Neighbors with Benefits (Anderson Brothers, #2)(3)

“Thank God,” he said, scooping it up and tucking it against his side like a football. “Glad your survival instincts are in working order.” Well, that, or it just needed to pee. Dr. Whittelsey said it would bark at the door when it needed to go out.

When he entered the hallway, he stopped short. The neighbor’s door was standing wide-open and faint wisps of smoke drifted out. Not enough to burn down the building or even trip the central alarm or sprinklers, but evidently enough to set off a smoke detector in the unit. Stepping further in the hallway to get a better look, he froze.

Standing on a rolling desk chair immediately inside the door was a woman. He couldn’t see anything from the ribs up, but he could see her legs and belly—her exceptionally well-toned legs and belly—and her shiny, skin-tight, cobalt-blue exercise shorts adorned with hot-pink swirls.

Surely this wasn’t the house sitter from hell.

The dog barked and the woman leaned down from her perch on the chair and peeked under the door frame.

“Oh, hey,” she said with a smile. “Cute dog.”

Whoa. Cute girl. “Uh, thanks.”

“Sorry for the scare.” She stood again, and the desk chair seat swiveled then stilled. “I’ll make this thing shut up in just a sec.”

The dog whined, then wiggled, and Michael lost his grip, barely able to control the beast’s fall before it hit the floor running. Like a furry tornado, it sped down the hall as an elderly man opened his door to check out what was going on. Since it was mid-morning, most people were at work.

Shit. “Come here, dog!”

“Maybe if I pull here…” Before she could finish her sentence, the chair swiveled, and then tilted while she struggled to not lose her balance. Too late. It was obvious she was going down. Michael charged forward, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against him right as the chair toppled over, upended casters spinning in the air—spinning like his head as he held her tight against his body.

Convincing himself that his heart hammering a million miles a minute was solely the result of his evacuation scare, always in control Michael Anderson was stunned to find himself momentarily unable to speak…or move…or do anything but hang onto the stranger and stare. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen an attractive woman before, but somehow this one had taken him by surprise. Damn, she felt good.

Reluctantly, he loosened his grip and she slid down his body, her arms looping around his neck before her feet touched the floor. “Thanks,” she said, barely above a whisper, making no effort to move away.

“My pleasure,” he replied, knowing full well that, being completely pressed up against him like that, she could tell just how true that statement was.

The dog barked from the end of the hall, and his head cleared enough to bring him back from his proximity paralysis.

“What the hell is going on here?” the man down the hall called, echoing Michael’s sentiments precisely. What was going on? She was the house sitter from hell, for God’s sake.

Still clinging to his neck, she answered the man back. “It’s okay. I forgot I had some bread under the broiler. Everything’s cool.” The man shook his head and closed his door. Most of the people bought into this building because they valued their privacy. It was held out as exclusive, secure, and quiet. And it lived up to its reputation… until recently.

Michael dropped his arms to his sides and she slid hers from around his neck, leaving him feeling cold somehow.

She stepped back and scanned him head-to-toe, then grinned. The dog yipped from the end of the hall, barely audible over the still-pulsing alarm.

“Hey little pup!” she called. “Come here. Want a treat?”

The dog stopped running in a circle at the stairwell door and faced her.

“Yeah, treat,” she called, and the beast came running, hair flying out to the sides as it bolted toward them.

Son-of-a-bitch. There was a magic word to make the thing obey. Treat. Yeah, well, he might come running if she called him, too. He shook his head. No. That’s absurd. He had no time in his life for that kind of nonsense. He didn’t run when called.

“I’m Mia,” she said, extending her hand.

He took her hand, surprised by her firm grip. “Michael.”

“Well, Michael, I tried to remove the battery from the smoke detector, but I can’t figure out how to take the cover off,” she said, voice a bit loud in order to carry over the still-shrieking alarm. She picked the dog up and held it against her chest, which was covered by a sports bra that matched her shorts.

Lucky dog.

“Do you think you could help me out and give it a try?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She stepped back and he entered what looked more like the inside of a spin-art machine than a living room. The floor was covered with a bright blue tarp, and a large canvas, covered in brilliant splatters, sat propped up against the tarp-covered sofa. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. At least the smoke had dissipated for the most part. “Do you have a step-stool?”

“Nah.” Dog in her arm, she grabbed what appeared to be an authentic eighteenth century mahogany Hepplewhite shield chair. “Just use this,” she shouted over the alarm as she dragged it under the smoke detector above the entry door.

Grimacing, he stepped up onto the leather cushion. The Braxton woman was going to have a fit if she ever found out her fine antique had been abused like this. The smoke alarm cover slipped right off after a quarter turn, and the battery was no problem either, resulting in sweet silence.