The Millionaire Affair(40)

At the bed, she sat, then fell back. "I'm exhausted."

He followed her down, knee between her legs, arms on each side of her  face. "I'll do all the work," he promised, kissing her neck. She tasted  so good. As good as he remembered.

"And I'm starving," she said.

Concern outweighing his physical need to bury himself in her skin, he  lifted his head. She was making a human being. That had to be tiring.  "Then you need to eat." Lovemaking forgotten-well, not forgotten, but  definitely on hold-he backed off the bed and tracked the short distance  to the kitchen. Behind the cabinet doors, he spied meager offerings, but  he could cobble something together …  He shuffled around a few cans and  boxes. "Tuna salad?"

"Mercury," she called from the bed.

He turned his head. "Excuse me?"

"In the fish. It's bad for the baby."

"Okay. Well. The only other thing you have in here is a box of macaroni  and cheese. And"-he pulled open the freezer-"a bag of peas." He squeezed  the bag, hearing the telltale crunch of freezer burn. "How long have  these been in here?"

"Who knows."

He abandoned the peas to her empty freezer and came to the bed. "Let's go. I'm taking you out."

"I don't want to go out." She was whining, which he wasn't accustomed to hearing from her. It was sort of cute.

Offering his hands, he helped haul her to her feet, bending to kiss her  when she stood. "Sure you do. Pack a quick overnight bag and get in my  car."

She raised an eyebrow. "Overnight bag?"

"Yes. You're staying with me tonight." And as far away from Mick as possible. "No arguments."

The sweet curve of her lips undid him. She definitely belonged at home  with him. Not here. Forlornly, she looked at the bags on the sofa. "I'm  supposed to prepare my apartment for a baby."

"You have months to prepare," he said. But he didn't want her to waste  her time. If he had his way-and most likely he would-Kimber and his  child would live with him. He wanted his family under his roof. He  wanted her out of this crowded loft, away from her eager ex-boyfriend,  and living in the lap of luxury.

Close enough to Landon's lap that he could haul her into it each and every night and kiss her senseless.



Kimber awoke thinking about her parents. How wrong she'd been to lump  her and Landon into the same category as her parents' failed marriage.  She wouldn't lose her identity if she stayed with Landon. And yeah,  maybe she wasn't sure exactly what they were to one another, but she  knew he cared for her. Otherwise he'd never have whisked her away from  her apartment last night. And she'd needed to get out of her house. The  more she thought about the way Mick had lifted his leg to mark his  territory, the more upset she became. She wasn't a prize to be won,  especially by Mick, who hadn't bothered fighting for her before now.         

     



 

A low, male sigh came from the other side of the bed, sending a tingle  of awareness down her spine. She turned and laid her cheek on her folded  arms and studied Landon Downey asleep. He was a sight. Stubble  surrounding his firm lips, the strong line of his nose leading up to a  fan of light eyelashes, sandy-colored brows, and mussed, golden-brown  hair.

Not only was he beautiful this morning, she could add to that how gentle  and loving he'd been last night, completing her transformation into  "swooning mess." He'd treated her to dinner as promised, indulging her  voracious appetite by allowing her to order way too much food. By the  time they returned to his house, she was too full to think and nodding  off. He'd tucked her into bed next to him. They hadn't had sex. Yet she  felt closer to him than ever.

Which was …  bad? Gah! She was so confused. Gloria and her mother believed  it best for her to distance herself from him before their relationship  became too much. Or, at this point, too much more. Mick had obviously  been in agreement. Hell, Kimber and Landon had both been in agreement  until junior, here, turned two pregnancy sticks blue and one into a  two-syllable, eighteen-year-to-life sentence.

She flicked her eyes to the digital clock on the nightstand on Landon's  side of the bed. She needed to get up and get going. A full shift  awaited her today-ten hours on her feet, ugh-and she needed to check the  storeroom for repairable garments. Since she'd neglected her sewing  machine for a month, the "Mend" box had piled up.

"What's wrong?" Landon opened his eyes. They looked hazel with flashes of gold in the filtering sunlight.

"Nothing. I'm great."

He blinked. "You have to work."

"Don't you?"

"Yes. But you don't want to."

"Of course I do." Mending wouldn't be so bad. The hard part would be  maintaining enough energy to move from sewing machine to sales floor to  ring up customers as well as crunching this month's numbers and paying  bills. Little did she know pregnancy consumed brain cells. Last night at  dinner, she'd forgotten the word "paisley" and described her new dress  as "covered in teardroppy things."

Landon reached over and touched her face. "No. You don't. You want to  lie here for another two hours. Eat breakfast in bed." He rolled over  and smiled softly. "And I want you to."

Sigh. That sounded lovely.

A serious expression crossed his features. "I've thought a lot about  you. About the baby." His voice dropped to a low husk. "About us."

She wound her fingertips in the hair on his chest, unable to stop  touching him now that he'd mentioned the word "us." Like she was afraid  if she pulled her hand away, he'd say the best move was to end what they  had. She wasn't sure she could. Or maybe hormones were to blame for her  worst-case-scenario thinking.

Although, her hormone theory had holes. She trailed her hands over his  strong torso, down to the white sheet draped over the lower half of his  body. The sheet jerked and she sent him a sneer.

"He likes you," Landon quipped, making her laugh. He cupped her cheek  and kissed her, and she thought about how nice it'd be to meld into him  and hide in bed for the day.

But there were things to do. Things to discuss. "You were going to say … "  Something she probably didn't want to hear. Then again she didn't know  what she wanted to hear. It wasn't like she wanted him to propose-heaven  forbid. She didn't want him to offer her a Cinderella story. Take her  out of poverty and gift her with a new-and-improved, struggle-free life.  She hoped he didn't see her life as inferior to his. It'd taken her  years, but she'd built a life with her own two hands, her own ideas, and  yes, her own mistakes. That's what made her life special. Because of  those things, it was hers and no one else's.

"I want you to move in."

The comment was so far from what she'd expected him to say, she simply blinked at him. He hadn't asked. More like made a decree.

"The baby can have the room down the hall." He hitched an eyebrow. "We already have a baby monitor."

She had no idea how to respond. What to say. "Move in?" she repeated,  then grabbed on to the first objection she thought of. "I'd be so far  from work."

And her apartment. Her neighborhood.

"Yes. About that." He was far too serious for her taste. A trickle of  uncertainty flowed through her. Like when she hit her funny bone too  hard …  only her heart was the part of her tingling with pins and needles.  She took her hand from his chest and sat up.         

     



 

He leaned on an elbow and continued. "I found a building two blocks from  here for lease. It's bigger than Hobo Chic and has an office. Or, if  you prefer, you could use the space to expand your storeroom and set up  your office here."

He'd found a building? For her store? "Were you planning on talking to me about this?"

"We are talking about it."

"Mick owns half of Hobo Chic. I can't just-"

"We'll buy him out."

"We?"

Landon rolled onto his back, an impatient sigh exiting his mouth. He  slid on his glasses, sat up against the headboard, and pulled his hands  through his hair. "Yes. We."

Did he have any idea how loaded that two-letter word was? How she didn't  know if they were together? If they were a "we," no one had told her.

"Neil and Ginny don't live anywhere near here. Even with what I pay them, I doubt they could afford to commute-"

"That's what the L is for. And if they can't commute, we can hire a new staff. Probably best to replace Mick before you reopen."

Reopen? She couldn't keep up with the plans he was spouting off like  they were no big deal. The move would be time consuming. She'd have to  announce or she'd lose business. "We. There it is again," she mumbled.

"I'll cancel the billboard I ordered since the address will change," he said, talking to himself now.

She blanched. "Billboard?"