Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(185)

We glided around the room with ease and almost seemed like we had practiced it. While Lyle nodded and smiled at everyone who looked our way to greet them, Owen whispered their names and roles into my left ear from just behind me. Even though he was saying things like regional development director and foreign sales president, the words thrilled me as they tripped across my earlobes and twirled into the bottom of my sex-soaked lizard brain.

"Doug Kimball," Owen whispered, sending shivers from the base of my upswept hairdo on down my spine. "He's a guy you might want to meet. He manages all the collections."

"Collections?" I repeated in a sighing sing-song.

Doug turned to us as we approached, his eyes flickering over my body and then landing on my face. He smiled as though maybe we knew each other or he was at least happy to see me.

"Doug, I want you to meet Brienne Colson. She was the winner of that Ranger Fellowship a few years ago from PAFA," Owen said with a curt nod.

Doug held out his hand toward me and I shook it even as my jaw went slightly agape.

"Wow, that was you?"

Well, yes, it was me. The question is: how the hell does anybody know that?

Doug began nodding nervously, his brows knit together in a look of intense concentration. "I would really like to talk to you about your experiences if there is some time," he said quickly. "Any time, really."

I tried to keep my jaw lifted but suddenly all I could hear was the white noise of waves crashing in my ears.

"Of course, I would love to discuss it with you," I said in a casual tone as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Doug dropped his eyes like a schoolboy. He nodded and shuffled away, stammering and blushing, his forehead shiny under the overhead lights.

I dipped my head toward Owen, trying to keep my voice in a whisper.

"How did you know about that?" I asked.

Owen plucked the empty champagne glass from my fingers and swiftly replaced it with another that he swiped from a passing tray.

"How did I know about what?" he murmured back.

"I hate to rush this," Lyle interrupted, "but I think we’re just about starting now."

"Wait," I said, my voice starting to rise. "How did you know about the fellowship?"

Owen stopped and I realized my fingers were pressed lightly against his chest, barring him from moving. He didn't seem to mind and in fact leaned a little bit into my touch. I actually had to press back more forcefully as his weight fell against my palm. I could feel his heart beating, slow and strong.

"We need to get into the ballroom," he whispered playfully as his eyes twinkled.

"I am not going anywhere unless you explain what this is. How did you know about that? What do you know about me? Do I know you?"

"Owen," Lyle started in a warning tone.

Owen covered my hand with both his hands so that he was pressing me even harder against his chest.

"Did you think that I just invited you here because I knew you would look stunning in that dress?"

I shook my head, struck silent.

"Brienne, what is it that you think we do?" Lyle asked, suddenly serious. "Knowing things is our job."

"Knowing things?" I repeated, confused, my brain whirling a mile a minute. "About me? About my personal life? You call that business?"

Owen’s hands were soft and dry against mine and I remembered how easily he picked me up off the floor. Then I shoved that memory aside.

Concentrate, sexpot! This is no joke!

"Make no mistake," he murmured, "information is power. It is what we do, and we are… powerful men. But getting to know you is more than that, I promise you."

"I don't like this," I mumbled. "I didn't come here for this kind of, I don't even know what to call it —"

"Interview?" Lyle offered glibly. "I thought that was exactly what you came here for."

"Invasion. That's what I would call it."

I tried to tug my hand away but Owen tightened his grip and would not let me go. Lyle slid behind me, forming a protective space for the three of us. I was pinned between them and their energy seemed to keep the rest of the crowd at bay. It felt like we were absolutely alone together.

“Brienne,” Owen began, his eyes serious and fixed on mine, “remember when I told you that you were better than that job in that coffee shop? Did you just think I was… flirting with you?”

My mouth opened and closed, puppet-like. It seemed like a trick question. I wanted the answer to be No, but I wanted it to be Yes too.

“He was totally flirting with you,” Lyle growled into my ear from behind me. I could feel his heat between my shoulderblades. He must have been very close. I shivered.