He tried to tune out her previous comments and focus on work. He absolutely wouldn't consider Angel's claim that the gorgeous redhead currently occupying his penthouse-and his thoughts-liked him and had liked him for years.
Nope. He'd shut that out completely.
Kimber closed the door to Lyon's bedroom and stifled a yawn. It was after nine, but he'd finally gone down. Tomorrow, she needed to take them both out to do something. They'd been cooped up in the house for two solid days. She hadn't imagined an enormous penthouse with an entire wall of windows overlooking Lake Michigan was capable of causing cabin fever, but she'd been wrong.
Of course, that may not be the only cause of her anxiety. Ever since Angel had planted the seeds that Kimber should flirt with Landon, they'd grown into Jack's beanstalk. As much as she would like to lay blame at Angel's feet, she couldn't.
Kimber didn't need so much as a nudge to turn even a casual "hello" into picking out China patterns prematurely. Mick wasn't the only date she'd turned into a boyfriend too soon. She'd done that with those who'd come before him. Her secret superpower was the ability to morph a perfectly okay short-term relationship into a doomed one that zombie-dragged its decaying self to inevitable demise.
What she needed to learn was how to take things a moment at a time and stop worrying about the future so much.
In her bedroom, she toed off her shoes, smoothed her patterned pants over her legs, and straightened the billowy jade-green top. You could practice on Landon.
She could.
She bit her lip and tightened the loose ponytail at the back of her head, winding the tendrils framing her face as she considered. Landon wasn't in the market for a relationship. And if he was, Kimber would be the last woman on the planet to garner his attention. She thought of Lissa Francine with a twist of her lips. Kimber was not a petite honey-blonde strutting her stuff and her bare midriff in magazines and runways.
But.
She was living in his house. Landon might even feel obligated to have a drink with her to be polite if she insisted. She could practice her small talk, her flirting techniques. It wouldn't be hard to flirt with him. Nowhere near a hardship.
After a few days of afterhours drinks and flirting, she could leave his penthouse, check in hand, and have proven to herself that she could walk away from a relationship. Yes. This plan was lame and had a loophole the size of Denver. But in a way … it was brilliant. Satisfied with her newborn idea, she padded through the hallway and paused next to Landon's home office. The room was dark save for a strip of lights glowing over a small, barely stocked bar. She stepped into the room, past the wooden floor of the hallway to the deep brown rug. She followed with her other foot and stretched her toes over the piled carpet.
A few liquor bottles stood on the countertop, along with a row of gleaming crystal glasses. She imagined Landon in here, papers spread on the thick mahogany desk, brows lowered over his glasses in deep concentration. He'd lift a glass of amber liquid to his lips and sip, then rub that cleft in his chin with one hand …
"Sexy," she whispered.
The clearing of a throat had her spinning around. Landon stood in the doorway, briefcase in hand, one eyebrow cocked over the rim of his glasses. Unlike the man in her mind's eye, this Landon was infinitely hotter. And real.
"Kimber."
She could listen to him say her name on a loop. The way his tongue kicked out the "K" sound, the way his lips pursed for the "b," the way his mouth held the "r" for a beat.
"Hi." She licked her lips, fervently trying to recall if she'd spoken her thoughts aloud while encroaching on his private space. Geez. What might she have said? "Sorry, I was just … " She gestured nervously at nothing in particular, unable to fill in the blank at the end of her incomplete sentence.
"Looking for a drink?"
Okay. She nodded.
"Me, too." He stepped past her and dropped his briefcase onto the desk, opened it, and unloaded a file. "Good news is there is plenty to drink." He closed the case with a pair of sharp clicks and lifted his face. "The bad news is I have scotch and scotch."
His voice penetrated the dim room, warming the space between them. He lifted a remote, and the lights over a white manteled fireplace flicked on, followed by flames inside. No heat came from it. Must be for mood. She kept herself from letting that thought turn rogue.
The heatless orange flames and lights warmed the space further, making the room look like the inside of a highly polished box of cigars.
"Scotch, then." She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she clutched on to the baby monitor. Since her pants had no pockets, she didn't have much of a choice but carry it wherever she went.
She gazed around the room at the rows of recessed shelves packed with books-mostly industry-related reads. Marketing, design, and technical handbooks, on software she'd heard of but never used, lined the walls. At the back of the room stood a leather couch made to look worn. She wondered if Landon ever took the time to sit on it. If this was her house, she would only sit there, for the view behind it alone.
A bay window took up the entire width of the wall and overlooked several other tall buildings and the lake below. Twinkling, more from the buildings' windows than the stars, created a pleasant ambience perfect for a glass of scotch.
"Have a seat. I'm sure you're worn out from chasing Lyon around all day."
Landon was going to make this easy on her. Kimber decided to let him. Abandoning the monitor on the table in front of the couch, she sat.
Landon slid his gaze over Kimber's wild pants, and a smile tugged at his lips. The print was a loud, large pattern consisting of green leaves, bright orange flowers, and a tangle of fruit. Strawberries, limes, lemons … and what he thought may have been half an avocado on her ass. Not that he'd checked her out as she moved to the couch on the other side of the room …
But he had.
He rerouted his focus on the task of pouring two scotches, wondering if she had ever tasted scotch. Wondering if she'd surprise him by having a proclivity for it, or if she'd be like most women he'd encountered and turn her nose up after one sniff.
A test, then.
He dropped a few ice cubes into her glass, leaving his own glass at room temperature, and trayed up their drinks with a bottle of emergency water if she didn't like what she tasted.
He crossed the room and rested the drinks on the coffee table in front of Kimber, admiring the way her green top set off the red in her hair and made her eyes pop. So much so, that when she'd turned them up to him, he'd frozen solid for a second and nearly fell into their depths. She pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, then her eyebrows pinched before she brought it back to her face, twirling it just so. Almost like she was nervous.
Because she likes you?
Maybe. But he wasn't going to act on his suspicion, even if Angel was telling him the truth instead of concocting romance where there wasn't any. Still, Kimber's fidgeting was … interesting. He logged that thought for later.
He sat on the center cushion, testing the lack of distance between them. She straightened, pushing herself a bit farther into the corner. But not like she was uncomfortable in a bad way. Like she was uncomfortable in a good way. Palming their glasses, he used the forward motion as an excuse to scoot a few inches away from her. Careful not to touch his fingers, she focused on the glass as she took it from his hand.
Also interesting.
A soft, almost fruity fragrance wafted off her skin. But not like the cucumber body wash he'd purchased for her. Like something else …
"You smell like … grapes," he muttered. Ridiculous as it sounded, that's what he smelled.
"Oh." She inspected her hands and he silently swore at his sister. This was Angel's fault. Her suggestion Kimber liked him had him noticing her. Everything about her. The small swells of her breasts in the loose shirt she wore. Her bare toes, nails painted pale pink. Her neck and the tendrils of flame-red hair tickling skin he imagined sampling with his tongue.
Damn Angel.
He blinked Kimber into focus. She'd set aside her drink and licked one finger before licking the other and scrubbing vigorously with her free hand; bathing herself like a cat.
What the-
She paused when she noticed him watching and held out a palm. A smudge of purple decorated the crook of her first and middle fingers. "Scented markers."
He sipped his scotch and definitely did not think about lifting her hand to his lips to finish the job. Reclaiming her glass, she examined the liquid in the dim lighting of the office.
He leaned back against the sofa, laid an arm along the back-dangerously close to her-and opted for the road less traveled in his world: small talk. "So. Kimber Reynolds."