The Millionaire Affair(11)

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."