Neighbors With Benefits
Author: Marissa Clarke
Date: 2015-06-29 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Adult; Humour; Romance; Contemporary
Description: Sure, it might not be completely unfair to call Michael Anderson a "control freak". It's helped him in business—he's the CEO of Anderson Enterprises, after all. But he's trying to learn to let loose just a tiny bit. Still, he's not quite sure why his therapist thinks dogsitting will fix anything? Especially since Michael and this particular canine share a kind of mutual loathing. To make matters worse, his new next door neighbor keeps disrupting his peace—and his dates—by blasting the worst possible music at the worst possible times. Artist and free spirit Mia Argaropolis just landed the perfe
Publisher: Entangled Publishing

Love thy sexy jerk of a neighbor…

CEO Michael Anderson might be something of a “control freak.” Still, he’s not quite sure why his therapist thinks dogsitting will fix anything—especially since he and the canine share a kind of mutual loathing. And to make matters worse, a house sitter moves in next door disrupting his peace—and his dates—with the worst possible music at the worst possible time… every time.

Free-spirited artist Mia Argaropolis has settled into the perfect gig—housesitting in NYC’s Upper West Side while working as an art therapist. Too bad she’s stuck living next door to a bossy control freak with a penchant for calling building security when she blasts music to drown out the noises coming through his bedroom wall.

Post-apocalyptic dinner rolls that nearly take her kitchen with them, a douchebag ex, and a Shih Tzu with the personality of Godzilla attack Mia in one day, and her unlikely neighbor comes to the rescue. Like it was her fault. And now, somehow, they find themselves engaged? Both agree, this neighborly feud just got taken to a whole new level.

Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Discover the Anderson Brothers series…

Sleeping with the Boss

Love Me to Death

Find love in unexpected places with these satisfying Lovestruck reads…

Love Thy Neighbor
The Surrogate Husband
The Perfect Bargain
Love, Technically
Meeting His Match

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Marissa Clarke. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Heather Howland

Cover art by Shutterstock

ISBN 978-1-63375-334-1

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition June 2015

t

For Stephanie

Keep on being incredible.

Chapter One

Michael Anderson, CEO of Anderson Enterprises, stepped onto the curb, buttoned his jacket, straightened his tie, and then, with a Guinness Book of World Records worthy string of curses, grabbed the abomination from the floorboard of the limousine.

If this turned out to be some elaborate joke perpetrated by his brothers, heads were going to roll.

The Anderson family chauffeur, Jacob, held out a leash. “You forgot something, sir.” The rhinestones embedded in the leather winked in the sunlight, mocking him. He snatched the leash and shoved it in the outer pocket of the powder blue pet carrier.

Jacob’s face remained completely expressionless, which was a good thing, because after the morning Michael had had, losing his shit on a busy New York City street was a very real possibility.

Fortunately, the doorman of his upper West Side apartment building kept his eyes at face level, so Michael made it to the elevator without incident.

He should have gone back to the office after his appointment with the shrink, but decided to take the rest of the day off—his first day off in over a year. But there wouldn’t be another one. He vowed he wouldn’t let this ludicrous situation get in the way of his productivity. He’d brought Anderson Auctions to the top of the heap, and it was his “self-centered, single-minded, rigid inclinations” that had allowed him to accomplish that, and now he was supposed to believe it was those very things that were bringing him down. Just thinking back on those words his therapist had used rankled.

The creature in the carrier whined as the elevator doors slid shut.

Yeah. Like dealing with one more needy thing was going to help him “loosen up.”

“Rigid,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the button for his floor. She’d actually called him rigid and self-centered. Self-centered. Surely this therapy regimen was a joke. Only, he knew it wasn’t. He’d been seeing Dr. Whittelsey since he was fourteen. She’d helped him through lots of hard times and had never steered him wrong yet—or rather she’d helped him steer himself—and she wasn’t the type to joke. Ever.

Before the elevator door even opened, he could feel the bass vibrating in his chest.

Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom.

Shit! Ever since his neighbor had brought in a house sitter, his home life was in chaos. He gave a snort. Home life. More like the time when he slept or entertained dates. His only real life was the office—which Dr. Whittelsey said was the root of his problem.

He’d lost his interest in “the kill”, as his dad called his unwavering desire to win, and in order to stay at the top, he needed to get it back and he’d try anything. Even this.

He glanced down at the blue box and grimaced. How Whittelsey thought shaking up his routine would help was beyond him. No way would it work.

Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom.

He shoved open his apartment door and then slammed it behind him with a bang, causing the creature in the box to shift to one end. The carrier tipped, and he almost dropped it.

This was unacceptable. When he came home, he didn’t want to hear a bunch of noise from next door. He must have called the guy at the security desk to file complaints a dozen times since the house sitter moved in three weeks ago. There were six units on this floor. Why did she have to live next to him?

Growling, he retreated to his kitchen and set the carrier on the floor. It had never been like this when Ellen Braxton lived next door. Sure, she’d been a pain in the ass the first few months with her Mrs. Robinson routine, but she’d backed off and had been nothing but the perfect, invisible neighbor since. She’d evidently gone off to traipse all over Italy, and someone he hadn’t met was living next door. He’d never even seen the house sitter, but he’d heard her. It was like she was a one-woman nightclub over there.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and placed it, along with his keys, in the bowl on the kitchen counter—like always.

The thing in the carrier made a high-pitched whine.

“Okay. I don’t like this any more than you do.” Leaning down, he opened the wire carrier door and the beast bolted out in a blur of black and white fur. “Hey, get back here.”

He didn’t remember its name. Hell, he didn’t even know its gender. Sighing, he stood and smoothed his tie. It didn’t matter. He only had to deal with it for three weeks, and then his life could get back to normal. Really, how hard could it be? Feed it, water it, take it out four times a day. Piece of cake.

“A dog,” he muttered, striding toward the wet bar in his living room. He’d never had a dog. Not even as a kid. This was a horrible idea.

Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom.

Not as horrible an idea as losing his cool and confronting his neighbor in person rather than just filing a complaint, which appealed more and more by the second.

No. Someone would tell the tabloids, and he’d learned long ago that reputation was everything. He’d worked hard to cultivate the correct image for the CEO of Anderson Enterprises.

He flicked a dog hair off of his sleeve and sighed. Being a caretaker of a foster dog was not going to enhance his image. Not one bit. And he didn’t see how it would help him get his edge back, either. Still, he’d made a promise and he never went back on his word. Like it or not, he was stuck with the damned thing for a while.

After filling his glass with ice, he remembered it was morning, and his homecoming routine would have to be adjusted. Instead of scotch, he filled the tumbler with water, then wandered into the bedroom to take off his suit and tie and stopped short.

Feathers.

Everywhere. Like a pillow had exploded—or been ripped apart by the teeth of a wild, savage beast. “Dammit!” he said under his breath. The dog leapt off the bed and then wiggled underneath it.

In a trembling falsetto, he mimicked Dr. Whittelsey’s singsong voice. “The dog is completely housetrained and has never torn up anything.” A single feather, still airborne, landed on his suit lapel. Taking a deep, calculated, calming breath, he set his drink on the nightstand, and then gently plucked the feather from his jacket and deposited it in the trashcan next to the bed. One in the right place was better than none.

And still the booming bass from Club House Sitter continued its relentless attack on his already frayed nerves. One thing at a time. Dog first.

“Never torn anything up, my ass,” he grumbled, getting down on his hands and knees to peer under the bed. Big, brown eyes stared back. Then blinked, and a majority of his anger floated away like feathers.

It wasn’t the dog’s fault, really. Most likely it was as unhappy about this arrangement as he was. No. That wasn’t accurate. Nothing and no one could be as unhappy about this as he was. “Dog therapy,” he muttered. “Total bullshit.”

The dog stuck its tongue out and for a moment, it looked like it was smiling.

“I’m glad you agree. If I hadn’t promised her that I would take care of you personally for the three weeks she’s in Europe, you’d be at a boarding kennel,” he said, still on his hands and knees. “But I did promise because my shrink thinks you’ll break my routine and make me more flexible.”

The racket from next door continued as the dog flipped its back legs behind it and stretched out on its belly under the bed.

“Don’t get comfortable. I don’t want you in my bedroom, so come on out.” He crooked his finger like he would to an employee across the office lobby. Only, unlike his employees, the dog didn’t come running. It simply looked at him, panted, and tapped its tail on the floor.

“Now, listen, dog. Let’s get this straight. This is my house. You will do as I command. Now, out!”

It blinked its huge eyes while the rest of its hairy body remained motionless, except its tail, which kept wagging.

Boom, boom, boom-boom-boom, the bass pounded.

Shit. This was a fucking nightmare. “I said, out!”

Rolling to its side, it gave the appearance of being completely at ease and unaffected.

He reached, but couldn’t touch the animal because it had positioned itself directly under the center of the low king-sized bed.

A frustrated growl rumbled in Michael’s chest, then morphed into a defeated groan. He’d been bested by a ten-pound animal with pink nail polish and a bow in its hair. “I can’t believe I’m paying Dr. Whittelsey to torture me like this.”

The dog lowered its chin to its paws and closed its eyes.

“Okay. You win this round, but if you think you’re sleeping in here, you’ve got it wrong.”

Before he’d gotten to his feet, a relentless eardrum-piercing pulse came from the other side of the wall.

“What now?”

God, he missed the days when he could come home to a peaceful, relaxing environment to unwind. Recently, it was like a living in a nightclub or video arcade with thumping music and now a deafening alarm clock of some kind.

The music stopped, but the shrill beeping continued. It wasn’t an alarm clock, he realized. It was his neighbor’s smoke detector.

Shit. She was going to burn the place down.

One thing at a time. Get out first, and then, if need be, call 911. That would require his keys and phone, which were on the kitchen counter. Purposefully, he strode to the kitchen, calm and level headed, as was his style. Everything had an order—evacuating a burning building included. People first. Possessions last.

On his way to the kitchen, a preliminary check-list ran through his head for a worst-case scenario: Call 911 and report the fire, call his parents and brothers to let them know he’s okay, call his insurance agent and file a loss claim, call the office and make sure things are running smoothly, and then call his tailor to order clothes to replace those lost in the fire.

First though, he needed to get out and assess the seriousness of the situation, which hopefully, was nothing more than a false alarm.

As he grabbed his phone from the counter, his foot crashed into something: the powder blue carrier. The dog was still under the bed. Damn. He couldn’t leave it there. People first, he reminded himself. It wasn’t a person, but it wasn’t a possession either.

Still, the shrill pulse penetrated the wall and a faint smell of smoke accompanied it now. Maybe it wasn’t a false alarm.

Shit, shit, shit. “Come on, dog!” he called, striding back to the bedroom. “We need to get out of here. Dog! I’m serious.” When he reached the bed, he dropped to his knees and saw… nothing. It wasn’t there.

He jumped to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. Everything had an order and sequence. Even chaos.

Over the alarm, there was another sound: a loud, high-pitched yip.

Michael skidded into the living room to find the dog sitting patiently by the door.

“Thank God,” he said, scooping it up and tucking it against his side like a football. “Glad your survival instincts are in working order.” Well, that, or it just needed to pee. Dr. Whittelsey said it would bark at the door when it needed to go out.

When he entered the hallway, he stopped short. The neighbor’s door was standing wide-open and faint wisps of smoke drifted out. Not enough to burn down the building or even trip the central alarm or sprinklers, but evidently enough to set off a smoke detector in the unit. Stepping further in the hallway to get a better look, he froze.

Standing on a rolling desk chair immediately inside the door was a woman. He couldn’t see anything from the ribs up, but he could see her legs and belly—her exceptionally well-toned legs and belly—and her shiny, skin-tight, cobalt-blue exercise shorts adorned with hot-pink swirls.

Surely this wasn’t the house sitter from hell.

The dog barked and the woman leaned down from her perch on the chair and peeked under the door frame.

“Oh, hey,” she said with a smile. “Cute dog.”

Whoa. Cute girl. “Uh, thanks.”

“Sorry for the scare.” She stood again, and the desk chair seat swiveled then stilled. “I’ll make this thing shut up in just a sec.”

The dog whined, then wiggled, and Michael lost his grip, barely able to control the beast’s fall before it hit the floor running. Like a furry tornado, it sped down the hall as an elderly man opened his door to check out what was going on. Since it was mid-morning, most people were at work.

Shit. “Come here, dog!”

“Maybe if I pull here…” Before she could finish her sentence, the chair swiveled, and then tilted while she struggled to not lose her balance. Too late. It was obvious she was going down. Michael charged forward, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against him right as the chair toppled over, upended casters spinning in the air—spinning like his head as he held her tight against his body.

Convincing himself that his heart hammering a million miles a minute was solely the result of his evacuation scare, always in control Michael Anderson was stunned to find himself momentarily unable to speak…or move…or do anything but hang onto the stranger and stare. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen an attractive woman before, but somehow this one had taken him by surprise. Damn, she felt good.

Reluctantly, he loosened his grip and she slid down his body, her arms looping around his neck before her feet touched the floor. “Thanks,” she said, barely above a whisper, making no effort to move away.

“My pleasure,” he replied, knowing full well that, being completely pressed up against him like that, she could tell just how true that statement was.

The dog barked from the end of the hall, and his head cleared enough to bring him back from his proximity paralysis.

“What the hell is going on here?” the man down the hall called, echoing Michael’s sentiments precisely. What was going on? She was the house sitter from hell, for God’s sake.

Still clinging to his neck, she answered the man back. “It’s okay. I forgot I had some bread under the broiler. Everything’s cool.” The man shook his head and closed his door. Most of the people bought into this building because they valued their privacy. It was held out as exclusive, secure, and quiet. And it lived up to its reputation… until recently.

Michael dropped his arms to his sides and she slid hers from around his neck, leaving him feeling cold somehow.

She stepped back and scanned him head-to-toe, then grinned. The dog yipped from the end of the hall, barely audible over the still-pulsing alarm.

“Hey little pup!” she called. “Come here. Want a treat?”

The dog stopped running in a circle at the stairwell door and faced her.

“Yeah, treat,” she called, and the beast came running, hair flying out to the sides as it bolted toward them.

Son-of-a-bitch. There was a magic word to make the thing obey. Treat. Yeah, well, he might come running if she called him, too. He shook his head. No. That’s absurd. He had no time in his life for that kind of nonsense. He didn’t run when called.

“I’m Mia,” she said, extending her hand.

He took her hand, surprised by her firm grip. “Michael.”

“Well, Michael, I tried to remove the battery from the smoke detector, but I can’t figure out how to take the cover off,” she said, voice a bit loud in order to carry over the still-shrieking alarm. She picked the dog up and held it against her chest, which was covered by a sports bra that matched her shorts.

Lucky dog.

“Do you think you could help me out and give it a try?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She stepped back and he entered what looked more like the inside of a spin-art machine than a living room. The floor was covered with a bright blue tarp, and a large canvas, covered in brilliant splatters, sat propped up against the tarp-covered sofa. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. At least the smoke had dissipated for the most part. “Do you have a step-stool?”

“Nah.” Dog in her arm, she grabbed what appeared to be an authentic eighteenth century mahogany Hepplewhite shield chair. “Just use this,” she shouted over the alarm as she dragged it under the smoke detector above the entry door.

Grimacing, he stepped up onto the leather cushion. The Braxton woman was going to have a fit if she ever found out her fine antique had been abused like this. The smoke alarm cover slipped right off after a quarter turn, and the battery was no problem either, resulting in sweet silence.

When he stepped down, she was feeding the dog something from her hand.

“I promised a treat, and I deliver on promises.” She rubbed the dog’s head and straightened the bow holding the hair out of its eyes. “Hey, thanks for helping me out. Sorry about the noise.”

Yeah, like the noise was anything new. “No problem.” He set the battery on a display table near the door.

“He’s really cute. I love Shih Tzu’s. What’s his name?”

Shitzoo? More like shit head. Yeah, Shit Head was the perfect name for that pillow-murdering thorn in his side. “Dog.”

“His name is Dog?” She fiddled with the heart-shaped tag on Shit Head’s collar. “No, it’s not. It’s Clancy.” Her brow furrowed. “This isn’t your dog.”

“You’re right. I’m taking care of it for a friend,” he said, not wanting to discuss dog therapy. Clancy? Who puts bows and nail polish on a boy dog and names it Clancy? “How did you know it was a boy before you read the tag?”

Looking up at him with her cinnamon-colored eyes, she stated very matter-of-factly, “Boys have penises.”

At that moment, Michael was very aware that he, himself, was a boy. He cleared his throat. “Good to know.” And he felt silly, which was an unfamiliar sensation. How had he not noticed the dog was male? Well, because it was covered in ridiculous hair that hung to the floor, for one thing. And when he’d picked it up, he wasn’t doing a gender check, he was getting the hell out—which brought him to the issue of why he was there in the first place. “Burned bread?” he asked.

“Yeah. I forgot to start a timer.” She set the dog aside and pushed to her feet. “I do it all the time”.

Somehow that didn’t surprise him.

She tucked some strands of shiny black hair behind her ear that had slipped from her ponytail.

Damn, she was gorgeous. And different than anyone he’d met. She wasn’t self-conscious at all and seemed so comfortable, not only about disclosing her forgetfulness, but with her own body. Hell, she was practically naked in that skin-tight outfit, but her mannerisms revealed no discomfort at all. In his years of negotiating antique deals, he’d become an expert at spotting weaknesses and hang-ups that would give him an advantage. This woman appeared hang-up free, which, by his logic, reduced his advantage and upped the challenge. And Michael Anderson loved a challenge.

“Come on, Clancy. Let’s make sure I turned the oven off,” she said. And as if he were the most obedient dog on earth and not a devil that disemboweled a completely innocent and utterly docile down pillow, Shit Head followed Mia into her kitchen, tail wagging.

Watching her very fine ass as she left the room, Michael had to acknowledge that if he’d had a tail, his would be wagging as well. “You seem to have a way with dogs,” he remarked, stepping into the kitchen.

A tray of burned rolls sat abandoned on the counter, hot pads flung nearby. Dishes tilted at precarious angles in a pile in the sink and a large amount of mail was stacked haphazardly in the corner. Messy and noisy. Two things he couldn’t abide.

But when she turned and grinned, his body, still on high alert from having her flattened against him, didn’t seem to mind messy and noisy at all.

“Yeah. I’ve always had a way with animals. Dogs love me and I have no problem training them. I’ve even had jobs as a dog-walker and obedience trainer.” Right at home, the dog curled up on a dishtowel that had slipped from the towel bar.

“What do you do now?”

She smiled. “Not much, really.”

Messy, noisy, and lazy. Three strikes. Still… She was different and intriguing. And judging from her toned body, perhaps not lazy after all.

Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, no.”

Before he could react, she flew past him and out of the kitchen, Shit Head hot on her heels.

“No!” she yelled from the back of the apartment.

He bolted through her disaster of a bedroom and slammed to a halt just outside her bathroom. Water spilled over the lip of the tub as she groaned and jerked the faucets closed and opened the drain. “Quick! Throw me a towel from the cabinet to your left,” she said.

Weighing the cost of repairing his bathroom floor, which was just on the other side of her wall and would be damaged if the water seeped under, versus replacing his custom made shoes, he sat on the edge of her bed and untied them. Then, he carefully rolled up his suit pants.

Wringing the hand towels she’d tugged from the bar next to her, she shouted over her shoulder. “Please! Throw me a towel!”

He did better than that. He opened the cabinet just inside the bedroom door, grabbed the entire stack of towels, and pitched them to the bathroom floor before shoving them against the wall that adjoined his. Maybe he could spare his shoes and his bamboo bathroom flooring. The puddle had barely expanded that far. What a mess. This woman was a disaster. While she fussed over the placement of the towels, he strode back to her bedroom, past her rumpled, unmade bed, and scooped up a heap of clothes from the corner.

“What are you doing?” she practically shrieked as he dropped the clothes to the floor, and then shoved them around with his foot, sopping up some of the remaining water.

“Helping.” He then grabbed the soaked towels one at a time, and careful not to get any water on his suit, he rung them out in the tub which was half-way drained.

She sat back on her heels and brushed escaped hair from her face, and then snatched up a black lace thong from the top of the pile. “The towels were probably enough,” she said, grabbing another pair of panties from the dry section of clothes. “Now I have to wash all my clean clothes again.”

Clean? Who dumps unfolded clean clothes on the floor? “I’m sorry. I assumed they were dirty.”

“Do you assume things a lot?”

“My assumptions are almost always correct.”

“But not this time.”

He smiled. “Clearly not.”

As she pulled another lacy scrap of lingerie from the pile on the floor—this one appeared to be a teddy type of thing—he stifled a groan at the image running through his mind of her wearing it…it and the other pieces of lace and satin clutched in her fist. Noticing his stare, she balled them up and blushed. Maybe she had some self-consciousness after all. Following a quick circle to check out the floor, her stance relaxed and she took a deep breath. “So, do you live on this floor?”

Again, she’d thrown him off balance. He’d assumed she knew who he was. Most people did—if not from business journals, then from the news outlets or tabloids. His concerted effort to refine his image and bring his name and that of Anderson Enterprises to the forefront of the business world made him a near celebrity in some circles. Obviously, this girl didn’t get out much…or she didn’t care, which puzzled him more. “Yes. I live in 1206.”

She passed him and headed into her bedroom. “Apartment 1206… Is that across the hall?”

“No.” He pointed to their adjoining wall. “It’s next door to you.”

She froze. Then her shoulders stiffened and she straightened, spine rigid.

Rigid, his psychiatrist’s favorite word to describe him.

As a scowl darkened her face, the entire world seemed to stand still, except the dog, who nonchalantly strolled to the foot of the bed, yawned, and then lifted his leg on Michael’s thousand-dollar custom made shoes.

Chapter Two

Mia closed her eyes and counted. Breathe in four, out eight. In four, out eight. She wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or mad, but once she was sure she wouldn’t go all Taz on the guy, she faced him. “You’re the asshole who keeps reporting me to the building security officer.”

At least he showed some smarts and kept his mouth shut, eyes flitting to the panties clutched to her chest, then back to her face, then down at Clancy who had just peed in his shoe. She almost felt sorry for the guy, but then she remembered her last phone call with Ms. Braxton. She’d been pretty sure the woman was going to fire her and kick her out because of the calls from building security. “One more phone call, and you’re gone,” Ellen Braxton had yelled. If she sent Mia packing, she’d have no place to live for the next couple of weeks and wouldn’t be able to keep working at Heart’s Home. It was the first job she’d ever loved, and she hated even the thought of losing it.

“Out,” Mia shouted from the bathroom doorway. “Get out of here. I almost lost my place to live because of you.”

“I have lost a place to live because of you,” he replied picking up his shoes. “I can’t even sleep as a result of your noise.”

“Out!” She gestured to the bedroom door, forgetting she still clutched a fistful of undergarments. Perfect. She should market this. The Panty Pointer. All it needed was a laser. No. Clearly it worked without one. His unnerving blue eyes locked on the purple thong with the bow on the back hanging from her pinky finger.

After he delivered an eye roll she probably deserved, he headed out of the bedroom.

“You don’t sleep anyway,” she shouted as he squeezed by the chair he’d stood on to remove the battery from the alarm over the front door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was level and calm. Almost too controlled—which irked her. She wanted to crack that calm. See this perfect man ruffled.

“Oh, oooooh!” she moaned, imitating a number of women she’d heard through the walls before she’d cranked tunes to drown them out. “Ahhhh, yes,” she added with enthusiasm, pleased by the stunned look on his face.

Unfair, that’s what it was. To lie there alone every night, regretting all the crap decisions she’d made over the years, while her asshole neighbor got laid simply because he was rich. At least that’s what Ms. Braxton had told her about him. Rich, and stuck up, and the ultimate control freak who should be avoided at all costs. “Yes, baby. Mmmm. There! Oh, more!” she continued when he simply stared at her slack-jawed.

He shook his head as if to clear it, and then turned to leave.

“Hold on,” she said. “What about Clancy?”

A confused expression crossed his face as if he didn’t recognize the name.

“The dog?” she said, pointing to Clancy who was curled up on Gladys’s afghan in the corner. Gladys was Mia’s favorite resident at Heart’s Home. She always acted grouchy, but Mia knew it was just a coping mechanism. Maybe this guy’s calm demeanor served the same purpose. You can’t get hurt if you keep people at arm’s length. If only Mia could do that. She should do that, especially with attractive men. Men like Michael Anderson. “Please leave.”

His features hardened. “Come on, dog,” he muttered from the doorway.

She placed her hands on her hips. The guy was clueless. And handsome as hell. Ms. Braxton had made him out to be a horrible man—a monster, which was why she’d begun tormenting him in the first place. In her head, Mia had pictured him like an ogre in a movie—not young, fit, and friendly. Oh, yeah, she’d felt those muscles, as well as other hard things, beneath that designer suit, which was why she hadn’t connected his first and last name. This was the dreaded Michael Anderson. The Grand Poobah of “My way or the highway.”

Though, as she stood there watching him try unsuccessfully to coax Clancy by promising him treats that the dog knew would never materialize, she found herself fighting back a smile. Maybe doing it his way wouldn’t be all that bad.

Wait. What was wrong with her? Never again would she make allowances for a man being a jerk. Just like Jason, this guy was heartache in a pretty package. Better to run him off right away while the running off was good.

She picked Clancy up and shoved him into Michael’s chest. “Maybe next time, you’ll be responsible and put him on a leash.”

His bright blue eyes widened, then narrowed. “The only thing that needs to be on a leash around here is you.”

A line like that should have been followed by a graceful exit. Maybe even a dramatic door slam, but perfectionist Michael Anderson’s grand exit consisted of stubbing his bare toe against the doorframe while balancing a dog in one arm and holding his pee-filled shoes out in front of him with the other.

As she shoved the chair aside and closed the door, Mia’s feelings ping-ponged back and forth. Hate or like. Laugh or cry. Hate and cry were in the lead. Her obnoxious, uptight, tattletale next door neighbor had gotten the last words in… and they stung.

All her life, she’d been told she was impulsive, flighty, reckless, and irresponsible Obviously, Michael Anderson thought so, too. Well, screw him. Screw all of them—especially her ex, Jason Tipton.

Slumping down on the sofa, she stared at the canvas in front of her, the fifth in a series commissioned by the owners of Heart’s Home, called “Life in the Sun.” Happiness was what it conveyed—bright, and carefree and full of joy, which was exactly what she’d been going for when she painted it. And exactly what she wanted for herself, but somehow it never happened. Without fail, she always fell short. Just like this time.

With a sigh, she pitched the rescued underwear on the sofa cushion, then walked to the wet bar and pulled her paint brushes out of the sink.

Why did the hot guy with the hard body and pretty face have to be Michael Anderson? Why couldn’t he have been some other neighbor—one who she hadn’t been warned against, one who she hadn’t intentionally baited and tormented for weeks, one who didn’t smell so freaking good. Closing her eyes, she remembered his scent—like expensive aftershave. And he felt like…

Nuh uh. She opened her eyes and slammed her brushes down on the granite counter. She wouldn’t allow herself to do that. Not over a man who could cost her a place to live. Not for any man. Not ever again.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t call security about the music. This time wasn’t her fault, really. Unlike at night, she wasn’t intentionally bugging the guy. Ms. Braxton had told her he was never home before eight at night on weekdays. She thought she could work without disturbing anyone.

If she hadn’t dropped her wireless headphones in the toilet the day she moved in, none of this would have happened. Once she completed this series of paintings, she’d have enough cash to replace the headphones. She just had to find a way to stay there that long.

She jumped when a knock sounded on the door. Maybe the high-and-mighty Mr. Anderson had returned for something—like to sling another insult, perhaps.

Instead, she found the building super, Mr. Grant. He was a huge guy dressed in blue coveralls. She assumed the full beard was an effort to compensate for his receding hairline.

“Hi, again, Miss Mia,” he said. “I hear you had some more trouble.”

Oh, God. If someone called him, they probably notified Ms. Braxton. She’d put money on the snitch being Michael Anderson. The jerk. She took a deep breath through her nose and caught the faintest lingering hint of his cologne. The hot, good-smelling jerk. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so rude. He might have been able to help her out with Ms. Braxton. And he certainly was easy on the eyes. “Yeah. I burned some bread and overflowed the tub.”

He shook his head. “You need to stop doing this kind of thing.”

“It’s not like I do it on purpose.” She gestured for him to enter.

“It’s also not like you don’t do it on purpose,” he grumbled as he passed her on the way to the bathroom.

Zing! He and Anderson should work up a duet act: How to make Mia feel like crap.

“You’re going to need a dehumidifier,” he called from the bathroom. “Looks like no harm done. Did you burn anything other than the bread?”

“Only some bridges.”

“Pardon?”

“No.”

He emerged wiping his hands on the front of his chest, keys jangling from the huge ring strung through a loop at his waist.

“Who called to report this?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. It was that uptight jackass Michael Anderson, wasn’t it?”

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but snapped it shut.

She yanked the band from her ponytail and fluffed her hair. “Of course it was. I’m probably an entry in his perfectly organized, up-to-the-minute day planner: Call and report Mia.” She scraped her hair back from her face and wound the band around once. “Make Mia lose her place to live.” She tightened the band another time with a snap. “Make her life a living hell.”

Mr. Grant simply stared at her. After a moment he shook his head. “You really don’t get it.”

Angry prickles rose on her neck. She wasn’t sure what made her madder: the condescending tone of the Super, the leash comment from Michael Anderson, or the fact she was undeniably physically attracted to her bossy neighbor and wanted a do-over.

Definitely the latter. Being hot for the control freak would result in nothing but a shit show. She’d clearly lost her last miniscule thread of common sense. Instead of responding to the Super, she slumped into a chair.

“Mr. Anderson’s not really that bad,” he said. “He’s just detail oriented. Powerful men often are.”

Oh, now the guy was a philosopher. Great. She buried her face in her hands. “Powerful is right. He’s powerfully obnoxious.”

“Can I give you some advice, Miss Mia?”

Like saying no would stop him? “Sure.” She lifted her head and gritted her teeth. She’d heard this speech a hundred times before. Focus. Pay attention. Straighten up. Get it together. How many new ways could it be said by different people? Everyone, even strangers, felt compelled to chime in about her flakiness. She didn’t need to hear it again. She was a mess and she knew it. Pointing it out didn’t change things.

“Give Mr. Anderson a chance. He’s a lot like you.”

Well, that wasn’t what she’d expected. A choked laugh escaped. “Are you kidding? He’s like me? In what alternate dimension would that not be a joke?”

“I’m serious. I’ve been up here several times a week since you moved in, for one disaster after another, and I’ve known Mr. Anderson since he bought his place a couple of years ago. I stand by my statement. You two are very much alike. You’re both set in your ways. He wants order, and you want…” He gestured to the splattered canvas and general mess of the room. “He’s all about success and responsibility and you’re avoiding responsibility every chance you get.”

Ouch. “That doesn’t sound like we’re alike at all.”

He grinned, white teeth peeking out from under his mustache. “Yeah, you are. You’re both unmovable and stuck in your ways.” He waved an arm in the air. “Just alike.”

What the hell? “What, do you moonlight as a shrink, Mr. Grant? That was impressive psychobabble.”

“Call me Eddie.” He pointed at his head. “I’ve been around. I see things. I know stuff.” Before he could lumber out the door, he paused. “And Mr. Anderson didn’t call to report you. He asked me to come make any needed repairs and to not write it up or call Ms. Braxton. He said he’d pay to put things back right again.”

And she’d thought Michael’s leash remark had been the most painful thing so far that day. What a fiasco. She’d screamed and yelled at him—while flailing the Panty Pointer of course, and what had he done? Something nice.

Men sucked.

“I’ll bring the dehumidifier back up in a bit.” He paused at the door. “You okay?”

“Yeah, great.” She grabbed the stereo remote and hit play. “Just perfect.”

Chapter Three

Michael checked his watch again. His meeting with a potential new client from Japan was in less than thirty minutes and he needed to get back up to the office to review the file. He liked to know as much as possible about business contacts before meeting with them. At this rate, the client would beat him to the office.

“For God’s sake, dog. Just piss already.”

Instead, the creature stood next to the tree nearest the Anderson Building and ignored him completely. Michael wasn’t used to being ignored and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of this, and his mood wasn’t improved by the fact he hadn’t slept at all last night. Between his frustration over his encounter with his neighbor yesterday, and the dog tearing up two Bloomsberg Businessweek magazines, a Wall Street Journal, then somehow getting into the pantry and eating a full box of saltine crackers before shredding the box into confetti last night, he was exhausted.

The dog appeared no worse for wear, though, as it strained against the leash—the pale blue rhinestone-studded leash that made Michael cringe—and barked at another dog walked by a woman in a business suit half a block away.

This was ridiculous. The dog had cried to go outside, and now, nothing. Michael didn’t have time for this, but Dr. Whittelsey said he had to take care of the dog himself. The goal of this dog therapy bullshit was to loosen him up, not make him late for meetings. Enough was enough; he had to get back. As he neared the entrance to his building, the dog came to an abrupt halt and struck a serious take-care-of-business pose.

People passed on either side, and he pretended not to be bothered by the fact the beast with a pink bow that matched its pink nail polish on the end of a bejeweled leash was taking a dump on a public sidewalk right outside the Anderson Building.

But he was bothered. Mortified, in fact. And he had nothing in his possession to get rid of the unanticipated pile of poop. Gaze glued to the pavement, he turned to lead the dog into his building, but before he could take three steps, a woman’s voice stopped him. “You’re not going to just leave that, are you? Not only is there a huge fine, it’s rude and nasty.”

“Well, no, I—”

“I bet you don’t even have a bag for that, huh?” Her harpy tone made him want to run away and abandon the dog and its leavings right there. But instead, he turned to face her.

It was the woman with the dog he’d seen earlier. She was short and in her late fifties, wearing a business suit from dozens of seasons ago. She reminded him a little of his secretary, Mildred, only younger. His tension eased a bit until he noticed the angry glares of people detouring around the pile of dog poop.

The woman gasped. “Oh, my God. You’re that antiques guy from the papers. The one who made the top ten most eligible bachelors in New York City!” She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of what was certainly an expression of horror. “Here,” she said, fiddling with a little cylinder on her dog’s leash handle. “Have one of my bags.” She held it out, grinning hugely, as the dogs checked each other out as dogs do.

Well, there was no escape from this. Resigned, he stuck his hand inside the little green bag like a glove, and prayed nobody was watching as he stooped to grab Shit Head’s… shit.

Click

It was an unmistakable sound and one he’d heard many times. Usually, he welcomed having his picture taken, always mindful to maintain his carefully crafted image.

Picking up dog shit was not part of that image.

Cringing, he straightened and shot a glance in both directions and then relaxed slightly as the woman with the dog shoved her smartphone into her pocket. At least the photo was in the possession of a businesswoman, and not the paparazzi. He rolled the bag inside out, and as he started to tie the top, the dogs made a playful circle around each other and the leash went taut, nearly causing him to drop the poop bag right along with his calm façade.

“Mr. Anderson!”

So much for the calm façade. This was the last thing he needed. Meeting a new client on the sidewalk outside his building while holding a dog leash in one hand and a bag of poop in the other was less than ideal. Shit, shit, shit.

Yes, that was the problem: shit with no trash can in sight. The woman and her dog had vanished into the crowd on the sidewalk, and he knew when he turned, he’d be face to face with Mr. Kawashima, who owned a large collection of samurai and Ming Dynasty artifacts he was interested in having Anderson Auctions broker. Prescribed or not, he couldn’t let some hairy, destructive, inconvenient, disobedient dog get in the way.

Subtly—yes, Michael Anderson was the king of subtlety—he tied the top of the bag of poop and slipped it into his front jacket pocket before he turned to face what he hoped to be the biggest client of his career.

The handshakes and introductions between Michael, Mr. Kawashima, and his interpreter on the street were awkward enough, but when the dog refused to get on the elevator, Michael almost lost his cool.

“Sorry,” he muttered, tugging hard on the leash while holding the elevator open with his shoulder. “Dog, come.” But the beast dug in to the carpet just outside the elevator entrance.

Mr. Kawashima whispered something in Japanese to the dog, and as if magically transformed by a spell, it relaxed and hopped onto the elevator.

What the hell? Michael moved and the door slid shut as the men spoke to each other in Japanese.

“Mr. Kawashima says that dogs feel emotions. The dog feels your fear.”

Fear? Michael Anderson didn’t fear anything. He looked at his tight expression reflected in the polished brass doors of the elevator. Well, maybe. He did fear losing this deal. But right that moment, anger was his predominant emotion. He was royally pissed at the dog and his shrink. Feel that, dog.

“Fear may not be the right word,” the interpreter continued. “Anxiety.”

The door slid open and Michael gestured for his guests to exit first. “Yes. That is correct. I’m anxious to learn about Mr. Kawashima’s collection.”

…

Michael stared at the unsigned contract on his desk. This had never happened to him before. Mr. Kawashima hadn’t said no to a business deal, but he hadn’t said yes, either.

“You okay?” his little brother asked. Chance was the company lawyer and sat in on all major contract negotiations—major like this one should have been.

“No.”

What the fuck was wrong with him? It was like he couldn’t find solid ground for purchase and he was sinking in sludge the entire meeting. He wasn’t just losing his drive, he was losing his touch.

“You seemed distracted. That’s not like you.”

It sure as hell wasn’t. He rose from behind his desk once he was sure Mr. Kawashima had made it out of the building.

Chance leaned further back in the wing chair across from him. “What exactly were you thinking about during the meeting?”

“Shit.” He walked to his private office bathroom and deposited the bag from the street in the trashcan, letting the lid slam with a clang. “Shit, literally.” He avoided looking at his reflection as he washed his hands. “Specifically, the bag of shit residing in my suit pocket the entire meeting.” His brother hadn’t moved when he reentered the office. Chance was the most patient person he had ever known. He had a gift for remaining still and at ease even in the worst situations, possibly the result of all of his martial arts training. “I was so focused on keeping the damned dog under control on the way up here, I forgot about it being in my pocket until we started the meeting, then the timing was never right to interrupt.” He paced the wall of windows, too agitated to sit down. “Once I remembered, all I could think about was the bag in my pocket. Could they smell it? Was it going to break and ruin my suit? How could I get rid of it without stopping the meeting and offending Mr. Kawashima?”

The edges of Chance’s mouth curled, threatening to break into a smile.

“If you laugh, I’m going to kick your ass.”

This time, Chance did smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

“So would I.” Will, Michael’s middle brother, who ran security for Anderson Enterprises, entered the office wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. He shook Chance’s hand and dropped into the chair next to him. “What’s up?”

“Big brother blew an interview,” Chance supplied.

His back still to his brothers, Michael balled and unballed his fists. “It wasn’t an interview, and I didn’t blow it.”

Will grinned. “Whoa. Mighty Mikey fucked something up?”

“I did not fuck it up.”

“It’s about time!” Will high-fived Chance.

Stay calm. Keep control. Michael turned to face his laughing brothers. “The dog fucked it up.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up. “What dog?”

“The one whose turds he’s been carrying around in his pocket as a souvenir all morning.” Chance snickered and Michael fought the urge to charge him.

God, what was wrong with him? He never lost his cool like this. It had to be because he’d just potentially blown a deal. He took a deep breath. This could be fixed. He just needed to do his research and be prepared before his next meeting with Mr. Kawashima. Shaking up his routine was one thing, but being unprepared was another.

“Where’s the dog now?” Will asked. “Man, I love dogs.”

“I don’t,” Michael grumbled.

Will’s demeanor changed entirely. “What do you love?” When he didn’t answer, his brother pushed harder. “I mean, really. What makes you happy, outside these walls? You never seem happy. In all the time I’ve known you growing up, and now, you seem satisfied and driven, but never really happy.”

Which was why he’d agreed to Dr. Whittelsey’s absurd dog therapy, but he had no desire to discuss that with his brothers. Deflect it with a question. “What makes you happy, Will?”

There wasn’t even a slight hesitation. “Claire.”

Will had fallen head over heels for a temp employee, and though Michael was happy for his brother, he knew good and well that a woman wasn’t the answer to his own joy. Deals like the one with Mr. Kawashima and the success of his businesses, especially Anderson Auctions, had been his source of happiness. He had no room in his life for anything other than work. No pets and certainly no long-term relationship with a woman—he knew from watching his dad that running this business and successfully maintaining a monogamous relationship was impossible. Regular one or two time dates had always worked just fine…well, until recently. The last few weeks, the house sitter from hell had driven off his company.

“I just need some sleep,” he said, straightening a pen on his desk so that it sat parallel to the blotter. “My new neighbor is a nightmare and blasts music at night.” Usually when he had a date over. In fact, always when he had a date over. His mind ran though his encounter with Mia and he hardened at the thought of her sliding down his body when he rescued her from the hostile desk chair.

“Maybe you need a woman,” Will suggested.

“He has plenty of women,” Chance said. “Don’t you read the papers? He’s a regular revolving door.”

“Fuck you,” Michael grumbled.

“Me, too?” Chance grinned and Michael’s anger dissipated. He loved his brothers’ senses of humor. He was just really rattled by not landing the Kawashima deal.

“I’m glad you and Claire hit it off, Will, but for me, a woman isn’t the answer. Believe me. There are only three kinds of women in my life: Type A: Those who want me for my money. Type B: Those who want me for sex. Type C: Those who want nothing to do with me at all.”

“There are a lot of type C’s,” Chance said.

Michael couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, there are. Smart ones avoid me.” Which had never really bothered him until last night. The woman next door had made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with him once she discovered his identity. Usually, he would have rejoiced at this rejection—she wasn’t his type at all—but for some reason it stung. And he’d been rude, which was way out of character. The leash remark was inexcusable. His stomach churned just thinking about it.

“So, where’s the dog at the center of Michael’s deal downfall?” Will asked.

That question made Michael’s stomach churn worse.

“Mr. Anderson,” Mildred’s voice chimed through the speaker on his desk. “Your dog got into the lunchroom and ate almost an entire pan of lasagna. You might want to get him out of here in case he gets sick.”

At that moment, Michael was pretty sure he was the one who would be sick. Dr. Whittelsey could not return fast enough. There was no way he could do this for three weeks.

…

“Hand me that yeller yarn ball,” Gladys bellowed from right next to Mia, nearly causing her to drop her paintbrush. She’d been working with the Queen B’s all morning. The name of the group was self-assigned years ago by the three founding members, Blanche, Betty, and Bernice. When they needed a fourth for card games, they decided to allow a new member, Gladys, who was never shy to point out her middle name began with a “B.”

“Don’t yell at the girl! Can’t you see she’s preoccupied?” Blanche, Gladys’ best friend and unofficial leader of the Queen B’s, grabbed the yarn and passed it.

Preoccupied? More like exhausted. She’d spent a nearly sleepless night, tossing and turning in her bed, trying not to imagine what Don Juan was doing on the other side of the wall—which was more disturbing than anything. After seeing and meeting the guy, it was hard not to imagine a lot of things—things she’d sworn off of when she broke up with Jason.

“Well, what’s wrong with her?” Gladys asked, volume just shy of deafening. “She’s all blue and clammed up.”

“I’m sorry,” Mia said. “I’m tired today.” She was used to Gladys speaking about her as if she weren’t in the room. She suspected it was another tactic used by the woman to remain distant from outsiders.

“Tired, my arse,” Gladys said, stabbing her knitting needles into whatever atrocity she was working on. “Only a man can distract a woman like that.” She nodded to Betty on her right. “Men. Nothin’ but trouble.”

No kidding. Mia smiled halfheartedly and dipped her brush again.

“What are you knitting, Gladys?” Bernice, the quietest of the group asked.

“Don’t rightly know yet. Sometimes I just make stuff up as I go along. No plans. Kinda like our crafts teacher, Mia, huh? No plans at all.”

Ouch. Gladys was a lot more with-it than she let on.

“Leave the girl alone. She’s tired,” Blanche said. “Why didn’t you sleep, honey?”

“I have the most awful neighbor. He brings a different woman home every night and I can hear them through the walls. Well, I would if I didn’t drown him out with loud music.”

“I wish I had a neighbor like that. All I get to listen to through the walls is game shows.”

Bernice gasped. “Gladys!”

“Well, it’s true.” She picked up her needles and pulled the horrible yellow and orange scrap of knitting onto her lap. “I’m old, not dead.”

Mia stood. “Anyone else finished with their brushes?” Betty and Bernice held theirs up and she gathered them. Usually she loved her work with the women at Heart’s Home, but that afternoon, it was hard to focus. And every now and then her mind would wander to her handsome, hard-bodied, good-smelling, obnoxious, stuck-up, uptight neighbor. He certainly wasn’t uptight in his bedroom. Well, at least she assumed he wasn’t, based on the noises his guests made. And despite her willing it not to, her imagination conjured images of what it might be like to be with a powerful, driven man like that. A man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. So unlike Jason.

Stop! She shook her head.

“Maybe you should go over and ask him nicely to keep the noise down,” Blanche suggested.

“I think you should report him to the building security,” Betty said, wiping paint on the front of her apron.

“I think she needs to ignore it. Reporting him will only make him mad,” Bernice added.

“I’ll tell ya what she needs to do. She needs to march over to that man’s apartment and make some noise of her own with him.”

“Gladys!” a chorus of three female voices shouted. Mia simply gasped.

“Aw, fiddlesticks. I know what I’m talking about. Whenever I felt blue, my husband Tom knew precisely how to make me all better.” She winked and the women cast sideways glances from each other, to Mia, and then back to Gladys, who paid them no mind. “I miss Tom. He had the biggest—”

“Stop!” Betty interrupted.

“Heart, for chrissake, Betty. He had the biggest heart. What did you think I was gonna say?” Gladys arched a gray eyebrow and tapped her knitting needles together.

“I appreciate all the advice, but honestly, I think I need to go home and sleep. I have lots of time before he gets home and starts his shenanigans. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ask him to stop.”

“Report him.”

“Ignore him.”

“Bed him.”

“Gladys!” Three voices admonished in unison.

Mia stifled a giggle as she stepped out onto the street. She had come to love the Queen B’s. Unfortunately, the job didn’t pay much, and the only way she could afford to continue working there would be to complete her next series of paintings that the Heart’s Home owners had commissioned for one of their other properties. That meant going home. Home it was.

As she emerged from the subway station, a sleek, black limousine pulled up to her building a block away. It was too far away to see clearly, but it was undoubtedly Michael Anderson and Clancy who stepped out on the curb. Figures he’d travel by limo.

As she got closer, though, she noticed something wasn’t right. His suit was soiled and even torn in a few places. His hair was mussed and he had a smudge on his cheek. Perfect Michael Anderson looked anything but perfect. And Clancy was a mess, partially covered in something black and gooey.

The moment he noticed her, Michael’s eyes narrowed. So be it. Two could play this game. “Rough day at the office, Mr. Anderson?” she taunted as she breezed past him toward the door.

“Yes, actually. It has been a rough morning—preceded by a rough night.”

Mia stopped before she reached the door. The limo pulled away, and somehow the man and dog seemed even more pitiful without the opulent backdrop of the shiny car. Pitiful and irritating. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh. Poor thing. Did one of your houseguests keep you up all night?”

A confused expression crossed his face, and then he laughed, dimples appearing. “Ha. No. But had that been the case, I’m sure you could have fixed it with some Weird Al Yankovic on continuous loop blasting from your apartment.”

He looked younger out here in the sunlight, his clothes all out of order. And his smile was gorgeous, dammit. Her insides did a little flip as she remembered how he smelled and felt yesterday. Nope. Not going there. “There’s a groomer just up the street. You could both use a bath and possibly a flea dip.” Not as good as his leash line yesterday, but still…

“Thanks.” He turned and headed in the direction she had pointed. No zippy comeback, no pithy remarks. As she stood there watching him, she wondered if perhaps Ms. Braxton had gotten it wrong. Maybe this guy wasn’t as bad as all that.

“The only thing that should be on a leash around here is you.”

No. He probably was that bad. Regardless, she decided then and there, Michael Anderson and his adorable dimples were way out of her league and completely off limits. From now on, he was to be avoided at all costs.

Chapter Four

It wasn’t bad music coming though his neighbor’s wall that pulled Michael’s attention from the Kawashima file, it was yelling. Well, more specifically, a male voice shouting from the hallway.

Not my problem. He turned his attention back to the file. Chasing the damn dog eight blocks and then having to pull him out from under a dumpster had not only ruined his suit, but had killed over an hour he’d scheduled for file review, if he counted the time to take it to the groomer and get himself cleaned up.

“Open the door, Mia,” the male voice shouted, followed by banging.

Her door opened and the male voice became muffled. She had let him in. Why? A better question was, why did Michael care? He didn’t. Again, he tried unsuccessfully to focus on the file. Only a word or two coming through the wall were clear, but it was obvious the man was chewing Mia out for something. Unable to curb his curiosity, Michael put his ear against the wall. He could only catch bits of the conversation, but the man was angry about a wedding or something. Michael padded barefooted to his front door and cracked it slightly. From where he stood, it sounded as if her door had been left open because both voices were clear.

“I told you to never bug me again. Not at my work and not here,” Mia said, voice harsh.

“Well, if you’d answer your phone or respond to texts, I wouldn’t have had to bother with hunting you down. Did you lose your phone again?”

“No. I was avoiding you. What do you want?”

“We need to talk about the wedding and the weird shit you always pull,” the male voice said.

“Weird shit?” she replied.

Michael stepped into the hallway and found her door open.

“Yeah, weird. Like forgetting to show up or saying the wrong thing. You really shouldn’t go, and if you do, you’re going to leave Kelli alone and you’re not going to talk about our relationship at all.”

From where he watched through the front door, Michael had a clear view of the guy in the middle of the living room and past him to Mia, who was standing in the doorway to her bedroom with her back to the front door. “Oh, you mean the Kelli you cheated on me with? That Kelli?”

He held his arms up. “I didn’t cheat on you. We broke up.”

“You dumped me and banged her the same day.”

“Classy,” he said, moving closer. “Classy as always.” The hair on the back of Michael’s neck bristled.

She spun to face the man where he stood to the side of the bedroom door. He was tall and handsome in a Ralph Lauren model kind of way with a cable-knit sweater and blond wavy hair. “You’re a fine one to talk about class, Jason,” Mia said. “You actually did it, I’m just calling it what it was.”

The man named Jason placed his hand on the frame to the bedroom door, striking a purposefully relaxed pose. “I didn’t come here to rehash the good old days. Mark’s been my best friend since high school. A lot longer than you’ve been friends with Sue. Maybe you should bow out.”

“I’m as unhappy about this as you are,” she said, “but backing out isn’t an option. Sue asked me to be her maid of honor, and I accepted. I’m not going back on my word because we broke up and my presence will make you uncomfortable. It’s about Mark and Sue, not you and me.”

“You’re right.” He maintained his casual pose. “It’s not about us, which is why I thought it might be best if you step aside.”

Although this guy was doing his best to appear nonchalant, it was clear to Michael, who made a living by reading people, that he was uptight as hell and spoiling for a fight. No telling how far he’d take this.

“It’s not going to happen. There’s no way I’m letting Sue down. Now, leave.” She walked into her bedroom, and before she could shut the door, he shoved it open. “I asked you to leave, Jason. You will never set foot in my bedroom again. Leave me alone!”

It took a considerable amount of restraint on Michael’s part to not intervene. He consciously unballed his fists.

The guy’s cool facade fell away and his face flushed red up to his hairline. “You bet I’ll leave you alone. That’s all you’ll ever be: alone. No man in his right mind could put up with your flakiness. I don’t know how I did it, honestly.”

The hurt look on Mia’s face made Michael’s gut churn.

The man shook a finger at her as if she were a naughty child. “What I do know is that since you refuse to do the right thing and stay home, you will behave at this wedding. You will be where you’re supposed to be and I’ll be there to make sure you get to each event on time.”

“I’m not some animal that needs to be given commands and yanked from place to place, Jason.”

“Hey. Great idea. I should bring a collar and leash to make sure you get to the wedding on time!”

And at that moment, Michael felt like the biggest asshole in history. Hearing words so similar to the ones he had said to Mia the day before drove a painful spike through his chest. He had to make it up to her somehow. This guy thought she wasn’t dating material? Well, Michael was about to prove him wrong. Way wrong.

Digging down deep, he pushed his remorse and anger aside and assumed a pleasant expression. “Are you ready for dinner, sweetheart?” Michael asked, strolling casually into the apartment, hyper-aware he was barefooted. He couldn’t recall the last time he left his home without shoes. Maybe it would add to the effect he was going for—the intimate boyfriend. The stunned look on Mia’s face almost made him laugh out loud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a guest.” He extended his hand to the equally surprised Jason. “I’m Michael Anderson.”

“Oh, uh. I’m Jason Tipton. Nice to meet you.”

Mia’s surprise had turned to amusement. Seeing Jason so off guard probably clued her in to Michael’s game. She was quick. He liked that. “I’m almost ready. I was interrupted.” She gave Jason a pointed look. “I’ll just be a sec…honey.” And with that, she disappeared into her bedroom and closed the door, leaving the two men alone.

The silence was awkward, but Michael loved it. He sat on the sofa and studied the other man in the chair across from him. Based on his fidgeting and repeated glances to the door she had disappeared through, Jason was clearly as uncomfortable as he had made Mia, but that wasn’t good enough.

Finally, Jason broke the silence. “So, I guess I should be going.”

“Oh, no. You’re a friend of Mia’s so I’m sure she wants you to join us at my place for drinks.”

The guy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Um, well, I’m not sure…”

The door opened and Mia emerged wearing a low-cut black dress and high heels that showed off her fit body and defined calf muscles. Michael popped to his feet immediately, pulling Jason with him. “Stand when a lady enters,” he whispered under his breath. “Mia is a lady, Jason. My lady.” He knew it was the verbal equivalent of pissing on a tree to mark his territory, but with a guy like Jason, sometimes pissing on a tree was the best tactic.

“You look amazing as always,” Michael said approaching her. The only thing that revealed she was on edge was the widening of her eyes as he got closer. “Truly amazing.” And with that, he pulled her into his arms, mindful to angle their position properly for their stunned audience, and took her mouth in a deep, overtly sensual kiss.

…

A yummy noise from deep in Michael’s throat pulled Mia out of her lust haze. Holy crap the man could kiss. And she’d kissed him way too long. She’d totally forgotten everything once Michael’s tongue met hers, exploring, dancing, demanding. Time, place, even awareness of who she was had flown out the window. She pulled back, keenly aware of his hardness pressed against her. Slowly, she took a deep breath, unwound her fingers from his shirt, and moved out of his embrace.

Jason cleared his throat and Mia grinned. In addition to being a great kisser, Michael was a genius. Jason would never tell her that no man would put up with her again. Not after seeing her kiss this man with his perfect features, clothes, and manners.

“Shall we?” Michael said, gesturing for the door. “I invited your good friend, Jason, to join us for drinks. I hope that’s okay.”

Uh oh. How long would Jason buy this act? How long could she carry it off? “Sure.”

Michael twined his fingers through hers as if they were lovers and hadn’t met yesterday under less-than-ideal circumstances, and they strolled to his apartment, Jason following behind looking as confused as Mia felt.

She couldn’t help but wonder why Michael would do such a thing. Honestly, she had no idea what would motivate him to pretend to be her boyfriend other than just to teach Jason a lesson, but he’d accomplished that with the kiss. Why the prolonged show?

She fought back a gasp when she entered Michael’s apartment. It was perfect, like a magazine spread for an architectural periodical. Chrome, glass, steel, and black leather. All perfectly placed and displayed.

“Scotch, Jason?” he asked as he slipped behind the bar. “Mia prefers wine if you’d rather have that.”

“Actually, her favorite drink is tequila,” Jason said with a grin. “Tequila does great things for Mia.”

“I do great things for Mia, Jason,” Michael responded coolly, pouring red wine in a crystal goblet.

Whoa. He was taking this whole playing-the-boyfriend thing seriously. She wondered what he’d be like as a real boyfriend. Actually, the word “boyfriend” wasn’t sufficient for a man like him. So in control and calm. What would he be like, she wondered, if he ever dropped that calm façade?

“So what do you do?”

Jason sat up straighter. “Oh, I work on Wall Street.”

“For whom? I’ve never heard of you.” He handed Mia the wine and kissed her hand as she reached for it, causing a whole passel of butterflies to launch into flight in her belly, fluttering so wildly that she felt a little queasy.

“Well, I’ve only recently started work there. I’m a runner right now, but I’m working my way up.” His voice trailed off slightly as Michael sat next to Mia, scanning her from head to toe as if he could eat her up and as if no one else were in the room. Jason cleared his throat. “What do you do, Michael?”

“I dabble in a lot of things.” He ran his finger up the outside of Mia’s knee and she sucked in a breath. His fingers were cool from handling the drinks, but the chills skittering up her spine had nothing to do with temperature. “Beautiful things.”

Holy crap. Maybe Gladys had the right of it. Maybe she needed to pay a visit to Mr. Anderson’s fun house herself. Her body was in countdown mode on the launch pad. Ten…nine…eight… No! Houston, we have a problem, she warned herself. It’s all a show. She angled away from his fingers.

He stood and pulled a card out of his wallet. “Here’s what I do, Jason. Feel free to give my office a call. Maybe we can meet for lunch.” His phone rang, and he pulled it out and grimaced. “If you two will excuse me for a moment, please. I need to take this call from the security desk. I’m expecting the groomer any minute.”

“Oh, did you take Clancy to the groomer I told you about?”

He winked. “Of course I did. I always take your suggestions, sweetheart.” And then he was gone. Leaving her alone with her ex.

Staring at the card in his hands, Jason whistled. “Holy fuck. Do you know who that is?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I know who he is.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken, which was his norm when they were dating. He equated her forgetfulness and disorganization with stupidity. What she realized now was that she had begun to believe it, too. “That’s Michael Anderson,” he marveled. “Like, the Michael Anderson of Anderson Enterprises and Anderson Auctions. He’s like…” he lowered the card and stared at her. “How’d you pull this off? How long have you known each other? It can’t have been long. I mean, really, Mia. You and Michael Anderson?”

“I owe you no answers, explanations, or information. I owe you nothing.”

Mercifully, a knock came on the front door and Michael entered the room before Jason pressed her any further. “That will be the groomer. You never told me where you want to go for dinner. We can go anywhere you like, Mia mine.”

Mia mine. He should have been an actor.

“You’re Michael Anderson,” Jason said.

A perfect eyebrow arched. “Yes, I introduced myself as such when we first met.”

“Yeah, but.” He stopped because Michael was no longer paying any attention to him and was speaking with a woman at his door. Clancy, sporting a new blue bow and matching nail polish streaked in between Michael’s feet and launched himself into Mia’s lap.

“Hi, Mr. Clancy Fancy Pants. I like your new ensemble.”

“I see you got that dog you always wanted,” Jason said as Michael shut the door.

“Yeah. Michael is very indulgent.”

“He’d have to be.”

Mia cringed a little inside as she finished the sentence in her head. …to put up with you.

“It was nice to meet you, Jason, but I promised Mia a romantic dinner for two.”

“Oh, sure.” He stood. “So, are you coming to the wedding, Michael? I mean it’s two weeks out and I’m not even sure how serious you guys are, so I might be overstepping.”

“We’re very serious,” Michael said without hesitation.

“Oh, no. Michael can’t take that kind of time off,” Mia interjected quickly. This was a disaster. Michael should have ended this charade after the kiss.

“That’s too bad,” Jason said with a shrug. “I guess it will be up to me to get you places on time, Mia. I’ll take care of her for you, Michael, don’t worry.”

Michael strode to her and held his hand out. She set Clancy aside, placed her hand in his, and rose to her feet. She could feel the tension in his fingers. “I never worry, Jason. I take care of things before the fact, so that worry is not part of the equation. Of course I will be attending Sue and Mark’s wedding. I wouldn’t dream of sending my fiancée alone.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but fell silent when he gave her a look that would wither the strongest will.

Jason stared open-mouthed. “Wow. You’re engaged? That’s… That’s surprising.” When Michael’s expression hardened, Jason backpedaled. “Um, I mean that’s great. She’s a great girl, yeah. Congrats.” He shook Michael’s hand. “Wait until my friends hear I had drinks at your apartment. Can’t wait to hang out at the wedding, Michael.” And without so much as a goodbye, or even a glance at Mia, he left.

As if glued in place, Mia remained perfectly still, unable to look at Michael. What had possessed him to say he was going to the wedding? More than that, why did he have to say they were engaged? She pulled her hand from his.

“What’s the matter?” He set his drink on the coffee table.

“Look. I appreciate what you did here. It was really cool of you.”

“But?”

“But why did you say you were going to the wedding? More than that, why did you say we were engaged? Now it’ll be twice as bad because I’ll show up alone after Jason tells everyone I’m bringing the almighty Michael Anderson, businessman extraordinaire, and have landed the undisputed greatest catch of all time. It’s going to be the ultimate jilt story. I’ll never live it down. This plays right into everyone’s expectations.”

“Greatest catch of all time?”

She slumped down on to the sofa, tears burning the back of her eyelids. “Oh, stop it. You know what I mean.”

“I did it because he was being an ass to you and treating you like nobody would want you. Well, I proved him wrong.”

The real problem was that Jason was right. Nobody would want her. She was way too scatterbrained and unpredictable. Jason had been the longest-term boyfriend she’d ever had, and that hadn’t even lasted a year.

Michael walked over to the bar and poured another drink. “Would you like more wine?”

“No. I hate wine. I drank it to play along.” And she’d enjoyed playing along, which troubled her. What troubled her the most, though, was her reaction to his kiss. He was like a potent drug of some kind. She had to avoid kissing him again for fear she’d get hooked. Men like Michael Anderson were not for her. In fact, no man was for her. “Why did you even start this charade?”

“As an apology.”

“For what?”

“For being rude last night. My leash comment was out of line.”

“It was. But after this, consider yourself forgiven.”

“I’m sorry that I took it too far. I should have stopped at dinner date.”

“No biggy. I’ll figure out a story to cover for the wedding. Maybe you’ll have a business meeting abroad or something the day of the wedding.”

She started for the door and he stepped in her way. “Wait. I promised you dinner. That part was real.”

Only real in that it was part of his apology. It would make him feel better, but after that kiss, Mia knew she needed to stay far away from this man. “And I appreciate it. I’m just not hungry. You’re off the hook, Michael Anderson.”

Clancy nosed her palm from the sofa and whined. She ruffled his long, soft hair. “He’s adorable. I was surprised you had pink on him before.”

“I didn’t. I told you when we met, he’s not my dog.”

Of course he wasn’t. It was obvious this guy didn’t even like dogs. She waited to see if he would explain, but he didn’t.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Whose dog is it?”

He gestured for her to sit, and she did, Clancy immediately curling up in her lap. “I’ll come clean. It’s the least I can do after creating an absentee fiancé you’ll have to cover for. He’s a foster dog assigned to me by my psychiatrist. She thinks the dog will help me loosen up and become more flexible.”

Well, that explained a lot of things. “And what do you think about that plan?”

“I think it’s bullshit, but I can’t give it back because she’s out of the country. I just need to take care of it for a few weeks, and I’m done.” He picked up his drink and took a swallow. She looked down at Clancy because the movement of his Adam’s apple was too distracting. “The thing is, I promised to take care of it myself and not board it.”

Sifting her fingers through the dog’s hair, she kept her eyes down. “I’m surprised you are going through with this.”

“I gave my word, and I always follow through when I give my word.”

“Yeah, but it’s obvious you’re not a dog type.” She looked up because that may have crossed a line.

If it bothered him, she couldn’t tell. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“Yes, I can. I mean, look around here. Your place is perfect. Spotless.”

He stared at her for a moment before speaking. “Thank you.”

Letting the conversation end there was the right thing to do and she knew it. Somehow, though, like always, she couldn’t let it drop. “It’s not really a compliment. I mean, it’s perfect visually. Striking even, like you.” His only reaction was to arch an eyebrow. “But your apartment has no heart, you know what I mean? No surprise or emotion to it. I kind of see where your shrink was going. A dog might add some life to the place. To you.”

His face and voice registered no reaction. He set his glass on a square marble coaster and adjusted the coaster so that it was lined up with the corner of the coffee table. “I appreciate your input. I have a great deal of life and emotion.”

“I’m sure you do. You just don’t show it. Dogs put it all out there. Maybe you should take a lesson from Clancy.”

“You put it all out there, too, don’t you, Mia?”

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, which was maddening. She’d actually have felt better if he’d acted pissed off. Anything other than this odd calm. “Yes. That’s my biggest fault, actually. I tend to speak my mind before thinking. I also forget things. I guess we’re opposites.”

“So it appears.” Motionless, he regarded her, which made her squirm. Everything about him exuded power. It was foreign and frighteningly attractive. The hottest thing, though, was imagining what would happen if he let go. She couldn’t resist one more try. “You’re angry.”

“No.”

“Yes, you are.” She straightened Clancy’s bow.

Regarding her, he remained statue still. “I’m not. It doesn’t further my agenda to be angry with you.”

He might have been unmoved, but she sure wasn’t. “Oh, my God. What agenda?”

“To get a good night’s sleep.”

Let it go, she told herself. But, she couldn’t. “Really? Are you that goal oriented? You’ll brush off someone calling you a boring stick-in-the-mud in order to get a good night’s sleep?”

“Well, now that you put it that way…” He smiled, surprising her completely, causing her breath to catch and her heart to feel like it needed a rewind. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, warm breath fanning across her cheek with an entrancing aroma of scotch. “You didn’t seem to think I was a boring stick-in-the-mud when I kissed you.”

Shit. He’d gone straight for the nuclear option. As if she were in his arms again, her body thrummed to life from her fingertips to her toes and everywhere in between. His kiss had been as extraordinary as it had been unexpected—just like her reaction at that moment. Time to get out before she begged him for a reenactment. Heart hammering in her ears as she walked toward the door, she forced herself to move slowly and affect a calm she didn’t feel. “Yeah, well, I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“When you do, let me know, Mia mine.”

Chapter Five

Two o’clock in the fucking morning. Nobody walks a dog at two in the morning. Michael had a board meeting at nine and he’d be useless if he didn’t get some sleep. His body was used to a schedule—one that didn’t include taking a dog out to piss in the middle of the night.

Half asleep, he stumbled into the hallway wearing a bathrobe and dress shoes with no socks. He couldn’t find his slippers because the dog had hidden them somewhere, along with his socks and his favorite Hermes tie. He was going to start a tally. By the time he added up the destruction wreaked by this nightmare creature, Dr. Whittelsey would be paying him.

Too tired to even bother locking his door, he shuffled down the hall toward the elevator. The dog pranced in front of him as if it were leading a parade.

Behind him, a door closed. Mia, wearing gray warm-up pants speckled with paint splatters, a bulky sweater, and no makeup stopped in her tracks when she saw him and leaned a large canvas against the wall.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked. A backpack with paintbrushes sticking out of the pockets was slung over one shoulder and she clutched the handle of an overstuffed rolling suitcase.

Something was wrong. She looked hollow and pale—as if the life had been sucked right out of her. “I might ask you the same thing.”

Giving a one-shouldered shrug, she sighed. “Someone called security and reported that Jason had yelled and banged on the door. It was one call too many. Ms. Braxton told me to be out by morning.”

It was probably the old guy down the hall. It wasn’t Mia’s fault her ex was a rude bastard. Rather than pretending to be this woman’s boyfriend, he should have beaten the shit out of Jason. No. That was only his exhaustion talking. There had to be a solution to this.

Clancy whined and tugged toward the elevator. “One call too many,” she’d said. Michael had been responsible for lots of calls. Hell, it was probably his fault this had happened. And he’d thought his night couldn’t get worse. “Where will you go?”

She slumped to sit on her suitcase. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

He had an uncharacteristic and powerful urge to take her in his arms, but he remained still instead. “You don’t have a place to go, do you?”

Tears welled in her eyes and he fought the urge to comfort her again. Shit. He could give her some money to rent a place. The dog whined.

Standing, she slipped the backpack over her other arm, grabbed the canvas by the frame with one hand, and clutched the suitcase with the other. “You need to take Clancy out. Seriously. I’ll be fine. I only have to find a place to camp for a couple of weeks before my next housesitting job starts. I can go crash where I work for tonight. I’ll figure it out.”

Michael pulled his phone from his robe pocket and called down to the doorman and offered him a hundred bucks to come walk the dog.

“I thought you had to take care of him yourself. You gave your word.”

“This is more important.”

For a brief moment, her lower lip quivered and his chest ached.

“You’re a nice guy, Michael Anderson.”

Being a nice guy was not something he’d ever put much thought to. Being nice didn’t make a successful company. Looking at her so vulnerable caused something in his chest to constrict to the point it was painful.

No. He didn’t have time for emotions now. He needed to think. Think. There has to be a solution. She only needs a place for two weeks… There were too many unknowns here. “Where is the rest of your luggage?”

She gave a choked laugh. “This is it. All I own in the world. I’m kind of nomadic, moving housesitting job to housesitting job.”

The elevator dinged and the doorman relieved Michael of the dog. “You said you could go where you work for the night. Where is that?”

In the dim hallway lights, the circles under her eyes were pronounced. She ran her hands through her hair. “I do occupational therapy at Heart’s Home. It’s a retirement community two stops south. I teach art.”

“Family?”

She shook her head. “They travel around even more than I do. None I can stay with.”

Clicking through options in his head, Michael searched for the most appropriate solution to this woman’s temporary homelessness. Ordinarily, he would have simply let her go her way and stayed out of it. There was something about her that intrigued him. Something more than just setting him on fire when he kissed her. This was different than anything he’d ever encountered and he really wanted to figure out what it was before she moved on.

“You look terrible,” she remarked.

He felt terrible. This dog wasn’t rejuvenating his drive, it was wearing him down and negatively impacting his business. If only it responded to him the way it did to Mia.

He almost laughed out loud. Whittelsey told him to be more spontaneous and step out of his routine. Well, this was way off the agenda. “Okay,” he said, delighted by the simplicity of the solution. “I’m going to throw something out here that I think might work out to be advantageous for both of us.”

…

Douches. All men were douches. No matter how successful, educated, handsome, or smart they were, they were all the same. And here, she’d thought he might have cared about her just a little. Stupid thought on her part. She knew better.

It was his line, “This is more important,” that had fooled her. Well, that and the kiss from earlier. Not that she’d expected him to like her in any way other than as a friend, but hell, this was nothing but a business transaction. Cold, calculated, and anything but friendly—just like the man.

Leaning against the inside of his front door, she waited while he wrapped up the transaction. “So, we are agreed, then. No emotional attachment or friendship of any kind will be involved or expected. I will pose as your fiancé at the wedding, and in return, you will live here—”

“On the sofa,” she interjected.

“Yes, on the sofa. I’ll take the dog with me to work during the day, as I promised Dr. Whittelsey, and you will take care of it at night so that I can get some sleep and live a normal life again.”

His normal, ordered, scheduled-to-the-minute life. She rolled her eyes just thinking about it and took a seat on the sofa she would soon call home. “Normal doesn’t include my needing to drown you out with music, does it?”

Something—possibly irritation—flashed in his eyes for a fraction of a second before he resumed his characteristic calm. “Of course not. What do you take me for?”

Attempting to copy his air of control, she leaned back and crossed her legs. “A rich, opinionated, control-freakish, womanizing lothario who doesn’t like dogs and probably doesn’t like children.”

“Lothario? As an artist, I’m surprised you’d choose to paint me only with the widest possible brush.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t know the first thing about me, but you’re judging me.”

She huffed and brushed her hair out of her face. “Okay, fine.”

“Why are you acting this way? I’ve offered a perfectly acceptable solution to both of our problems, and you behave as if I’ve insulted you somehow.”

She did feel a little insulted. From the moment she met him, she’d felt a connection. She had no romantic silly notions, but she thought they could at least be friends and his “solution” expressly precluded friendship of any kind. “You need me a lot more than I need you, Michael. I have a place to stay for tonight. I can camp out at Heart’s Home. You, on the other hand, have a situation that you can’t solve yourself. You need me, and that’s gotta bug the crap out of you.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then closed it without a word. She was right and he knew it. But he was right, too. She was behaving badly. A guy like this only saw the end goal. And this probably was his way of being nice—well as nice as he knew how to be.

“It’s a good solution, Michael. It benefits both of us, and fortunately, it’s only for two weeks. I’ll stop being a jerk. I’m just tired. Seeing Jason threw me off and I’m upset at how this thing with Ms. Braxton ended.”

He gave her a nod in reply, but what she really wanted…no, what she needed was a hug. Just a simple human touch to let her know everything would be okay, but Michael Anderson was clearly not the touchy-feely type. Well, not without an audience. He’d been plenty touchy when Jason was watching.

“So, do you have any spare blankets?” she asked. “We should call it a night so you can get some sleep before the meeting you told me about.”

After providing her with bedding for the sofa, he paused in the doorway to his bedroom. “It’s going to work out, Mia. We’ll…you’ll get through this. I’ll make sure of it.” For a fleeting moment, his features softened.

And for just as fleeting a moment, she believed him.

Chapter Six

This was never going to work, not even for two weeks.

Michael was long gone when Mia woke up, but she could still smell him. Crisp laundered shirts and aftershave. Mesmerized, she stood in his huge closet and stared—no, gawked—no, more like marveled. It was the physical embodiment of how this guy’s mind worked. Everything was in its perfect place. Ties, suits, shirts, even his shoes were in color order. As she turned a full circle, she noticed that his business clothes way outnumbered his casual. It was as if he had no life outside of work at all. Not a single pair of blue jeans. The only casual shoes other than boat shoes and loafers were some serious looking running shoes.

She pulled her bathrobe tighter and shuffled barefooted into the bathroom. One by one, she opened his cabinets. She should have felt bad snooping, but she didn’t. He’d told her to make herself at home, and she was living there, after all. Again, everything was perfectly organized by type and then by size. Nothing unusual. Expensive cologne. Expensive nail tools… expensive everything.

His medicine cabinet was empty with the exception of multi-vitamins, one of those pencil things guys use when they cut themselves shaving, and a tiny tube of acne cream. A laugh more like a bark escaped her. Like a pimple would dare pop up on his perfect face.

The bedroom, though, was no laughing matter. Looking through his bathroom cabinets didn’t feel like snooping, but merely standing in his bedroom did.

Michael Anderson had the holy grail of bachelor beds. A huge, super-sleek thing that looked like it was floating above the floor. Her heart kicked up a beat as she moved further into the room. The black satin sheets lay twisted and heaped to one side, which surprised her. She figured his bed would be perfectly tidy, just like the rest of his life. She ran her fingers over the smooth, cool satin. Maybe his need for order didn’t extend to his bedroom. Perhaps this was the one place he could relax a little.

She eyed his nightstand and her fingers itched to open the drawers. No. That was too far. Too personal. Even with no impulse control to speak of, Mia had to draw a line somewhere. Rifling through a man’s bedroom was too much even for her and her kill-the-cat curiosity. Closing the door behind her, she returned to the living room to get to work on the last of her Life in the Sun series.

Dammit! She’d forgotten her tarps she’d thrown in the storage closet next door and had no way to get them. She’d locked the keys inside Ms. Braxton’s apartment as instructed.

Oh, well. Improvisation was what she did best. Surely she could find something that would work around there. She only needed to finish this one canvas. No biggy.

…

Michael opened the door and then shut it immediately without entering. The dog whimpered and stared up at him.

Surely he’d imagined it. There was no way that woman had covered his floor in garbage bags and flung paint around. No fucking way.

After composing himself, he opened the door and entered, keeping the dog leashed so it wouldn’t walk through the mess and leave Technicolor paw prints on his polished marble and bamboo. Fortunately, there was no sign of his…guest anywhere. He was glad, because although she teased him for having no emotions, he was certainly experiencing a full range at that moment.

The entire space by his television was draped in black garbage bags duct taped together. And leaning against a similarly trash-bag draped Corbusier chair was a huge canvas splattered in vibrant colors. Were it not for the fact it was still wet and in his living room, he might have appreciated the surprising composition and evocative color choice—but it was, so he didn’t.

“Mia?” His voice was so controlled, it was hardly audible. He tended to get quiet when angered, rather than raise his voice. Shouting gave the other party an advantage, in that it was a window into one’s state of mind.

No answer. He couldn’t let the dog loose in there and he’d be damned if he was going to leave his own home because of a one-woman paintball war. “Mia?” he said again as he wandered to the kitchen. A box containing a pizza with a couple of pieces missing sat open on the counter, crumbs scattered nearby. Well, she’d certainly taken him at his word and made herself at home. At least she’d followed his orders and had not cooked. After clearing out some paint brushes she’d left in his designated key bowl on the kitchen counter, he placed his keys, wallet, and phone in their proper spot.

Shaking his head, he and the dog walked back to the trash bag-covered living room, careful to stay out of her workspace, and he poured himself a scotch at the bar, in keeping with his everyday routine. It was a good thing the woman was gone because maintaining his cool with her at this point would be impossible.

His attention gravitated to the painting she’d left to dry. It really was good. Not just splatters, now that he studied it more carefully. It had a trunk and branches. She had painted a tree that seemed to move as he watched it. The placement of the splatters were arranged such that it gave an optical illusion effect that wind caused the branches to move and flecks of light to shine through the vivid patches of color constituting leaves. Fascinating.

Leaning against the bar, he checked his watch. Yep. He was back on his routine. A wind-down drink, then catching up on some financial journals, then…

He looked down at the dog at his feet and it wagged its tail. Yeah. No, then. For a couple of weeks, he’d just have to defer that part of the evening routine.

Strolling into his bathroom, he stopped short. Dammit. She was like a debris tornado. Her workout clothes lay on the floor in front of the sink and a hair dryer resided inside it. It was a wonder the woman hadn’t shocked herself to death by now. At least his bedroom had escaped unscathed.

Sort of.

Right in the middle of his bed was Mia, curled on her side, hair partially damp, wrapped in a towel, sound asleep. At the sight of her so peaceful, with her hands tucked under her cheek, all of his anger dissipated. The dog jumped onto the bed—something strictly forbidden—and before he could pull it back, the creature balled up in the nest of sheets behind her knees and placed his chin on her calf.

It would take a heartless bastard to wake her up. A bastard he may be, but heartless, he was not—despite her very specific preconceived notions about him. And his heart at that moment squeezed painfully as he looked down at her—the first woman who had ever slept in his bed.

This was a potentially disastrous situation. He needed to be careful. This woman could very well be as destructive to his life as the dog.

…

Michael was avoiding her, and it was driving Mia crazy. For a solid week, she’d lived in near solitude. He would wake up at some ridiculous hour and go work out somewhere, then he’d come home and get ready in a routine so regimented, she’d swear it was choreographed. Then, he’d go off to work and return home at exactly eight twenty. After leaving Clancy with her, he’d pour a drink, then disappear into his bedroom, not to be seen again. This should have suited her fine, but it didn’t. Spending time in his home, seeing his things and smelling his scent had left her one step short of crazy. The more time she spent there, the more curious she became, and the guy had nothing personal in his apartment. No clues as to who he really was inside. Not even a photograph of his family.

Enough was enough. It was Saturday morning and his bedroom door was still closed, which meant he might still be there. If they were going to pull this fiancé fiasco off in a week, they at least needed to know each other’s full names, birthdays, and favorite foods. They also needed to spend some time together so that they at least looked like they knew each other.

After moving Clancy off of her legs, she left the sofa and gently rapped on his bedroom door. No answer. Crap. Maybe she’d missed him. The distinctive click of Clancy’s toenails on the wood floor got closer. Because the dog was still there, chances were, so was Michael.

Holding her breath, she tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.

So wrong. Don’t enter his bedroom while he’s asleep. No. Don’t enter while he’s awake. Don’t enter at all. But having the self-control of a toddler, she couldn’t stop herself.

Sound asleep, Michael Anderson looked different. His power took a back seat to his sheer beauty, and her fingers itched to touch a paintbrush—or his smooth skin, exposed completely to the waist…a little lower, actually.

Holy smokes. His daily routine obviously paid off. She’d felt those muscles on their chance encounter in the hallway, but this was the first time she’d seen them. It would take such discipline and control to balance his mind and body like that. And for the first time in her adult life, Mia wished she could change. To be a little more disciplined so that she could succeed at more than just surviving day to day by the seat of her pants.

It was too late for that, though. Her path was made. Forgetful, flighty, scatterbrained, she would rely on her intuition and artistic abilities as she always had. Still, if only…

“Mmm,” he murmured as he rolled over, tangling his legs in the sheets. “Yeah, like that…mmm…”

She froze. No. Freaking. Way. The almighty Michael Anderson was having an erotic dream. She couldn’t fight back her silly grin.

And then Clancy barked.

Michael sat bolt upright and sucked in a deep breath. Even startled from sleep, he kept an air of calm, waiting until he got his bearings and checking his clock before he spoke. “Is something wrong?”

Silly grin still in place, she shook her head.

“Do you need something?”

“No.”

With a sigh, he flopped back on his pillow. “Why are you in my bedroom, Mia?”

“We need to talk.”

He groaned and draped an arm over his eyes. “Now?”

“Yeah, now. Is there a problem? Did I interrupt something?” Again, the grin threatened to take over her face.

He lowered his arm and studied her a moment. “No.” The finality in his tone was unmistakable. Game over. All business Michael had returned, sending her grin running for the hills.

She sat on the edge of the bed and his eyes widened fractionally. “So, if we’re going to pull off this charade of being engaged at the wedding, we need to practice a little.”

He didn’t move a muscle. “Practice what, exactly?”

“Practice acting like we know each other. Heck, practice acting like we even like each other would be a good start.”

“I know you well enough to pull this off. And I like you just fine, Mia.”

Just fine. He didn’t like her at all, and she knew it. All week, he’d been leaving little Post-it notes around the house with instructions as to where her things should go. “Dirty clothes in the hamper, please.” “Dishes in the dishwasher, please.” “This bowl is for my personal items, not paintbrushes, please.” Please, please, please.

And he was a complete and total know-it-all, which was maddening. “Okay, then, Michael. In order to make people believe we are really engaged, there are things we would know about each other. For example, what do I sleep in?”

“Warm-up pants and a T-shirt,” he answered with a satisfied smirk.

“When I’m on your sofa, that’s what I wear. What would I wear to bed if we were really dating and we were sleeping together in this bed?” His smirk disappeared completely and she gave herself a mental fist bump. She’d surprised him. Score: 1-0, Mia.

He cleared his throat and sat up. “If we were dating and you were in this bed, it wouldn’t matter what you wore, Mia. You wouldn’t wear it long. You would be naked. Just like I am now.”

Damn. Score one for Michael. Tied at 1-1, and the crowd goes wild. So does Mia. After her heart slowed to a non-fatal pace, she took the conversation to a safer topic. “What do you do for fun, Michael? Surely you do more than work all the time.”

“Are you seriously going to sit on the edge of my bed after discussing being naked and ask me what I do for fun? Either you are playing an incredibly clever game, or are so completely unaware of what’s happening here, it’s tragic.”

This man didn’t like her at all. He’d avoided her like the plague this week. She didn’t think sexual innuendo from him meant a thing at this point. Maybe she’d read it wrong. Or maybe to Michael Anderson, a woman was a woman, no matter who she was or how much he didn’t like her. “I’m not playing a game, Michael.”

After many long seconds of study, he nodded. “I believe you. I think you are completely genuine and I apologize. I’m not used to it. I’m used to games and agendas.”

“If I had an agenda, I’d forget it before I could carry it out.”

“And I believe that as well.”

So, he’d figured it out. She was a total featherhead and he knew it. Her eyes stung with tears she refused to release.

He put his warm palm on her knee. “Hey. It’s not that you’re not smart. You are. And talented. I’ve seen your painting. What you need are some organizational skills.”

“I’m past that.”

His fingers tightened, and a thrill shot up her spine. “No. Organization is easy. What you’ve got is like that tree you painted.”

Her breath caught. “You could tell it was a tree?”

“Of course I could. And you are just like that tree. You have all these intelligent, flexible branches and creative, beautiful leaves, but no organizational roots to keep you upright.”

She stared wordlessly.

“The roots are the easy part. And I’m just the guy to help you with it. Organization is my middle name.”

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she met his eyes. “What is your middle name, really?”

“Why?”

“Because if we were really engaged, I’d know.”

“David.”

Michael David Anderson.

“And yours is?”

She ran her finger along the edge of the bed. “Lysander”

His eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t laugh. Most people laughed.

Shifting a little on the bed, she took a deep breath. “Hermia Lysander Argaropolis. My parents are actors. They met during a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. They named me after their roles.”

“It suits,” he said.

“Why? Because I’m dramatic and comical?”

“No. Because of the character you’re named after. ‘And though she be but little, she is fierce’.”

She rolled her eyes. “The only thing fierce about me is my hunger. What do you say to breakfast? You have absolutely no food in this place. I thought at first you were a vampire or something.”

He laughed. “No, I eat out. The only thing I dislike more than a mess is having to clean one.”

“Good thing you’re rich.”

“It is a good thing. So is being structured. I’ll show you some tricks over breakfast.”

He was wasting his time, and she knew it, but she might actually be able to help him out. “Only if I can show you some tricks too.”

“Now, I’m intrigued. What kind of tricks?”

“You show me how to get organized, and I’ll show you how to loosen up and not be a stick-in-the-mud.”

A wicked grin crossed his face. “A stick-in-the-mud, am I? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m totally naked under this sheet. In order to go to breakfast, I will need to get up. If you don’t leave now, I’m going to show you a lot more than organizational skills, Hermia Lysander Argaropolis.”

With a giggle, she fled the room, Clancy’s toenails clicking close behind.

Chapter Seven

Michael stepped off the sidewalk and faced Mia while the dog sniffed around a light pole. “No. Absolutely not.”

Mia crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “Now listen here, Mr. All Business and No Play Makes You a Dull Boy. At breakfast, I did everything you asked of me. I uploaded the silly calendar app to my phone. I set every alarm possible for things I don’t want to do, and now my life is going to be run by a phone.”

“You control the phone, Mia. It does what you program it to do. It is not running your life; you are.”

“Whatever. I humored you, and now it’s your turn.” She pulled an empty sugar packet wrapper she’d used in her coffee at breakfast from her pocket and put it in her purse.

He was not riding in a horse-drawn carriage in Central Park. “No.”

The light changed, so she led Clancy across the street to the park, leaving him with no choice but to follow. It was maddening. Of the millions of things to do in this city, she’d pick the most touristy activity possible. He pulled the bill of the Yankees ball cap lower and adjusted his sunglasses.

“Your problem is that you’re so worried about what people will think and how it will affect your business, you don’t really live.”

“I live very well, thank you.”

“No, you don’t. You miss out on stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like carriage rides.”

“Sitting in a wagon that’s covered in kid snot, separated from a haggard animal by a bag of its poop is not living.”

She raised her hand and a red and white carriage pulled by a thick white horse stopped. “Well, humor me, like I humored you with the organization lesson.”

“That was for your own good.”

“Well, this is for your own good!”

A man with a goatee and top hat grinned down from the driver’s seat. “Good morning, friends. Lovely day for a tour of the park.”

“It is. Could you give us a sec, please?” She pulled him out of earshot of the driver. “Listen, Michael. Clearly, this isn’t going to work. We have less than a week before the wedding. I appreciate you saying you would go, but at this point, I think it would do me more harm than good.”

“I gave my word. I’m going.”

“Worse than you not going would be someone figuring out we aren’t really engaged. I know these people and they know me. They also know that there’s no way a guy like you would ever in a million years even date me, much less marry me.”

At that moment, Michael was more curious about her than he’d been about anyone or anything in his life. She was smart, outspoken, attractive, talented, and kind—hell, she worked at a nursing home. What on earth could be so wrong with her that her own friends would sell her short like that?

“And honestly, no one would believe I’d be interested in you, either. You are the most uptight person I’ve ever met.”

He was not uptight—he was organized and efficient. She had it wrong, and he’d prove it. “A carriage ride it is.”

“Oh, yay!” She wrapped her arms around him and gave a squeeze, her nearness jolting even his outermost extremities awake. Amused, he watched as she lifted Clancy into the carriage, and then followed, bouncing with excitement as she settled onto the white leather seat. So full of life. So unlike the type of woman he’d always chosen to spend time with. Her earlier words played through his head. “You miss out on stuff.”

Maybe he did.

“Come on, Stick, let’s go find some mud for you,” she joked, patting the space next to her. After he took his seat, Clancy settled between them and she held her camera out at arm’s length. “Smile!”

As he plastered a smile he didn’t feel on his face, she clicked a picture of them, and the carriage rolled into motion.

“First time to New York?” The driver asked.

“Yes,” Michael answered before Mia could respond. “So give us the full experience.”

“You bet.” He swiveled to half face them as the horse plodded along the paved road. “My name is Lee.” He stared at them for a moment, and Michael had a strange urge to look away, much like the feeling he used to get in school when his teacher caught him unprepared for class.

“You’re a great couple,” Lee said, turning back around. “I’ve been doing this forever, and I can read people like books.”

It took every ounce of Michael’s willpower not to roll his eyes at such a silly, cliché statement. The man didn’t know the first thing about them. Hell, they weren’t even a couple. He flicked a leaf off of the seat next to him and draped his arm over the side of the carriage, trying to look like he was enjoying himself. Mia clearly was, smiling and holding the dog in her lap so that it could see out.

“Yep,” the driver continued as they were passed by some joggers, “I’ve seen it all. Some people tolerate each other. Some don’t really even like each other, but you guys are in love.”

He shot a glance at Mia over his shoulder. “Am I right?”

She grinned. “Yes, you are.” Then she took Michael’s hand in hers and whispered, “Practice makes perfect.”

Seeing her this animated made Michael want to practice, all right. He wanted to kiss her again, but that had already been perfect. A jolt of heat shot to his groin and he shifted in his seat. What a surprise that had been. Her lack of physical inhibition made her the most responsive kisser he’d ever encountered. She melded to his body with no hesitation and returned his kiss stroke for stroke, which he hadn’t expected from a first kiss—especially one done expressly for show. He adjusted his position again and looked out at the lake, rather than at her full lips.

Still holding his hand, she gave his fingers a squeeze. Maybe this carriage business wouldn’t be so bad after all. It was certainly spontaneous. He smiled as he imagined Dr. Whittelsey’s face at their next session.

…

Just one more week, Mia told herself, then it will be over. For a while, she had hoped she and Michael could be friends. She’d moved so much from city to city, she didn’t have many close friends, which was why his business proposition approach to this had hurt so much. With so much opportunity in New York for her, she’d finally found a place she could stay. Plus, there was no way she could leave the Queen B’s at Heart’s Home. Having a friend again would have been so nice. Sue was her only real friend, and after all the trouble with Jason, they didn’t really talk anymore. She hoped to reconnect with her at the wedding if she didn’t do something stupid to screw it up. Like always.

Michael and the driver discussed some black rocks jutting out of the ground, and Clancy walked across her lap to Michael’s to see something out the other side of the carriage. She expected him to push the dog away, but he held him up and steadied him instead, to give him a better view.

After living at his place for a week, she knew that friendship was out of the question. Being friends with a man like this would be impossible. He was entirely too much. Too much of everything. And she knew her limitations. He would be so easy to fall for. Heck, she’d probably already started.

No. Never again, she told herself. Such a sucker for a pretty face. Add the power and confidence, and he was a custom built heartbreak. Plus, he’d never meet her non-negotiable requirement, so she’d have to just put her hormones in lock-down mode. Her goals were only to help him loosen up and to make it through this wedding with her sanity and heart intact. She had her work cut out for her on both fronts.

The carriage came to a stop and Lee turned in the seat to tell them about Bow Bridge. “It’s romantic, isn’t it?” Lee remarked. “You two should get out and walk around. This is a beautiful part of the park. I’ll just wait here.”

She knew Michael didn’t want any part of something romantic, but this was the very kind of thing he needed to do. Something frivolous and non-work related.

Clancy didn’t need to be asked twice. He bounded back and forth from Mia to Michael until the driver opened the door on Mia’s side. She helped Clancy out, but Michael made no move. “You coming?” she asked.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Wait here, my ass. She was having none of that. “Out. Now,” she ordered. He glanced around, and she knew he was uncomfortable. Too bad. Discomfort was good for a guy like him. “Ah. It’s the public figure thing. Lighten up, Michael. Nobody’s looking at you. Everyone is having fun. Everyone but you.” She pointed to some kids playing ball. “See?” And then to a group of people gathered around a jazz ensemble on the bank of the water near some cattails. “Even dancing.” Then she gestured to a couple on the bridge wrapped up in each other’s arms. “Fun of all kinds.” She cupped her hands to her mouth and stage whispered. “And guess what? None of them are watching you or give a care what you’re doing.”

Other than a muscle twitch in his jaw, he remained stone still.

Poor guy. Was he that messed up? “But I’m watching you. And I care what you’re doing. Please come with me.”

“May I show you something, Mia?” he asked, pulling out his phone.

“Sure.”

He crooked his finger, and then patted the seat next to him. “Would you mind hanging on to the dog for a moment, Lee?”

“Not at all, Mr. Anderson.”

Michael looked directly at her, then back to Lee. “Have we met before?”

“No. But I’ve lived in the City my whole adult life and just about everyone here knows who you are. I recognized you the second I saw you. Just played along with your tourist routine.”

Once Mia had climbed back into the carriage, he handed her his phone. “Google me. More specifically, Google my name and NYC.”

She did and the screen filled with tiny thumbnails of Michael. Holy shit. She had no idea.

He took the phone and entered something. “This is my favorite.”

He turned the screen toward her and it was a blurry shot of him stooping to pick up a pile of dog poop on the sidewalk while Clancy sniffed another dog. “What do you think would happen if I went strolling over that bridge or danced to that band down there?”

“I know exactly what would happen. Someone might take a picture of Michael Anderson having fun. Heaven forbid.”

“You’re missing my point. You’d be in the picture, too.”

Was it her? He didn’t strike her as being that shallow.

“It’s a sensitive time for me, Mia. I’m trying to close several big deals. One of which is tenuous at best. I need to be careful and control what gets out there right now.”

She took the phone back and scrolled through the photos. “You’ve worked hard to get that entrepreneur playboy image just right, huh?” Photos of him on news shows, at fundraisers, and with slick, sophisticated women followed one after the other as she flipped from image to image. Maybe he was that shallow. A different woman in every photo. “So powerful and serious—and such a player,” she said, handing the phone back.

“Yes.”

“But is that who you really are?”

“It’s who I need to be.”

His eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses, but she could see her reflection in them—her messy ponytail and make-up free face. The polar opposite of the women she’d seen in the photographs. No wonder he didn’t want to be seen with her. She and Michael moved in different worlds that didn’t intersect at any point. At least she could be real in hers. And she certainly had no place in his.

“I know that this is the part of the conversation where most people would just say, okay, and step back because your career is so important.”

He crossed his arms over his chest across his starched shirt. “But?”

“But I’m not most people.” She was actually glad she couldn’t see his piercing blue eyes, because if he’d employed that dominant look he’d used on her when he told Jason they were engaged, she might have done the smart thing and shut up. Instead, true to form, she plowed ahead. “I feel sorry for you, Michael Anderson. I bet nobody’s ever said that to you before, have they?”

He didn’t respond. He simply sat there, completely still, face unreadable and hidden behind his mirrored shades.

She stepped down from the carriage and took the leash from Lee. “I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to be worried what other people will think all the time. To never say or do anything you really want. To never be yourself.”

“Just like me, you only let people see what you want them to see. You manipulate your image every bit as much as I do.”

“You’re wrong.” She took a deep breath and stared over the lake for a moment. “I really thought I could help you. But now, I’m not sure.” She turned her attention back to him. “Not if you won’t let me.”

…

“Wow,” Lee said as Mia crossed over the bridge, never looking back. “She’s something.”

“Yes, she is.” Help him? The woman had it turned around. He was helping her.

The driver straightened his top hat. “She lobbed you an easy one.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re supposed to follow her.”

Michael took his gaze off of Mia’s retreating form to look at Lee. “That’s not what I got out of it.”

“Mr. Anderson, I may be about to way overstep here—”

“Then don’t.” He could barely see her between the trees on the other side. She’d stopped at a vendor cart with a bright yellow umbrella.

As expected, the guy overstepped anyway. “When she said, ‘Not if you won’t let me,’ that was code for, ‘let me’.” You’re supposed to follow her. If you don’t, you’ve really screwed up.”

Could he screw up any worse? A psychiatrist convinced him to take a dog he didn’t want. Mia convinced him take a carriage ride he didn’t want. And now a guy wearing a top hat and a t-shirt that looked like a tuxedo, who gave tours of Central Park, was trying to convince him to chase a woman…a woman he did want.

Like coming up for air after holding his breath too long underwater, a wave of relief ran through him, filling him with fresh focus and clarity as the revelation hit. He wanted Mia. He wanted her more than anything he had wanted in a long time. Even more than the Kawashima deal, and that said something. He wanted her in his bed and he wanted her now.

But why? Why her? Michael puzzled over the possibilities in his head as she walked back onto the bridge, carrying what appeared to be ice cream. She leaned on the rail and stared out over the water, not looking in his direction while the dog at her heels barked at the ducks below on the green, reflective surface of the lake.

Perhaps it was the challenge she presented. There was something to be said for obtaining something so rare. Maybe that was the allure. That’s certainly what drove him in the antiquities business.

It would be a breach of his policy, though. He had a firm rule to never sleep with a woman he would be required to deal with on a regular basis. But this arrangement concluded at the end of the wedding, only a week away. A strange pain shot down his sternum. The time constraint bothered him. He liked having her around. Mess and all.

“There are worse things than being seen in the park with a beautiful woman,” Lee said.

To hell with his policy. “Indeed there are.” Michael dropped his hat and glasses on the seat and stepped down from the carriage.

“I’ll just wait here, then.”

“You do that.”

Chapter Eight

Mia felt Michael before she saw him. Like the ripples across the lake below, the air seemed to vibrate with his energy. And then he was close enough to see clearly. Not mad, thank goodness, but intense. Eyes narrowed, gaze never leaving her face, his intent was clear. She had no doubt in her mind what he was going to do. And while her ever-elusive shred of common sense squealed, “No,” everything else in her shouted, “Bring it on.”

And bring it, he did, backing her up against the railing and taking her mouth with his before she could get a word out, not that she would have been able to string a cohesive sentence together after seeing that expression on his face. It was a look of desire, hot and insistent, just like his kiss.

The kiss in front of Jason had been toe curling, but this was something completely different. Overwhelming. Everything melted away—the bridge, people in the park, even where he ended and she began—as he stroked her back with his talented hands, coaxing her passion with his lips and tongue. When an involuntary moan escaped her, he answered with a groan and deepened the kiss.

This was the real Michael Anderson, not the calm, calculated one he’d chiseled from cold, analytical clay and wore like a mask to hide the real man.

Her arms wound around him as his tongue tangled with hers, their bodies meeting all the way down. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against her belly, sending an ache to her core.

Taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he ran his hand up her neck and into her hair. “More,” he said, pulling her ponytail just hard enough to tilt her head further. “Give me more, Mia.”

Yes. No. No. No.

He was her fake fiancé for a friend’s wedding. She was his unwanted guest who doubled as his dog sitter at night.

It was a business arrangement, and making out on a bridge in public was bad business.

“No,” she whispered.

He stilled, rapid breaths fanning across her neck.

Releasing her arms from around him, she inhaled slowly, willing her hammering heart to slow. “I’m sorry. This is not…”

He pulled back enough to look into her eyes, which made rejecting him even harder.

“This is not what I need,” she finished.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before straightening up completely, hands still on the rail on either side of her. Then he opened his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

“Not that it wasn’t nice.”

“Nice…” He gave a half laugh and took a step back.

She gave a hopeless shrug. “Okay. That sounded stupid. I say stupid stuff all the time. Your kisses are more than nice; they’re spectacular. So hot, I forget who and where I am. Look at me. I’m a trembling mess.”

“So, why no?”

She noticed he was trembling, too. “Because although I am forgetful and scatterbrained, I learn from mistakes. And believe me, I’ve made some doozies.”

“Sleeping with me wouldn’t be a mistake.”

“You can’t give me what I need.”

He grinned, and his dimples made an appearance. “I can give you everything you need and more.”

“I’m not talking about sex.”

The dimples disappeared.

“And you are,” she continued. “I’ve tried sex-first relationships. They fail for me. Guys say they want me, but they don’t. It’s just sex. There’s a big difference.”

He ran a hand through his perfectly trimmed hair and stared over the water.

“I deserve someone who appreciates me as a person. Sex doesn’t lead to love. You know that as well as anyone. I mean, I’ve drowned you out with bad music multiple times, and even if some of those were repeat performances, you can’t tell me you really cared for any of those women, or else you’d be with one of them now.”

Still looking out over the water, he nodded. He was quiet for several moments, and she wished his control would crack enough for her to read his expression. Finally he spoke. “You’re right. I can’t give you what you need.” He turned his attention to her and smiled. “But, I can give you the second half of your carriage ride.” He pointed to where Lee was waiting on the road to the bridge.

She smiled. “So, back to business as usual.”

“Business as usual.”

“No more kissing.”

“No more kissing,” he repeated.

Clancy yanked on the leash as he barked at a duck below and she stooped over to pick up the ice cream wrapper she’d dropped when he took her in his arms. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll just consider this little incident research to benefit our fake engagement next weekend.”

“If you ever want to conduct more research… for the sake of believability, you know, I’m always available.”

She gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. “Stop it. You’re supposed to be all stuffy and serious.”

“I’m completely serious.”

And even though she’d shared her last kiss with Michael Anderson, a tiny thrill trickled down her spine at the tempting door he’d left open just a crack.

It was going to be a long week.

…

File in lap, Michael sat transfixed, his ability to hyper-focus in full effect.

“Don’t you have work to do or something?” Mia asked, voice tantalizingly breathy.

“I’m doing it.”

She punched a button on the remote and the music stopped. “No, you’re not. You’re watching me work out.”

“I’m multi-tasking.” He pointed to the open file in his lap. “See? Do you work out like this every day?”

“Yes.” She grabbed a towel she’d thrown over the arm of one of the chairs and wiped her face and neck. “I just don’t do it before the sun comes up, like you do.” She was wearing the blue and pink skin-tight affair again, and he liked it even more than he did the first time he saw it. Completely at ease, nearly unclothed, and covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, she rubbed down her bare belly. “Well, I try to work out every day. Sometimes, I get distracted.”

“Hmmm.” He flipped a page of the file, oblivious to what was on it. He had a mission: Mia in his bed, and he was going to get her there. And it would be her idea. Lee had said he could read people. Well, that’s how Michael made his living. And he was absolutely certain, after observing her closely for the last week, this woman was as on fire for him as he was for her. The key was the real motivation behind her rejection of him.

He couldn’t believe he was working so hard for this. But it was worth it. Everything about her appealed to him—well, except maybe what she was doing to his apartment.

He spotted bits and pieces of her everywhere: paintbrushes on the wet bar, a vase of flowers on the table. The vase had appeared last week after the carriage ride in Central Park, and she’d replaced the fresh flowers every day since. Cut flowers were idiotic to him—and messy, dropping petals and leaves. A total waste. There were many more permanent ways to enjoy beauty. Flowers were the ultimate expression of whimsy, which suited her, he supposed.

And then there was the ghastly yellow and orange blanket she’d told him was knitted by someone named Gladys at the retirement community. The only thing that redeemed it was that the dog preferred it to the leather of the sofa.

But worse, even, than the flowers or the ugly blanket were the photos of the damn dog. A tri-fold frame with cheap studio shots of the beast was displayed proudly on his mantle, the fussy mosaic print of the frame in complete opposition to his minimalist, contemporary décor. Next to it was the selfie she’d taken of the two of them in the carriage last week. This frame was even worse. All the little scraps and trash she’d picked up that day were glued around the edges—the bottle cap she’d picked up on the street, some pebbles from the park, the empty sugar pack from breakfast, even the label from the ice cream she’d eaten on the bridge.

His mind wandered to that day on the bridge and the way she’d felt in his arms, and he shifted in his chair. For days, he’d replayed that kiss in his head and it never lost its impact. Having her in close proximity had only fed what bordered on obsession.

Sitting on the ottoman with her back to him, she slid off her sneakers without untying them. A tiny freckle right above her waist to the left of her spine caught his attention. Soon, he would kiss that freckle and every inch of her. He just needed to find the key to her resistance.

“So, what are you working on?” she asked.

“You.”

She spun to face him, clearly surprised.

He held up the file and read the label: “Hermia Lysander Argarapolis.”

“Oh, my God. What’s in it?”

He held it out and she plopped down beside him in her characteristic non-self-conscious manner, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin, even though his dress shirt.

Thumbing through the pages, her eyes widened. “Holy, crap. Why do you have this?”

“Well, if we’re going to pull off this fiancé business, I need to prepare, like I do for all my transactions, which means memorizing any facts I can gather about you.” That was only partially true. Yes, the information would come in useful in the upcoming ruse, and was the reason he’d requested it, but his interest in her went way beyond that, and it got more intense every minute he spent with her. He wanted to know as much as possible about her.

She skimmed her finger down a page about her education. “Well, it’s pretty freaking thorough.” She flipped to a page titled, “Relationships,” followed by another, then another. Complete with photos. “Maybe too thorough.” She closed it and set it back in his lap, fingers brushing his thigh. “You could have just asked me about my past, you know. I’m not elusive or mysterious.”

But she was mysterious. Completely unexpected. “I’m a visual learner.”

“So, have you memorized the file yet?”

“Haven’t even read it. I was distracted by your workout.”

“I’m going to be real honest with you here, Michael. Part of me is skeeved out by the fact you have that file. The other part is impressed you are going all in for this wedding.”

“I always go all in.”

She groaned and stood. “That’s the problem with you. You take things way too seriously.”

“That was actually an attempt at innuendo that clearly fell short.”

“See? You’re so serious, I can’t tell when you’re being… innuendo-ee.” She unwound the tie that held her hair and it spilled loose around her shoulders, shiny and dark, like ink. At least she wasn’t angry he’d had her researched. He was curious how she’d react, which was why he’d brought the file home in the first place—to kick the wasp nest, as it were.

“So, you run this kind of file on your clients, too?”

“Yes. Similar. Being prepared is key to success.”

She rolled her eyes. “Where do you get such a thing?”

“My brother, Will, has a friend, Jim, who compiles them for me.”

“You have brothers?” she asked with a mock expression of surprise.

“Yes.”

“I’d never have known. I suppose you have parents, too?”

He leaned back, arms across the back of the sofa. “I came from somewhere.”

“By looking around your place, I’d have thought you just spontaneously generated.”

What the hell did that mean? Ah. The answer hit him. “Because I don’t have any family photos littering the apartment. Well, that was a conscious choice. They would ruin the lines of the décor.”

“Or worse yet, they would make you look human. Give the place heart.”

“That, too.”

She headed toward the bathroom, barefooted and gorgeous. “My turn to shower.” She delivered a pointed stare to the file in his lap. “Study up.”

…

“He’s driving me crazy,” Mia said to the Queen B’s the next day, only really more to herself than anyone else. “It was better when he came home and avoided me. Now he intentionally puts himself in whatever room I’m in. Last night, he even watched me do my Pilates.”

The women exchanged looks over the table, but said nothing.

“I mean, it is his house, but still, it’s unnerving.”

“Is he a jerk?” Blanche asked, jabbing her brush in the paint.

“No. Not at all.”

“Oh, then he must smell bad,” Betty said.

Bernice looked up from her painting. “Or maybe he has a rude habit.”

“Tom used to pick his nose when he thought nobody was lookin’,” Gladys said, changing her yarn color to green.

“No, no. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then he must be sloppy or ugly,” Betty offered. “Nothing more unnerving than a slob, in my opinion.”

“Tom used to leave his beer cans all over the house,” Gladys said. “Really riled me up.”

“It’s not that. He’s highly attractive. Really, really attractive. And he is the opposite of a slob, he’s a neat freak. And he doesn’t smell bad. He smells amazing.”

“You girls owe me a quarter each,” Gladys said.

“You haven’t won the bet yet,” Betty snapped. “Saying he’s handsome, tidy, and good smelling does not mean she’s fallen for him.”

“Aw, fiddlesticks. Just look at her. She’s smitten. Completely over the moon for the man.”

Mia stood, maybe too quickly, and went to the sink to rinse her brush. “I’m no such thing. He’s not my type at all.”

“If he’s not her type, then why did she get all lip-locky with him, hmmmm?”

She turned to face them. “I did no such th…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the tabloid Gladys had pulled out of her knitting basket. It was a picture taken that day at the park. “Michael Anderson’s Mystery Woman,” the title read. The blurry photo was taken from somewhere on or around the lake, looking up at the bridge. Only her back was visible, and Michael’s hand clutched her ponytail.

“Oooo, that’s hot. Lemme see,” Bernice said, snatching the paper. “You cheated on the bet, Gladys. You had this already.”

“I did not. Look at the date,” Gladys replied. “It came out this morning. We made the bet day before yesterday.”

“We know who the mystery woman is,” Blanche said. “Is there a reward for information?”

“No, there is not!” Mia grabbed the paper and retreated to the other side of the room. This was what Michael had feared. She was unidentifiable in the photo with only her back visible, so he was saved that embarrassment, at least. “It’s…It’s not me, anyway.”

“Yeah, it is,” Blanche said. “You wear that blouse all the time.”

“And that’s the name of the guy you’re living with.”

“I’m not really living with him. It’s…”

“And she’s redder than a beet. Guilty, I say! Pay up, girls.” Gladys grinned triumphantly.

Chapter Nine

Michael stared at the grandfather clock against the wall across from his desk. It wasn’t even four o’clock. Four hours and twenty minutes until he was home. In about an hour, Mia would be wrapping it up at Heart’s Home.

He flipped a page in the Kawashima file and stared at it, seeing nothing before glancing back at the clock. Four hours and nineteen minutes now.

She would take the One train home, do her workout, and then shower. She used to shower in the mornings, but changed that because there was only one bathroom and Michael had a strict morning schedule. “You don’t share your toys well,” she told him. Well, he had a toy he’d love to share.

Four hours and eighteen minutes.

“Mikey!” Will said, barging into his office without knocking, as usual. “How’s it going? How’s the pooch?”

On cue, the dog scrambled out from under the desk and launched itself into Will’s lap before he’d even settled into the chair.

The creature liked everyone except him. His brother stroked the dog, careful not to displace the idiotic bow in its hair.

“The pooch is fine,” he grumbled, flipping another page. Maybe if the dog liked him even a little bit, Mia would reconsider her hands-off policy.

Will ran a palm over his own close-cropped hair. “And the girl? Is she fine?”

Wordlessly, Michael glared at him across the high-sheen mahogany desk. His brother must have seen the photo from the park in the tabloids. At least they hadn’t gotten a shot of her face. A woman like Mia wouldn’t hold up well to the resulting fallout. When he allowed a photograph it was with a woman who understood how it would affect her reputation—one with a big ego or a precise enough agenda to weather it.

“Jim told me about the woman you had him research,” his brother explained.

He unclamped his jaw when he realized Jim was right to tell Will since Michael hadn’t specified the file was personal and not business related.

Time to divert the conversation. He pushed the intercom button on his desk and asked Mildred to have Chance join them. Will saw through it, though, and chuckled. “Yep, she must be fine.”

“You’re early. Our meeting was set for four-thirty.”

“Yeah, well, I need to cut out early.”

Michael slid a paperweight across the slick surface of the desk to put it in line with the top of his blotter. “Because?”

“Because I’m asking Claire to marry me tonight, and I need to go pick up the ring.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Will and Claire had been inseparable since they met. Still, marriage. The paperweight missed its mark and tumbled to the floor with a thud.

Will burst out laughing right as Chance strode in.

“What’s going on?” He leaned over and scooped up the glass paperweight with their father’s initials etched in it. “Is Michael throwing things at you?” He placed it on the desk and slipped into the other wing chair.

“No, I think he just lost his focus for a minute.” The dog yawned and snuggled against Will.

Chance grinned. “What? Do you have another bag of dog shit in your pocket?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Will answered with a matching dimpled grin—a hallmark of all three Anderson brothers. “But he has a woman living in his apartment.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was going to kill Jim for this.

Chance’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.”

“It’s not like that,” he explained, moving the paperweight to its designated spot, then rotating it so that the initials faced out, perpendicular to the edge of the desk. “It’s a business arrangement.”

“Yeah, Claire and I had a business arrangement, too.” Will winked. “We still do. I like it when it’s her turn to be the boss.”

Chance and Will fist bumped.

“No, really,” Michael said, trying to keep his voice level and calm. “She’s preventing the dog from destroying my place at night.”

His brothers exchanged looks, but said nothing. Obviously, they weren’t going to make this easy.

“She was living next door to my apartment.”

The dog jumped from Will’s lap to Chance’s. “Oh, she’s the house sitter who drove you nuts.”

“Yes. But she got kicked out and she needed a place to live, so I told her she could live with me if she kept the dog under control at night.”

“Because that’s exactly what your psychiatrist had in mind when she gave you the assignment.”

Assignment. More like a prison sentence. “Technically, I’m well within the parameters of the doctor’s treatment. The dog is always under my care.”

“So, you get a dog sitter out of it and she gets a place to live? What else does she get?” Will asked.

“I have a better question. What else do you get, big brother?” Chance asked with a laugh. “What else is she keeping under control?”

His answer was a little too loud. “Nothing.”

Will straightened in his chair. “For how long?”

“Until after the wedding.”

His brothers exchanged glances.

“Her friend’s wedding.”

“Wait. Back it up,” Will said. “None of this makes sense. I need context.”

Michael stood and pretended to thumb through files on a shelf in the corner. He gave them the short version.

Will arched an eyebrow and studied him for what felt like forever. “Posing as a date? That’s way out of character for you. So, which category does she fall into?” When Michael didn’t answer, he continued. “Type A: the kind that wants you for money. Type B: the kind who wants you for sex, or Type C: the kind who doesn’t want you at all.”

“None of those.” Which gave him a jolt as he thought about it. She didn’t fit. She wasn’t money hungry. She wasn’t out for sex. She’d turned him down. At first, he thought she fit into Type C, but after the kiss on the bridge, he knew that wasn’t correct either.

His brothers exchanged looks again.

“Really. It’s not like that. We’re just helping each other out.”

The dog jumped off of Chance’s lap and wiggled under his chair. “Tell us about the wedding. How did that come about?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re acting weird—like you have a bag of shit in your pocket again—and I’m concerned.” He shot Will a look. “We’re concerned.”

He explained how the fake fiancé agreement came about, but his brothers only became more grim.

“Be careful,” Will warned. “I speak from experience when I tell you she wants something.”

But Michael knew he was wrong. She wasn’t like that, but it wasn’t worth explaining. Not with the meeting coming up. “Let’s talk about Mr. Kawashima.”

“Your surprise house guest is a lot more interesting,” Chance said.

Michael couldn’t have agreed more. He glanced at the clock again. Three hours and fifty-two minutes.

“What did Jim discover about Mr. Kawashima that might be holding him back?” Michael had memorized the business portfolio, but had ordered more info from Jim due to the man’s reticence to enter into a business agreement with Anderson Auctions.

Will shrugged. “Not much that’s not in the file he compiled for you. He’s married with one teen son. Wife stays at home. No past bankruptcies or skeletons in the closet. No enemies Jim could find.”

“Something’s holding him back,” Michael muttered, more to himself than Will.

“Maybe it’s you.” Chance said, probably as a joke. It wasn’t funny though. The man’s behavior made no sense. He’d been enthusiastic in all the correspondence and videoconferences until the day he arrived. Ever since the first face-to-face meeting on the street, he’d been distant.

“Oh,” Will said. “There is one bit of info Jim found out that you should know: Kawashima’s wife has a thing for dogs. Has half a dozen of them.” He pulled up a photo on his phone and turned it toward Michael. “Here she is.”

Prickles traveled down Michael’s spine as he studied the photo on Will’s screen. An attractive woman in a red dress held a black and white dog that looked similar to Shit Head, only smaller without the silly topknot and bow in its hair.

“The dog is called a Japanese Chin. His wife breeds them. Had one in the Westminster Dog Show two years ago that won Best of Breed and took second place in the Toy Group.”

Michael’s stomach churned. Could the fucking dog be the issue holding the deal up—the dog that hated him and loved everyone else, including the reticent Mr. Kawashima?

“The dog has to go until after the meeting. I need one of you to take it out of here while Mr. Kawashima and I come to an agreement.”

Will stood and stretched. “Sorry, big brother. I’m off to pick up Claire’s ring.”

“Nuh-uh,” Chance said, shaking his head when Michael gave him direct eye contact. “I have a match at the dojang. Can’t miss it. Sorry. Maybe your house sitter, slash dog sitter, slash live in girlfriend, slash fiancée could do it.”

She was at work. Their agreement only covered the dog at night. “Mildred!” Michael shouted. The woman appeared in his doorway, visibly shaken, making him feel like a dick. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Can I trouble you to watch the dog for me during tonight’s meeting?”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir. I have my grandson’s fifth birthday party right after work.” She started to shuffle out but stopped. “And something was delivered just now by courier from Mr. Kawashima. I didn’t want to intrude on your meeting with your brothers.”

Michael’s stomach rolled over. What could be so important it had to come by courier before the meeting? He accepted the small, square box from Mildred and resisted the urge to tear into it like a kid ripping open a Christmas present. Instead, he took a deep breath and set it gently on his desk.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Chance asked.

“Eventually.” Michael sat, forcing himself to suppress his eagerness to discover the box’s contents. He needed to regain his discipline and focus.

Will snatched the package off of his desk and ripped it open. “No control games with this, Mikey. I need to go.” He reached into the gap in the side of the box and pulled out a red rubber ball. It was adorned with the name, Clancy. “Bingo. It’s the dog killing this deal. Well, not the dog, but your obvious dislike of him.”

Michael stood, dread trickling down his spine. The man had sent Shit Head a gift. Not good. “I do not dislike the dog.”

Chance, still seated casually, crossed his legs. “Yes, you do. You don’t even call him by name.”

He was right. He’d never said the dog’s name out loud.

“In fact, I bet you don’t even know his name.”

“I most certainly do.” And it was ridiculous. “His name is Clancy.”

The dog, still seated under Chance’s chair, raised its head and regarded him. He lifted the ball from the box. “Look, Clancy. Mr. Kawashima sent you a gift.” He held it down at ankle level. “Here you go, boy.” He rolled it toward the dog.

As if rejecting it simply because Michael had touched it, the dog eased out from under the chair and strolled past the ball without a glance, and into the bathroom.

“That dog hates me,” Michael mumbled.

“So it seems,” Will said, heading toward the door.

“Look. We all stand to lose if I don’t get this deal. I need your help,” Michael said, in what he knew was a selfish, last-ditch effort to enlist his brothers’ aid.

Will paused and he and Chance exchanged looks before he spoke. “We’ve discussed this before. It’s why I only handle the security part of our business. Neither Chance nor I are as invested in this as you. We have interests outside the walls of this building and will not work until eight every night. You have chosen to make this business the foundation of your life. I haven’t. Claire is my foundation, and I’m going to go ask her to marry me tonight, not babysit a dog. Perhaps you should come up for air yourself sometime, Mikey. Take a look around and see what else is out there other than work.”

Mia’s words rang through his head. “You’re missing things.”

Chance stood and shrugged. “I’ve done my part as company lawyer, and all the paperwork is in order. If you had scheduled the meeting before six, I could’ve been here. Sorry, bro.” He picked up the ball from the floor in front of Michael’s desk and tossed it to him. “Ball’s in your court.” Then he grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t help the bad joke. Good luck with the meeting.”

Ball in hand, Michael stared at the door long after his brothers closed it. He wondered if they’d always felt that way. Granted, his single-minded pursuit of success precluded a pastime like Chance’s martial arts, or devotion to a monogamous relationship like Will’s with Claire, but he never imagined it to be negative in their eyes. He thought of his father’s advice when he was a teen being groomed to take over the business: “Work hard and play hard, son. No time wasted.”

His father had certainly played hard. And he’d played the field too, which broke their mother’s heart. As he watched his mother cry all those years ago, Michael vowed to himself that he’d never do that to a wife. That was why he had no desire to enter a relationship or ever get married. Work hard. Play hard. Michael knew he couldn’t do both and preferred the first part. The outcome was quantifiable and the payoff was big. He had to get this deal.

With a playful growl, Shit Head bolted into the room, the end of the toilet paper in his mouth, the rest of the roll trailing behind him as he circled the room, wrapping paper around the legs of furniture in a blur of fur and white tissue.

Michael stared at the clock. Three hours and forty minutes until he saw Mia. Just over an hour before his meeting with Mr. Kawashima. He was so screwed.

…

Mia gathered the Queen B’s brushes and paint and glanced at her watch. Just over three and a half hours until Michael got home. She sighed. It was pathetic that she was so wrapped up in a guy that she measured time by his arrival.

“I heard that sigh,” Blanche said.

Betty clucked her tongue. “Me, too.”

“Why don’t you go home and make yourself pretty for him?” Bernice suggested.

Mia turned the water on and rinsed the first brush, not responding.

“She’s ignoring us,” Gladys said. “Maybe because he’s ignoring her.”

“He is not ignoring me.” She whacked the brush against the side of the sink to knock the water out of the bristles. “Quite the opposite.”

“Then why is she beating that paintbrush senseless?” Gladys asked.

Without turning, she picked up the other two brushes and rinsed them. “Because I’m frustrated.”

“Living with a man that hot, she should not be frustrated.”

Bang, bang, bang went the brushes against the side of the stainless steel sink.

“Hush, Gladys,” Blanche said. “You know, Mia honey, we have over three centuries of experience among us. Why don’t you let us help you work through this?”

“Or she could at least spill and let us vicariously enjoy it,” Gladys added.

Despite her frustration, that made Mia laugh. Gladys always made her smile.

“Come on, baby. Sit down with the Queen B’s and fill us in,” Betty said.

Bernice patted the chair next to her. “If nothing else, you’ll feel better.”

“If nothing else we’ll feel better,” Gladys added. “Then we can gossip about her based on facts, rather than speculation.”

Mia slumped into the chair and took a deep breath. Maybe talking it out would help. She started at the beginning, with the smoke alarm, and told the whole story right up to last night, when she dreamed about them tangled up together in his black, satin sheets.

“Oh, my.” Bernice fanned herself with a Reader’s Digest. “This is more exciting than those dirty movies Gladys gets on her TV.”

“I admire your conviction, Mia,” Betty said. “Hold out for a man who is serious and interested in you for more than… well, that.”

“Yes, I agree,” Blanche said. “If that’s all he wants, he’s not worth it.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Gladys said. “She’s young and missing out if she doesn’t engage in some hanky-panky. Did you see his picture? That’s not the kind of man you marry. It’s the kind of man you—”

“Excuse me,” a nurse said from the door of the rec room. “Someone is here to visit. Says he’s friends with Miss Mia.”

Who would visit her there? Oh, god. What if it was Jason? Mia could feel all eyes studying her reaction. “Did he give a name?”

“No, but he says it’s urgent.” The nurse glanced over her shoulder and back. “And he has a dog with him.”

Mia shot to her feet without thinking. Why would Michael come there? And he’d said it was urgent. Her mind shuffled through possibilities. Maybe Clancy was sick…

“Hey.” Gladys snapped her fingers. “She needs to let us meet him.”

“Oh, yeah, let him come on back.” Mia lowered herself into her chair and tried to adopt an air of nonchalance.

Michael strode into the room. To a stranger, he probably appeared completely calm, but Mia knew him well enough by then to detect the strain in his features. His lips were drawn a little too tight, and a tiny furrow marred his perfect brow. Something was wrong. “Good evening, Mia.” He nodded to the Queen B’s. “Ladies.” Clancy’s tail wagged a million times a minute as he strained against the leash to get to Mia.

She kneeled in front of the dog. “Hey, Clancy Pants, what’s up?” It was much easier to talk to the dog than Michael at the moment. His unexplained appearance was unsettling, especially after her tell-all session with the Queen B’s.

“I need you,” Michael said.

“Well, it’s about time,” Gladys blurted out.

A furious blush burned Mia’s cheeks. No telling what else Gladys would say. “To do what?” Mia asked.

“I have a meeting. It’s the foreign client I told you about.”

She’d never seen the B’s so attentive. All four of them were leaning forward expectantly.

“And?” Betty said.

“And…” His gaze wandered over the women, who were probably holding their breaths for his reply. “And, is there a place we can speak in private, Mia?”

“No.” She had no idea precisely what prompted her to deny him, but she liked seeing him out of his element. His discomfort made him seem human and reachable. “The Queen B’s are like family. Anything you say to me can be said in front of them. What does the meeting have to do with me?”

He glanced down at his feet for a moment, which made him look like an unsure child, then he raised his chin, and all traces of insecurity were gone. “We have a business deal. I realize it doesn’t extend to this early hour, but I would appreciate it if you could come to the meeting. The client is a dog aficionado, and as you know, I’m not good with animals. He will expect the dog to be there, but after its behavior today, I’m worried it will act up during the meeting and cost me the deal. Or rather, my reaction to its acting up will cost me the deal.”

Well, at least Michael was taking most of the blame. That was certainly a step in the right direction. Too bad he still saw the dog as an “it.” “What did Clancy do today?”

“It toilet papered my office.”

Mia couldn’t help but laugh. The image of any kind of mess or fun in Michael’s office was hilarious. Obviously, Michael didn’t find it amusing, as his demeanor remained stoic. She cleared her throat. “So, you want me to dog wrangle while you wheel and deal.”

“Yes. I realize it’s outside of our business agreement, but it would be a great help to me.”

“Business agreement, my backside,” Gladys grumbled. Blanche pinched her and she cried out, then added, “Well, it’s true. Business partners don’t have sex dreams about each other.”

Michael’s eyes widened for a moment before his calm façade slipped back in place.

Stifling an embarrassed groan, Mia stood and untied her paint smock. “I’ll go.”

“I appreciate it.”

Gladys snorted. “I hope he plans to show her just how much he appreciates it.” She yelped as Blanche pinched her again. “He needs to do more than kiss her on a bridge this time,” she added as Mia grabbed her coat and scarf and ushered Michael out the door as quickly as possible.

Chapter Ten

Seated in the lobby of Anderson Auctions, Mia smoothed a wrinkle out of the coat folded over her lap. Everything about the place fit her image of where Michael would work: opulent, stylish, and perfect.

Michael had been super quick on the uptake when she gave him a brief dog handling lesson in his office before the meeting began, and Clancy reacted with surprising enthusiasm to Michael’s caresses. Maybe he’d been acting out to get his interim owner’s attention. She certainly couldn’t blame the dog. Being the center of Michael Anderson’s attention would be a heady thing.

Stroking the sleeping dog next to her, she studied the lobby for the millionth time. Polished marble floors reflected the high-end furnishings strategically placed for the highest impact… Just like the man. High impact. Yep. That fit Michael Anderson perfectly.

With a sigh, she checked the time on her phone. He’d been in there with Mr. Kawashima and his interpreter for over an hour. She’d been invited to join, but had decided against it. She’d contributed everything she possibly could by visiting with the man about his dogs during the introductions. Michael had performed brilliantly through the whole conversation, following her earlier instructions to the tee, and Clancy had reacted better than expected to the staged show of affection from his reluctant temporary master. Heck, if she hadn’t been the one to instruct him on exactly how to hold and stroke the dog, she might have believed the act herself.

The dark set of wooden double doors swung open, finally, and Clancy leapt off of her lap and bounded toward the three men. Mr. Kawashima crouched down, and to Mia’s amazement, the dog blasted right by him and skidded to a halt at Michael’s feet.

His panicked expression almost caused her to laugh out loud, but instead, she made a gesture with her arms. Michael took the cue and picked Clancy up, cradling him just as she had indicated. He didn’t even flinch when Clancy licked him on the face.

Lucky dog.

She shook herself mentally. No! Absolutely not, Mia. That man, no matter how adorable he looked holding the wiggly Shih Tzu, was not for her—or any woman, probably. Men like Michael Anderson were for themselves. His single-minded pursuit of his business image and success knocked him right out of the running for any place in her heart…or her bed, regardless of how much her body disagreed.

He grinned and his dimples flashed, causing her skin to tighten and heat. Stupid body. Fortunately, Mr. Kawashima cleared his throat, which pulled her back from the lust ledge just in time, before she swan dived right into the Abyss of Really Bad Ideas.

After goodbyes that included some bows and firm handshakes, Mr. Kawashima and his interpreter disappeared into the elevator, leaving her alone with the one-two gut punch of hot man holding cute dog—almost more than her self-restraint could bear.

“Well?” she asked after several moments of trying to read Michael’s face while pushing down the twinges of excitement swirling through her.

Expression still non-committal, he set Clancy down and gave him a gentle pat. “The meeting went well, thanks to you.”

Again, there was a strange, unreadable look on his face as they stood just out of reach in awkward silence. Even from that distance, she swore she could feel the heat rolling off of him, warming her skin and raising her heart rate.

“How well?”

He took a step closer—close enough to touch her, but he didn’t. “How on earth did you know his wife’s dog’s name?”

It was hard to focus with him this close and intense. “Do you watch football?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who played in the Super Bowl last year?”

His gaze shifted to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Of course.”

“Do you know the names of the key players on both teams?”

“Yes.” He dragged the word out, causing his answer to seem directed at something more than the conversation, and her heart rate kicked up another notch.

“Well, I’m into dogs, and the Westminster Dog Show is like the Super Bowl of dog shows. His wife’s dog was a key player in that Super Bowl. I knew its name.”

Again, he moved closer. “You were brilliant.”

“Nothing brilliant about it. I just knew the right trivia. You’re lucky I’m a dog person.” Her voice came out funny-sounding to her ears. Breathy and light.

“Yes, lucky.” Such innocent words in isolation, but the liquid tone of his voice loaded them with promises of nothing innocent—and she loved it. He placed his hands on her shoulders and she held her breath. “Very lucky, Mia.” As he trailed his hands down her arms, she closed her eyes, reveling in the contact.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. But no matter how many times she chanted it in her head, her heart and body called her bluff, and she pictured images of the heated dreams she’d had every night recently about her painfully hot, control freak roomie completely losing control.

Leaving a trail of heat, his fingers skimmed back up her arms and over her shoulders, and then he took the ends of her scarf in his hands, brow furrowing. “Where on earth did you get this ghastly thing?”

“Gladys made it. I like it.”

His clear blue gaze locked on hers and held there. “I like you, Mia.”

And for a moment, the world stood still as she let herself believe he really meant it. He looped the scarf one more time around her neck and her pulse quickened. Then he wound the ends around his palm. With a gentle, constant pressure, he drew her closer still, the comfort of the soft yarn around her throat matching the warm pull low in her belly.

Bad idea, her brain warned again.

Best idea ever, her body answered.

As if having a similar internal debate, he hesitated, studying her face. “How did the woman at Heart’s Home know I dream about you?”

She stifled a gasp. Gladys had been talking about Mia’s dreams, not his.

“Business partners don’t have sex dreams about each other,” he repeated, scarf still wound around his palm, face only inches from hers.

“I…” What was she supposed to say to that? She breathed in through her nose, loving his distinctive scent.

“But I do. I dream about you every night, Mia, and the dreams are spectacular.”

So were hers, and she was certain, as her entire body readied itself, reality would exceed her dreams by a mile.

“What are you thinking right now?” His lips brushed hers. Just a feather of a touch, but her knees trembled.

“Hard to think…”

Lips, warm and firm, molded to hers, and as if clicking a perfectly matched puzzle piece into place, he pulled her against him.

So good. So right. He deepened the kiss and all those days and sleepless nights of longing for him crashed through her in a hot, liquid wave as their tongues danced together and she struggled to remain standing and not dissolve into a puddle at his feet.

One hand still holding the scarf, he ran the other from her shoulder blades to her waist, then lower, holding her firmly in place while he pressed his erection against her, never breaking the kiss. “I want you Mia. I want you now.”

And she wanted him, too. I like you, Mia, he’d said.

He cupped her ass in his hand and squeezed. “I want you in my office.”

As if dancing, he took a step back, pulling her along, once again kissing her.

Yes.

Taking her with him, he shuffled backwards several more steps toward his office door. “I want you naked on my desk.”

Yes…

“I want to lick every inch of your body and make you scream.”

Oh, hell yes…

“I want to take you right there next to the contract Mr. Kawashima just signed.”

And like hitting pause during her favorite song, everything stopped. No.

It wasn’t her he liked. It was what she helped him obtain: the deal. It was all about the deal and his goal. It was not about her. She could have been anyone at that moment. He was celebrating another business triumph, not his attraction to her specifically.

“Business only.”

She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud until he froze, loosened his grip on the scarf, and stepped back, cool air swirling where his warmth had been. Then he dropped his arms to his sides, and took another step back. “I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

So had she, but it was even more evident how far gone she’d been, once he’d broken the spell by releasing her, leaving her cold and empty and limp, like a deflated party balloon.

“Give me a minute to pack my briefcase and Jacob will take us home.”

Home. She didn’t have a home. It was his home, and she was only crashing there temporarily. She needed to keep that in mind. “Okay.”

As she shrugged into her coat, the deep murmur of his voice drifted from his office as he spoke on the phone. How on earth was she going to make it through the next few days at the wedding? Pretending to be his fiancée would require touching and familiarity. Considering how his touch had affected her so far, she was in way over her head. No way could she pull this off.

Business only, she reminded herself. It would be her new mantra.

…

Business only, my ass. Michael drummed his fingers on his thighs while Jacob opened the door of the limo in front of his apartment building. They were later than he’d planned because Mia had forgotten her phone at the office, and they had to go back for it. She took Jacob’s hand and stepped out first, Clancy close behind.

He had become way too fond of this woman. She felt the same way he did, he was certain of it. Yet, still, she pushed him away. He’d fix that…somehow. Just then, though, he was excited for her to see his surprise. For the first time in years, he was excited about something non-business related.

As the elevator rose to his floor, he fought back a grin. Everything should be in place, just as he had ordered it. For days, he’d imagined her reaction. What woman wouldn’t be thrilled?

As he opened the apartment door for her and she froze, the answer hit him over the head like a sledgehammer: Mia. Mia would not be thrilled. Fuck.

Stock still, she stood just inside the door. “What is this, Michael?”

“Clothes.” He knew that was an idiotic answer, but he had no idea what she was really asking.

Protectively, she folded her arms over her chest, her mouth drawn in a thin line.

“It’s a new wardrobe for you.”

Wordlessly, she unclipped the leash from Clancy’s collar, looped the leash over the hook inside the kitchen where it belonged—a first for Mia—and disappeared into the bathroom with a discussion-ending click of the lock.

Fuck. What now?

Clancy gave a sympathetic swish of the tail and commiserative whine.

As directed, the shopper had placed the clothes on display with the matching accessories. A cashmere sweater dress and leather boots were laid across the closest chair. High-end jeans, a bright blouse and a supple tan leather jacket and matching ankle boots and handbag were artistically displayed on the sofa. Skirts, shirts, pants, dresses, jackets, and shoes were likewise organized around the apartment. Even the lingerie was laid out artistically on end tables.

What had set her off?

“I fucked up,” he said to the dog. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently. First the Kawashima deal, now this. He had certainly read this wrong. He’d anticipated her behaving like the other women he’d known and that was his big mistake. She was nothing like them. A glance around his place confirmed it. No other woman he knew would even think to bring in fresh flowers or homemade picture frames into his home. Honestly, no woman had ever been given the chance. He’d pushed everyone away. You’re missing things, Mia had said, and she was right.

Well, he wasn’t going to miss them anymore. She’d gotten under his skin and made him want more than just that next deal. The least he could do was help her look good in front of her ex and her friends. Then, maybe, she’d stop self-sabotaging. Oh, yeah, that’s what it was. He’d watched her like a hawk over the last weeks, and he knew far more about Hermia Lysander Argaropolis than he could read in a file. Probably more than she knew about herself. When this weekend was over, she’d be leaving him with lot more than a new wardrobe. She’d be leaving him with a new sense of self. Whether she knew it or not, she’d been missing things, too.

With a deep breath, he gently rapped on the bathroom door.

“Not a good time, Michael.”

It would never be a good time if he didn’t know what had set her off. “I’m kind of clueless out here.”

“Tell me about it.”

Holy shit. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have the upper hand. In fact, he didn’t have any hand. He had nothing whatsoever. “Would you like a drink?”

“No.”

Well, he would. After pouring a scotch, he settled on the end of the bed to hold vigil over the bathroom door for when she decided to come out and clear this up.

Clancy curled up next to him, and he absently sifted his fingers through the dog’s hair while sipping his drink and puzzling over what had upset Mia so much. He assumed with her spontaneous nature, she’d love a surprise like this.

Maybe she thought the clothes belonged to someone else. Hell, who knew what she thought. At this point, though, he figured the best tactic was to wait it out and let her come around in her own time. She was unusual, and honestly, the stakes were very high. Too high. What started out as an uncomplicated business arrangement, which he’d hoped would morph into some great sex, had turned into something unexpectedly complex.

Never before had he cared about impressing a woman past the level of convenience and self-serving gratification. And that had always worked for him because the women he had dated wanted no more than that from him. Very clear A, B, and C categories.

Mia was different. A whole new category: those who just wanted him as a friend. A business-only friend. He finished his scotch in a gulp and set the glass on the floor at his feet. He gave a half-laugh. Before he met Mia, he’d have never put an empty glass anywhere but the sink or the dishwasher. Something about it was liberating.

Waiting was not.

…

“Calm down,” Mia scolded herself in the bathroom mirror. “Maybe he just can’t see what a dick move this was.” Of course he couldn’t. To him, it was probably generous, and how he’d operated in the past. She’d always had a gift for putting herself in other people’s shoes, but his shoes were way too big to wrap her head around. She couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be him.

In his warped sense of what was appropriate between people, paying someone was probably his answer to most things. Goodness knew it was the easiest answer for someone like him. He most likely knew she wouldn’t take money, so he bought her stuff instead—beautiful stuff, of course; he was Michael Anderson after all.

Ordinarily, she would have just chewed him out on the spot, but after spending time with him, she’d learned that curbing her impulsive side had benefits—not that it wasn’t still there, lurking under the surface like a powder keg, waiting for her to light the fuse. But, he responded much better to more controlled responses. He liked order, not only in his physical life, but in his emotional world as well. And it was worth putting things away where they belonged and waiting to react because of the ease it brought to their friendship.

Friendship.

She shook her head at her reflection. Nope. Not friendship. Business relationship. He’d just proved it by paying her. He saw her as an employee, not an equal.

Well, she couldn’t stay in there all night. They were leaving for the wedding in the morning, and they needed to clear this up before then. Ripping the Band-Aid off all at once was the best tactic.

After a deep, fortifying breath, she opened the bathroom door. Michael shot to his feet from the corner of the bed, kicking over an empty highball glass. The glass rolled across the floor and came to rest right in front of her. Ordinarily, she’d have just left it there, but she knew that things on the floor bothered him, so she picked it up. Turning it in her hands, she watched the light play off the cut glass. “I don’t want to be paid, Michael. You’ve made me uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. Quite the opposite.”

“I didn’t come to the office with you because I expected compensation. I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t come with you tonight as an employee; I came as a friend.”

“This isn’t about tonight.”

She placed the glass on the counter just inside the bathroom. “I heard you on the phone in your office.” After shrugging out of her coat, she folded it over her arm. “You did this because Kawashima signed the deal with you. It’s why you kissed me, too. It’s all about the deal. You’re trying to pay me and I feel uncomfortable.”

A puzzled look crossed his face. “The only call I made was to Jacob to let him know we were ready for pick up.”

“And the clothing store in the living room just magically appeared on its own?”

“No. I arranged for it last week.”

“Last week.” Well, that put a new spin on things. She thought he’d ordered the zillion dollars worth of designer clothes after Kawashima signed the deal.

“The items in the living room are costumes and props for the fake fiancée routine we’re going to pull off this weekend.”

“I don’t need costumes.”

“Of course you do. You said yourself that we’re an unlikely couple. Well, I’m going to make every effort to appear to be someone who would appeal to you, and you need to do the same. Your one little black dress, several T-shirts, a pair of blue jeans, and paint-splattered warm-ups wouldn’t cut it at a wedding in the Hamptons. And they wouldn’t be sufficient to go the places we would go were we truly engaged. Your parents are actors. Pretend you’re one as well, and consider this your costume wardrobe for an elaborate play.”

It seemed overkill. It was going to be an intimate, outdoor wedding with only her and Jason standing in. Sue had planned the thing over a year ago when the four of them, Mark, Sue, Jason, and Mia were inseparable. After the nasty breakup, Mia had thought—no hoped—Sue would sub her out for someone else, but out of duty or friendship…or something, she remained in the wedding party. “It’s a small wedding. I’m just the maid of honor.”

“All the more reason you should look the part.”

He had a point, and heaven knew she couldn’t afford to go out and buy a suitable wardrobe—well, not until after she sold the series of paintings. Her friends all knew she was a casual kind of person and accepted the way she dressed. But, as he pointed out, there was no way in hell she could run in Michael Anderson’s circles wearing a Mighty Mouse T-shirt and paint-splattered warm ups. She lowered herself on the opposite corner of the bed from him and patted the space next to her, encouraging Clancy to abandon him. To her surprise, the dog stayed where he was, chin on Michael’s thigh.

“I don’t do things half way, Mia. I agreed to do this, and I intend to do it well—perfectly, in fact. Our image as an engaged couple living together will be strengthened by your new clothes. It’s all about perception.”

“Well, my perception is that it was presumptuous and pushy to dress me without my input.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I was trying to surprise you.”

That caught her attention. She snapped her gaze to his face, but there was nothing in his expression that indicated he was kidding. “You’re not the surprise type.”

“There’s that wide brush you paint me with again. I’m trying.” He gestured to Clancy, peacefully asleep. “Even the dog knows I’m trying.” A tiny smile pulled at the edges of his lips and she relaxed a little.

It wouldn’t hurt to accept the clothes, and he hadn’t done it as payment for anything. She could justify it by saying he did it to make his job easier that weekend, and she was pleased he had thought to surprise her. That was a huge step for a guy like him. “Okay. I’m sorry I overreacted. I’m a little on edge. I kind of thought I had this…” She gestured to him. “…you figured out. Clearly, I don’t.” She reached over and patted Clancy. “He seems to think you’re okay, though. Dogs know stuff.”

She stood and paused at the door. “Tomorrow’s a big day. I’m going to turn in. Thanks for the clothes. And congrats on the Kawashima deal. I know it was really important to you.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but didn’t. She hovered in his doorway for a moment in case he decided to respond. He watched her intently, as if he were waiting for something. It made her uneasy and thrilled at the same time. “Goodnight, Michael.”

“Goodnight.” His voice was laced with a husky undertone. Mia’s entire body recognized it. “Sweet dreams, Mia mine.”

There’d be dreams, all right, but if they were anything like the ones she’d been having nightly, there’d be nothing sweet about them.

Chapter Eleven

Through the limo window, Mia silently watched the world whiz by as they sped toward the Hamptons and what could be the biggest fiasco of her life…which was saying something.

The morning had been a mess with her losing track of her phone—twice—and then forgetting her charger and having to go back up to get it after the car had been packed. None of it had seemed to bother Michael though, who waited patiently throughout, which struck her as odd. Her flakiness had bothered the hell out of Jason. She’d expected it would drive a control freak like Michael nuts.

“The dress looks amazing on you. Do you like it?”

She drew her attention away from the window and settled it on Michael, who sat in a facing seat with Clancy on his lap across a small table from her, dressed like a men’s fashion model. With most anyone else, the limo, expensive watch, custom shoes, and other trappings of wealth would have been off-putting to her, but on him, they were natural. He’d earned this lifestyle himself, and he wore it well. On her, though, the expensive clothes felt foreign.

She looked down at the sweater dress that hugged her curves like it was custom made for her body. She wasn’t used to wearing tight clothes outside of her workout gear, and she was hyperaware of Michael’s frequent head to toe scans of her. After a hot night of crazy dreams, she vowed to keep all conversation light and businesslike. “Yes. I like all of the clothes. Did you pick them out yourself?” she asked, running her hands over her cashmere-clad thighs. Michael’s gaze followed the movement and she immediately froze. Business only, she chanted in her head.

“No. I made note of your sizes based on your existing clothes and shoes and then gave that information, along with a photo of you, to a professional shopper last week.”

“Oh…” That made sense. And she again felt remorse for being so upset last night. He’d obviously been planning ahead, which was his style. She should have known.

“Except the lingerie.” He stroked Clancy’s back. “I selected that myself.”

So much for businesslike conversation. The underwear was gorgeous and super sexy. The thought of him picking it out made her lower body tighten. “New underwear wasn’t necessary. Nobody will see it.”

He shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. At this level, you need to do better than look the part; you need to believe it yourself. You and I will know you’re wearing beautiful lingerie, and it will be apparent in our behavior. You will believe it. Consequently, those around you will, too.”

“Like your super successful businessman playboy role.”

“I am a successful businessman, Mia. It’s not a role I play.”

“And the playboy part?” The second she said it, she regretted it. The question was far from businesslike.

It was his turn to look out the window. “Nothing but inference on the part of the media.”

She arched a brow. “And inference on the part of a neighbor who has heard you in action through the wall.”

They stared at one another for an uncomfortably long time. Why couldn’t she have just let it go?

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“That the weather is lovely,” she lied.

He leaned a bit closer over the table between them. “That’s not what I’m thinking.”

Oh, shit. She could tell from the look on his face she was in trouble. It was the same odd, unreadable poker face look he had in the office before he kissed her.

To her relief, he leaned back and resumed stroking Clancy. “I’m thinking about the first day we met.”

“When I set off the fire alarm and almost flooded your apartment.”

“Yes, but more specifically, when you imitated the noises you’d heard through my wall.”

Mia was hard to embarrass, but that did it. She’d moaned, and imitated sex sounds, and overall made a fool of herself in order to piss him off that first day. And it had worked…sort of. He’d left, anyway. And she had certainly surprised him and thrown him off guard, exactly like he had just done. Shit. Payback was hell. She turned her attention to the scenery zipping by outside the limo.

“I’d like to hear you do that for real.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“So you’ve said. But your fiancé would know what sounds you make.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Gray.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You’re wearing the silver-gray bra and panties.”

Too stunned to speak, she simply stared at his face and fought the urge to look down and see if perhaps the straps were showing or something.

“As your fiancé, I would know this. And I’m right, am I not?”

“How did you guess that?” She’d changed clothes while he was packing and she packed all her things after that, while he did some stuff on his computer in another room.

Her heart cranked up a notch as a knowing grin crossed his face, punctuated by dimples.

“No guessing to it. The gray bra is sheerest.” He paused for a moment. “Look down, Mia.”

She did. Her nipples were obvious points jutting beneath the soft layer of cashmere. His casual, sexy banter had turned her on. Hell, everything about him turned her on, which was why this entire trip was a horrible idea. She’d fallen hard for this guy, and she was going to pay the price. The whole freaking weekend was going to be a big no, when all she wanted to do was scream yes, just like her body was doing at that moment. But this was one-sided, and she knew it.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop it.”

“Okay. But we both know you don’t really want me to.” He leaned forward again. “You like it. And you’d like what I’d do to you if you’d let me touch you.”

“I can’t. I told you why.”

He relaxed against the soft black leather seat and simply stared at her. He had a pleasant expression—albeit determined. It was clear he wasn’t giving up, and honestly, he was right. She loved his flirting. Her fear was that he was so good at it she’d relent and end up with a broken heart…again. To him, this was nothing but a game—another deal to close. To her, it was so much more than that.

Two could play at this, though. “Black boxer briefs.”

He barked out a laugh and Clancy opened his eyes. “Someone’s been snooping.”

Of course she had. Black boxer briefs were all he wore, evidently. No variation in color or style. Some even new in the package. They were perfectly folded and stored right under his dress sock drawer that had individual compartments for each set of socks that were rolled up clockwise with the lightest being on the left, and graduating to the darkest pairs on the right.

In all seriousness, they did need to know each other better to pull this off. Her friends might not believe it even if their act was flawless. “Tell me about your brothers. I would know that if we were engaged.”

“Well, there are three of us. I’m the oldest. Will is next. He’s a Marine and as of last night, he’s engaged to Claire, a temp worker from my business. Well, she’s not a temp worker anymore, she’s the head editor of our auction brochures and she oversees all transactions involving Egyptian antiquities.”

“Wow. He got engaged last night?”

“He did.” Clancy closed his eyes again and laid his chin back on Michael’s thigh. “While I was closing the Kawashima deal, he was tooling around on the family yacht, promising his life to someone.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I’m happy for him.”

He didn’t sound happy. “Maybe you’re jealous.”

“Absolutely not. My obligations preclude marriage. I’ve known it since I was young.”

Since he was young? His answer was too rehearsed. What kind of person would choose a business over a family? One with screwed up priorities, that’s what kind. And someone else had screwed those priorities up, if he’d been young. “It must be hard to be king.”

He stared at her for a moment, and she hoped she might have hit a nerve that would ruffle his perfect calm, but he shook it off and continued in the same level tone. “My other brother is several years younger. Chance is the company lawyer and a damn fine one. Like me, I doubt he’ll ever marry.”

“He’s a workaholic too?”

“No. He is just…indifferent. He has lots of friends and dates on occasion, but has never had a long-term relationship—at least not to my knowledge. It’s like he doesn’t even want to bother.”

“Like you.”

“No. I don’t have time. He doesn’t have the inclination.”

Which meant Michael had the inclination. He was opting to not get close to people under the guise of it being contrary to business success. It was all part of his businessman act, and she wanted to shake it out of him. Surely he wanted more than to build his empire and die alone. “What do you want, Michael? I mean really want.”

The second she asked it, she knew she’d stepped into quicksand.

“You know exactly what I want.”

She should shut this down and stop him before he drove her even crazier, but that impulsive, inquisitive side of her took the wheel and she waited, breath held and body humming, for his answer.

“What I want, Mia”—he gently moved Clancy off his lap, rose, and crouching like some big predatory cat, smoothly slid into the seat next to her, studying her reaction closely—“is to watch you peel that dress off so that I can kiss every inch of your body, including, but certainly not limited to, that freckle near your spine.”

Wow. Well, that was far more specific than she’d expected. And holy crap, the imagery it created was as hot as her dream last night. The thought of his lips on her skin sent a shudder through her, and she crossed her legs to relieve the ache that had coalesced at her core. She was playing with fire, and it was unfair to both of them. She should have been more direct in her question and pointed it at life goals or something.

“This shouldn’t happen…can’t happen.”

“Shouldn’t and can’t are very far apart, Mia. Which is it?”

“I can’t.” She could actually hear her own heartbeat. “No” wasn’t an answer he was accustomed to, but then, Mia wasn’t his usual fare. There had to be a way to make him understand. “If it were two years ago, we’d be naked on the floor of this car.”

He groaned.

“But I’m smarter now. Jason taught me to never eat french fries.”

His eyes narrowed at the mention of her ex. “What do french fries have to do with having sex with me?”

“Everything. See, you’re the french fry. Delicious, salty, easy going down.”

He covered his face and groaned again. “Oh, God. Stop. You’re killing me.”

“But you’re terrible for me. The worst possible thing.”

“No. I’m not.”

“I need more than fast food, Michael. Like I told you last week on Bow Bridge, I need a true friend. Someone who wants me for me. Just like a french fry, you might be what I crave, but you’re not what I need as a regular diet to stay healthy.”

…

As Michael studied Mia’s sincere face, something in him shifted. This wasn’t a game anymore. She was no longer simply a conquest, and honestly, she hadn’t been for a while. A woman like her was as rare as the antiquities in which he dealt. She was an absolutely open book. No agendas. No dense layers of deception. She wanted him, and admitted it, but knew her limitations.

“You never answered my question,” she said. “What do you want? I mean, from life. Your big goals. As your fiancée, I would know.”

Relaxing back against the soft leather seat, he realized he’d never put much thought to it because his life goal had been so obvious. He’d only wanted one thing for as long as he could remember: to make Anderson Enterprises, specifically its associated auction business, robust, lucrative, and respected worldwide.

From the time his father would take him to the office as a child, it was all he wanted. He’d spent hundreds of hours sitting in his father’s—now his—office, drawing in coloring books while his father negotiated deals. Coloring books turned to model airplanes, to chapter books, to calculus and statistics textbooks. While other kids, including his brothers, were playing sports or having keggers, Michael was learning the business. He’d been groomed for this from birth. And as he looked back, he realized he’d never even had a choice in it.

“How does it feel to be king?” she’d asked earlier. The woman was insightful. His father had made him the anointed one, and he’d never considered what he’d missed out on until now.

Then he realized something else: he’d already done it. It was an odd moment to discover his goal had already been reached. And for the first time in his life, Michael Anderson felt adrift—lost, but oddly lighter. “What do you want?” she’d asked. He had no clue.

She swiveled to face him. “It’s not a trick question.”

But it was. “You first,” he answered. “What do you want, Mia?”

Like sunshine, her smile lit up his mood. “I’m easy. I just want to be happy.”

She was anything but easy. “Too global. You need to be more specific.” And he found himself holding his breath while he waited for her answer, genuinely fascinated by what she’d say.

“Well… I love working with the residents at Heart’s Home. I want to keep doing that forever in some capacity—bringing joy through art.” She stared out the window. “When we’d travel, my parents would leave me in the care of random people during load in and rehearsals. The techies would give me leftover paints and materials to keep me occupied. Art was my best friend… It still is.”

“You studied art in Paris.”

“Well done. I see you finally got around to reading my file.”

More than once. “I did.”

“I learned scenic painting while traveling with my parents and their touring companies. By the time I was seventeen, I knew I wanted more than living on the road or camping out in random acquaintance’s living rooms while waiting for my parents to get cast in the next show. My parents kidded around that I’d defected when I applied for and got the scholarship.”

She stared out the window and light played across her skin, making her look like she glowed. Hell, she did glow. She had a spark inside her that fascinated him. He wanted to touch her and feel it—vicariously enjoy it.

“What I didn’t expect was to end up as nomadic as my parents.” Her eyes met his briefly, then she resumed her study out the window. “Housesitting and pet sitting are the only way I know to be able to afford to do what I love, with art therapy for the elderly.”

“How did you get into that?”

“Totally by accident. I came across a classified ad for a real estate company looking for someone to live in a home they were marketing. I picked up some dog walking jobs while I was doing that, which is how I met Sue. I walked her mom’s three French Bulldogs while they went to California. From there, I got jobs from referrals.” Her face clouded for a moment. “Well, after what happened with Ms. Braxton, it might get harder now.” She sighed and shrugged. “Anyway, I had a house and cat sitting job on the Upper East Side while the owners went to take care of some family business overseas. The next-door neighbors were the owners of Heart’s Home. They saw one of my paintings, and it just took off from there. They hired me to work with the residents and have commissioned some art. The tree you saw is one of the series. They own several of these retirement communities, and have hinted they will want more works from me. It’s kind of perfect for someone as flighty as I am.”

Michael cringed inwardly at her self-deprecation. Mia was forgetful when distracted, but there was nothing flighty about her. She had made a choice to change her life as a teen and went for it. She was also looking ahead. Planning, even though she would deny it. Maybe her aversion to organization and planning came from her childhood. It would be frustrating to make plans when you didn’t know where you’d end up next.

“What else?”

She shrugged. “That’s it. My needs are simple.”

“You want to live in other people’s homes and work with elderly people until you are old yourself.”

“No… Well, yes… And no.” she ran a hand through her hair. “You’re taking this question way too seriously, Michael.”

“And that surprises you?” He was fascinated and wanted to know more.

“No. I suppose not. You take everything too seriously.”

But he wanted to change that. Now. Here. With her. Startled by this revelation, he deflected by patting the seat. Clancy jumped off the facing seat and nestled in between them.

“What do I want…?” she mused, straightening the blue bow in the dog’s hair. “I want a home where I can put down roots and make friends that will last. And a studio where I can fling paint and not worry about screwing stuff up. I want…” She looked down at Clancy as if mustering courage. “I want a family and a home that’s permanent.” Her words flowed like she couldn’t get them out fast enough. “A life where I only travel because I want to. I want to come home to the same place and person every day. I want kids and dogs and romance.”

He didn’t say anything as her words caught up with her fantasy. Absolutely gorgeous, she seemed in a trance, staring straight ahead as she imagined her perfect future.

“Yeah, romance,” she continued, barely above a whisper. “Picnics on the beach and rose petals in the bed.”

Clearly, her idea of romance was far different than his. Not that he’d put a lot of thought into the concept. Now, seduction, he understood. And it had nothing to do with sand in his shorts and food, or making a mess of his bed with shredded flowers.

She shook her head as if pulling herself out of her revere. “Silly, huh? Especially coming from someone as flaky as me.”

“Not at all.” Unable to help himself, he brushed the back of his knuckles over the smooth skin of her cheek. “And I have a theory about the flakiness, Mia—”

“Mr. Anderson?” Jacob’s voice interrupted through the speaker, startling them both. “We’ve arrived at the destination. You’re thirty minutes early.”

“That’s perfect, Jacob. Thanks.”

“Early. Wow. Mark and Sue will be so surprised.”

Michael relaxed against the seat and smiled. If things worked out as he hoped, Miss Mia Argarapolis would be surprising not only her friends, but herself as well before the weekend was over.

Chapter Twelve

“Miiiiiiiiiiaaaaaa!” Sue squealed from the porch of the small bed and breakfast. Mia hadn’t seen her friend in over a month and had been nervous. They’d emailed and texted about the wedding, but once her bridesmaid dress measurements had been sent and details finalized, contact dwindled. Mia didn’t know if this was due to Sue’s busy schedule or the awkwardness resulting from the breakup with Jason. Since he was Mark’s best friend, the strain on her friendship with Sue was inevitable.

Sue wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her in a bear hug while Clancy barked excitedly at their ankles. “Wow. It’s been forever. You look great. That dress is a knockout. And look at your darling dog!” Behind her, Mia felt the air stir and Sue loosened her grip. “You must be Michael the Mystery Guy.”

“In the flesh.”

“And it’s very nice flesh, too,” Sue said, extending her hand over Mia’s shoulder. I’m Sue Adams, soon to be Sue Bartell.”

“Michael Anderson, Mia’s fiancé.”

Mia flinched at the title and moved out of Sue’s embrace.

Her friend scanned Michael from head to toe, then did the same to Mia. “Nice to meet you, Michael Anderson, Mia’s fiancé.”

Before Michael could respond, Jason stepped out onto the porch followed by Mark, who checked his watch. “Early! Do we go with the closest estimate, or void the bet since all predictions were for a late arrival.”

Dammit. Of course they’d placed bets on how late she’d be. They always did. And she always laughed like it was funny and not a joke at her expense. A sick churn swirled in her stomach. This was going to be a disaster. As if he could read her mind, Michael took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, Mike!” Jason called as he strode toward them, hand extended.

“Michael,” he corrected, shaking her ex’s hand.

“This is my hunky groom,” Sue said.

“Mark Bartell. Glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” Michael shook his hand, and then gave Mia a brilliant dimpled smile. She couldn’t help but smile back. She’d expected his presence to make her uncomfortable, but it actually gave her confidence and took some of the stress off. She wasn’t doing this alone.

“Let me show you guys to your room,” Sue offered.

Room. Singular. Shit. Of course there would only be one. They were supposed to be engaged. That meant she’d be at war with her libido all weekend. Hopefully, there would be two beds in the room or a sofa like at the apartment. Michael picked up both suitcases and they followed Sue into the quaint bed and breakfast.

“Mark and I, and our parents, are on the first floor. Separate rooms, of course. You know Mom. We can’t share a room before the wedding because it’s bad luck or some such nonsense.”

Mia loved Sue’s mom. Always designating herself den mother or camp director—so unlike her own hands-off parents.

“Jason and Kelli are on the second floor, and so’s the photographer,” Sue continued. Michael tensed noticeably at the mention of a photographer. Sue grinned back at them as she reached the second floor landing. “And you two are on the top floor.”

Well, at least they had a floor to themselves. Sleeping arrangements might not be that bad after all.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Sue cracked a cheery white wooden door open just enough to reveal the smallest room Mia had ever seen. A narrow bed filled almost the entire space, barely leaving room to creep in through the door, which could only open part way before bumping the bed.

Sue giggled. It was her familiar high-pitched titter she did when she was nervous. “I’m sorry about the room.” She stepped away from the door. “It’s small, but so’s the hotel and the wedding party.” She brushed her blond curls over her shoulder. “And, um… honestly, Mia, nobody expected you to really bring a date.”

Great. Just great. She closed her eyes as an embarrassed flush burned her cheeks.

…

Michael set the suitcases down in the hall and squeezed through the partially open door into the room so that he could compose himself. How could Mia’s friends sell her so short?

“There’s no closet,” Sue said from out in the hallway. “The owner told me that you could keep your luggage downstairs in the storage closet and she’d give you a key so you can come get things any time you need them. You can’t leave suitcases out here in the hallway or on the stairs because of fire code or some silly thing. ”

The room was clearly a converted attic with walls sloping to a low peak right above the bed, which meant he couldn’t even fucking stand up straight. He poked his head into the miniscule bathroom and grimaced. There was no way two people and a dog could share this space comfortably. Especially two people who had a business-only relationship.

He was tempted to call Jacob and get Mia out of this place where people she called friends placed bets on how late she’d arrive and thought so little of her, they hadn’t even considered she might have a date. Honestly, her being the maid of honor struck him as terribly odd.

“Again, sorry about the room, Mia,” Sue said. “I really thought you’d be alone and wouldn’t mind because, well, you’re used to sleeping in less than ideal situations.”

“Yeah,” Mia’s voice sounded flat. “I sure am. I slept with Jason for almost a year, and that was certainly less than ideal.”

Sue gave another shrill giggle. “Well, there’s that. So… We’re good then?”

Michael squeezed through the door into the hallway. “We’re great,” he answered before Mia could get a word out. He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, which made him feel better about the ridiculous room, the way Mia’s friends treated her, and even Sue’s obnoxious nervous giggle. “Better than great.”

Mia wrapped her arm around his waist as if the contact soothed her as well.

Sue smiled. “We’re planning to hit some shops a little later and Mark and Jason want to visit a pub that’s nearby.” Sue scanned them, pausing when her gaze hit his fingers wrapped around Mia’s shoulder. “If you guys are game, we’re meeting on the porch in an hour.”

“Sounds great.” Mia’s voice was a little too cheerful and bright.

After giving Clancy a pat on the head, Sue headed down the stairs, passing Jason and Kelli on the landing below. For a moment, Mia said nothing as her friend’s footsteps faded and her ex and his girlfriend closed the door below them.

When she finally spoke, she didn’t make eye contact; she stooped to pet the dog instead. “I’m so sorry about this, Michael. I’m sure you’re accustomed to huge suites and chocolates on the pillows, not dinky rooms the size of a closet.” She kept her attention on Clancy, but he could see the tears pooling in her eyes, and it made him want to take her in his arms. “If you want to leave, I’ll totally understand. I can come up with a cover story. They all saw you. I’m sure that is enough to give them a weekend of gossip.”

She stood and he took her face in his hands. “Please stop.” He ran his finger over the smooth skin of her cheek, wishing she could see herself through his lens, not that of her friends. “I’m not here for luxury accommodations. I’m here for you.”

Her eyes met his, and her lips parted. He wanted to kiss those lips—wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in a long time. Briefly, her gaze flitted to his mouth, then back to his eyes and he hardened.

“Your words are as smooth as your public image, Michael David Anderson. A girl could fall hard for you if she weren’t careful.”

He found himself holding his breath.

“Good thing I’m very careful,” she added.

Dropping his hands, he took a step back, making sure his expression didn’t reveal his unexpected disappointment.

She leaned down and unsnapped Clancy’s leash. “Go on in, Mr. Fancy Pants. You can hold down the fort when we’re gone.” The dog trotted ahead. After grabbing her suitcase, she pushed into the room and flopped it on the bed next to where Clancy made himself right at home nestled into the stack of pillows. “So we need to get our story straight.”

“What story?” Michael set his suitcase on the bed next to hers since there wasn’t a square inch of floor space to spare.

“How we met, how we fell in love, you know… our story.”

“I suggest we stick to the truth as much as possible. We met when you caught bread on fire and flooded your bathroom.”

She popped the lock on her suitcase “Well, that’s certainly believable.”

“And we just keep all the facts the same, except it happened earlier… say, maybe the day you moved in?”

“I’ve only been next door to you a total of six weeks, Michael.”

“It was love at first sight.”

She rolled her eyes and unzipped her suitcase. “The great and mighty Michael Anderson falling for his flaky nobody neighbor who almost burned his place down…at first sight. Yeah. They’re going to believe that, no problem.”

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“The self-deprecation. Why would I not fall for you?”

“Because I’m… me.”

“That’s not a sufficient answer, Mia.”

She pulled out a heap of horrible green and yellow knitted material and slammed the suitcase shut. “That’s because you don’t really know me well enough. Here.” She shoved the blob of knitting at him.

“What on earth is that?”

“It’s a gift for you from Gladys. She made a matching one for Clancy, see?”

It was a sweater…sort of. “Surely you don’t expect Clancy or me to wear those.”

“I think it was a really sweet gift and you should write Gladys a thank you letter.”

He held up the bigger sweater, which had a lopsided M on the front and groaned. “I should have my lawyer write her a Cease and Desist letter.”

She wrapped the matching scarf around her neck and Michael bit his lip to keep from remarking how bad it looked with the cashmere dress. She knew what he was thinking, though, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about by the time this wedding is over. ‘Because I’m me’ will be completely sufficient to answer why a man like you would never fall for a woman like me.”

And as he stared at her, flushed and wearing a spectacular dress with a horrendous handmade scarf, he realized he had fallen—and hard.

From below came male laughter, and then a playful, feminine squeal.

Mia paled and closed her eyes. “Insult to injury,” she whispered.

More laughter drifted up. By the sound of it, Jason and Kelli were going to make the most of their hour before shopping, heedless of the potential audience above them… or maybe because of it. Michael would put nothing past Jason after hearing him insult Mia.

“This was a mistake,” she said. “I should have followed Jason’s advice and not come.”

If there was anything he’d learned in his life, it was to fight fire with fire, and if that didn’t work, piss on the fire and put it out. He threw his head back and laughed loudly, then met Mia’s wide eyes and winked.

Her mouth fell open with disbelief and he laughed again, ending it with a long “Mmmmm, Mia, yes!”

She covered her mouth and giggled as he shoved his suitcase off the bed. It hit the floor with a loud bang as it wedged between the bed and the door.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a fire code violation,” she said, still giggling.

“You think so? Because I’m just getting warmed up. No fire in here yet.” He picked up the sweater. “Though I would love to burn this.” He stepped over his suitcase and grabbed the handle of hers.

“On the bed now!” he ordered loudly and she gasped. He leaned close to her ear. “Please sit so that I can get by you,” he whispered. She sat and he lifted the suitcase over her head, hitting his own on the sloped ceiling, which caused her to burst out laughing herself.

“Do that again!” she cried, grin huge as she played along.

He rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head and placed her suitcase in the shower—the only place with enough room for it, and threw the sweaters on top. “You like that, do you?” he said, amused by his exaggerated volume and her resulting giggles.

“Yes!” she shouted in a breathy voice, clearly for the couple below, but he benefited as well and his whole body hardened at the sound.

Beautiful Mia, completely unselfconscious, sat on the bed with her head back, laughing, soft cashmere fitted to her curves. She was extraordinary and didn’t even know it. But he did, and was damned determined she would, too. But first, he needed to shut down the prick below, who had treated her so badly.

He sat on the bed, and she scooted over to make room for him. Clancy, unfazed by the activity, remained curled up between the pillows.

Feet on the floor, he bounced once and the bed creaked, which caused her to start laughing all over again. He loved her laugh. It made him feel free and unburdened. Then he bounced and it creaked again, and she snorted, which was even more adorable than the laugh. Soon, they were both bouncing and moaning, and laughing until they were breathless.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between the snort and her last moan, they had drifted together, bodies touching from knee to shoulder as they sat side-by-side, no longer bouncing. The images of them tangled up in the bed, moaning for real had taken over his brain, and he slid his hand over the smooth, warm skin of her knee, and then up her thigh, pushing the soft fabric of the dress up as his fingers brushed gray silk.

Her head fell back and she sighed, which was possibly the sexiest sound he’d ever heard.

Running his fingers over the silk, it was obvious that acting turned on had actually turned her on—as it had him. “You’re wet.”

“Yes.”

Pleased she hadn’t pushed him away, he slid his fingers under the panties and circled her in just the right spot, then cut off her gasp with a kiss.

Wet, warm, and responsive, Mia opened her legs and her mouth to him, giving as she took, with raw honesty, coaxing him right up to the edge of his control. He wanted to rip his clothes off and bury himself deep inside her while she made these same throaty moans, but this wasn’t about him. Never had he wanted to please a woman as much as he did Mia. He thought of her friends, especially that prick Jason. She deserved better. She should be honored and pampered, which is exactly what he planned to do.

He pushed her back onto the bed and stretched out next to her, slipping a finger deep inside her slick warmth, then pulled away from the kiss to watch the reaction on her expressive face as a second finger joined the first. She made a sound in the back of her throat, and he felt like he had the first time he’d touched a woman all those years ago: amazed, enthralled, and completely alive. Nothing routine or planned, his actions and her reactions were spontaneous and real. Heart racing, he felt dizzy, like he’d had one drink too many, but at the same time, his thoughts and desires were crystal clear. The only thing in his life recently that had brought him intense pleasure was closing a large deal, and as he watched her respond to his touch with unguarded heat, he realized that closing a deal didn’t even come close.

To this. To her.

To this moment.

He increased the tempo with his fingers and sat up so he could watch as she arched into his touch. Eyes shut, she rolled her head from side to side, completely lost in pleasure as he continued to work his fingers in and out. He wanted more, but not for himself—for her. He couldn’t wait any longer to taste her. Shifting slightly, he leaned over and stroked her with his tongue, and she moaned, so he did it again, this time circling her hardened nub with his tongue until she cried out. She was close, very close, and he wanted nothing more than to feel her shatter apart around his fingers, and then again around his cock.

“Michael,” she whispered, and he increased his rhythm.

“Michael,” she said again. This time, desperation tinged her voice.

He placed his mouth over her, his tongue and fingers still working, as her body tensed like a coil being wound. He almost came himself when she began to spasm around his fingers, breath coming in raspy gasps until she cried out, “Yes!”

She was perfect. Slick and heated, her body still trembling with aftershocks. And he was equally aroused. “I need you, Mia. Need to be inside you now.”

Her eyes flew open, and a crease furrowed her brow. “Wait.” She’d said it so quietly, he almost wasn’t sure she’d said it at all. Then her body stilled. No more arching to meet his touch. No more soft sounds.

“Mia.” Her name meant “mine” and it was all he could come up with at the moment. Mine. And he hers, if she’d let him be.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I…”

But she wouldn’t let him. His chest constricted painfully as he realized she was going to push him away, even though she didn’t really want to.

“I should’ve had better self control,” she said, body still. “I’m so sorry.”

She’d built her own cage of self-denial and wouldn’t allow herself to open the door to which she had the only key: confidence and trust in herself.

He couldn’t bring himself to remove his fingers from her body as he put his forehead to hers, both of them still breathing hard. “Why?”

A small shudder shot through her—residual effects, or maybe her body reacting to his continued presence and begging him to continue.

“French fries,” she said.

“I’m not bad for you, Mia.”

“You are. You will be.”

“No. I’m not the problem.” He rolled his thumb over the front of her and slid his fingers out, then in again. She tightened around him and her back arched, so he did it again. “Does that feel good?”

“You know it does.”

“Let me make love to you, Mia.”

“Wait.”

He stilled and met her eyes. Her pupils had pushed the irises out to a thin cinnamon band around the edge. She wanted him, it was obvious, and still denied herself. “Wait for what? For me to tell you I won’t hurt you; or even better, that I’m your friend? I could say all kinds of things, Mia, but you wouldn’t believe me because you’re programmed to self-destruct.”

She took a shuddering breath as he slipped his fingers out and pulled her dress back in place. “I want you. I’ve never disguised that fact. I’m not the rose petals and romance kind of man you dream about, but I’m not bad for you, either.”

She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair, and he rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the apex of the triangular whitewashed ceiling while waiting for his erection to recede.

“I’m not programmed to self-destruct. Just the opposite.”

“Really? Why do all your friends act like you are one step short of hopeless?”

She crossed her arms over her ribs. “I am, sometimes.”

“We all are. You broadcast it for some reason and I think I know what the reason is.”

“Well, of course you do because you are so perfect and put together. Organized, successful, powerful, and all that crap. You are so in control of your emotions—or lack thereof—it’s maddening.”

He certainly didn’t feel in control of his emotions. It was taking everything in him to maintain his calm. “You’re deflecting.”

She stood and straightened her dress as she made a frustrated growling sound. “I’ll never win in a debate with you. I don’t stand a chance. Look at you! Even your clothes don’t wrinkle.”

Clancy raised his head when Michael sat up. “Deflecting again, and keep your voice down.” He pointed to the floor indicating the couple below.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want my ex to know we weren’t up here banging like bunnies.”

He knew she was irritated, but the banging bunnies thing was too cute to not smile. To his delight, she smiled back. She never ceased to surprise him.

A glance at his watch while he washed his hands confirmed they were due downstairs. “You need to change.”

“Won’t what I’m wearing work?”

“No. They’ve all seen that already. For shopping and a pub, you should wear the jeans and leather jacket.”

“Oh, so you’re dressing me now, Michael Control-Freak Anderson?”

“I’d like to undress you, Hermia Lysander Argarapolis, and then ‘bang like bunnies,’ but that would involve your admission to liking french fries as a steady diet.”

“I love french fries. I just have great will power and self-preservation instincts.”

He arched an eyebrow. Then directed a pointed look at the rumpled sheets where he’d just brought her to climax.

She cleared her throat and glanced at the bed. “Most of the time.”

He kissed her forehead—something out of character that felt completely normal with her. “I’m nothing if not tenacious.” Then he grabbed her suitcase from the shower and set it on the bed. “Jeans and jacket.”

She popped the suitcase latch and unzipped it. “Yes, sir.”

Setting his suitcase on the bed next to hers, he winked when she shot him a sideways glance to check out his reaction. “I like that a lot better than ‘wait’.”

“Speaking of which, would you mind waiting outside while I change? The bathroom is too small.”

It certainly was. In order to close the door, she’d have to step into the shower to give it enough room to swing closed. “I do mind. This will have to do.” He turned his back, careful to not hit his head again. “If someone saw me waiting outside, it would ruin the grand illusion we’ve so carefully crafted.”

Closing his eyes, he imagined her actions as he listened to the sounds of fabric slipping over her body and zippers sliding opened and closed. Sweet torture, but torture nonetheless.

“Ready,” she said finally.

As he opened the door for her, she grabbed her scarf from the bed and wound it around her neck with a flourish.

She looked amazing in the jeans and tight tank top with the fitted leather jacket. That denim over her well-toned ass might even prove adequate compensation for tolerating the horrible yellow and green scarf all afternoon.

Chapter Thirteen

“Hope you two had a good …rest,” Sue said before breaking out into a giggle on the porch swing. Mark, sitting next to her was clearly holding back a laugh.

Well, this is awkward. Mia shot a look at Jason, seated in a wicker chair, who immediately found his feet interesting. Obviously, he’d spilled the beans about their bedroom shenanigans. Maybe bouncing on the bed to make it squeak had been overboard.

“We did, thank you,” Michael said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, then nuzzling her hair as if they’d just been making love and she hadn’t rejected him…again.

Which begged the question, why did she keep rejecting him? He was perfect. Maybe that was it: he was too perfect—well, except for the overly controlled bit. This puzzled her, too. For someone who reined in his emotions, needed absolute order, and left nothing to chance, he didn’t seem to mind her flakiness. It had driven Jason nuts. Maybe it did bother him and he was just overlooking it in order to get laid. No. He could and had—as evidenced by the photos online and her time as his neighbor—gotten that from women much better suited and harder to get than she.

He splayed his hands across her abdomen and pulled her against him—nothing anyone else would think twice about, but she certainly did when the bulge in his pants nudged her backside and all that heat from earlier resurfaced, kicking up her heart rate and stinging her cheeks with a blush she hoped no one saw.

“So, you and I need to go pick up our dresses, Mia,” Sue said. “I have a seamstress appointment for us at noon. If something is screwed up, she can fix it before the wedding tomorrow. I also want to hit a really cute shop I saw yesterday that sells jewelry. Kelli, I’d love for you to join us, or you can go to the craft brewery with the guys.”

“Come with us, Kel,” Jason said. Mia knew him well enough to hear the tension in his voice. Trouble in paradise, maybe?

Kelli rose from her chair on the far end of the porch. “Nah. I’m going to go hang with the girls. Beer’s not my thing.” From her arms crossed over her chest to her refusal to meet him eye to eye, it looked like Jason wasn’t her thing either. She brushed some strands of bright red hair from her face and gave Mia a slight smile, which made her instantly warm to the woman she’d hated for months.

“Okay. We’ll see you guys at one or so.” Sue took Mia’s hand and led her down the stairs of the porch with Kelli close behind. “I totally need the scoop on your fiancé,” she whispered when they hit the sidewalk.

Oh, great. It was the divide and conquer tactic.

Glancing over her shoulder, she locked eyes with Michael, still in the same spot on the porch, sporting a grin and an obvious erection, and her heart kicked up a notch. He wanted her. Scattered, impulsive Mia had drawn the attention of a giant. She just needed to be sure she didn’t go down with the whole beanstalk. She was in way over her head—and something in her loved it.

…

Michael turned the menu over and scanned the selections on the back. He really wasn’t in the mood for this, but short of being rude or giving up the ruse, he didn’t have a choice. Being split up from Mia was not something he’d anticipated and he didn’t like it. He found himself wanting to spend every moment with her, a completely new experience for him. Usually, he couldn’t get rid of people fast enough…like these two guys. But there he was, pining for a woman. Ridiculous.

“Welcome to Hair of the Dog.” The bartender was a man about his age wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a T-shirt with a dog sporting a keg around its neck. “As you can see from the menu, we only carry our own hand-crafted beers and ales made primarily from locally grown ingredients. Do you have any questions?”

He had questions. Plenty of them, but nothing to do with beer.

“I do,” Jason said before launching into a litany of questions regarding locally grown hops.

What the actual fuck am I doing here?

He was making good on a promise.

No. It had nothing to do with a promise. He could have found a way around it and still put this Jason jackass in his place.

He was there because of her. Because he wanted her.

For keeps.

Oh, shit.

He’d watched Will go stupid over a woman and now he was doing it. Love was the career killer. The enemy. He’d vowed to never get close to a woman, yet there he was…completely and totally fucked.

“And for you?” the bartender interrupted.

Mia. I’ll have Mia, please.

Without looking, he put his forefinger on the page.

“Ah. Excellent choice. Lucky Dog Stout. We use seven different malts including wheat malted right here, in…”

Lucky Dog. He shook his head and smiled as the guy kept talking. If it hadn’t been for the damned dog, he would have never met Mia.

“…with a roasted coffee overtone and a smooth finish…”

Smooth. “Your words are as smooth as your public image, Michael David Anderson. A girl could fall hard for you if she weren’t careful.”

Why so careful? What was she scared of?

“So, do you want to taste it first?”

“No.” He’d tasted Mia. He wanted her. And knew what it would take to get her. “You serve food, right?”

…

By the time they got to the pub, Mia was exhausted and starving. Her bridesmaid dress had fit fine, but Sue and Kelli insisted the neckline be adjusted. And to her amusement, they commented on the flashy black lace undergarments she’d changed into when she’d put on the jeans back at the room. She smiled at the thought of Michael picking them out. Had he touched them? He had certainly touched her. A tremor bolted through her body and between her legs as she remembered his skilled hands and mouth less than an hour past. It felt like forever ago.

When the wedding was over, she’d start her new housesitting job and all of this would be over. That in itself presented her with two options: Prevent it from going further with Michael by putting a wall up against potential heartbreak, like she’d done so far. Or go for it because it was a one-shot thing she shouldn’t pass up.

No matter what option she chose, her heart would be broken. She’d fallen hard.

Sue and Kelli had grilled her nonstop on him and she found herself gushing honestly, which hit home the point that she was way far-gone. Hopelessly gone.

He stood when they entered the pub, all well-dressed and handsome and hot as hell. The other guys followed his lead and stood, but it felt forced from them. The look he gave her was odd—the same poker face, but there was heat behind his eyes. Immediately, her breath caught.

Maybe it was just because she’d spent the last forty-five minutes convincing her best friend and her ex’s new girlfriend how in love with him she was… or maybe she really was, but like in those chick flicks she and Sue used to watch every Tuesday night, the rest of the world seemed to fade out, leaving only him.

A sharp elbow to her ribs broke the moment. “Mind out of the bedroom, girl,” Sue whispered.

The other guys sat, but Michael remained standing. As she looked from him to Jason, she was struck with how different they were. She used to think Jason shone like a bright light. Now, next to Michael, he resembled a flickering fluorescent tube compared to a theatre spot. And the spot, at that moment, narrowed to a tight focus on her. And it was thrilling.

As he approached carrying a bag, it became hard to breathe.

“Hi, Sue. I hope you don’t mind if we skip out a little early, here. I have to take care of some business and we need to go walk the dog.”

“Oh…” she glanced past them to the bar, where Jason and Mark were starting their third beers. “Sure. No problem. The rehearsal dinner—”

“Is at five at the Four Points Restaurant. We’ll be there on time.”

“Of course you will. It’s a rare man who can keep Mia on track.”

There was a slight twitch of a muscle at his jaw, but his expression remained neutral. “I’ve never known her to be late for something that matters.”

Both of Sue’s blond eyebrows rose in surprise.

Kelli laughed. “I guess that’s why Jason always bitches about how you were never on time for your dates.”

Not sure whether to be mortified or delighted, Mia held her tongue.

Leaning close, Sue stage whispered loud enough for Kelli and Michael to hear, “I like him, Mia. Hang on tight.”

Pain shot through her chest. He wasn’t really hers to hold. As convincing as he was as her fiancé, she’d almost let herself believe something beyond that weekend was possible. But it was just a dream. Still, a girl could dream… and perhaps make the best of the situation given.

He held out his hand and she slipped hers in it. To her surprise, he pulled her closer and kissed her. It wasn’t the deep, probing kiss he’d delivered for Jason’s benefit. It was publicly appropriate, but even as brief as it was, it rocked her to her toes.

“Hang on tight,” Sue had suggested. Maybe she should do just that.

Chapter Fourteen

“Wait here,” Michael said when they reached the porch of the B and B. Dropping the bag in a chair, he disappeared inside and returned shortly with Clancy and a paper grocery sack.

The air was still cool, but the sun was out and as bright as Mia’s mood. For the first time in a long time, she felt like things might actually turn out okay. Clancy thought so, too, if his tail wagging at warp speed was any indication.

After passing her the leash, he picked up the other bag and gestured for her to lead down the steps. “So, where are we going?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

He turned right at the sidewalk and she fell in step beside him, Clancy bounding along between.

“The last time you had a surprise, it didn’t go over so well.”

“This one will.”

She tried to peek in the bag closest to her, but he moved it to his other hand, grinning.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For the moment, at least, I’m working on blind intuition and impulse, rather than logic and advance planning.”

“Working from your heart, not your head. Like me.” When he came to an abrupt stop, she wished she could pull the words back, but his face gave no indication of his mood. She heaved an internal sigh of relief when his dimples appeared.

“Exactly.”

After another block, he turned left onto the beach footpath. As the walkway transitioned from pavement to sand, he stopped and set the bags down, then unlaced his shoes.

She almost danced in a circle. Stuffy Michael Anderson was going to walk barefooted in the sand. After carefully placing the first in one of the bags, he removed his other shoe and sock and put them in, too. Then he rolled up the cuffs of his pants. Not wanting to discourage him, she unzipped her boots, rolled off her socks and stuffed them inside the boots quickly.

“We’re going to walk on the beach!” she all but squealed. “I love the beach.”

“I know.”

When they reached a spot halfway to the waterline, he stopped and looked around, seemingly satisfied. Then, he pulled out what appeared to be the blanket from on the bed at the hotel, unfolded it, and spread it out on the soft, white sand. Clancy wasted no time tamping around in a circle to stake out his spot in the center of the blanket.

And then the full impact of what was happening hit her. He had truly listened and was trying to give her what she had said she wanted. He’d planned a picnic on the beach. For a moment her eyes stung and her vision blurred. No. She was not going to cry. Blinking rapidly, she turned away from him and acted like she was letting the wind blow her hair back.

“I didn’t know how hungry you were or what you preferred, so I ordered a bit of everything.”

When she had it together enough to turn back around, she couldn’t believe it. A dozen or so paper containers were laid out, which made her stomach growl. But the most delicious thing on the blanket was Michael. He’d rolled up his sleeves, and his dark hair was ruffled from the wind and glowing with gold and red highlights in the sun. He looked young and carefree and sexier than anything she’d ever seen—no longer the driven CEO with the weight of the world on his shoulders since childhood.

Were they not on a public beach, there would have been no way she could avoid breaking her own code… But now that she considered it, maybe it wouldn’t be a breach of rules; no sex-first relationships didn’t really apply to him. Since that day in the park, they’d actually become close. And he’d certainly gone beyond the call of duty with this fake fiancé thing. Heck, she could almost believe it herself.

She could sleep with this man and not break her code—only her heart. As she stared into his eyes, sparkling like the sea behind him, she realized it would be worth it. Every ounce of pleasure and pain.

…

Fascinated, Michael watched as Mia took another sip from her water bottle. She’d sampled everything he’d brought and was windblown, relaxed, and sexy beyond endurance.

“How did the girls’ outing go?” he asked, more to take his mind off her lips on the bottle than any interest in her answer.

“As expected. I was interrogated from the moment we left the hotel.” She twisted the top onto the bottle. “I like Kelli. I’d expected to hate her.”

Because she had Jason. A twinge of jealousy flared, but he pushed it back before it registered on his face. “Do you still have feelings for Jason, Mia?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but needed to hear it from her.

“No!” Her response was immediate and heartfelt. “I never really did. He was just the first guy in a long time who stuck around…or who I stuck around.”

A gull squawked and dove for something at the shore. “He still has feelings for you.”

She crushed her napkin and shoved it into one of the empty containers. “Jason cares for Jason. I feel sorry for Kelli. She’s onto him, though.”

He lay back on the blanket and laced his fingers behind his head. “Did she tell you that?”

“In so many words. When you and I started making racket he got angry and left the room. She was pretty upset.”

Something dark and pitiful in him rejoiced at making Jason upset. And as for Kelli, maybe they’d done her a favor.

“How about the guys? Did you get interrogated, too?”

A cloud the shape of a rocket ship floated overhead, and he was reminded of when he and his brothers used to go to the beach, before he started spending every weekend at the office with his dad. “Mark only asked what Sue had told him to ask—when we met, our living arrangements, that kind of thing.”

Her voice was tentative. “And Jason?”

He rolled on his side to face her. “Jason asked pointed sexual questions about you and he’s lucky I didn’t kick his ass.”

For a moment, her eyes widened, then she smiled and lay down on the blanket facing him, Clancy and the empty food containers between them. “Watch out. Your emotions are showing.”

So they were. Best to take it back to familiar territory. “Black.”

“Black what?”

“Undergarments.”

Immediately, she looked down at her chest, then back at him, eyes narrowing.

“I saw the strap when you took off your jacket.”

She delivered a playful punch to his shoulder. “Cheater.”

They said nothing for a while, simply enjoying the sounds of the waves and the birds, and he marveled at how comfortable he felt with her.

“Thanks for coming to the wedding with me. It would have been awful without you.” Her voice was so low, it almost was as if she were talking to herself.

“Why are we here? Are you that close to Sue, really?”

She sighed and rolled on her back. “I’m pitiful, but Sue’s downright pathetic. She’s a military brat and an only child. Never stayed in one place long enough to make friends, so she never tried. Hates big gatherings with lots of people.”

Hence the tiny wedding with only family and friends. It made more sense to him now and it made Jason even more a prick for trying to get Mia to back out when she was Sue’s only friend. He hadn’t really nailed down the guy’s motives, but right then, he didn’t even care.

With her inky hair blowing around her face, she looked wild and free. It took everything in him not to touch her. Fascinated, he watched as she continued. “Sue’s father died and her mother bought a permanent home and got three dogs, which is how we met.”

“You were the dog sitter. Yes, I remember.”

“Sue felt like she had a real home, finally, and risked a friendship with me during my housesitting gig in her neighborhood. She set me up with Jason and when that didn’t work out after a year, we both felt awkward and guilty.” She smiled over at him. “I think we’re good now, though.”

He propped up on an elbow. “How about us? Are we good?” He hadn’t planned this turn in the conversation. It was like his subconscious had taken over and blurted out what he’d been wondering all afternoon. Maybe Dr. Whittelsey’s dog therapy was really working.

“Wow.” She sat up, legs folded under her. “You are full of surprises. Is there an us?”

There it was. In a business deal, this was the pivotal moment in which the arrangement was defined and agreed upon. At the negotiation table, he would dress it up and say what the other party wanted to hear, as long as it was truthful and forwarded the transaction. In this case, raw, unembellished honesty would have to do. “I don’t know.” He met her eyes directly. “I want there to be.”

She lay back down, staring up at the sky and said nothing for a long time. Her breathing was quick and shallow. He’d surprised her.

He was used to being one step ahead at all times, and with this woman, he was forever racing to keep up. Somehow, he’d relinquished control to her completely, and amazingly, he was okay with that.

He’d learned in his years of business that silence was sometimes more powerful than words, so he let the silence play out and they watched the clouds go by and gulls glide overhead.

“I probably would have slept with you without all of this,” she said finally.

Well, that wasn’t what he had expected. He sat bolt upright, startling Clancy. What the fuck did that mean? He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. From her point of view, perhaps that was a reasonable response. Go to the why, not the what, he reminded himself. She’d been hurt before. Had felt used and betrayed.

She took his hand as she sat up, and her wide eyes met his. “You’re shaking.” She brought his hand to her face and placed it against her warm cheek, then turned her face to kiss the inside of his palm, a gesture so sincere it made his throat tight. “You’re cracking. That calm, expressionless mask is letting a little light in so I can see the real you underneath—the one you hide from the public.”

“Perhaps I should have you sign a non-disclosure statement promising to never tell anyone I’m a real person with real feelings.”

“Not necessary. Nobody would believe me anyway.” She placed a container in the bag.

He grabbed her hand as she reached for another container. “I didn’t do this as a ploy to sleep with you, Mia.”

“I believe you.” She pulled her hand away and brushed the hair from her face before continuing to clean up. “I almost wish you had.”

He gathered up the boxes closest to him and put them in the bag. “Because I would be living up, or down, to your expectations?”

She grabbed the remaining items and put them away. “Yes.” After a moment, she met his eyes. “And no.”

Afraid to speak, or even move, he waited for her to go on unprompted. He had no idea what was in her mind, which was not a familiar scenario for him.

“You scare me, Michael.”

Now, that was unexpected. “Why on earth do I scare you?”

“You’re so… you. And I’m so me, and I have no idea why you would even look at me twice.” She was speaking so fast he could barely keep up. “You have everything and I have nothing and I don’t see why in the world you are even hanging out with me in the first place. I mean, really—”

And before she could utter another word, he covered her mouth with his. After a moment, she relaxed and kissed him back, gently scraping her nails across his scalp, causing chills to race up and down his spine. Clancy stepped across his lap to the outside, allowing him to close the space between them, and the feel of her body against his made everything else going on minute and unimportant. He rolled her on top of him and fisted his hands in her hair, pulling her down to him. Spending time with this woman did something for him that work never had. She filled an emptiness he’d not known existed. And unlike any other woman he’d been with, the more he knew about her, the more he liked her, and wanted her—and needed her. He could have kissed her forever, and he might have, had his alarm on his phone not gone off.

Shit, shit, shit. “We need to hurry or we’re going to be late to the rehearsal dinner.”

“Oh, no.” She pulled out her phone from her pocket as she rolled off of him and frowned. “I need to shower and do my hair. There’s no way we’ll be on time.”

This was his fault, but there was no chance in hell he would let them be late. Not when everyone expected it of her. “You showered before we left this morning. Throw on that red dress, put on some lipstick, and call it done.”

She stood. “Back to ordering me around, huh?”

He pointed to the sand just off the blanket and she stepped off as indicated. “Damn right.”

“He’s so bossy, Clancy.”

He shook the blanket, folded it, and placed it in the bag. “It’s one of the things you like about me.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him, skimming her neck with his lips, then trailing his hands lower. “You have the greatest ass…now get it moving so we’re on time for this thing.” He gave her a playful pop and she giggled, picking up Clancy’s leash and running for the trail from the beach.

Chapter Fifteen

Mia was relieved they’d made it to the restaurant on time, but her heart was still racing from the rush.

“We’re not doing the boy/girl/boy/girl seating thing,” Sue said after Michael had been introduced to Mark’s parents and her mom. “Just sit anywhere.”

Mark and his dad were to her left, with the two mothers chatting happily in the next two chairs, which left the seat next to Sue open. Before she or the waiter hovering nearby could do it, Michael pulled out Mia’s chair.

“Kelli called,” Sue said. “She and Jason are running late.”

Michael pushed her chair in and sat to her right and for a fleeting moment, his mouth turned up in what she could swear was a smirk.

“But you’re on time,” her friend said with a grin. “I think Michael was right.”

“About?”

“You’re never late when something matters to you.”

Or when Michael wouldn’t let her be late. When they got back to their room after the beach, he had brought their suitcases up and had her pull her things out so quickly, she’d failed to get everything she’d needed. By the time she’d figured out she’d forgotten underwear, he’d already taken the luggage back downstairs, including the clothes she’d just taken off.

She smoothed her dress over her thighs, hyperaware she had nothing underneath. Michael placed his hand over hers, and the awareness became even more acute as she imagined the same warm hand all over her body.

Moving nothing but his fingers under the tablecloth, he maneuvered the hem of her dress higher so that his skin skimmed over the flesh of her knee. Everything in her tightened and she held her breath. He was only barely touching her knee, but her body reacted to the innocuous act as if he were touching her everywhere all at once.

When she flitted her attention to Sue, she found her whispering in Mark’s ear, oblivious to anything but her future husband.

“So, when is the happy day, Mia?” Sue’s mother asked. “I’m told you and Michael are engaged.”

Shit. Now what?

Fingers still gently circling her knee, Michael answered mildly, “We haven’t set a date.”

“Oh.”

“Hey!” Jason said from the door to the room. “We made it!”

Michael’s fingers stilled on her knee.

Jason pulled Kelli from behind him and her face flushed red as he addressed the parents. “This is Kel.”

“Sorry we’re late,” she said, nervously tucking her red hair behind an ear.

“We’ll blame the growler you ordered when we left the pub,” Mark said in a good-natured tone. “Sit down, dude, before you fall down. He indicated the chair next to Sue’s mom.

“Ah, no. I want to sit next to my good friend, Mike. You guys met Michael Anderson yet? He’s a big deal.”

The fingers on her knee tightened and she placed her hand over his.

Poor Kelli. She knew exactly how she felt. Humiliated. Angry. Sad. Jason didn’t drink often, but it wasn’t pretty when he did.

When Jason took the chair next to Michael, Sue popped up. “I think I’ll catch up with my mom. Why don’t you sit here, next to Mia, Kelli?”

Mark shot Jason a dark look, but his friend missed it completely.

Sue’s mother cleared her throat. “Well, we were just talking about Mia and Michael’s wedding plans.”

No. No they weren’t. “Or lack thereof,” Mia said without thinking, straightening her silverware.

The table fell completely silent and Michael’s grip on her knee loosened. “No date yet. I’m just glad she said yes.” His fingers resumed their gentle, reassuring circles and she let out a grateful breath of air.

Jason pointed to her left hand. “No ring yet, either, huh?”

“Well, I…we—” How in the world could she cover for this oversight?

“It’s being designed right now. As you know, I deal in antiquities and have access to some of the greatest craftsmen in the world. Mia’s an artist, so when I asked her to marry me, I didn’t present just any ring. I wanted her input.” He lifted his hand from her leg and took her hand. “Tell them about the ring, Mia.”

Oh, crap. Why didn’t he just make up something? He knew all about this kind of thing and she didn’t have a clue. He squeezed her hand and she looked in his deep blue eyes that no longer appeared crisp, like the ocean, as they had earlier. They were richer, like her favorite indigo pigment in her paint box, imbued with amber flecks. “Blue,” she said. “And gold.”

“Mia’s an artist?” Jason interrupted.

“She is. Quite accomplished, too. You haven’t seen her paintings?”

A strange tingle traversed her spine. No, he hadn’t. She’d never let him see them. Air whooshed out of her lungs. Never once had she protected her art from Michael, yet she’d hidden it from Jason. Michael’s words from their carriage ride in the park were true, but she’d never really seen it until now. “Just like me, you only let people see what you want them to see. You manipulate your image every bit as much as I do.”

“Excuse me, please,” Mia said, pushing to her feet. Michael stood immediately to pull her chair back. Leaving the table like this was awkward, but not nearly as awkward as losing her shit in front of them. Here she’d been all self-righteous about her own openness and condemning of Michael being so controlled and guarded, when she was exactly the same. Hell, even the Super had seen it. “You two are very much alike,” he’d said.

Instead of retreating to the ladies room, where she was sure Sue would follow, she stepped out on the front porch of the restaurant. The cool crisp air in her lungs made the near panic subside. The unreliability and lateness? She’d done it on purpose. She’d been pushing people away. But not Michael. He’d seen right through it, straight into her, as if she were made of clear glass. “I have a theory about that,” he’d said. Scatterbrained and forgetful at times because she was easily distracted was far different than unreliable, which was the image she’d created. You couldn’t let people down if they didn’t rely on you.

“Figured it out, did you?” he handed her a shot glass. “Introspection and revelation can be inconveniently timed.”

She sniffed the straw-colored liquid. “Tequila.”

“Jason says it does good things for you.”

She smiled at his reference to the conversation in his apartment and leaned on the porch rail. “And you responded by saying that you do good things for me.”

“I’d like to.”

Whoa. No holding back. It was almost surreal to be here with this man only her wildest fantasies could conjure. A man so deep, she hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface. “What are we doing?”

“Taking off our masks.”

She nodded and downed the shot in one gulp.

He took the glass. “No more tequila. I want you completely unaltered.” He kissed her gently. “No pretense, no excuses, no obstacles. Agreed?”

“Yes,” her voice was breathier than intended and her body hummed with energy as he took her in from head to toe.

“You look beautiful,” he said, leaning against the support beam of the porch, looking all but edible in his suit and a tie with tiny red specks that matched her dress. He’d planned that out, not doubt. Always the planner.

“It’s all about the dress,” she said.

He caught her elbow and turned her to face him. “It’s about the woman in the dress. The woman I want out of the dress. The woman who is beautiful no matter what she wears,” he added, releasing her arm. “Stop selling yourself short. No pretense. No masks, remember?”

The specks on his tie blurred and she blinked rapidly until her vision cleared. “Yes.” Up this close, she realized the red on the tie wasn’t specks, but the fins on tiny, geometric, interlocking fish—like an Escher painting. Complex and organized, just like the man. Something completely different when observed from a distance than when up close.

He put his mouth to her ear. “Let me make love to you tonight. Let me do all the things I’ve been dreaming about since I met you.”

“I…” Thank goodness for the railing or she’d have melted in a puddle.

He put his finger to her lips. “Don’t answer yet.” She held onto the railing for dear life as he drew her earlobe between his teeth, then ran his tongue where his teeth had been. “Just think about it. We should get back before they serve dinner.”

To heck with dinner. Between the cool air blowing up her skirt and his hot breath in her ear, she was ready to skip dinner all together.

“Hi, guys. Everything okay?”

Or not.

“Hey, Sue. Yeah. We were just coming in. Sorry I skipped out.”

Sue wrapped her arm around Mia’s shoulders and led her toward the door. “No problem. They’re serving the food right now and I didn’t want yours to get cold.”

…

Dinner was uneventful. While they’d been on the porch, someone must have read Jason the riot act, because he switched from beer to coffee and stayed quiet for the most part. It didn’t stop him from shooting resentful glares at Mia occasionally, which caused Michael to utilize considerable restraint to not throw him out. Interspersed with the glares were blatant suck-up comments to Michael, who had finally gotten him to stop calling him Mike.

He hated people like Jason, who saw people as no more than stepping-stones. He dealt with them all the time. He still couldn’t figure the guy out, though. He came from money probably, but his job didn’t reflect good family connections. And why had he not wanted Mia to come to the wedding? As he watched the interplay among friends, he got no closer to an answer.

When things were dwindling down, and dessert and champagne had been served, Mark stood.

“I’m told that I’m supposed to give a thank you speech of some kind, but we’re all friends here, so I’ll just keep it simple. I love this woman. I value her friendship, and everyone else’s at the table…well, maybe not yours, Jason.”

Everyone laughed, but Michael wondered how much truth was behind the words. Loyalty and friendship could exist separately. Though, after getting to know Mia, he was not so sure about the independence of love from friendship.

“Anyway, thank you all for being a part of our wedding.” He held his glass up and was joined by everyone around the table.

“I want to dance!” Sue said. “Who’s coming to the bar with me?”

“I will,” Kelli said, not even glancing at Jason.

“I know where my bread’s buttered,” Mark said with a wink, finishing off his champagne and taking Sue’s hand.

“Are you going, Michael?” Jason asked as the parents followed the bride and groom out. “Because if not, I’d like to talk about some possible business ideas I have.”

It would be a cold day in Hell. Not even looking at him, Michael took Mia’s hand, but remained seated. “I’m only here for pleasure, Jason. No business of any kind.”

Mia flushed and he leaned closer, gratified by the effect he had on her. “Let’s go dance, Mia mine,” he whispered in her ear.

She met his eyes and it almost took his breath away. Her pupils were wide, and he could see the flame from the candle from the center of the table dancing in them. “Yes.”

Her tone was so intense, he remained still.

“My answer to your question on the porch is, yes.”

He stood and pulled out her chair, carefully schooling his facial expression, but unable to control the instant erection she’d brought on with one simple word.

…

When they got to the bar, the band was playing a slow song, and Michael wrapped her in his arms before they even made it to the dance floor.

“Do you want me to guess?” he said in her ear, swaying in time to the sensual, jazzy music.

“Are we talking underwear?”

“Or lack thereof.”

Oh, God. Could he tell by looking? He must have felt her tense because he chuckled. “Calm down. I only know because I saw your clothes laid out. Nobody else knows.”

Still swaying, he ran his hand from her shoulder blades to her waist and back up again and she relaxed against him.

“I like knowing things about you nobody else does. The color of your underwear, the location of that freckle on your spine, the way you bite the tip of your tongue when you think hard.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

She laid her head against his shoulder. “Okay, maybe I do.”

“The way you smell like fresh cut flowers and oil paint.”

She pulled back to look at him. “Michael. Are you trying to be romantic?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes.”

She laughed and relaxed against him again, enjoying the feel of his arms and the smell of starch and cologne. Across the dance floor, Mark and Sue swayed in each other’s arms, and beyond them, Jason and Kelli sat at the bar in what appeared to be an unhappy discussion.

How could she ever have mourned the loss of that relationship? It was hard to tell how unhealthy someone was for you from the inside, she decided. The trick was that once the lesson was learned, to never repeat it. Jason had brought her down for a year, and she’d allowed it. Never again would she let a man make her feel like she was unworthy or that she was an embarrassment.

The song ended and a high-energy pop song started.

“Not my thing,” Michael murmured in her ear.

“Me neither.” She much preferred being wrapped in his arms with his fingers skimming over her spine. She’d actually really like to be doing that with a lot less clothes on, but it was still too early to leave.

When they reached the bar, Kelli joined them. She put on a good face, but Mia knew she was upset. “Would you like a drink, Kelli?” Michael offered.

“No, thanks. Jason has had enough for both of us.”

Mia gave what she hoped was a sympathetic look.

“He can be a real jerk, you know?” Kelli tucked her hair behind her ear like she did when she was uncomfortable. “Of course you know, Mia. You dumped him, and rightfully so. You’re nothing like he described, by the way.”

The room seemed to get too loud and small all of a sudden. “Wait.” Mia shook her head and replayed Kelli’s words. “He told you I dumped him?”

“Yeah. And how you’d gotten him fired and cleaned out his bank accounts before you took off to live in some other man’s home.”

Mouth open, she stared at Michael, who, as expected, appeared completely collected.

“He was fired for lying on his resume,” Mia said. “He was dead broke because he spent faster than he earned, and I moved on to my next housesitting job, not into another man’s home. And he dumped me, not the other way around. He dumped me the same day he… started dating you.”

“I’ve changed my mind, Michael,” Kelli said. “I’ll take you up on that drink. A chardonnay would be great.”

While Michael ordered, Kelli continued. “He was totally freaked out when we met for the first time in a coffee shop. Said he didn’t know what he would do now that you’d left him with nothing. I felt really sorry for him so I had my dad get him a job on the exchange floor.”

“Did he know who your dad was when you met?”

“No, I don’t think so…” She took the glass of wine from Michael, and her jaw snapped shut and she took a deep breath through her nose. “Oh, my God. Yes.”

Michael leaned against the bar, face placid, but his eyes glued on Jason.

Kelli took a deep sip of wine, then shook her head. “He must have guessed because I’d stopped off straight from work with my Keller, Hills, and McAndrews tag still around my neck. He knew I was in trading somehow.” Her attention flew to Jason, who was sitting on a stool alone. “That opportunistic asshole.”

“No wonder he tried to talk me out of being in the wedding.”

“He did?” Sue’s voice directly behind her made Mia jump in surprise.

“He did,” Michael answered. “I was there. He tried very hard to dissuade her. None of it made sense until now. He didn’t want Kelli to find out he was using her for a job.”

“He told me you had decided not to come, Mia, and I was so hurt. I thought you would at least call me if you had changed your mind.”

Mark, who had been behind Sue the whole time, shook his head. “No. He was using Mia’s reputation for being unreliable to cover his running her off. He was burning bridges for her. I should have known.”

“Well, he’s not doing it again. Not to me, anyway,” Sue said. “I know he’s been your friend a long time, honey, but…”

“Nah. He’s changed since college, and he crossed the line this time.” Mark shrugged. “I can only make excuses for him so many times. I’ll handle it.”

“We’ll handle it,” Kelli said.

Michael’s warm arms wrapped around Mia from behind and he kissed the top of her head as Mark, Sue, and a very angry Kelli, whose face was as red as her hair, closed in on Jason. By the looks of him, he might not be sober enough to even remember it in the morning.

“Ah, fair Hermia. The course of true love never did run smooth.”

In spite of the tension in the moment, or maybe because of it, she burst out laughing. “Are you for real? You’re going to quote Shakespeare to me in a bar?”

“Is it working?”

She turned in his arms and took his handsome face in her hands. “Yes. It’s working.”

He leaned down and kissed her, tasting of champagne and Michael, and it was all she could do to not start quoting Shakespeare herself.

He pulled back and studied her face. “What are you thinking about?”

“French fries.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “How hungry are you, Mia?”

“Starving.”

A mischievous grin crept across his face. “But we just ate.”

She loved this teasing side of him. “A huge platter of french fries.” She stepped forward and ran her arms around his waist under his jacket and leaned into him, loving his smell and warmth. Also loving his obvious arousal pressing into her belly as she scraped her nails over the back of his dress shirt beneath the jacket. “Hot, salty french fries, Michael.”

“Now?”

“As soon as possible.”

“No appetizer first?” he said into her hair, hands firm on her waist. “No casual, mood setting ambiance?”

He was driving her crazy. “No. Straight to french fry.”

“Truly fast food, then?”

“Yes.”

“I can accommodate that.”

Chapter Sixteen

It was a struggle to keep pace with Michael’s long, purposeful strides while balancing in high-heeled shoes. His grip on her hand was firm, but not too tight, and his clear urgency was thrilling.

“Wasn’t it rude to leave without even saying goodbye?” Mia asked as they made it to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.

“Not at all. I left a note with the bartender to pass to Sue and Mark. I didn’t want to interrupt their chat with your good friend, Jason.”

“He’s no friend of mine.”

“That was sarcasm.” He stopped abruptly and she lost her balance and collided into his chest, hands on his lapels as he wound his arms around her waist. “This is not.”

When his mouth covered hers, it was different than before. Pure, raw desire snaked through her limbs and coalesced between her legs, where the chilly air swirled up her skirt, making her acutely aware of her state of near undress and vulnerability.

He broke the kiss, grabbed her hand again, and immediately struck out across the street toward the bed and breakfast.

“You’re in a big hurry,” she said, stepping up on the curb and making the turn onto the sidewalk to the porch.

“You’ve no idea.” His speed increased to where she was running to keep up by the time they reached the steps. In one motion, he scooped her up into his arms and took the porch steps two at a time and she found herself giggling as much from shock as amusement.

“The key is in my inside jacket pocket on the left side.”

Fingers trembling, she reached in and pulled it out.

“Now the door,” he said, breathing heavily, face unreadable.

She swallowed hard. If he made love with even half of this intensity, it was going to be mind blowing.

“The door please, Mia. Now, before we wake the owner, or the others return.”

She slid the key in and turned it with a click. He pushed the door open with his foot and carried her through the entry hall and eased her down outside the storage closet where their suitcases were kept, taking her hand firmly again, as if he were afraid she’d bolt. But she wouldn’t. She’d wanted this man from the moment they met. No way in hell would she miss out on this. He took the key from her hand and unlocked the closet door, immediately stepping inside and pulling her with him.

When he closed the door, they were plunged into complete darkness. The faint glow coming from under the door did nothing to illuminate the space, only seemed to make the darkness more pronounced.

Heart hammering, she waited for her mind to catch up with her body, which was charging forward at light speed. “The luggage closet?” she asked, voice breathy.

“I’ll never make it up the stairs,” he replied, warm hands traveling up and down her arms. “Consider it part of my therapy to be less rigid and more spontaneous.”

Well, it was certainly spontaneous. His breath heated her neck, and she trembled in anticipation, wondering what he’d do next. This exciting, complex man had her completely off guard. She’d never felt this stimulated or alive.

“There’s a set of shelves to your left and an empty wall behind you,” he said in a low, rumbly voice that made her nipples tighten and ache. “Back up.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order and she loved it.

With a shuddering breath, she shuffled backwards until her shoulder blades contacted a solid surface. Her unfamiliarity with her surroundings, combined with the darkness and his intensity magnified her arousal until she was light-headed and her entire lower body clenched and flooded with heat. He was in complete control of the situation, and it was a wonderful, heady thing to know that all of this powerful man’s focus was on her.

The only sound was their breathing, his as labored as hers. He was still near the door, and the anticipation was killing her.

“Michael,” she said.

“We’re not going to talk. Not this first time.”

He had moved closer while he spoke, and she could feel him standing in front of her, his heat radiating through her dress and into her skin. She shivered, delighted by his power.

Touch deliberate, he slipped his warm hands around her waist, then up her sides to cup her breasts and she moaned.

“No protracted foreplay,” he whispered against her neck as he ran his thumbs over her sensitive nipples, no doubt finding them hard. “Not this time.” His brushed a hand down her body and lifted her skirt, fingers trailing up her thigh and, without prelude, slipping into her wetness, but only briefly, making her ache even worse. “You don’t need it.”

He was right. They’d been dancing around this moment since that first meeting, and she was more than ready, not only in body, but in mind and heart.

Lips still against her neck, he shifted, then pressed something into her hand. “Open, please.”

He took a step away, leaving her cold and needy, and as she fumbled with the condom wrapper, the unmistakable sound of a zipper seemed amplified in the darkness and she shuddered in anticipation.

His hand found hers and relieved her of the half opened wrapper, and after some rustling, and shifting and movement of fabric, she found herself pushed all the way back against the wall, with her skirt rucked up to her waist.

This was it. She’d dreamed of this man since the moment she met him. She was in uncharted territory and way over her head, but this was so right. She needed this. Him. That instant. And he was correct—foreplay and words weren’t necessary. What she needed right then was…

He slipped his hand under one of her knees and hitched her leg around his waist, then guided himself to where he pressed against her entrance, and in one hard thrust, filled her completely.

…that.

Both of them groaned and he buried his face in her neck, not moving for a moment as her body adjusted, stretching to accommodate him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing could feel better than this. She took a shuddering breath and held on for dear life, grateful for the wall behind her and the sturdy shoulders in front.

He pulsed inside her as his body strained for control. He was as affected as she, and it was empowering.

Slowly, he pulled almost all the way out and thrust in again, hard. He had told her not to talk, but it felt so right, she couldn’t help the groan that escaped when he slammed into her. He responded with a growl deep in his chest, and then plunged into her again and again, picking up his pace. Yes, she chanted in her head with each harsh thrust, biting her lip to keep from shouting it out loud. Yes, yes, yes. This was perfect. He was perfect. She wrapped her other leg around him and locked her ankles together behind his back as he thrust into her over and over, the hard wall pressing against her spine and his hands digging into her backside.

Never had she experienced raw passion like this. All take, and at the same time, all give. His breath came in harsh gasps as he slammed into her, holding nothing back. The always collected Michael Anderson was out of control, and her own body answered with a tightening that simmered and coiled and pulsed until it was almost unbearable, until finally, she broke apart with a scream she couldn’t hold in. His tempo slowed slightly, and then he thrust up hard and stayed there, muscles shaking as he found his own silent release.

They remained wrapped together up against the wall for several minutes while his breathing slowed and her head cleared.

Finally, he spoke, voice raspy. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to ask: did you want catsup with those fries?”

This was the man she knew hid under the surface. A passionate, powerful, witty man who drove her wild. Giggling, she unwound her legs from his waist and he let her slide down the wall until her feet rested solidly on the floor.

“Wow,” she answered, surprised she could speak at all. “That was…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for adequate words, but couldn’t find any.

Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her with such tenderness, it made her chest ache. His lips and tongue were gentle and soothing—in complete opposition to the harsh demands his body had made only minutes ago.

Not wanting to break the spell, she stood in the darkness while he put himself back together, enjoying sounds he made tucking his shirt in and zipping his pants. She would have given anything to see him, still flushed and sweaty and all out of order.

From outside the closet, voices and footsteps jolted her back to reality. “Well, this could be awkward,” she said.

“Not nearly as much as had they arrived a bit earlier.” He flipped the light switch and they both squinted. “Nothing awkward about it. We just stopped in to pick up clothes for tomorrow.” He studied her from head to toe, and a slow, seductive grin emerged. “Now that is how you should look all the time.”

She glanced down expecting to see her skirt caught in the waistband or something, but everything seemed to be in order. “How?”

He smoothed her hair and then lightly ran his fingertips over her still sensitive nipples through the silk of the dress, then put his lips against her ear. “Well fucked.”

And she was just that. In every sense of the word. As she looked into his eyes, she knew that she’d passed the point of no return. She was in love with Michael Anderson, and with that came the potential for the mother of all heartbreaks.

After straightening his tie, he removed her suitcase from the shelf. “What do you need to pull out to wear to breakfast? I assume Sue has your bridesmaid dress somewhere.”

She rolled the case on its side and unzipped it while he pulled some items out of his own suitcase. “Yes. I’m changing in her room tomorrow. She has an actual closet. Not a room the size of one.” She shot him a grin before pulling out a green sweater and a pair of black slacks and flats. She remembered the underwear this time. Purple. She threw her warm-ups and a T-shirt on top of the pile.

He set a pair of pants, socks, and black boxer briefs, of course, on the shelf, closed his suitcase, and then pulled a white dress shirt out of a zipper bag hanging on a hook. “And the warm-ups are for…?”

“Sleeping.”

He tossed her T-shirt and paint-splattered warm-ups back in her suitcase, zipped it, and slid it back on the shelf. Then took her hand and pulled her close enough for her to smell the familiar scent of starch and cologne, but this time, there was an overlay of sweat and sex. Delicious.

“Mia.” His voice was so quiet, she had to hold her breath to hear it. “There will be no clothes…or sleep. From here, we will go to the room and switch from French fries to steak and lobster.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I want to give you the attention you deserve—all night long. No more fast food this evening. I want a long, leisurely five course meal.”

And with that bit of news, he opened the door and greeted Sue and Kelli, who were watching Mark try to get Jason up the stairs.

Michael passed his stack of clothes off to Mia and wrapped Jason’s other arm around his shoulder, and with Mark on the other side, they half-dragged/half-carried him up the stairs to the second floor.

“Thanks, man,” Mark said, once they deposited Jason unceremoniously on the bed face down. “Hopefully he won’t puke and cost us the deposit.”

Kelli slipped into the room and threw some things from the bathroom into a pink suitcase on the window seat, then closed it up. “I’m going to sleep in Sue’s room tonight.”

Jason rolled to his side and started snoring immediately. Michael loosened Jason’s tie and slipped it off. “I doubt he’ll be in shape for the wedding tomorrow.”

“My dad is standing in,” Mark said. “Even if he’s sober enough by then, I’d rather he not be my best man.”

“It’s for his own safety, really,” Sue said with a wink. “I’d hate to be arrested for murder on my wedding day.” She gave Kelli a squeeze. “Come on, Kel. Let’s get some sleep.”

Kelli gave one last parting glance at Jason. “I really thought he liked me.” Then she stiffened. “I hope he likes being unemployed.”

“Thanks again,” Mark said once they’d turned off the light and closed Jason’s door. “I’m glad you’re here and didn’t listen to Jason, Mia.” He shook Michael’s hand. “You guys have a good night.”

The look Michael gave Mia after Mark disappeared down the stairs took her breath away. Holy crap. And here she’d thought the time in the closet with him had taken the edge off. Instead, it had made her want more. And his look promised a whole lot more. Maybe more than she could handle. Still clutching their clothes for the morning to her chest, she waited to see what he’d do.

All he did was raise an eyebrow. Just one, but it did the trick. Warm heat flushed through her and the air left her lungs in a whoosh.

“I like what you’re thinking, Mia,” he said, relieving her of the clothes and gesturing for her to lead the way up the last flight of stairs to their room. As she took the first step, he looped his arm around her middle and pulled her back hard against him. “And the way you feel.” She gasped as he pushed against her from behind, moving his hand to cup her breast, then put his lips to her ear. “I particularly like it that you screamed when you came.”

She glanced around to find the staircase behind them empty, thank goodness.

“Just me,” he said, stroking his thumb over her taught nipple and pulling her back even tighter against him. “You and me for hours.”

“Yes.” The response came unbidden from deep inside somewhere. Yes was all she had for this man.

He released her and she straightened, reluctant to look at him for fear he’d see just how lost in him she was. How much she wanted this…him. So instead of looking back, she climbed the stairs and opened their bedroom door, only to almost be knocked backwards the minute the door bumped into the bed.

“Clancy!” she said, catching the doorframe for balance. “Glad to see you, too.”

…

It was hard to be irritated by something so obviously pleased to see him. The dog circled Michael’s legs, wagging its tail like crazy.

“I’ll take him out,” Mia said, pulling the leash off the back of the doorknob. As he studied her face, he noticed she’d lost the fire she’d had moments before. It was as if seeing the dog had reminded her of their “business only” arrangement and her commitment to not getting hurt again. He had no clue what to do. He’d thought they were past this. She took a deep, resigned breath and snapped the leash on the collar. “That was our agreement from the start. The deal was you’d give me a place to stay and would come to the wedding with me if I took care of the dog at night.”

Oh, no fucking way. She was not going back to this business only routine after they’d come this far. He dropped the clothes on the floor and spun her to face him directly. “Here’s the deal, Mia. There is no deal. That all changed when I…” He stopped himself before he actually said it.

An odd look crossed her face. “All of that changed when you what?”

When I fell in love with you. But he couldn’t say the words—not when she looked so hurt and honestly, horrified. He’d thought she felt the same way, but apparently he’d read it wrong.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m pretty sure where this conversation is going, but I’m also sure this is not the time or place to have it. If you are backing out of the deal now because of what happened in that closet, then I really underestimated you. And me, I guess.” She handed him the leash. “You walk the dog. I’m going to shower.”

Clancy tugged at the leash and whined. Wait. She thought he was calling off their deal because of sex? “You misunderstood.”

“Clearly,” she said, picking up the clothes from the floor, then turning sideways to squeeze into the room. The door closed with a click and Clancy whined again.

Sonofabitch. He looked down at Clancy at his feet, still pulling on the leash. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? She’d jumped to the absolute wrong conclusion.

The dog pulled harder and barked. First things first.

Clancy took care of business right away, but Michael figured he should come up with a strategy for dealing with the confusion before he returned to the room.

Think on the why, not only the what. It was his usual mantra when coming up with pitch strategies. The what in this case was obvious: Mia thought that now they’d had sex, he was done with their agreement. Though, in his mind, that was a pretty big leap for her considering how the weekend had been going so far.

“Why, Clancy?” he asked the dog sitting next to him on the bench on the bed and breakfast porch. “Why did she make that leap when it wasn’t logical?”

She was impulsive—and while he loved that about her, it was also a pain in the ass. Clancy stared back at him as if he understood every word he was saying. “Human relationships are not logical,” he continued. “You’re lucky you’re a dog.” Clancy’s tail tapped on the bench as he gave a commiserative wag.

“Why?” he asked again. Because she was returning to past habits. Self-doubt. And it had happened to her multiple times. No sex-first relationships was her non-negotiable rule, and something in what he’d said, or not said, or maybe nothing but her own fear, had led her to believe that was exactly what had happened.

It probably wasn’t his fault she’d misread the conversation, but it would be his fault if he didn’t straighten it out. This was a deal he planned to land, even if it meant losing a little control. He couldn’t let her go.

“Okay, Clancy. Here’s the strategy: I’ll try to reason with her and straighten this out. I’ll even beg if necessary. If that doesn’t work, you turn on the charm, okay?”

Clancy affirmed with a shrill yip.

Chapter Seventeen

Mia stepped out of the shower much calmer than when she’d gotten in. One day, she’d learn to sit back and wait before she said something. One day, she’d be less impulsive.

Dammit. He’d left her nothing to wear but her outfit for tomorrow or the red dress she’d just worn that was too much for pajamas and way less than clean. After brushing her teeth, she climbed into bed, still wrapped in a bath towel, and pulled the covers to her chin.

Michael had been gone a long time. Too long.

She stared at his suit for the wedding, which he’d hung on the bathroom door. Surely he hadn’t headed back home and left that behind.

She’d replayed their conversation over and over in her head and was now doubting she had it right. He’d really said nothing indicating it was a one-and-done. But, seeing Clancy had reminded her that from his side, this was carrying out a business agreement and that she needed to pull her heart out of the clouds or she’d be gluing the pieces of it back together all over again.

“You misunderstood.”

Maybe she had. He was different than the others—she just knew it. She was the master of impulsive behavior and had let her fear take over. She rolled to her side and tried to empty her mind. Breath in four, out eight. In four, out eight. To her relief, she heard the door open and thump into the bed. He hadn’t left.

Too big a chicken to face him, she pretended to be asleep.

The shower started and after a moment, she rolled over.

“I thought so,” he said with a sly smile from the bathroom doorway. “I found it unlikely you’d be asleep after being so angry.”

Clever man. “I wasn’t angry. I was hurt. And probably rash.”

He reached into the shower and turned the water off. “Definitely rash.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You didn’t finish your sentence in the hallway and I filled in the blank.”

“Yes, you did.” He sat on the edge of the bed and patted it. Clancy jumped up and joined them. She loved how comfortable he’d become with the dog. “And I can see how you jumped to the wrong conclusion. But it was a very wrong conclusion.”

She nodded.

“I’m not like Jason or anyone else that you’ve dated. You said no sex-first relationship—that you wanted a friend.” He took her hand. “Well, you’ve got that. I’m not going to toss you aside, and I hope you won’t toss me aside because you expect me to screw you over.”

“So how should I have filled in the blank if not ‘that was before I had sex with you?’”

“With, ‘that was before I earned your friendship.’”

Her eyes watered. “That makes a little more sense.”

“Yes, it does.” He squeezed her hand. “I want you to think about something while I shower. I don’t need an answer now or even this weekend, but I’d like an answer before you move to your next housesitting job.”

She held her breath, absolutely unsure of what he’d say next.

Dropping her hand, he looked away for a moment as if it were hard to find the words. “I’d like you to consider staying with me instead of house sitting. I think we get along well and I…” It seemed like he was having the hardest time finding words. Like his mask had completely fallen away and he was struggling to put it back in place. “This is much more difficult than anticipated. I’m trying to word this in such a way that you don’t feel trapped by your financial situation. That I’m not taking advantage of your disadvantage.” He stared at the wall ahead of him and it struck her that he was surprised by his own offer.

But not as surprised as she was. “Are you asking me to move in with you, Michael?”

He shifted on the bed to better see her and studied her face for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I’m asking you to move in and live with me. Not on the sofa, but in my bed. In my life.” He popped to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. “Don’t answer now. Think about it first. I’m going to shower.”

“Wait.”

He stopped in the bathroom doorway, but didn’t face her.

“What will happen if I say no?”

His shoulders rose and fell. “I will be terribly disappointed, but will find a work-around.” Then, he faced her. “I won’t just let you go, Mia. I want to keep spending time with you, however you will let that happen.”

Gone was the placid, cool poker face. Longing, and even fear, shone in his expression, and her heart stuttered in her chest. Holy shit. Michael Anderson had just made a relationship commitment…to her.

And then, he closed the door.

She lay there a moment, hair still wet from her shower and head reeling, then stared at the closed door.

Oh, hell no. She swung her feet off the bed and knocked on the door, clutching her towel to her.

The door cracked open and Michael, still fully clothed except his shoes, peered out, then stepped into the shower to make room for the door to swing open.

Suddenly, what had been all bravado turned into something just north of timid when she looked straight into his eyes.

“So, um…” She cleared her throat and he arched an eyebrow. “Well, you just made an offer and I’d really like to see what I’d be getting in the bargain.”

Dimples appeared and he slid his jacket off and tossed it past her to the bed. “The luggage closet wasn’t sufficient for you?”

She rolled onto the balls of her feet and back down, holding tight to the towel. “Well, I didn’t really get to see anything.”

“So, you want to inspect the goods to determine if they’re to your satisfaction.”

“I bet you do that in your antique business all the time. And hey, you’ve checked me out plenty while I work out.”

He methodically removed his cufflinks and placed them in the pocket of his suit hanging on the door. “Please tell me I will not have to perform Pilates for your inspection.” She laughed and accidentally snorted, which caused his grin to widen. “I would absolutely do that if that’s what it took, Mia.”

Without any rush, he unbuttoned his shirt as if he were simply going through his regular routine, rather than driving her crazy. When he handed her his shirt, it was all she could do to not raise it to her nose to breathe in the starch and cologne scent so specifically him, but forgot all about it when he turned to face her, giving her an eyeful of toned chest and abs. All those workouts paid off. He wasn’t bulky, but the definition was certainly there. Efficiency with no waste. And lots of power, as she’d discovered in the luggage closet. She pitched his shirt onto his jacket on the bed and resisted the urge to fan herself, stopping short when she met his eyes again.

“This is the point,” he said, rubbing his palm over the bulge in his pants, “when you decide whether you want to participate, or simply remain an observer.” He loosened the buckle on his belt and slid it out of the loops, and her mouth watered. “I find in dealing with antiquities and things of value, observation is insufficient, and I actually need to hold the object in my hand…” He rolled the belt into a neat coil and placed it on top of the toilet tank, “…or make a physical connection with it somehow, in order to really appreciate it.”

Oh, she appreciated it all right. And certainly wanted a physical connection with it—her whole body thrummed to life at the mere thought. Still, she loved watching him in action, and couldn’t bring herself to interrupt what was possibly the sexiest undressing she’d ever imagined. Trying to look nonchalant, she leaned against the doorframe, glad she didn’t miss it entirely and land on her butt.

The dimples appeared again and his hands went to the button on his pants, popping it open easily and then lowering the zipper with painful, deliberate slowness.

She almost growled in frustration at yet another layer—those blasted black boxer briefs. He let the pants drop, and he stepped out of them, casually picking them up and beginning to fold them.

She snatched them out of his hands and tossed them to the bed before he finished, and he chuckled. “You sure you don’t want to help?”

“Positive.”

And then he did the most unfair thing ever: he stepped into the shower and closed the curtain, then pitched his underwear over the top, where they landed right at her feet.

“You cheated!” she said, fighting back a laugh.

“I never cheat,” was his reply as a wisp of steam crept over the top of the curtain. “I wrote the rule book in this particular instance. You chose to be but a mere observer, remember?” He poked his head around the curtain, dimples flashing. “But you could always up your status to participant and complete the inspection.” He winked and disappeared behind the curtain again.

She closed her eyes and imagined him behind that curtain, all naked and hard and hot with water running down those abs. And then she thought of the luggage closet and the power in his body as he thrust into her, his complete and nearly savage loss of control until he reined himself in at the end, ejaculating silently. She wanted to hear him yell. More specifically, she wanted to hear him yell her name. Her towel joined his underwear on the floor and she pulled the curtain aside.

…

Michael could never be completely certain what Mia would do, but knowing her as he did, he wasn’t surprised when she yanked the curtain aside and stepped into the shower with him, gloriously naked.

Her eyes immediately dropped to his erection and widened, then she raised her gaze to his.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“You are very sure of yourself.”

“Should I not be?”

She didn’t answer, but didn’t lower her gaze from his. Obviously, she was referring to more than his penis.

“Mia. I am very aware of my strengths and shortcomings. I’ve analyzed why and when I’ve succeeded and failed in business and personally. As you’ve noted, I control my public image fiercely and my personal life with equal aggression. I’m not ashamed or shy about either.”

“I wasn’t…”

He ran his fingers down her jaw, needing to touch her. “I know. I just want you to know that I’m aware of who I am. I know what I want and I usually get it. I would love to see you acquire some of the security I feel.”

She gestured to her body. “I am not self-conscious.”

“No, you’re not. It’s self-confidence—or maybe self-awareness—you lack. How many times have you said someone like me wouldn’t be interested in someone like you? Hell, you even called yourself a nobody.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“I’m not.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Well, I’m glad we have that all cleared up Mr. Serious. Back to your recent question,” she said, and his mind raced to figure out which one. Then she wrapped her fingers around him and explored, while he held his breath. “Yes, I like what I see.”

As she pumped her hand over his water-slicked flesh, it was all he could do to remain upright. “Well, good. I can add that back into my column of assets. I was a little worried for a moment.”

“No worries at all here. But I think I need to conduct a closer inspection.”

Michael braced himself on the tile walls when she dropped to her knees and then nearly lost his mind all together when she took him into her mouth, drawing him in, then pulling back until he was exposed to the warm water raining down on them both. Then, after circling the head with her tongue, she drew him in again. He hissed in a breath between his teeth. This was more than physical. Just like in the closet, it was as if he were discovering intimacy all over again. His balls tightened and he found himself perilously close to the edge.

“Stop.” Never in a million years would Michael Anderson ever have imagined the possibility of putting a stop to this particular scenario, yet he found himself repeating, “Stop, please.” She circled him with her tongue one last time, and released him, expression justifiably confused.

He helped her to her feet. “No more fast food tonight.” He soaped up his hands and ran them up her arms and down her back. “It’s about taking our time.” He lathered the washcloth and scrubbed himself down, then pulled her to him, sliding against her, loving the feel of her hardened nipples across his soap-slicked chest. “About learning each other’s bodies.” He handed her the washcloth and turned. She scrubbed his back, and then moved lower to his ass and he propped his hands on the tile as she lathered his inner thighs and balls. He’d regained his control now, and was simply enjoying the adrenaline and thrill of her exploration of his body.

After a thorough rinse, he turned the water off and pulled the towel from the towel bar. Determined to keep things focused on her, he dried her hair, then moved methodically down her body, drying and kissing as he went. By the time he reached her knees, they were trembling.

“We’re going to work on a two to one ratio tonight, which is why I stopped you.”

He dried his own body and stepped out. She followed. “Two to one?”

“Yes. I couldn’t get ahead.”

Taking her hand, he led her to the bed where Clancy was comfortably curled up on a pillow. “Sorry, sir. You’ll need to relocate.” He picked the dog up, pillow and all, and set him in the bathroom. After a couple of circles, he settled right in as if he were totally on board. Hell, he might grow to really like that dog.

Mia was still standing by the bed, naked and sexy as hell, when he returned. He paused for a moment, scanning her from the top of her dark, wet hair, down to her perfectly formed breasts, over her toned, flat abdomen, past the curls at the juncture of her thighs, and finally taking in her muscular legs all the way down to her pink toenails. Going slow was going to be difficult. “As I was saying…”

She grinned. “Two-to-one whats?”

He applied gentle pressure to her shoulders and she sat in front of him, her eyes immediately finding his cock, which caused it to pulse. “Two orgasms to my one, at a minimum.”

Her eyes met his. “I stand by my statement that you are very sure of yourself.”

As he pushed her back on the bed, he marveled again at how beautiful and perfect she was, then he started at her neck and kissed all the way down her body until he settled in between her legs, pushing her thighs apart and lazily running a finger over her until her breath caught, then replacing his finger with his tongue. “No, Mia. I am very sure of you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Mia woke to the sound of beeping and opened her eyes to find Michael smiling at her. He reached across her and grabbed his phone from under Clancy’s paw and silenced the alarm.

She stretched and reveled in the exquisite soreness of her limbs and everywhere in between. “Is it time to get ready?” she asked, rolling on to her side to give Clancy a good morning pat.

Michael wrapped around her from behind and slid his hand down her side, and to her amazement, her body reacted as it had every time he’d touched her the night before, with a flush of heat and wetness. She would never tire of this man.

“Not yet. That was the wake-up-in-time-to-make-love-then-walk-the-dog alarm.” He cupped her breast, causing her nipple to pebble as he rubbed the pad of his thumb across it then rose up on an elbow to run his tongue over the stiff peak.

“No two-to-one this morning.”

“You didn’t mind it last night.” He circled her other nipple and gave it a playful nip. She squealed and he grinned, flashing those adorable dimples. She loved his smile.

She loved him.

“Neither did you, if I recall,” she teased.

The second time they’d made love—or third counting the luggage closet, he’d shouted her name…of course she’d shouted his at least four times by then… maybe five. But still, he’d finally lost control. And it was wonderful.

“Tell me something about yourself I don’t know,” she said, skimming her fingers over his bicep, knowing full well that, even given a lifetime, she would probably never know everything about this complex man.

“You first.” He rolled onto his back.

“Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easy. You did that when I asked you what you really want in life. And then you never answered.”

He rolled to face her. “Okay. Something you don’t know…”

She held her breath.

He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “I have never spent the whole night with a woman before. This is the first time.”

“Are you serious?”

“First time ever.”

She was a first. Her heart flipped over in her chest, thrilled at the prospect. “How is that possible? All those women in the pictures.”

“Control. They come to me and I control the situation. They leave before anyone goes to sleep.” He tapped her nose playfully. “Sometimes my neighbor drove them out early with loud, obnoxious music.”

She laughed. “I actually have playlists specifically for that purpose: Cockblocker Number 1, Cockblocker Number 2, and Nuclear Cockblocker.”

He laughed and rolled her on top of him. “I’m unblockable now. With you, anyway.” He positioned her right on top of his erection and pulled her back and forth along it, the friction shooting heat from where they met all the way to her fingers and toes. The pressure and texture hit just the right spot as she slid along his length, and she changed her angle and picked up the pace. “My, God, you are beautiful,” he said. “I love watching you.”

As she neared that edge, her whole body cried out for him. Being watched wasn’t enough. She needed to be filled. Completely claimed and possessed by this man. Last night had been like a dream. She wasn’t ready to wake up to reality yet.

“I need you inside me.”

He looked over at Clancy. “Hey, give us a little privacy, will you, big guy?”

“Go on, Clancy Pants.”

And soon, Mia and Michael had the bed to themselves and he was buried deep inside her. And once her soreness had been overpowered by pleasure, he helped her achieve a rhythm that had her nearly frantic with need, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode him.

She took a deep breath as the pressure built almost to the point of pain. Being with him was too much and not enough at the same time. He reached up and caressed her breasts as she continued in long, hard strokes, his eyes never leaving her face, as if he were memorizing it.

She had told herself that she would have been satisfied with this one weekend with him, but she knew that had been a lie. It would never be enough. And he wanted more. He wanted her to live with him. To share his bed every night.

The connection between them was deep and real. She closed her eyes and felt her orgasm build like a spring being wound tight. She shortened and quickened her strokes.

“You never told me the thing about you I don’t know,” he grated out between his teeth.

She opened her eyes and he put his hand where their bodies met and stroked her as she ground down harder.

“I…”

And the spring wound even tighter.

“Love…”

And tighter still.

“I love you, Michael!” She shouted as stars exploded behind her eyelids and wave after wave of ecstasy rolled through her body and he strained silently under her, joining her until they both went limp and lay tangled up together exhausted and utterly sated.

“That didn’t count,” he said as she snuggled in beside him.

“Why not?”

He pulled her even closer and whispered in her ear, “I already knew that.”

…

Michael sat in a white wooden folding chair waiting for the photographer to finish the post-wedding shots. It had been a surprisingly enjoyable and mercifully short ceremony held outdoors behind the bed and breakfast, with heartfelt vows the bride and groom had written themselves. He liked that idea—creating personal vows. Not that he’d ever put any thought into it before. But he was thinking about it now, as he watched the woman who had driven him wild all night, and again this morning, pose for pictures in a dress the color of her eyes, which fit her perfectly and made him glad to be alive. Thank you, Sue, for the first beautiful bridesmaid dress he’d ever seen. Maybe it was just the woman in it. And she’d said she loved him. Amazing.

He thought of Will and how he and Claire would be getting married in the near future. Had his brother felt like this—almost giddy and absolutely ridiculous? Like there was nothing he couldn’t do.

Across the lawn, Mia laughed at something Mark had said, and Michael found himself smiling. He smiled a lot now. She’d changed him. And soon, he’d tell her that—right after he got her alone and removed her lacy purple panties with his teeth.

Grinning, he tipped his head back and enjoyed the sunshine on his face. He needed to get out in the sun more often. He’d actually begun to enjoy his walks with Clancy during work hours. It was good to get away from the office every now and then. Maybe he’d schedule a picnic with Mia that week after they got back. Yes. Definitely. She’d like that.

Gravel crunched, and he opened his eyes as car pulled up on the road. The window cracked open and Michael stiffened. He’d recognize paparazzi anywhere.

Fuck.

Mark and Sue were just normal people having a small, family wedding. No way would they draw the tabloids. He’d told no one except his brothers where he was going. And he certainly wasn’t a big enough fish in their papers’ ratings for them to simply trail him around. Someone gave them some info that interested them.

His gaze flitted to the party posing for yet another wedding photo. As if she could feel his stare, Mia looked over and winked.

Another car, an SUV this time, pulled up behind the first car and a man got out, long range lens in hand.

Goddammit.

“Hey, Mike,” Jason said, slipping into the chair beside him.

The man with the long-range lens lifted his camera and Michael jumped to his feet, immediately striding straight to the back of the house where he was blocked from view by the corner of the porch.

What the fuck is going on here?

“Are you okay?”

He spun to find Kelli in a chair on the other end of the porch, eyes puffy from a probable tear-filled night.

“Someone called the tabloids.”

She crossed her legs and relaxed back against the wicker. “That would be Jason. I heard him make the call yesterday after you left the pub. Told them you were going to announce a business deal.”

“The deal he tried to pitch me at dinner, I suppose.”

“That would be the one. He has delusions of grandeur. Told me you guys would be partners before the weekend was out.”

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Take a number.”

Honestly, as drunk as he’d been last night, it was hard to believe the bastard was up and running so early in the day, much less feeling good enough to pose for pictures for the paparazzi. No way in hell would Michael allow himself to be linked to that snake in any way. And he certainly didn’t want Mia involved.

His number one priority was to keep her out of the papers. He and Mia were at a fragile point in their relationship. He was trying to prove how much she meant to him, and being lumped in with the other women the paparazzi had snapped him with, who meant nothing at all, would damage her emotionally, and possibly professionally, depending on the mindset of her employer. Nobody liked to be called the kind of things she’d be called if linked with him. One of his first orders of business when he got back to the city would be to meet with his PR company to begin planning a transition. The playboy was about to become a one-woman man.

When he looked around the corner, a third car had joined the other two and the guy with the long range lens and a woman carrying a camera bag were striding down the fence line behind the house. He had to get inside out of view until he could come up with a strategy, and he needed to get word to Mia to keep her head down and avoid him until he could get them away from here.

“Kelli, could you please deliver a message to Mia for me?”

“Sure. Just don’t ask me to deliver any messages to Jason, unless it’s to tell him to fuck off.”

“You can do that for me, too, if so inclined.”

She gave him a half-hearted smile “What’s your message?”

“Please tell Mia I’m inside when she’s done with pictures. Tell her not to talk to any of the reporters, but if asked, deny we are here together.”

Her red eyebrows drew together. “Maybe that ‘fuck off’ I was going to deliver to Jason should go to you as well.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the photographers point to him. There was no time for explanations now. “Please, just give her that message.” He entered the structure through the back door, which opened into a sunroom.

He dialed Jacob and asked him to come get him ASAP, then he called his brothers to initiate damage control in case anyone asked about a business deal with Jason Tipton.

The best way to handle this would be to take it head on and go talk to the photographers. All he needed to do was put out any rumors linking him with Jason and throw them off Mia’s scent until he could gradually work her in publicly so she didn’t get caught in the blowback from his playboy reputation.

“Why’d you take off so fast?” Jason asked, striding into the sunroom.

“I don’t want to be in a picture with you.”

His clothes were only slightly wrinkled, probably from poor packing, but his eyes were bloodshot and his lids swollen, and Michael expected that he was sporting a hellacious headache. At least he hoped so.

Jason threw his arms out in the perfect picture of innocence. “What picture?”

“You called the tabloids with the promise of news of a new business venture.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, let’s talk about that because I—”

Michael crossed the room in three strides and grabbed Jason’s collar. “Let’s get this straight here and now. The only thing I’d participate in with you is a fistfight. Are we clear?”

Jason held his hands up in surrender. “Uh…yeah.”

“And if you perpetuate this rumor, I’ll add a lawsuit to it as well.”

“Gotcha. Please let go.”

From the corner of his eye, Michael saw the camera in the window, followed by the unmistakable sound of a shutter snapping. He released Jason with a hard shove, rather than the punch he was itching to throw. “You’ve done your damnedest to destroy your friends’ wedding and you hurt a damned fine woman. Two of them, actually. Disappear to your room now, and don’t come out until Mia and I have left.”

Without hesitation, Jason scurried from the room. Michael was relieved he had that much sense.

After collecting his and Mia’s things, Michael paced the lobby with Clancy, feeling like a caged animal. His carefully crafted reputation had caught up with him, and Mia was going to get hurt in the blowback. The tabloids would call her all kinds of things. Unkind, untrue things. And to make it worse, with her self-deprecating tendencies, she might believe what they print: that she was just another in a long string of Anderson’s women.

But she wasn’t. She was his only woman. The only one he’d ever really wanted.

He could fix this. He could control it.

Once Jacob arrived with the limo, he would have Mia run to where it waited in the front, while he spoke with the reporters in the back. He could get her out of there safe and sound.

“I just don’t want the press to make this thing between me and Mia into something it’s not,” he told Clancy.

“And exactly what would that be, Michael?”

He spun to find Mia in the door from the sunroom, gorgeous in her cinnamon gown. The expression on her face wasn’t gorgeous, though. Her lips were drawn tight and she was pale—haunted. And Michael realized at that moment not only had he lost control of the situation, he may have just lost Mia as well.

…

Stunned, Mia replayed Michael’s words in her head. “I just don’t want the press to make this thing between me and Mia into something it’s not.”

He didn’t want them to link him to her. To hurt his playboy reputation. When Kelli had delivered his message about denying they were there together, she thought that surely there had been some mistake. Obviously not. He could tell a dog the truth, but not her.

The walls seemed to close in as gooseflesh crept across her skin. He was just like Jason and her other lovers after all— embarrassed by her. She wasn’t enough.

Nausea flooded her belly and she covered her mouth. He’d had her, and now he was done and didn’t want the press to pick up on the relationship.

The entire time they had spent together had been nothing but an elaborate game to him. He had negotiated brilliantly and fooled her completely. Mighty Michael Anderson had closed another deal.

“Never mind,” she said holding up a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t answer my question. I know the answer.”

He dropped Clancy’s leash and took several steps closer. “I don’t think you do.”

She eyed the luggage. Evidently, he wasn’t even willing to hang with her one more night. He was ending the bargain early. “I thought we were staying until tomorrow.”

When he swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, he confirmed her worst fears. How had she read him so wrong? He’d gotten what he wanted and was leaving.

Never again, she’d promised herself, and yet here she was…again. This time, it wouldn’t be her who got dumped. She’d beat him to it.

“Jason called the paparazzi,” he said, finally.

Way to state the obvious. Now to get him to state something even more obvious. “Kelli delivered your message. You don’t want them to know we—”

“We can’t be photographed together. The timing isn’t right,” he said, cutting her off, then checking his watch.

“Of course it isn’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“Will the timing ever be right? When will it ever not interfere with your plans and schedules? With your crafted image of the hotshot playboy? I don’t even know who you really are,” she said, amazed at her stupidity. “Which mask are you going to choose, Michael? You need to pick one, because juggling them both is impossible.”

“You know exactly who I am. My God, Mia, you said you loved me.” The hurt look on his face seemed so real. So genuine.

And despite what her head said, her heart softened a bit. “You can’t have it both ways. You’re either the fun, funny guy I fell in love with who happens to have a successful business, or you’re the stuffy control freak who will only be seen in the right places with the right people for the right reasons—which, if you ask me, just isn’t right. What’s it going to be, Michael?

“You don’t understand. It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. Because I’m that simple. Your two realities don’t intersect, and I only fit into one of them.”

“We can’t be together in photos right now. They’ll tear you up, Mia. I know these people. I know what they’ll do to you and your reputation. Maybe even your job.”

Or his job. The spot on her heart that had momentarily softened glazed over with a hard shell. There was no doubt in her mind she had not misunderstood him like she had last night—hell, even that had been an act, she realized as she stared at his perfectly beautiful lying face. He sounded sincere, and the sentiment that he was doing it for her was nice, but why would she care if the papers put up a picture of them together? The truth was easy to see: he didn’t want to be seen with her, and that was unacceptable.

Forcing herself to affect a calm she didn’t feel, she took a deep breath. “You never answered me when I asked you what it was you really wanted. Now, I know. Your business and your image are more important to you than anyone or anything else. Your desire to control is even stronger than your need to be loved. I feel sorry for you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even appear to breathe. “So you’re not coming with me.”

“No. I’m here for my best friend’s wedding. I don’t give a shit what the paparazzi thinks or says. I’ve said this to you before, but I want to share it with you again.” She could hear her broken heart beating in her ears. “Sometimes you do things because you love someone. Even if they are things that make you look silly, or less powerful, or less attractive.” She yanked the scarf from the handle of her suitcase and wrapped it around her neck. “Or unattractive—I think your word was ‘ghastly’.”

By the devastated look on his face, she could tell he knew they were done. But she needed to make sure he knew it with certainty. He’d closed the deal to his satisfaction, and now she’d close it to hers.

“Please hear me out,” he said.

“No. I heard you out. I hear you loud and clear. Through your actions, your words, and messages sent through friends. Now you hear me out.” The frustrated look on his face reminded her of the one Jason used to get when he lied. This time, she wasn’t going to be played the fool. “You asked me something last night and told me not to answer you right then. You told me to think about it. Well, I’ve thought about it and I have an answer for you, Michael.”

She grabbed the ends of the scarf in her fists. “No! The answer is, no. I will not move in with you. And, no, I will not be seeing you again. You’ve made a choice: you chose control and image. And I hope it was a good one for you, because it is really shitty decision making as far as I can tell.”

“Mia, please listen…”

She held up a palm to silence him. “You told me I needed to believe in myself. Well, clearly you need to heed your own advice, because I believe in myself a lot more than you believe in me. I’m better than this.”

And as she stood there staring at him, it struck her that she believed every word she was saying. He was right; faith in herself was the key. Never would she sell herself short again. If nothing else, she was coming out of this fiasco of a weekend with some mind-blowing sexual experience and a full-on belief in her own worth.

When his phone rang, he ignored it, but she could see the limo from the door’s sidelight window.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Your ride is here to take you back to your real life.”

“I can still distract them in the back while you get in the limo, then I’ll join you with no one the wiser. Come with me. Mia, please. Please.”

Saying nothing was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Her heart shattered painfully into tiny pieces as he picked up his luggage, grabbed Clancy’s leash, and opened the door.

“You misunderstood,” he said before closing the door behind him.

No. She had not misunderstood. He had misunderstood. He’d underestimated her. He thought he could get away with doing what everyone else had done, only to the billionth power. He was wrong. She would not allow him get away with it.

Before he’d made it half way down the sidewalk, she opened the door and shouted his name. His full name, just to be sure there was no confusion. It had the precise effect she was going for. He changed his focus from her to the photographers running from behind the house.

She closed the gap between them quickly. His panic shone clear in his wide eyes and tight lips.

“Even Michael Anderson can’t control everything,” she said, only loud enough for him to hear. And then, as much for herself as for revenge, she grabbed his face and kissed him, the shutters from the photographic firing squad snapping like gunfire aimed straight at her heart. When she pulled away, she could swear he was on the verge of tears.

“Oh, Mia,” he said, “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I bet you do.”

Chapter Nineteen

Michael left work late again. It was the eighth day in a row he’d stayed past midnight. He’d actually run out of things to do at the office over the last two weeks, but that was okay. Better over-prepared than under.

A café owner pushed his trash to the curb on the other side of the street and tipped his cap. Michael liked the city that time of night. He and Clancy had even walked all the way home a few times.

When they rounded the corner of his apartment building, Clancy picked up the pace. He still looked for her. So did Michael.

Every time he put his key in the lock, as he did then, he held his breath and wished. But that night, just like every night the past two weeks, his wishes weren’t answered. The door swung open to the same thing: an empty apartment with dead flowers on the table.

He placed his keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and went to the bar to pour a scotch. Then he went to his bedroom and took off his clothes in the exact same order he had done his entire adult life, putting everything in its proper place.

Perfect organization. Perfect order. Prepared. Controlled. Miserable.

He tipped the glass and drained its contents, then went for a refill. As he rounded the bar for a fresh bottle, he froze. She’d forgotten a paintbrush in the sink—a piece of her. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the soft bristles and the familiar smell of oil paint met his nose. Mia.

She’d cleared her things out that first Monday after the wedding, while he’d been at work. He knew she would come and had asked the security guard to let him know that she had made it in and out with no problem. She probably thought she’d snuck in and out undetected. He ran the slick bristles over his bottom lip and closed his eyes. In retrospect, he should have waited for her.

He set the brush down and opened the new bottle. He’d also had Jim check to be sure she’d made it to her new housesitting job and was doing okay. He should have done that himself as well. Should have told her he was thinking about her. That he missed her.

But as always, he delegated. He told himself it was because he wanted to give her privacy. That wasn’t the real reason, though.

He added two cubes of ice and poured.

The real reason he didn’t reach out to her was fear. He was scared. Of her reaction. Of his response. Of losing control.

Picking up the glass, he swirled it and was reminded of her eyes at the beach. Cinnamon colored most of the time, they were almost amber in the sunlight.

Scotch in one hand and paintbrush in the other, he wandered to the mantle and placed the brush next to the other objects she’d left behind: a hair band and some lipstick. They were centered between the glamour shot of Clancy and the selfie she’d taken of them in the park. As he studied the photo carefully, he had to laugh. It was perfect. Her smile was genuine and full of life and happiness. His was completely and absolutely fake. He’d plastered it on for the purpose of the photo.

“Fuck,” he said, placing his forehead on the cool marble of the mantle. He’d thought himself so put together. She saw right through it. “Is that who you really are?” she’d asked of his public persona. “It’s who I need to be,” he’d answered.

“Fuck!” he said again.

Clancy bumped his leg and whined, then went to the door. He did this often. He didn’t need to go out. He wanted to go scratch on her door.

“I know,” Michael said, crouching to rub his neck. “You miss her, too.”

The dog jumped on the sofa and whined again. Michael couldn’t even bring himself to sit on the sofa, but that was where Clancy spent most of his time, curled up on the ugly afghan she’d probably left on purpose for the dog. And then there were the two sweaters folded neatly on the dining table next to the vase of dead flowers. What the hell was he supposed to do with those? Even a charity would have a hard time placing sweaters with mismatched sleeves.

After two more trips to the bar, the ache in his chest hadn’t loosened. But his ability to focus had. His thoughts ping-ponged back and forth, from staying the course and giving her space, to seeking her out and trying to set things straight.

He was home alone on a Friday night, wandering his empty apartment in his underwear and getting drunk. Pathetic.

“We can’t go on like this,” he said to Clancy, who lifted his head. “We either need to move on, or…or…” Or what? Get her to move in? It wasn’t going to happen. There was nothing he could say that would show her how he felt or how wrongly she had read the situation.

Dr. Whittelsey was right. It was that rigidity and need for control that had fucked him over. Instead of plowing ahead with his plan, he should have taken the time to explain exactly why he didn’t want her in the photos with him, rather than let her jump to an understandably wrong conclusion. But by now she knew. He downed the last of his glass and placed it in the kitchen sink where it belonged.

“Even Michael Anderson can’t control everything,” she’d said.

But at that time, he’d thought he could. Not her. Never her, but the situation. Mia couldn’t be controlled. That was one of the things about her that had attracted him the most. Her impulsiveness and sense of whimsy.

From the kitchen, he shuffled to the mantle again and ran his fingers over the items on the picture frame, stopping at the ice cream wrapper. “You’re not what I need,” she’d said when he kissed her on the bridge.

No shit.

“But she’s what I need, Clancy. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

The dog flopped his tail twice.

“What I need…” Oh, hell. It was turning into a regular pity party. “What I need is more scotch.”

A loud knock sounded on the door, and adrenaline bounced through his brain, almost making him feel sober. That same adrenaline dropped to his feet when he opened the door to find his brothers there.

“Hey! Nice outfit, Mikey,” Will said, walking in without an invitation.

“Looking good there, big brother,” Chance muttered, following right behind.

He looked down at his underwear then back at his brothers. “I’m in my own home after midnight on a Friday night. You’re lucky I’m wearing anything at all. You should call first.”

Will sat on the sofa and Clancy leapt immediately into his lap. “No, it was a planned surprise attack.”

Chance picked up the half empty bottle of scotch from the bar. “You shouldn’t be drinking alone, Michael.”

“I’m not.”

Both of his brothers glanced toward this bedroom then back at him.

“I’m…” He tried to look nonchalant, which was hard to do wearing only underwear. “I’m drinking with Clancy.”

“Aw, shit. Don’t tell me you’ve developed a sense of humor,” Will said. “It’s going to be a lot harder if you have.”

“What’s going to be harder?”

“This is an intervention,” Chance said.

Michael barked out a laugh. “I’ve only had four drinks. I’m barely buzzed. What the fuck?”

Will pitched some newspapers on the table. “Have you seen the papers?”

“No.” Suddenly, his buzz morphed into a headache.

“Well you should.”

He had intentionally not read anything since the wedding. He couldn’t bear seeing the things they’d say about her. It had taken all of his self-control, but he’d resisted. “No.”

“Newest Catch in the Anderson Web,” Chance read.

“Michael Anderson’s Love ’em and Leave ’em Legacy Continues,” Will added.

“Forever Eligible.”

“Wild Weekend Getaway Ends in Violence.”

That got his attention. “What?”

Will turned the paper to show the picture of him holding Jason by the collar.

He groaned and sat in a chair opposite the sofa.

“What’s going on, Michael? You told us you had everything under control.” Will set the papers down and relaxed back against the sofa cushions.

“You assaulted a guy over a Type B,” Chance added.

Michael shook his head to clear it. Type B: Those who want me for sex.

God. They’d labeled Mia as a Type B, exactly as he knew they would. “No. It’s not like that.”

His brothers sat perfectly still, their attention unwavering on his face.

Shit. He’d never had to explain himself to his brothers before. Not ever in his life. “She’s not like that.”

Chance stood and wandered over to the mantle, shaking his head.

Will finally spoke. “You used to just bring them home. You were discreet and only the ones who wanted notoriety ended up in the rags. I’ve read this most recent one’s file and she’s not the type to seek the spotlight. You slipped up and this looks bad, Michael. We look bad.”

He couldn’t believe it. They thought he’d fucked some random woman and then set her up for media abuse. Holy shit. He buried his face in his hands, wishing to hell he hadn’t had a drop to drink. Even on top of his game, this would be absurd.

“Uh, oh,” Chance said. “Come here, Will.”

Will stood and joined his brother.

“It’s like a shrine or something,” Chance whispered.

“I’m not deaf, you assholes.” And it wasn’t a shrine… well, maybe it was. She deserved a shrine. His gaze flitted to the papers on the coffee table, and he had to shut his eyes again. She certainly deserved a lot better than that.

“So, how about letting us in, because maybe we read this wrong,” Will said, holding the photo of the two of them in Central Park. “Perhaps the citadel needs to open the gates for once.”

“Good one,” Chance said, fist bumping his brother.

“I love her,” Michael blurted, probably way too loud. The alcohol buzzing in his blood seemed to give him strength to open up to his brothers. That, or it just fucked up his filter. “I’m absolutely madly in love with her.”

“I’ll be damned,” Chance said.

Will grinned. “Claire told me this would happen. She said you’d fall hard and totally lose your shit. People with control issues often do.”

“I don’t have issues with my control. I have excellent control.” Unfortunately, the credibility of that point flew out the window along with his balance. As he teetered, then flopped back down in the chair, he realized his four drinks had been better than doubles. “And I haven’t lost my shit. I’ve lost the girl.”

After his brothers exchanged amused looks, Will said, “I don’t know if you’ve gained a sense of humor or not, but you’re pretty fucking funny.”

He didn’t feel funny. Nothing was funny. His chest had felt hollow since that horrible day of the wedding, and nothing, not even work, could relieve the ache. “I have to get her back.” He couldn’t just sit around and wait for something to happen anymore. He needed to make it happen. Clancy jumped in his lap and he hugged the dog close. “How do I get her back, Clancy?” He knew how silly this looked: a grown man wearing only underwear, hugging a dog wearing a bow in its hair—and he didn’t care.

Chance came over and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Do what you do best. Think it through and create a plan. Do that chess game thing in your head you’re so good at and anticipate every move before you make your play.”

After straightening out the pictures on the mantle, Will returned to the sofa. “Tell us what you need, and we’ll help. I think you’re way out of your element here, and if you do what Chance says, and return to your logical way of reasoning things through, you’ll come up with a solution.”

Still hugging the dog to his chest, he tried to come up with a starting point, but couldn’t focus.

“I’m glad we’re not doing some freaky sex addiction intervention here,” Chance said. “I really wasn’t up to that.”

“Me neither,” Will agreed, rolling up the papers and tucking them under his arm. “We’ll leave you in peace, Michael.” He gave his brother an affectionate punch in the shoulder. “We’re here for you, man. Let us know if you need anything.”

He loosened his grip on Clancy and met his brothers’ eyes. “I know I act like an asshole big brother most of the time, but I really do love you guys.”

“He’s definitely drunk,” Chance said, and they all laughed.

Will paused before opening the door. “Hey, Mikey. Be sure you put some clothes on if you decide to wander out. The tabloids would have a heyday with you traipsing around in your underwear.”

To Michael’s chagrin, Chance picked up one of the sweaters from the table. “Dude! Better being caught in your underwear than in this! What the fuck?” He held it by the shoulders and Will busted out laughing from the open door.

“There is no explanation, drunk or sober, I can give for that. It defies explanation.”

“He has found a sense of humor,” Will said.

“Nah. It’s just the booze talking,” Chance said before the door shut. “He’ll get his serious back when sober.”

Michael stared at the closed door for a long time. They’d advised him to use his logic and formulate a plan. Go with his strong points. Well, that’s what had had gotten him in a shit ton of trouble in the first place.

Clancy readjusted in his lap and he stroked along his soft fur. “You don’t use logic,” he said. “You use your heart. You just want love.” So did Mia. And to his astonishment, so did he. He wanted love. Mia’s love specifically.

What would it take to get her back? What would reach her heart? He had to find a way to prove she was more important to him than his job or any other facet of his life—including his public persona.

And it hit him. Hard. His heart had provided the answer, but now he’d take his brothers’ advice and make a plan—a hell of a plan. Something that would not require his control to succeed. Something that defied explanation.

He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Clancy. I hope to hell this works. If not, I am completely and totally fucked.”

And with that, he went to bed with Clancy curled up at his feet and got the first good night’s sleep he’d had in two weeks.

Chapter Twenty

Mia heard the Queen B’s before they even entered the rec room, laughing about another article they’d found. She sighed and shook her head, then pulled out the paints. After almost a month, she’d assumed things would die down, but that saying “sex sells” must have had a great deal of truth to it. She deserved this, though. Michael had tried to warn her, but she didn’t really listen. She didn’t hear past the orders and her own wrong assumptions.

She’d been dodging cameras ever since.

Fortunately, everyone who knew her, including the B’s and the owners of Heart’s Home, found it entertaining and didn’t buy into the title of “Duped Trollop” that one particularly seedy overseas tabloid assigned her. She chuckled at the silly name. Trollop indeed. And at this point, she wasn’t even sure about the “duped” part.

“Hoooee! Look at this one, Mia.” Betty said, waving a scrap of newsprint from the paper. “Another Notch in the Anderson Bedpost.”

“Lemme see,” Blanche said, snatching the paper from her fingers. “Aw, durn. It’s the same photo.”

Mia placed watercolor pallets in front of five chairs and went back to the counter for brushes and water.

“I still like the cartoon one that had him wearing a jacket made of fly paper with all the girls stuck to it. ‘Catching Them Like Flies.’” Gladys laughed and slapped her knee.

After distributing the brushes and water, she returned with paper. “We’re working in watercolor today.”

“Have you heard from him?” Bernice asked, folding her walker and leaning it against the wall.

“No. And I don’t expect to.” She slid the paper in front of each woman and kept one for herself. “Today I want to talk about mood in painting.”

“She’s brushing us off because she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Gladys said.

Mia took a deep breath, “We’ve talked about color reflecting and evoking mood…”

“Yeller is happy!” Gladys said. “It’s why I knit with it.”

“Exactly. But shading and density also set the mood. Pale yellow versus your favorite sunflower yellow, for example, evoke different emotions. So, today, let’s show our mood through shading and density. Watercolor is a great medium for this because you can alter color density by simply adding water.”

“I’d rather knit.”

“I think we should use pottery wheels like in that movie with the hot ghost.”

Mia smiled and dipped her brush, wishing for the escape that painting sometimes brought with it. There were times she would be so lost in her art, everything would blur and all worry would disappear, almost like meditation. Only recently, the escape had evaded her. She could only focus on the pain. She wanted to stop hurting for just a day—a minute—a second.

She closed her eyes and imagined colors without shape. Red and pink and black. Lots of black. And while she knew the B’s were still chatting, she focused only on the colors as her feelings seeped into the paper through the brush. “Art comes from your soul,” her teacher had told her once. Right now, her soul ached.

I miss him.

Part of her wanted to call. To just say hi. The other part knew she’d crossed a line with the things she’d said in anger. She’d been right—he’d let his control freak nature get in the way. But she’d also been terribly wrong. He hadn’t been protecting his image; he’d been protecting hers. The papers had called her the flavor de jour, but she knew Michael, and though he may have had lots of women, she was not like that to him. Even if he didn’t care for her now—and that would be understandable—he had cared for her then.

Only seeing color, and no shape, she focused on her page.

Sometimes you do things because you love someone. He’d been protecting her, not pushing her away. And she’d hurt him. She felt a tear slide down her cheek but ignored it.

She was better now. Stronger than before she’d met him. He’d given her a gift. She knew who she was and she liked that person. No more self-deprecation. No more doubt.

No more Michael.

Her hand stilled and the fuzzy edges came back into focus, including four very concerned sets of eyes all trained directly on her.

“Are you okay?” It was the first time Gladys had ever spoken to her directly.

She set her brush down, wiped her eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Just kind of got into it a little bit. I do that sometimes.”

“It looks like a square full of bubble gum,” Blanche said.

Betty squinted and leaned closer, then wrinkled her nose. “Bubble gum someone stepped on.”

“Or one of those amoeba things we used to look at under a microscope in university biology.”

Blanche tisked and shook her head. “Bernice, you’re not making any sense at all.”

“Is it a…?” Betty cocked her head, then shook it. “What is it?”

Mia looked down at the page and really saw what she’d painted for the first time. It was completely obvious to her what it was. But then, it was her own broken heart she’d painted.

“It’s loneliness,” she said. “And regret.”

“What’s the black thing?”

The cage I’ve constructed around my heart. “It’s what’s keeping it in.”

Blanche reached across the table and took her hand. “Mia, honey. Listen to me. You need to call that young man up and make this right. Stop letting pride get in your way.”

“It’s not pride. It’s just that he was so bossy and controlling when the photographers showed up, and I thought he was…Well, I jumped to the wrong conclusion and I said some awful things he didn’t deserve.”

“Then apologize.”

“He’s going to have a hard time living down the damage done in the papers. I doubt he wants to see me.”

Blanche set her brush aside. “Honey, that boy’s stock went way up when the photo of you two kissing made the tabloids. You worry about you, not him. You’re a mess.”

“I’ll tell you the truth. If someone had done to me what I did to him, I doubt I’d ever want to see that person again.”

“But this isn’t just someone,” Betty said. “It’s someone you love. Turn the tables here. If he had done the same thing to you that you did to him, would you want to see him again?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s different for him?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

She leaned close. “Open this, Mia.” She pointed at Mia’s painting in front of her. “Set it free.”

Mia stared at her face a long time, letting her words sink in. Set it free. Yes.

There was a commotion outside the door and then Bernice gave a shrill squeal and clapped her hands.

Oh, good heavens.

Toenails clicked on the highly polished vinyl floor, and Clancy trotted into the room wearing the yellow and green sweater Gladys had knitted.

“Will you look at that,” Betty said. “What a cutie.”

“There’s something in its mouth,” Bernice said.

Clancy stopped right in front of her and sat. Gingerly, she removed the object from his mouth. It was a rolled up piece of paper. She stretched it open, but it was wound tightly and sprung shut, launching to the floor before she got a good look at it.

“What does it say?” Betty and Bernice said in unison.

Blanche snapped it up. “Lemme see.” She placed it on the table and unrolled it. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

Leaning over to get a better look, Bernice’s brow furrowed. “What an odd thing for a dog to have as a chew toy.”

Mia covered her mouth and closed her eyes. Michael. At that point, she was terribly glad her heart was caged, because otherwise it would have beat right out of her chest.

Bernice grabbed her walker and shuffled to the window. “Oh, my word. There’s a horse drawn carriage out front.” All the other women moved to the window and made various noises of surprise as Mia’s heart continued its attempted escape from the confines of its cage.

Michael.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t just walk in—”

“Yes he can!” Blanche shouted to the nurse.

And then he was there. Just inside the doorway, more handsome than she’d remembered, breathing heavily with windblown hair, bright blue eyes, adorable dimples, wearing Gladys’s sweater, which was even uglier on than it was off.

Gladys gave a loud whoop and clapped.

“I…” he began and stopped, appearing lost. He took several steps toward her, grimacing like he was in pain. He closed his eyes as if composing himself.

Needle-like prickles of panic trickled down her spine. She worried he was hurt or something. “Michael?”

He opened his eyes and stared at her. “Give me a moment. I’m a little overcome. I hadn’t really planned what I was going to say specifically, only generally, and then I saw you and…”

The weight of the moment bore down on her all at once. Michael Anderson was out of control and unscripted—raw, unmasked, and completely vulnerable. And he was amazing. And despite his discomfort, she smiled, and then laughed.

“Well, I see I’m off to a great start,” he said.

“Oh, you are, honey,” Betty said.

“Go right ahead. We’re listening,” Blanche added.

His smile appeared and the dimples followed, his eyes never leaving her face. “Okay. Let’s try this again. This time without being thunderstruck by how beautiful you are and how even though I’ve envisioned your face every moment of every day, I still wasn’t prepared for the reality of you.”

“It’s the spot of black paint on her nose that does it,” Betty said.

Mia wiped her apron across her nose and Betty gave her a thumbs-up, indicating she’d gotten it.

“I asked you a question and you answered with a resounding no. It was the wrong question and you answered it correctly.”

“You’re not making any sense, young man,” Blanche observed.

“Shhhhhh,” the others said.

His hand rose to his chest. “I’m changed. You changed me.”

Mia was certain her own features matched the awed, open-mouthed expressions of the B’s.

“You’ve made me better. I want you to know that,” he continued.

When she glanced around the room, it seemed that half of the residents and staff were crowded right inside the door of the rec room, but he didn’t seem to notice at all as he spoke, wearing that preposterous sweater and an expression so sincere it made her dizzy.

“I could make a multitude of excuses or throw out a lot of blame for what happened, and so could you. In your heart, you know what really happened and so do I.”

“What happened?” Bernice asked

“Shhhhhh!”

“Do you know what else I know, Mia?”

Unable to speak, she could only shake her head as he took her hands in his. The contact was exactly what she needed. His touch grounded her and gave her focus. As she reveled in the comfort of his warm hands enveloping hers, she realized he was trembling.

“I know that I love you. That my life is so much better with you in it. That I can’t imagine it without you.”

A collective “awww” traveled through the room. Mia took a deep breath and shifted her weight foot to foot, reticent to look away for fear this whole amazing moment would be a figment of her imagination, and that when it ended, she’d still be sitting at the table, caught up in her painting.

“Nothing. Not money nor power nor work comes close to you. I’d give it all up to have you.” He grinned. “Though, I’d rather it not come to that.”

She giggled, and he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, bringing home the fact that this was, in fact, real. She sniffled and he ran his fingers across her jaw as if touch grounded him as well.

“You told me that sometimes you do things just because you love someone.” He stretched the front of his sweater, displaying the crooked “M” on his chest. “Like wear a…” He glanced at Gladys. “…an interesting sweater. Or maybe even rethink your entire life.”

There was not a peep in the room when he paused, his shoulders lowering as he relaxed slightly.

“So, having done both of those things, I would like to now ask you the correct question.” He took her hand. “Please come with me.”

The crowd parted and they walked down the familiar hallway of Heart’s Home to the stoop outside and he came to a halt at the top of the stairs. Mia gasped. Standing in the street near the carriage were several photographers. One of them, a man with a huge lens on his camera, she recognized from the wedding. Mia sucked in a startled breath.

When she glanced up at Michael, he winked and she exhaled in a sigh. He wasn’t surprised by this. He wanted to be seen with her—had obviously planned it. The control freak. The beautiful, amazing, surprising control freak. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and she squeezed his fingers back, knowing full well this had to be hard for him. Ridiculously difficult after working on his refined public image, to be seen in that…ghastly—yes, the word totally fit—sweater in public.

“Thank you all for coming today,” he said to the photographers. “I’d like to introduce you to someone, but first, I need to ask her a very important question.”

No. No, surely not. A million possibilities flooded Mia’s mind, but one impossible scenario he might have planned kept popping to the forefront. She shook her head to clear it and stared at his beautiful face. Only then did she notice the dark circles under his eyes. Like her, he’d suffered, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss those circles away.

When he dropped to one knee on the stoop of Heart’s Home, Mia was certain she’d fall to her knees herself. Instead, as the cameras clicked, she supported herself on the railing.

“Hang in here with me for a moment longer,” he whispered as he pulled a small box out of his pocket. He opened it and she covered her mouth with her hand, grateful for the support of the railing. It was the ring she had described at the restaurant. A huge blue stone the color of his eyes was surrounded by gold ones that were almost the shade of the flecks in his irises.

“Michael,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Still kneeling and holding the small, velvet box he whispered only loud enough for her to hear, “You asked me in the park if my public image is who I really am…” His eyes sparkled like the stones in the ring. “It’s about to be.”

He inhaled deeply and cleared his throat. “Hermia Lysander Argarapolis,” he said in a loud voice. “I’m a controlling, demanding jackass, and I don’t deserve you, but if you’d do me the honor of marrying me, I swear I’ll do my best to fill the rest of your days with joy and love.” More camera flashes and clicks.

“What about the nights?” Gladys shouted from where she and the Queen B’s were watching through an open window, and everyone, including Mia and Michael, laughed.

“Those especially.” He squeezed her hand. “You asked me what I really wanted and I didn’t answer you. Well, I’m answering now. I want you.”

He removed the ring and handed the box to a nurse standing nearby, then took Mia’s trembling hand in his and slipped the ring on her finger. She closed her eyes briefly, and then met his gaze again.

“Marry me, Mia. Please.”

For a moment, it was as if the entire city had stopped to listen for her answer. There was nothing but she and Michael, and the hammering of her heart, and the heat of his hands on hers. She was living a fairy tale. She was within striking range of a happily ever after—one she’d never thought she’d have.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud. Answer the man already!” Gladys shouted.

Michael’s intense expression held her spellbound for a moment. He appeared to be holding his breath—as if he didn’t know that for Mia there was only one possible answer to his question.

It was barely above a whisper, but that was all she could manage. “Yes.” She cleared her throat and found her voice as the cage around her heart flew open. “Yes, Michael. Yes.”

He wrapped her in his arms and swung her in a circle as Clancy barked and yipped. This time when the camera shutters snapped, it didn’t sound like gunfire. It sounded like applause.

Epilogue

Even wearing noise-cancelling headphones, Mia knew Michael had arrived home from the office because Clancy bolted from his dog bed in the corner of the studio. She lifted her brush and smiled, her body heating as she remembered the promises he’d made when he’d left that morning regarding ratios and how he planned to meet them. One thing about Michael Anderson—he always made good on promises.

Using every bit of self control she had—which was considerably more than before she’d met him, she pushed down the urge to strip off her paint smock and run to the living room to meet him. Instead, she dipped her brush again and continued work. This new series was almost finished and she had contracts for two more.

With her time divided among Heart’s Home in the morning, her private commissioned art in the afternoons, and Michael in the evenings, her life had fallen into a blissful routine. Her smile broadened. Who would have ever believed she’d have any kind of routine? She shook her head and dipped her brush again, waiting for Michael to appear through the doorway dividing her new studio from their apartment, glass of scotch in hand.

Chills shot up her spine as Michael’s warm lips traveled across the nape of her neck instead. He’d departed from his evening ritual, which fired off alarm bells and all kinds of flutters in her belly. She pulled off the headphones and turned to face him, mind racing to figure out what had disrupted his unbreakable routine. He gave nothing away in his face. “You’re doing it again,” she said.

His expression and voice remained placid and controlled. “Doing what?”

Placing her brush on the ledge of the easel, she fought back a grin. “That thing you do when you’re trying to pull something over on me.”

Still wearing his overcoat, he arched an eyebrow. “Hmmm. I’m not sure what you mean.”

She untied her paint smock. “Yes, you do. Like when you surprised me by buying this apartment and converting it into an art studio.”

“Ms. Braxton was more than happy to sell it to me, especially since I offered twice what she paid for it.” Still, his face remained completely unreadable. “And I’m not at all sure that qualifies as pulling something over on you.” And then he did something peculiar—he placed his hand on his chest, his face registering surprise for a fleeting moment before going back to placid.

She circled him, trying to figure out his game. “You also did this when you came back from the psychiatrist last week with Clancy.”

“I was as surprised as you were when Dr. Whittelsey gave him to us. I was pulling nothing over on you.”

“Okay.” She continued her stroll around him. “How about when you had the entire apartment covered in rose petals the day you proposed.” Never in a million years would she forget that day. After the spectacularly public proposal, Lee drove them to Michael’s apartment in his horse-drawn carriage. Michael carried her all the way from the carriage, through the lobby, up the elevator, and into the apartment, which had been carpeted from the front door to the bedroom with red rose petals.

Dimples flashed. “What a mess. I’m still finding petals under furniture.” He winked as she circled back to the front. “Totally worth the mess, though.”

Oh, yeah. She’d made sure he wouldn’t regret a surprise like that. It had inspired Mia to see just how fast one hot man could be divested of his ghastly sweater—and all his other clothes as well. Pretty freaking fast, it turned out.

Her body tightened at the memory of that weekend. He’d been full of all kinds of surprises and inventive suggestions.

Again, he raised his hand to his sternum and his eyes widened.

“Michael?”

He cleared his throat, hand splayed across his chest. “Hmm?”

A tiny white and black muzzle poked out of his overcoat.

“Oh, my!” She covered her mouth with her hands as he pulled the squirming puppy out of his coat.

“Mr. Kawashima sent us an engagement present—one of his wife’s Japanese Chins. Her name is Sachi.”

“Sachi,” she repeated. The puppy couldn’t have been more than ten weeks old and was adorable with her short nose, round tummy, and silky looking hair.

He squatted down to let Clancy sniff the puppy. After a few tail wags and a nudge with his nose, Clancy strolled over to his bed and curled up as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on, right as Michael’s phone rang.

He passed the puppy to Mia. “Hello?” He shot her a look and smiled. He smiled a lot now, Mia realized. “Sure, Will. We’d love for you and Claire to stop in. We have someone we want you to meet.” He stroked the puppy cradled against Mia’s chest as he spoke, and his fingers grazed her skin above the neckline of her shirt. She trembled at the contact and his gaze grew heated. “Actually. I just walked in the door. Why don’t you come by in say, an hour?”

He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “They’re stopping by to hash out some more wedding plans.”

Mia had been stunned when Michael suggested a double wedding with his brother. “Is Chance coming with them?” She liked both of his brothers, but had seen a lot more of Will than the youngest brother.

“No. He always goes to a bar down in Soho on Fridays.”

“I thought he didn’t drink.”

“He doesn’t. I assume he’s hanging with his buddies from the dojang.”

She handed the puppy back to him and took her paintbrush to the sink. “Maybe there’s a girl he likes.”

Holding the puppy against him, he nipped her neck as she rinsed the brush, sending sparks of desire skittering through her. “There’s a girl I like,” he said, tugging the neckline of her T-shirt with his teeth. “A lot.”

He kissed a hot path from her ear to her shoulder, and she had to summon every ounce of concentration she had just to finish the simple task of drying her brush. “How much?”

Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the door between the studio and the apartment. “Let me show you.”

He already had. With words and actions. Far more than she’d ever imagined possible. “What about the puppy?”

“Sachi sleeps through anything.” He shifted the sleeping puppy higher on his chest and picked up speed as he pulled Mia into the bedroom, arching an eyebrow and getting that wicked look in his eye she loved. “I bet she wouldn’t wake up even if you screamed.”

He pulled a pillow from the bed and placed it on the floor, setting the pup in the middle. She didn’t even open her eyes. Then he removed his overcoat and his suit jacket, pitching them carelessly to a chair in the corner, followed by his tie.

“What does Sachi mean?” She asked as he pushed her back onto the bed.

“It means fortunate.” He pulled her shirt over her head and the satin sheets cooled her heated skin. “Lucky.” He kissed a trail from her belly button to the hollow of her throat, lighting her on fire as only he could. “Like me.”

Reaching between them, she unbuttoned his pants. “Let’s see how soundly that puppy sleeps.”

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Acknowledgments

Wow, writing this book was fun, primarily due to the amazing team at Entangled Publishing. I adore you, Liz Pelletier, with or without your savant skills. Thank you to Heather Howland, Candace Havens, Jessica Turner, Curtis Svehlak, Melanie Smith, Brittany Marczak, Kelly Elliott, and Judi Weiss.

As always, thanks to my home team, Sophie, Shana, Lily, Nicole, and Tera.

Big hugs to the girls in Camp Clarke, especially Shawna, for being there 24/7.

Love to my family for putting up with all the… Well, you know.

And most of all, undying gratitude to my readers. It’s all for and because of you.

About the Author

Marissa Clarke lives in Texas, where everything is bigger, especially the mosquitoes.

When not writing or reading, she wrangles her rowdy pack of three teens, husband, and a Cairn Terrier named Annabel who rules the house (and Marissa’s heart) with an iron paw. If you love young adult fiction, be sure to check out Marissa’s alter ego, Mary Lindsey!

www.marissaclarke.com

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