The Attraction Equation (Love Undercover)

by Scott, Kadie

  “What?” What was his deal now?

  “Are you and Sabrina a…er…a couple? Sorry—”

  Gina shot up a hand, shutting down the apology he’d started, but couldn’t hold in the laughter that bubbled out. Gay was his go-to if a woman didn’t want him? “Not that it’s any of your business”—she shook her head—“but I’m straight. Sabrina is a friend. And I’m pretty sure she’s over your…turning her down, since she’s never mentioned it.”

  He crossed his arms, not even seeming bothered. “Fine. Then if the dog isn’t my personal punishment, I should point out they’re against the rules.”

  The escape artist must’ve heard his moniker of “dog,” which she’d been calling him all day, because the mutt chose that instant to reinstate his not-so-hilarious game of chase. He shot out from the backside of the couch, lost his footing on the uncarpeted flooring, and slid into the bookshelf, toppling several items from their places. That didn’t stop him, though. He bounded onto the gray leather couch, his claws leaving scratch marks she hoped like hell would rub out, then jumped across Max’s glass coffee table, upending what appeared to be a painfully expensive laptop.

  “Dammit,” Max snapped.

  Gina flinched at his justified expletive but didn’t blame him. She was thinking the same thing anyway.

  Paws scrambling against the hardwood floors, with both Gina and Max in hot pursuit, the dog tore through the kitchen into a fancy dining room—again decorated with modern glass furniture—and proceeded to squat and pee right in the middle of Max’s fancy Persian rug.

  “No. No. No.” Gina beat a now thunderous-looking Max to the dog and scooped him up. “Bad dog.”

  No way could she spank him or rub his nose in the pee. Not when she’d made him stay upstairs longer than he could wait. Definitely not with those adorable brown eyes staring up at her so trustingly. She got a sweet lick on her chin for her forbearance and smiled.

  “Bad dog?” Max practically growled between clenched teeth. “Even Mother Theresa would’ve had more to say than that.”

  With wide eyes, she turned to face the person most likely to rat her out for breaking the building rules. “I’ll clean it up,” she promised, glancing at the yellow puddle quickly absorbing into the pale blue carpeting. “And I’ll pay to have it professionally cleaned, too.”

  If she could afford it. All her odd jobs added up to a barely livable income in New York. Cleaning that carpet might mean eating ramen noodles for the next six months.

  However, a diet of ramen was better than getting her best friend kicked out of her apartment.

  Max jerked his gaze—which she could only describe as filled with utter abhorrence—from the carpet to her.

  Tentatively, she attempted a smile. At least he looked a tad bit more human now. Thanks to all the shenanigans, she’d got her wish—his dark hair was now disheveled and his tie had loosened up, hanging crookedly to the side. Again, that hum of awareness slid through her. She could picture this casual, messed up version of him in bed after a long, hot night. Minus the tie, of course.

  Or maybe with just the tie.

  She mentally shut down the direction of her thoughts. When he continued to stare at her as though in shock, she cleared her throat. “Do you have a carpet cleaner I could use?”

  That seemed to snap him out of it. “I’ll clean it.”

  As he went to turn away, she stepped closer, laying a hand on his arm to stop him. “I should be the one to do it. My dog. My mess. My responsibility.”

  Jeez, how tall was he anyway? Six-foot-three or thereabouts? She was average height at five-foot-six, but he dwarfed her. In addition, he was obviously athletic, if the broad shoulders, slender hips, and muscles clenched tightly under hand were any indication.

  Mmmm…lots of hard muscles.

  Quit it. No more taking physical inventory of the guy. She forced her attention away from his body and back to the man gazing at her, clearly unimpressed.

  He glanced down at her hand. “No offense, but I have standards.”

  Gina wasn’t sure if he was talking about her as a person, or her cleaning skills, but either way… “Listen, buster—”

  A soft female voice coming from outside the door interrupted her. “Are you okay in there, Maxwell?”

  “Mrs. Jewett,” Gina whispered as panicked dismay lanced through her. The slightly batty older lady who lived in the apartment between Sabrina’s and Max’s was outside his door. Not good.

  Before he could answer, another voice joined Mrs. Jewett’s. “What’s going on in there?”

  Gina closed her eyes, a small groan escaping her lips. The gentleman at the end of the hall, whom she had yet to meet—Sabrina’d told her his name, but she forgot—was out there, too?

  “I’m fine—” Max started to answer.

  A sharp rap at the door interrupted him again. “Mr. Carter? We called the Super. He’s on his way up.”

  She snapped her eyes open. The Super? Crap. That was fast.

  Sabrina was going to kill her if Gina lost the apartment, and she’d only been here for two days. Hiding a tiny dog was supposed to be cake. This was not cake. This was…what was the opposite of cake? Garbage. That’s what this was—a stinking pile of garbage, and entirely her fault. Her impulsive nature, even though she always had good intentions, had landed her in a heap of trouble.

  Gina stared at Max with wide, desperate eyes. After a speculative look that made the hairs on her arm stand on end, Max turned away. “I’ll be right there,” he called, completely calm.

  How could he be calm at a time like this? She watched in horror, her stomach rolling in protest, but Max didn’t even glance at her as he went into the kitchen, only to grab a towel and return to drop it over the now-drying pee. Then, still ignoring her, he walked toward the door.

  Run, dummy!

  Apparently, when faced with fight or flight, her instinct was flight. At least in this instance. The mugger who tried to snatch her bag last year got a different response and a black eye. However, run and hide were definitely her best options now.

  Little dog still clutched under one arm, she spent a frantic few seconds figuring out where to go. Spying an open door down a narrow hall, she hustled inside and closed the door behind her as softly as she could.

  Max’s room. Huh.

  No surprise that the space was decorated in a similarly modern way to the rest of the rooms—a king-sized bed with an interesting metal-looking headboard and white sheets tucked with military precision under the mattress, which rested on an open, raised platform. A tall matching mahogany dresser with gleaming metal drawer pulls stood on the opposite wall, and matching bedside tables sat on either side of the bed. A single black-and-white print of New York city hung over the bed. That was it. How very…sparse.

  “Needs more color,” she murmured. A throw, or a plant, or something.

  His room was also as spotless as the rest of the place, as though dust didn’t dare to enter here. The room smelled fantastic, though—an earthy scent tempered by a subtle overtone of orange peel. Scrumptious. That mall job selling scented candles last year had given her a distinct appreciation for scents. She idly wondered if Max’s sheets smelled this good, too? But then she pictured getting caught sniffing his pillows, past experience rearing its ugly head, and thought better of finding out. Besides, she had more important things to worry about.

  Swinging around, she pressed her ear to the door and listened.

  The low murmur of muffled voices reached her. Max seemed to be doing most of the talking. Even on short acquaintance, she’d know those low tones anywhere. The guy had a voice like dark chocolate, and she’d always been a sucker for a baritone. So sexy…but not if he was about to tell on her. Was he giving her up? Fear tightened her stomach. Any second the door would fly open as he revealed her hiding there, caught in the act of harboring a fugitive animal in a No Pets Zone.

  She glanced over her shoulder, desperate for options. Maybe she should hide in the close
t? Or hide the dog in the closet!

  She scooted over to the door and opened it, noting Max’s closet appeared as dirt-free and sparse as the rest of his house. The organized space boasted a row of identical suits in a few different colors, matching ties, monochromatic dress shirts, and five pairs of identical dress shoes, with an empty slot presumably for the pair he wore. She’d bet a month’s paycheck his hangers were spaced exactly two inches apart. He probably had a ruler lying around somewhere to make sure.

  Gina went to close her stowaway inside but paused. No. He might pee on Max’s clothes. She was in enough trouble as it stood, so there went that plan. With a sigh, she returned to the bedroom door, dog still in hand and thankfully remaining still and quiet. Again, she pressed an ear to the door and listened.

  Nothing.

  But then…footsteps. Headed her way. She hopped away from the door and looked frantically around the room. Nope, still nowhere to hide.

  Oh, God. I am so busted.

  She was going to have to find Sabrina another place…assuming her friend was still talking to her after she found out about this fiasco. Maybe Gina would have to give back her half of the BFF necklace they bought in sixth grade? She’d probably have to come up with a hefty deposit to secure Sabrina a new apartment, too, plus pay all the moving expenses. Meanwhile, Gina would have to move in with her mom until she finished paying for everything. That meant commuting to her jobs. Not to mention living with her mom and the latest in a long line of stepdads.

  Yep. I’m so totally screwed.

  Her heart decided it wanted out of this hot mess and went for the escape hatch up her throat, but lodged there as the door opened.

  Max stood there. Just Max.

  They stared at each other for a long moment before she leaned to the side to peer around him. No Super lurking in the halls. No nosy neighbors. No animal control person threatening to take away the dog. They were alone.

  “I took care of it,” he said.

  Gina did her best to swallow her heart back into its rightful place in her chest as she stared at him. “What does that mean?”

  His mouth tilted at one corner. “I didn’t dump their bodies in the river, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Ha. Ha. Now the man was a comedian. She waited for a real answer.

  Max shrugged. “I told them I tripped and fell, then I sent them on their way.”

  The guy had been in the middle of yelling at her, or his silently fuming version of it. Why on earth would he cover for her?

  For the second time that night, she got the distinct impression he was trying not to smile, despite how his expression didn’t change at all, other than a sardonically lifted eyebrow. Her expression must’ve reflected the combination of incredulity, relief, and suspicion that was going on inside her.

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” he added.

  Gina squeezed the dog close to her chest, stroking its soft fur for comfort. “Thank you,” she acknowledged belatedly.

  “Your secret is safe with me…for now.”

  Damn. She should’ve known her head was still on the chopping block. “What do you mean, for now?”

  “I took care of it, but if you want me to keep taking care of it, I need something from you.”

  Yup. Here came the axe. Gina edged away, nerves and disappointment both dogging her steps. Hottie McBlackmailer turned out to be a perv. She lifted her chin. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  Max crossed his arms, and she swallowed at the sight of defined muscles under the fine material of his shirt. “I don’t want sex.”

  She stopped scooting back and eyed him, trying to determine how serious he was. “No?”

  Max slammed her with a charming smile, one that softened the harsher lines of his face and had her stomach fluttering in response. However, like in the hall earlier, his blue-eyed gaze remained distant, and she didn’t quite trust that I-have-my-own-agenda light in his eyes.

  “No,” he said. “I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

  Chapter Three

  Max waited while zero emotion registered on Gina’s face.

  She simply blinked up at him then closed her eyes, her dark eyelashes fanning out over her cheeks. The image suddenly brought to mind how she would look in his bed—dark hair spilling over his pillows, that sun-kissed skin golden against his white sheets, and those long lashes brushing her skin as she slept.

  His body tightened in a gut reaction that caught him off guard even more than the mental picture. Irritated at the inappropriate path of his thoughts, as well as his reaction, he shoved both down deep, turning off that kick of desire.

  Attraction was not remotely part of the equation he had in mind.

  She snapped her eyes open, suspicion staring out at him from big brown eyes as she appeared to remain impervious to his most persuasive smile. “Still here,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

  Amusement tugged at his lips, not for the first time tonight. “Did you think I’d disappear if you closed your eyes?”

  She hitched a shoulder in a shrug. “I was kind of hoping you were a horrible dream.” Then she sidestepped him and walked out into the apartment.

  Max followed. “No such luck. I’m still here, and I still need an answer.”

  She jerked to a halt in his living room and turned to face him, holding the dog up almost like a shield. He had to hide his cringe at the mess going on in here. He needed to get her agreement, then get her and her mutt out of his apartment so he could put everything right.

  Gina planted her free hand on her hip. “Let me get this straight. You…” She trailed her gaze over his body in stark appraisal, and he would’ve sworn he felt it like a physical caress. His dick twitched in his pants. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all.

  “You,” she repeated, “need a pretend girlfriend? What’s wrong with you?”

  Jesus. “Nothing a good bottle of whiskey won’t fix.” He tried out his most appealing smile again but got only a narrow-eyed stare in return. Apparently this woman was impervious to his brand of charm.

  “Something has to be wrong with you.” She waved a hand indicating his person. “People who look like you and live in places like this don’t need pretend girlfriends. Unless you’re a serial killer or have chronic bad breath. So, out with it. What is it?”

  Max choked out a laugh. “Serial killer to halitosis? That’s quite a range.” Despite his amusement, his hands itched to right his laptop, which lay haphazardly on his coffee table. Not to mention dealing with the pee stain still marinating in his dining room.

  She tipped her head, studying him like an amoeba under a microscope. “I’m not wrong.”

  Max sighed. How to explain without giving away more information than he wanted? “Would you believe me if I said my mother made me do it?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Your mother…” she said slowly.

  “I’m basically her pet project, one which involves finding a woman to fix me.” He grimaced. “I may have lied and told my family I have a girlfriend. Now they want me to bring her home for Christmas.”

  She stared at him a long second, then must’ve decided he was telling the truth, because she rolled her eyes. “Stupid move.”

  Max gritted his teeth. “I already figured that out.”

  “Any romantic comedy out there could’ve predicted that outcome,” she continued, seemingly oblivious to his irritation. “You do realize all the men in those movies marry the women they fake a relationship with, right?”

  A shudder rippled through him. “I may be desperate, but I’m not delusional. I can guarantee that won’t happen.”

  Max finally gave in to the need to right his apartment and picked up his laptop. He checked that it functioned, then closed the lid and placed it back on his coffee table, perfectly centered and lined up with the edge.

  He glanced up to find her watching, lips twisted with amusement, and braced himself for her comment. However, instead of a teasing remar
k about him being a neat-freak, she continued with her questions. “Why don’t you just fess up?”

  “I can’t.” Figuring he’d already started, he picked up a pillow that had been knocked from the couch during the chase and returned it to its rightful place in the corner at a right angle to the arm.

  “Because admitting you did something wrong can be scary?” The patronizing tone he’d expected a moment ago was now out in full force.

  “No,” he muttered. “Because, while I can’t stand her matchmaking, I love my mother and don’t want to hurt her. She’d want a reason why I lied, and telling her to get off my back would hurt her. That’s not an option.”

  Why had he shared all those details? A simple “no” should have been enough. Max moved into his kitchen, Gina on his heels, and grabbed stuff to clean his carpet.

  “Please, let me,” she offered as soon as she recognized what he was doing.

  “I’ve got it,” he insisted. “You hold onto your vandalizer.”

  The animal, which only a short time ago had been sprinting around his apartment, now remained innocently calm in her arms. He was panting, making him look like he was laughing at this entire situation.

  Max squatted by the now-ruined dishtowel he’d thrown over the spot. After reading the instructions on the can of solvent, he shook the bottle well, removed the top, and sprayed the spot. Then he set a timer on his watch and stood.

  She glanced at him, then down at the spot. “Are you going to scrub it?”

  “The instructions say to wait sixty seconds.”

  “Oh.”

  Again, he could see the screws turning in her head as she assessed him. Again, he waited for the sarcastic comment, but none came.

  “So…you can’t admit you lied,” she continued. “What about breaking up with your non-existent girlfriend?”

  Max crossed his arms. “That won’t work, either.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then I still have to deal with being set up at Christmas by my family.”

  An inelegant guffaw escaped her, because picturing Max surrounded by women while afraid to tell his family to back off must have struck her as too ridiculous to be true. But when he didn’t laugh too, she pulled herself together. “Sounds downright Victorian.”