Neighbors with Benefits (Anderson Brothers, #2)(22)

“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.