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.”