"Landon," she said on a soft giggle. "Not now," she whispered.
He looked into her eyes, lowered his lips to hers for a silent kiss, then forced himself to back away. He handed over her coffee. She sipped. What had she meant by not now? Because the second his brother was out of here, he wouldn't mind taking her straight back to bed.
He stifled a yawn. After another espresso.
"What are you doing tonight?" As soon as it was out, he had to fight to keep from retracting his question. He'd meant to play it cool, not ask her out within sixty seconds of laying eyes on her. What the hell?
"What do you mean?"
Her question did nothing to answer his, and put him at a disadvantage if he answered first. What if she didn't want him again so soon? In an attempt to be coy, he lowered his lips to her ear. "What do you think I mean?"
When he pulled away, she was smiling, looking shy and beautiful and damn, she smelled good. He made a mental note to keep her stocked in cucumber body products for as long as this thing between them lasted.
"I think I'd like that," she said.
She thought? "You think?" he repeated, feeling wounded. What. The. Hell.
"What do you think?" she parroted his words back to him, again giving him absolutely nothing to go on.
What did he think? He thought he'd like to see her out of those clothes within the hour. He thought he'd like to get her out of this penthouse and buy her a vintage or custom-made dress of her choosing. He thought he'd like to see her smiling at him over a candlelit table in the corner of an Italian restaurant.
"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.