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.