would sit kept her mouth shut. She'd go along. For now. She put on the helmet and slid onto the seat behind him.