The Millionaire Affair(15)

"After I get these paintings done, I'm going to take Lyon. Show him what he's been missing all these years."

"That will be good for him." Landon stopped short of palming his  brother's shoulder. He didn't need to. Evan smiled knowingly, okay with  the dynamic between them.

Landon was glad Ev was starting to do the things he used to love doing.  Pursuing his first passion, art, or visiting the lake they'd gone to  every summer growing up. Whatever it took to help him move out of  survival mode and begin to thrive. Maybe this meant he was healing. Or  maybe he had healed. After losing Rae, their mother, Shane's  mother-their aunt-in one tragedy after another, it was a wonder any of  them were healed. So many amazing women, gone too soon.

"Oh, and Land, do me a favor?"

Caught up in his melancholy, Landon's voice came out a little wistful when he spoke. "Anything."

"Don't have sex with Kimber until I get my son out of the house. You know, as a courtesy."

"I wasn't-I didn't-"

A rogue grin broke across Evan's face. "Oh, brother, your colors are  showing." He walked out the door and Landon started to shut it, stopping  in time for Evan to poke his head back in and give him a wink. "See you  Sunday."

"Not if I see you first," Landon said, then shoved him out the door and shut it.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Kimber's nerves had settled some since Evan's unsettling arrival earlier  today. By the time he'd returned with a sugared-up Lyon, she'd managed  to convince herself that Evan wouldn't tell on her and that Landon would  never be the wiser.

Since Lyon was powered by ice cream for the rest of the afternoon, she'd  had her hands full. His dinner had been spoiled as well, so he'd hardly  touched the tuna casserole she'd whipped up stove-top. After a bite of  it, she knew why. She'd certainly never snag a man with her cooking  skills.

Landon hadn't come home early tonight, either, which disappointed her.  Not for her sake, but for Lyon's. The boy had asked for his uncle Landon  and insisted on waiting up. She let him, lying on his bed next to him  and watching Man of Steel as promised. He had finally fallen  asleep-miraculously during the loudest crash-bang-boom section of the  movie-but Landon still wasn't home when she shut off the television and  sneaked out of Lyon's room.

Back in her own bedroom, she left on her comfy leggings but slipped out  of the bra pinching her breastbone. She debated lounging around without  one, but thought the gray T-shirt with a beaded owl taking up the front  would likely create enough camouflage to hide any nipple protrusion.

Figuring she'd more than earned a glass of wine, she went on a hunt,  nearly crying with relief when she found an abandoned bottle in the back  of a cabinet in the kitchen. She didn't think it was being saved for a  special occasion. Moreover, she didn't care. Landon told her to help  herself and that's exactly what she planned on doing.

She unlocked and opened the balcony door, swinging it closed behind her.  Abandoning the monitor on a small table in front of the wicker patio  furniture, she took to the railing overlooking the lake. Lake Michigan  was calm in the warm night air, ripples on the water's surface  reflecting the moonlight like a blanket of diamonds on its near placid  surface.

The red wine trickled down her throat, leaving a pleasant trail of heat.  She closed her eyes and took what felt like her first full breath of  the day. How did parents do this every day, every week? Every year?  Everything she'd needed had been at her fingertips, including a  housekeeper scheduled for a three-times-a-week visit, and Kimber had  needed this glass of wine as desperately as the air she breathed.

She opened her eyes and sipped again, her vision going blurry as she  continued to appreciate the moment. This one silent moment where she  wasn't cooking or cleaning or chasing around a little boy with energy to  burn. If she had to work and care for a child, and satisfy a lover …  how  would she manage to do it all?

The thought of a lover shoved last night into her brain, front and  center. The way Landon had slipped his fingers into her shirt, brushing a  seemingly innocuous part of her body. But it hadn't been innocuous. As  it turned out, the underside of her arm was as sensitive as if he'd  touched her somewhere much, much more intimate.         

     



 

Her neck flushed, her body flooding with desire as she remembered the  look in his eyes. The mix of green and blue yesterday against his blue  business shirt. He'd looked at her with a hunger that wasn't meant for  nannies or friends of the family. Landon looked at her like she was a  woman. Not like Mick had looked at her, like a friend or a fling. And  not the way her parents looked at her, like she'd frozen in time at age  sixteen and hadn't yet managed to rope her life in to some semblance of  shape.

No, Landon looked at her like he knew she could hold her own. He didn't  overpower her with sensuality or downplay her emotions when she spoke.  He listened. Like what she said mattered.

But he hadn't offered much conversation of his own last night, had he?  He'd been silent while she'd told him about her college life, even  delving into the mess she'd made of buying Hobo Chic with Mick.

So? He doesn't spill his guts to virtual strangers. That only means he's normal.

But they weren't strangers. She'd spent the summer with Landon and his  entire family. She'd celebrated Angel's birthday, gone with them to the  lake for their annual vacation, had eaten dinner with them every  evening …  Maybe that familiarity was why she felt so attracted to him  now. Because even though she didn't feel sixteen, parts of her body  still reacted like she was. Her heart, for example, that fluttered at  the thought of seeing Landon come home tonight. And the slight shake in  her hand, rattling her wineglass, revealing her self-consciousness and  frazzled nerves.

Ridiculous, those nerves.

He was a man and she was a woman. Flirting, attraction was a very real  possibility. An acceptable side effect. Just because they'd shared some  sly glances and comments laced with innuendo didn't put her at a  disadvantage.

She bypassed a pair of Adirondack chairs on the sprawling balcony and  sat on the wicker sofa. Weighed down by her thoughts as much as her vain  attempt to unravel the mysteries of the universe, she leaned her head  back and cleared her mind.

Many of the neighboring buildings' windows were lit, their occupants  rummaging around the kitchens while televisions flashed in the living  room. Turns out the rich lived much like everyone else did. Just with an  infinitely better view.

She heard the balcony door open and turned her head. Landon stepped out,  jacket off, sleeves cuffed, tie in place. Not exactly casual, but two  out of three wasn't bad.

"There you are." His smooth voice poured over her like honey, sliding  into her stomach and making her aware of that man-woman tension she'd  been contemplating seconds ago. She ran her eyes over his forearms  dusted with light brown hair, admired the elegant stride of his long  body as he walked toward her.

Her next words exited on a soft sigh. "Here I am."

"I can join you," he said. "Unless you're having a moment of peace. If  so, I'll leave this and go." He held up the wine bottle she'd opened.

"I hope you don't mind that I opened it."

"I was saving it for when I finished up with the Windy City account, but that's okay."

"What?" He tipped the bottle and she covered her glass with her palm. "You've got to be kidding me."

He raised an eyebrow. "I am."

Removing her hand, she pressed it to her chest to alleviate her pounding heart. "Don't do that."

He finished the pour and turned the bottle to catch a lingering purple  drop. "Sorry." He didn't mean that. She could see the amused gleam in  his eye.

"I didn't know you had a mean streak."

"Older brother curse." He was standing. He gestured to the couch, a  question on his face. She nodded and he sat next to her. Not too close,  but her chest tightened as if he'd sat down and pulled her onto his lap.

Mmm. She'd like that.

She gave her head a brief shake. Whenever he was near, her body went  into some kind of high alert, her nipples thermometers registering his  specific brand of body heat. She crossed her arms over her breasts,  wishing she had left her bra on. Of all the nights to go commando.

He draped his arm along the edge of the sofa behind her head like he had  last night. Casually. Calmly. Like he was content to sit on the balcony  with her and savor his scotch. If it wasn't for the tightness around  his eyes and the lines bracketing his unsmiling mouth, she would have  believed he was both calm and content.

She wondered if he had anyone to talk to in his world.

"How was your day?" Lame, she chastised herself, but it was a start.

"T.G.I.F. Yours?"

That wasn't an answer. One of those wasn't even a word. He'd given her an acronym, then followed it with a question.