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?”