Neighbors with Benefits (Anderson Brothers, #2)(4)



When he stepped down, she was feeding the dog something from her hand.

“I promised a treat, and I deliver on promises.” She rubbed the dog’s head and straightened the bow holding the hair out of its eyes. “Hey, thanks for helping me out. Sorry about the noise.”

Yeah, like the noise was anything new. “No problem.” He set the battery on a display table near the door.

“He’s really cute. I love Shih Tzu’s. What’s his name?”

Shitzoo? More like shit head. Yeah, Shit Head was the perfect name for that pillow-murdering thorn in his side. “Dog.”

“His name is Dog?” She fiddled with the heart-shaped tag on Shit Head’s collar. “No, it’s not. It’s Clancy.” Her brow furrowed. “This isn’t your dog.”

“You’re right. I’m taking care of it for a friend,” he said, not wanting to discuss dog therapy. Clancy? Who puts bows and nail polish on a boy dog and names it Clancy? “How did you know it was a boy before you read the tag?”

Looking up at him with her cinnamon-colored eyes, she stated very matter-of-factly, “Boys have penises.”

At that moment, Michael was very aware that he, himself, was a boy. He cleared his throat. “Good to know.” And he felt silly, which was an unfamiliar sensation. How had he not noticed the dog was male? Well, because it was covered in ridiculous hair that hung to the floor, for one thing. And when he’d picked it up, he wasn’t doing a gender check, he was getting the hell out—which brought him to the issue of why he was there in the first place. “Burned bread?” he asked.

“Yeah. I forgot to start a timer.” She set the dog aside and pushed to her feet. “I do it all the time”.

Somehow that didn’t surprise him.

She tucked some strands of shiny black hair behind her ear that had slipped from her ponytail.

Damn, she was gorgeous. And different than anyone he’d met. She wasn’t self-conscious at all and seemed so comfortable, not only about disclosing her forgetfulness, but with her own body. Hell, she was practically naked in that skin-tight outfit, but her mannerisms revealed no discomfort at all. In his years of negotiating antique deals, he’d become an expert at spotting weaknesses and hang-ups that would give him an advantage. This woman appeared hang-up free, which, by his logic, reduced his advantage and upped the challenge. And Michael Anderson loved a challenge.

“Come on, Clancy. Let’s make sure I turned the oven off,” she said. And as if he were the most obedient dog on earth and not a devil that disemboweled a completely innocent and utterly docile down pillow, Shit Head followed Mia into her kitchen, tail wagging.

Watching her very fine ass as she left the room, Michael had to acknowledge that if he’d had a tail, his would be wagging as well. “You seem to have a way with dogs,” he remarked, stepping into the kitchen.

A tray of burned rolls sat abandoned on the counter, hot pads flung nearby. Dishes tilted at precarious angles in a pile in the sink and a large amount of mail was stacked haphazardly in the corner. Messy and noisy. Two things he couldn’t abide.

But when she turned and grinned, his body, still on high alert from having her flattened against him, didn’t seem to mind messy and noisy at all.

“Yeah. I’ve always had a way with animals. Dogs love me and I have no problem training them. I’ve even had jobs as a dog-walker and obedience trainer.” Right at home, the dog curled up on a dishtowel that had slipped from the towel bar.

“What do you do now?”

She smiled. “Not much, really.”

Messy, noisy, and lazy. Three strikes. Still… She was different and intriguing. And judging from her toned body, perhaps not lazy after all.

Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, no.”

Before he could react, she flew past him and out of the kitchen, Shit Head hot on her heels.

“No!” she yelled from the back of the apartment.

He bolted through her disaster of a bedroom and slammed to a halt just outside her bathroom. Water spilled over the lip of the tub as she groaned and jerked the faucets closed and opened the drain. “Quick! Throw me a towel from the cabinet to your left,” she said.

Weighing the cost of repairing his bathroom floor, which was just on the other side of her wall and would be damaged if the water seeped under, versus replacing his custom made shoes, he sat on the edge of her bed and untied them. Then, he carefully rolled up his suit pants.

Wringing the hand towels she’d tugged from the bar next to her, she shouted over her shoulder. “Please! Throw me a towel!”

He did better than that. He opened the cabinet just inside the bedroom door, grabbed the entire stack of towels, and pitched them to the bathroom floor before shoving them against the wall that adjoined his. Maybe he could spare his shoes and his bamboo bathroom flooring. The puddle had barely expanded that far. What a mess. This woman was a disaster. While she fussed over the placement of the towels, he strode back to her bedroom, past her rumpled, unmade bed, and scooped up a heap of clothes from the corner.

“What are you doing?” she practically shrieked as he dropped the clothes to the floor, and then shoved them around with his foot, sopping up some of the remaining water.

“Helping.” He then grabbed the soaked towels one at a time, and careful not to get any water on his suit, he rung them out in the tub which was half-way drained.

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