“Well. Whatever label you put on it, it’s still perfect,” Glo said.
Back to that? “Okay. I give. What, exactly, is perfect?”
“Your situation with Landon. A fun-night stand with him would be the perfect fix to your issue with thinking you’re in love.”
“I seriously doubt he has any interest in dating me.” But her private parts tingled at the idea of taking his clothes off. Because yowza.
“Not dating. No dating. Sometimes I think your vintage lifestyle has seeped into your brain.” Glo laughed at her own joke and elbowed Kimber good-naturedly. “Anyway, I’m not talking about dating or having a boyfriend. I’m talking about an affair. A clandestine one.”
“Oh, I see. You’re insane.” Kimber sent her a wry smile.
“He kissed you. You kissed him. You’re practically lovers already.”
Kimber laughed but it sounded strange. And strained. And she was a little sweaty now that a visual of her sexing up Landon Downey had flashed onto the frontal lobe of her brain. She chewed on the inside of her lip while she stirred her iced cappuccino with the straw. Glo was right. He had kissed her. Heck, he’d made the first move. Well, if she didn’t count stroking his temple with her fingernails. And the moonlit night had been romantic…
“You’re thinking about it,” Gloria sang.
“Yeah, I am. I’ve sort of been wandering in the desert since Mick and I split. I’m on a diet of no sex and arguing with my ex. And, you know… he’s Mick.” She gave Gloria a meaningful look. They’d dished about their sex lives before. Glo knew how unsatisfied she’d been.
Glo grunted. “Yeah, well Cameron was my last and that was over a month ago.” She wrinkled her nose. “No good.”
“Why do you insist on finding guys at the club if it never works out?”
“Because one day it might.” Sad thing was, she knew Glo really believed that. That she’d find her Prince Charming in the midst of absinthe and Jäger bombs. “Too bad I don’t like kids. Or my client might be a good option.” She sent a meaningful glance over at Lyon.
“You don’t mean…”
“Hey, Evan is hot. Hot with two Ts.”
She couldn’t argue. “He is. And he’s a good dad.”
Gloria sighed. Kimber said nothing. Gloria’s home life hadn’t been a pretty one. Compared to her druggie mother and various foster homes, Kimber’s adolescence resembled The Brady Bunch. Glo probably thought she’d make a terrible mother. But what woman didn’t worry about what kind of parent she’d be?
By comparison, Kimber couldn’t fault her own parents. After she’d grown up, she realized they were disturbingly normal. Human. Accidentally pregnant with Kimber, her mother had married her father. The marriage lasted sixteen years before ending in divorce. It was the not-earth-shattering story of how two people who were once in love grew apart. Kimber planned on getting married one time, and one time only. But at this rate, even that was looking un-doable. She’d developed a bad pattern. A pattern of searching for longevity where there was none. Why she expected every next relationship to stand the test of time was easily deciphered: She wanted forever.
“Hey.” Glo snapped her fingers. “Jack Handey. Having some Deep Thoughts over there?” She smiled at her own joke. “So what do you think of a fling?”
“A fling?”
“Do you prefer millionaire affair?”
“Gloria,” she reprimanded, appalled.
“Okay, okay,” her friend said around a laugh. Fun-night stand.”
“Mick was a one-night stand and that didn’t work out.” Or, at least, that had been the idea. It’d been Glo who’d suggested Kimber pick up Mick. He was supposed to help her get over an ex-boyfriend. It worked. A little too well.
“Not a one-night stand.” Glo fell silent as a woman walked by with her toddler daughter in tow. When the mother was out of earshot, she continued. “A fun-night stand.”
“And that is?”
She shrugged. “A fling that lasts until it stops being fun. Yours is pre-packaged to be just that. Landon doesn’t do connection, obviously, if he was so willing to have an ‘arrangement’ with that supermodel.”
Kimber wrinkled her nose. That arrangement didn’t make sense. Not really. Landon was from a beautiful, giving, lovely family. He genuinely loved and cared for his siblings and nephew. She’d seen him around Lyon. He was great with him. And Angel told her how he hadn’t wanted Lyon to stay at his business’s day care. He’d hired Kimber so that Evan could take his art immersion classes. So that Lyon could have round-the-clock care. And Landon wasn’t the Tin Man.
And now that she thought about Lyon… “It won’t be easy. We sort of have a child in the house.”
“A big house. Parents find a way. You”—Glo poked her arm—“will find a way.”
She had to laugh. This was sounding more like a mission by the minute. “I’m not a sitcom character, you know. This isn’t a romantic comedy where you can concoct a plot and a specific outcome.”
“I know! This is your life.” Glo opened her palms to the heavens, then shook Kimber’s arm. “And your life doesn’t have to be this much pressure! You’ve gone from long-term relationship to long-term relationship. Trust me on this. You need laid, not encumbered.”
She could get behind that. The very last thing she wanted was to be encumbered. Again. “But Angel’s my friend. Won’t that be awkward?”
“Why? Do you go to her house for Christmas or something?”
Valid point. “What if Landon tells Evan and Evan talks to you about it?”
“They’re men, sweetheart, they don’t gossip like we do. If Landon did tell Evan, it’d never get back to me. Plus, I’d already know because you’re going to tell me everything.”
“Everything?” Kimber asked with a weak smile.
Glo waggled her brows. “Everything.”
“A fun-night stand,” Kimber murmured to herself. “It does have a nice ring to it.”
Gloria grinned, satisfied. “Does, doesn’t it?”
Lyon picked a dandelion and handed it to the very little girl who had walked by with her mother a moment ago. She was sitting in the sandbox, her chubby knees poking out of the sand. He offered again and the girl took the weed and rolled it between her tiny fingers. Then he patted her on the arm and smiled that charming Downey smile.
“God, he’s cute,” Glo said, something wistful and rare lining her happy-go-lucky voice.
“I know,” Kimber replied softly.
You should see his uncle.
* * *
Landon hadn’t wanted to go to work on Saturday, not when it was Lyon’s last day here. He’d appeased himself by promising he’d come home early. He did; right around six, which wasn’t half-bad.
And yeah, he’d been hard on his designers this week. Harder than necessary, truth be told. They weren’t as dim or imbecilic as he’d accused them of being. He could be a tyrant when he was laser-focused. He’d gifted them with certificates to a local restaurant, enough for them to treat their spouses/significant others. They’d earned it. Windy City now had a solid visual concept everyone was behind. No slogan yet, but he breathed a sigh of relief at having made it this far.
When he’d overheard several people making plans to go out tonight, he’d found himself feeling the rare urge to be included in the celebration. Not that he’d intended on going—he never hung out with his employees in a casual environment. They didn’t want him to, and he understood why. Who wanted to hang out with the boss? Watch everything they say? But he’d entertained the notion, picturing Kimber on his arm, her body decked out in a vintage dress showcasing the length of her legs, her hair a bright red twist at the back of her neck.
That’s when he’d concluded the fantasy had nothing to do with going out with his co-workers. He wanted to go out with her. Especially after the kiss on the balcony last night. How many times had he caught his mind straying to the memory of her fingers on his neck, the press of her breasts against his chest, the e
rotic way she slid her tongue along his lips? Too many.
Or not enough.
The thought of Kimber at one of his work functions made him smile. Her presence would go over a lot smoother than Lissa’s. Lissa saw herself as a work of art. As a result, she was constantly striking a pose or pulling her lips into a moue for whoever might be looking in her direction. She’d told him once her job was to be “consistently beautiful.” At the time, he’d understood. His job was to be consistently professional; he could relate to the pressure of meeting expectations.
But Kimber wouldn’t have to justify why she was doing what she did. And he’d bet she’d go a long way to bridging the gap between his employees and him. She wasn’t just good with people. She was real. Real, and so darn likable. If they arrived arm in arm, he had no doubt everyone in the restaurant would wonder how he’d gotten the natural, fidgety, sexy redhead to accompany him. He wondered if she would go out with him. Odd that he wasn’t sure what she’d say if he asked her.
Art board for Windy City under his arm, he stepped into his house planning on making a beeline for his office. Until the tantalizing smell of peppers and cheese stopped him cold. A pizza box stood on the countertop and he drifted to it like it was outfitted with a tractor beam. Or like those cartoon characters that lifted off the floor and floated toward the scent. He’d been so out of the habit of eating pizza—thanks to living with a raw-food-diet supermodel—he couldn’t remember the last slice of Giordano’s he’d had. Four years ago? No. Five.
A lifetime.
He abandoned the art board and his briefcase, chucking his jacket over a chair. Then he dove in to the box, eating one slice, and a second, pausing only long enough to scrub his mouth with a paper towel between big, greedy bites. He never would have found pizza in the house when he’d dated Lissa. “Cursed carbs” were strictly off her diet. He hadn’t thought giving up pizza had been that big of a deal. After inhaling two slices, though… Lord have mercy.
He laid waste to a third piece, dug a bottle of water out of the fridge, and guzzled it down. Then he tracked through the house to find his nephew. What was with the lack of welcome home tonight? He was early and neither Lyon nor Kimber were anywhere to be seen. They wouldn’t have gone somewhere without telling him, would they?
But then he heard them. His nephew’s laughter punctuated by Kimber’s mid-range ha-ha-ha. Landon followed the sound through the hallway, to the right… and straight to his own bedroom.
Lyon giggled, a sound of pure joy, and Landon felt the pressure from the week melt off him. Not wanting them to hear him coming, he toed his shoes off and stepped lightly on the hardwood floor.
“You look silly!” Lyon said, erupting again.
“Do I?” Kimber.
“Fix mine.” Lyon.
What were they doing?
“Okay, here. Wait. Wow. I used to know how to do this. I used to be really good at it. If you don’t use it you lose it, right?”
Landon crept to the door frame, not wanting to interrupt but too curious not to poke his head in on them.
“What’s that mean?” Lyon asked. The kid was a master of questioning everything. Would make an excellent lawyer someday.
“It means if I don’t practice tying ties, then I forget how to tie them. Even though you never forget how to ride a bike,” she murmured to herself. “Or how to play Euchre.”
Landon smiled at her logic. Illogical logic.
“What’s Euchre?” Lyon asked. On second thought, the kid might make a better game show host.
“A card game.”
“Can we play?”
“Let’s finish this up first,” she answered.
Landon gave himself up and peered around the door frame. Kimber and his nephew were seated on the floor, each of them wearing one of Landon’s shirts. Lyon had on a blue oxford and she wore a dry-clean-only white. A slow, stupid smile spread across his face at the scene he’d just walked in on.
“Uncle Landon! Check it out.” Lyon stood, then held his arms to his sides to show off his duds.
Kimber rose slower, looking a little chagrined… and gut-clenching sexy. A pair of black plastic glasses rested on her nose, and a tie around her neck was twisted into the most hopeless knot imaginable.
Lyon straightened his matching pair of glasses, too big for his face.
“Who are you dressed as?” Landon leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms, studying Lyon’s glasses, shirt, and not-quite-right necktie. Had his nephew dressed like him? Something welcome unfurled in the center of his chest.
“We’re Clark Kent!” Lyon pulled his shirt open to reveal his Superman pajamas.
Landon nodded his understanding. Kimber gave him a sheepish grin and pulled her shirt open, revealing a red “S” made of construction paper she’d pinned between her small, but amazing, breasts.
“Kimber says we’re doing it right even though this didn’t happen in Man of Steel,” Lyon said.
“A purist,” Landon said, keeping his eyes on her.
“Through and through,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his gaze.
Lyon wrestled with his tie… which more resembled Jacob’s ladder than a double Windsor. “Want me to fix it?”
“No. I’m done doing this.” He pried the tie and shirt off and dropped them onto the floor before running down the hall, faster than a speeding bullet, to the living room. “I have to go watch Man of Steel!”
“Hey, you left—” Landon called after him. He stopped short at the feel of Kimber’s fingers brushing his arm.
“It’s okay, I’ll get it.” She bent to gather the discarded play clothes—his actual work clothes—from the floor. “Sorry about this.” She gestured with the clothes in her hands. “Kind of invaded your space.”
She was nervous. Adorable. She plucked the glasses off her nose and slid them into her hair. It was down today, in soft waves tickling her shoulders. When she screwed her eyes up at him, she looked small and guilty.
“You don’t know how to tie a tie.” He unfolded his arms and pushed off the door frame where he’d been leaning. As he went to work unraveling it, his fingers brushed her neck every so often. Her skin was so soft. Memories of last night, of the taste of her lips, the way she’d ridden him fully clothed, tightened his next breath.
“I used to,” she said quietly, pulling his shirt closed over her tank top and buttoning the buttons one by one.
“Don’t they teach you that in fashion school?” He threw the wide end of the tie over the narrow end, then repeated the motion.
“Yes. I learned how when I was seven; used to love to tie my dad’s ties.”
The mention of her father reminded him of the summer her parents had divorced. She’d been upset. He’d seen the evidence in her defeated stature at his family’s dinner table. His parents had been a unit, so in love that it’d nearly killed his father when Mom died. But Landon had a solid family, siblings. Kimber had no siblings, he remembered, and her parents’ marriage had fractured when she was at a fragile age.
He didn’t know what it would be like not to be able to count on his family. He’d probably taken for granted that his parents would be there for him when he came home from college that summer. And they had. They’d welcomed him back, no questions asked. Well, almost no questions. He’d been as vague as possible when his mother asked why he was home and not on campus. He’d told her that Rachel dumped him, that he was okay, but wanted to be home. She’d accepted his words at face value, never prying into his personal life. She’d died not knowing she almost had another grandchild. At least she’d gotten to know Lyon, he thought, suddenly sad.
He stuffed the bottom of the tie through the loop, shaking off his morose thoughts. “I never thanked you for helping me with my paper that summer you stayed with us.” Creative writing. Hell on earth. One would think that as a marketing major, who was an excellent designer, he’d have a good grasp of writing a paper. He didn’t. Slogans were a breeze compared to two-thousand-word fictional storie
s. Kimber had offered to look at his story—hell if he could remember now what it’d been about—and handed it back to him obliterated with red marks. She’d apologized profusely at the time.
“Oh, that,” she said now, a smile tugging her mouth. “I was… overzealous back then.”
“You were also right.” The praise he’d gotten for that assignment was for the elements she had suggested adding. Advanced English Lit had treated her well. She was smart.
She finished buttoning the shirt. “Did you get an A?”
“I got a C.” He tightened the knot of the tie, sparing her a glance. “Not your fault.” The television blared from the other room, shocking the silence from the air and surprising him. He jerked, in the process knocking his hand against her chin. Her teeth clacked together audibly and she lifted a hand to cover her lips, scrunching her eyes shut.
“Oh my God, Kimber. Are you all right?” Way to go, just punch her in the face, why don’t you? He cradled her jaw in his hands. Her damp eyes fluttered open. “I’ll get you some ice.”
Lightly touching his hand, she shook her head. “No. I’m okay.” She blinked again, sniffing. “Natural reaction to being clocked in the jaw.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She smiled, though, holding no grudge. Rather than move his hand away, he trailed his fingers from her face to her neck. Her hair tickled the backs of his hands and her eyes darkened to forest green. His attention snapped to her lips and, in a rush, he remembered last night. The way she’d climbed on him, claimed him, stroked her eager tongue against his…
She thought about it, too. He could tell by the way she tipped her chin… And he was kissing her again. With no more invitation than that. He moved his lips slowly, gently over hers, his fingers resting on her neck, his thumbs under her chin. Then it was over and he was pulling his head back to train his eyes on hers.
“I want you.” He brushed her lip with the pad of one thumb. “Badly.”
She watched him, motionless and silent instead of fidgety and flabbergasted.
A good sign. “Say something.”
“This is the part where I’m supposed to say this is a bad idea, right? That we should be responsible and think of Lyon and not get involved.”
The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance) Page 10
