The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance)

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I think we should make some headway on the list,” he said instead. “I hate unfinished business.”

  “What number did we do last?”

  He blurted out the truth before he could stop himself. “Four.”

  Lips on the edge of her mug, she lifted an amber brow. “Is five what you had in mind tonight?”

  And then some. “I thought I’d feed you first. How’s dinner sound?”

  “Far away,” she murmured, sipping her coffee.

  He couldn’t read her expression. Did she not want to wait? Or was she simply responding to fill the air?

  “And then, number five,” he added, trying to keep things light. Suddenly he was worried she might turn him down, adding to the melee of confusion circling his brain this morning. He really should have gotten more sleep.

  Her smile undid him, sparking his attraction for her into a full-blown forest fire. “I’m going to have to see this list.”

  “I’ll e-mail it to you.”

  “It’s typed?” She looked amused. And so gorgeous he ached to touch her again.

  He shook his head and maintained his distance. “It’s not typed.” It was feverishly scrawled onto a Post-it and wedged into his wallet.

  “Oh. You were teasing.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought I was getting better at picking up on your sense of humor.”

  “Have you been trying to figure me out, Kimber?”

  He leaned a palm on the counter behind her and hovered over her, flattered she’d thought about him in a way other than physical. The innocence in her eyes nearly floored him. And reminded him who he was. Who she was. Despite their promises not to make promises, he wondered if they were playing with fire.

  He backed away abruptly. “That’s a bad idea.”

  Ignoring her downturned lashes, he kissed her forehead and pushed away from her before giving in to temptation and taking back his last words. He trekked to the living room, putting some much-needed distance between himself and the gorgeous redhead muddying his brain.

  * * *

  Kimber knelt in front of the boy she’d mothered for almost a week and smiled at the Superman T-shirt stretched over his little chest. “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

  Lyon’s face pinched slightly. “Are you going to come and see me at my house?”

  “Um…” She wondered if he latched on to every woman he met, if he’d latched on to her. Or if, by telling him truthfully she would not be coming to see him—likely wouldn’t see him anytime soon—he’d be hurt. Maybe not. Kids were more resilient than adults in most cases.

  Who knew what was going on in that head of his?

  “We live very far away, buddy,” Evan said. “But you are welcome to invite her to your birthday party next month. Maybe Kimber can come if she doesn’t have to go to work.”

  She shot Evan a smile, grateful he knew what to say.

  “Yeah! You can come to my Superman birthday party!” Lyon smiled, appeased.

  “Superman.” She dropped her jaw in faux shock. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. For real,” he said so seriously, they all laughed.

  She didn’t want to promise and let him down so she said, “Send me an invitation and I’ll do my best to make it.” But even that sounded like a promise to her ears. And it hurt, lying to him. By next month, she and Landon would have long blown through the list, and their temporary relationship. She ignored the sadness trying to leak into her chest.

  Lyon turned to embrace his uncle as Kimber stood. Seeing Landon smile at his nephew and give him gentle orders like “be good on the ride home” and “don’t forget me” clenched her heart. He was wholly capable and loving with that boy. Another thought nudged the edge of her mind, but she refused to let it come forward. It was dangerous comparing herself to his flesh and blood; people he would love forever no matter what.

  After Evan and Lyon made their way out the door, she excused herself to pack. Landon kissed her, promising to pick her up tonight at her place. “Wear a dress,” he’d instructed as the elevator doors slid shut between them.

  She paid the cab driver, sifting through her purse for another twenty as her fingers slipped over the check Landon had given her. It was a lot of money. A generous amount. And in a way, despite her protests, it did feel a bit like payment for what had happened between them last night.

  But she couldn’t think that way. She had a date with number five on his list… whatever that was. In truth, she’d been surprised that he’d asked her out on a date. Their parameters didn’t exactly include social situations.

  What did you expect? Just sex?

  Maybe. Wouldn’t just sex be easier? She was already having a hard time separating her emotions from the physical act they’d shared. Every other minute she had to remind herself not to feel anything for Landon. Or Lyon, for Pete’s sake. Evan had also nudged his way into her heart. Like they had when she was sixteen, she found herself falling in love with the Downeys. All it’d take would be her showing up to Lyon’s birthday party and being around the entire clan. Then she’d be a goner.

  So. Maybe this fun-night stand business had been a tad ill-advised. In Gloria’s defense, she hadn’t known how close Kimber had grown to the Downeys that summer a hundred years ago. Too late to turn back now. Her feet were not only wet, they were encased in cinder blocks and she was sinking.

  Stop being so melodramatic. You’re not sinking. You’re a loving person.

  A loving person capable of walking away from Landon when they were through with the list. Or at least she hoped so. For both their sakes. She didn’t want him to hate her when this was over. Ice pick to the heart, that thought. She shook it off as she climbed the stairs at the side of Hobo Chic leading to her apartment.

  Keys hovering over the knob, she noticed the door open a crack. She froze solid in the doorway, her mind spinning. If someone had broken into her place, she had no weapon. Well, she had one weapon. Fingers at the ready to dial 9-1-1 on her iPhone, she pushed the door open with the tip of her house key.

  The room was in its normal (not ransacked) state, and the usual cluttered mess of bills, reports, and fashion magazines was scattered across the breakfast bar. Mick sat on a backless stool, paper in hand. He lifted his head when she walked in.

  Her shoulders dropped in relief. She pocketed her phone. “What are you doing here? I almost called the police because my door was unlocked.”

  “Relax. It’s just me.”

  “You could have asked if you could come over and do whatever it is you’re doing.”

  He put aside the sheet of paper he’d been reading and tipped a beer bottle to his lips. A beer he’d stolen from her fridge. She scanned his threadbare T-shirt, cargo shorts, and ratty Chuck Taylors resting on the rung of the stool. “I have a key,” he said, cleanly transferring the blame to her. “I needed to check on a shipment. If you don’t want me here—”

  “It’s fine.” She held up a palm as she dragged her suitcase past him and to her bedroom. Which, no thanks to this being a loft, was in the same room. There really was no escaping Mick Stringer as long as they co-owned Hobo Chic.

  “Guess I could have called but I didn’t want to interrupt your millionaire affair.”

  She whipped around. How did he know about that?

  He leaned an elbow on the counter and smiled. “Neil.”

  She should have known. Gloria wouldn’t have told. “It isn’t like that.” Only it is, she thought, unpacking and tossing her dirty clothes into a hamper. It was exactly what it sounded like. She’d had sex with a millionaire while living at his place. Also, he’d given her some money. She mentally cringed.

  “Is? Present tense? So you’re seeing him again?”

  She turned, bright, tropical-print pants in hand. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “Wear the green dress,” he said, unfazed. He returned his attention to his paperwork.

  A clothing rack serving as her closet stood at the end of her bed. Th
e new-to-her, safari-style green silk button-down dress he’d referred to hung in a primo spot at the end. She’d picked the dress out of her latest acquirements for the store the day she left to go to Landon’s. Other than the one time she tried it on, she hadn’t worn it.

  Mick’s mouth kicked into a half smile. “You look good in green.”

  She shoved the empty suitcase under her bed, not wanting to have this conversation with him. It was… weird. “Are you going to be here much longer? I have to get ready.”

  He spared her a glance. “Tonight? You’re seeing him tonight?”

  Frustrated, she held up her palms. “Yes. I’m seeing him tonight.”

  His face puckered, not liking that for whatever reason. He slid off the stool and moseyed over to her and she tensed, unsure what he was going to do. He palmed her shoulders and she stood prone, wanting to swat him away but not wanting to hurt his feelings. They were in such a predicament. She didn’t hate him. But she didn’t really like him. And she’d never really loved him. More the idea of him. The idea that she could have forever with a man who enjoyed the same things she did. A man who had a vested interest in her future. Now they were co-workers and partners, no longer lovers or roommates, their relationship inconvenient and unpredictable in every way.

  “You’re not this girl, Kimber.” As if consoling her, he rubbed her upper arms. She shrugged him off. Maybe because he had a point.

  She’d never been the type of girl capable of an unattached fling, with a millionaire or otherwise. Look at her and Mick. She was supposed to take him home for one night of fun and had swathed him into her life instead.

  “Maybe I am now,” she said. She’d have to be. Because there was no way she and Landon were ending with her in retched heartache because she’d turned this into something it wasn’t.

  Mick sighed and turned away, taking the report he’d been reading with him. “Have it your way.” He paused at the door. “But I’ll hate gloating when this jerk ends up hurting you.”

  “No you won’t,” she said. Unfairly, probably. “But thanks. Your support is overwhelming.”

  Mick didn’t argue and she was glad. He patted the door with one hand before shutting it behind him.

  Kimber sat on the edge of her bed. She refused to let herself end up hurt. She could have an affair without getting super involved. Landon was in no position to get super involved, so in a way, he was as safe as they came.

  She stood and lifted the green dress off the rack, holding it against her body. The full-length mirror showed a woman with red hair, rosy cheeks, and the will and ability to have a fling if she damn well pleased. There wasn’t time for any longer of a pep talk than that.

  She had a date to get to.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After dinner in the Hancock building’s restaurant on the ninety-fifth floor—yeah, he’d been showing off—Landon held Kimber’s hand as they walked down Navy Pier. He watched her lick an ice cream cone out of the corner of his eye. The sight of her tongue was enough to make him cut the date short and drag her home right then. If not for how fun she was to hang out with, he may have. She offered him the rest, and he ate it, keeping hold of her hand with his free one.

  Even for August, the weather was cooler than usual, an almost refreshing breeze rolling off the lake and chilling his bare arms beneath the short sleeves of his polo shirt.

  His eyes traveled over Kimber’s dress again. Sitting across from her at the dimly lit restaurant had kept her body from view. Now, out in the open, he could look his fill. She looked… God. She looked incredible.

  At first glance, the green dress was nothing remarkable: a simple, sleeveless number with pockets and a tie at the middle. But on her body… Wow. The dress skimmed over her supple thighs in a way that made his mouth water.

  They’d stopped to admire the moonlight bouncing off the water, but he couldn’t keep his eyes on the scenery. She’d worn her hair up in a ponytail, wavy strands framing her face. His gaze snapped to her thighs again, and he followed the length of her bare legs down to flat, strappy sandals and painted toenails. He remembered the feel of those legs wrapped around him, her heels digging into his butt as she’d pulled him closer. The sound of her high—

  The weight of her gaze pulled him out of the memory. He was staring. Quite possibly drooling.

  A small smirk sat on her mouth as if she knew what he’d been thinking. It was all he could do not to taste her lips. The only thing stopping him was the reminder that while this was technically a date, it wasn’t a real one. This was the foreplay to what would come after. For both their sakes, he’d do well to remember that clause in their agreement.

  He tugged her to a nearby bench. They sat quietly and listened to the sounds of the pier: musicians playing, children laughing, rides spinning. “We could get on the Ferris wheel, you know.” He hadn’t been on a Ferris wheel since he’d moved here straight out of college. Hadn’t had the urge to get on one since, but with Kimber it sounded fun. With Kimber, everything sounded fun.

  “And what, make out?” she asked.

  He closed his arm around her waist, her silken dress beneath his fingers as smooth as her skin. “Yes.” His voice came out a low growl.

  She laughed and rested a hand on his thigh, her touch burning a hole through the light slacks he’d worn. Her fingers traced a circle over the material and he shifted, a certain part of him stirring. If she wasn’t careful, she’d awaken the sleeping giant.

  “I have to admit, I was surprised you asked me on a date.”

  “Why?” he asked. But he knew.

  Her ponytail slid over her shoulder when she tilted her head to look at him. “Because it wasn’t on the list.”

  Tensing, he gave a subtle shake of his head. “You really are all about the list, aren’t you?” For some reason it frustrated him to have to plan for everything. Or maybe it frustrated him that she had to plan for everything. Which wasn’t like him at all. He loved plans. Normally.

  “I have to be,” she muttered.

  He tipped her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “What does that mean?”

  She licked her bottom lip and clamped on to it with her teeth. A memory of the first kiss they’d shared, of the moment she’d climbed atop him and speared her fingers into his hair and kissed him for all she was worth echoed a sentiment stirring the giant to life. He was going to have to limp out of here if he didn’t kill this line of thinking.

  “I don’t want to be your Lissa.”

  Her comment startled as much as angered him. She was nothing like Lissa. Kimber was warm and responsive and cared, probably too much, about everyone she came in contact with. It bothered him that she’d compare herself to the heartless supermodel who’d left him in the dust for no more than a publicity stunt. Further, it bothered him that Kimber could ever imagine he’d treat her like he had Lissa. He’d been more careful, more gentle, more open, with Kimber than he had with anyone in a long, long time.

  The anger built the longer he considered her comment, which was probably why, when he did speak, the question came out surlier than he’d intended. “And what the hell does that mean?”

  She placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “Nothing.”

  Something. But he’d better not push her. He’d already opened a can of thought best left sealed.

  “You want to check off the list and walk away,” he said, reiterating her original request. He’d been all for that—still was all for it. But those two words “walk away” niggled at him. Why? Because your list is ongoing and can’t be completely checked off.

  “Exactly,” she said, her expression stoic. She slid her hand higher on his thigh. “Back home?”

  His heart gave the faintest clench. He knew she was referring to his home, not hers. For a short period of time it’d been her home as well. In her mind, maybe it still was her home. In the interim.

  The realization warmed him. Even though it shouldn’t.

  * * *

  Kimber pulled the sheet over her
breasts as Landon held on to a corner to cover his bare butt. He arranged himself on the balcony sofa, head resting on the back of it, chest glistening with sweat in the moonlight.

  “I can’t believe we did that out here,” she said, lifting a lock of hair from her forehead. She sent a furtive glance at the buildings surrounding them and prayed no one had equipped their window with a telescope. She’d seen a movie like that once.

  “We had to,” he said, his voice low and deep and damn sexy. “It was number five.”

  “And we have to go in order.”

  He turned his head and smiled at her, the sight of his straight, white teeth and faint, light brown stubble on his jaw nearly undoing her. And she was pretty well undone as it was. “Are you making fun of me?”

  A little. She widened her eyes innocently. “Not at all.”

  “We stayed under the sheet.” And the couch didn’t face the surrounding buildings, which, hopefully, had thwarted any would-be voyeur neighbors. “Worried your ass is going to be on YouTube?” he asked.

  A joke. At his expense. She’d pegged his sense of humor. Finally. “Mine? You were on top. I’m safe.”

  His throat bobbed when he laughed. He looked as sexy without his glasses as he had with them. She honestly had no idea which look she preferred. Suited up, bespectacled, fresh-home-from-work Landon or stripped-down, easy smile, relaxed Landon. Given that her heart ached as she watched him now, all disheveled and relaxed, she considered the buttoned-up version of him might offer safer passage out of this affair. Then again, he’d lost the ability to look foreboding and intimidating in that suit long ago. Because she knew him now. She knew what was under that no-nonsense powerhouse. A warm, smiling, laughing man whom she liked way too much.

  He tugged the sheet, dragging it dangerously low and nearly exposing her breasts. Before she flashed the world—at least a section of Lake Shore Drive—her 34 Bs, she clutched the sheet to her chest.