B00Z637D2Y (R) (10 page)

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.”