The Millionaire Affair(43)

He blew out a sigh of frustration, and she walked into her apartment,  rested her shopping bag on the kitchen counter, and tossed her keys  beside it.

"I didn't think that would work," he said as he shut the door.

"What?"

He came to her. "Kissing you so you'd forget you're mad at me."

Wow. Gloria was a genius. Because right about now she thought a kiss could make her forget anything. Her own name, even.

"I'm not mad at you," she said. He leaned against the counter over her,  and her eyes traced the shape of his biceps beneath his sleeves, the  strong line of his confident posture. She blinked and forced herself to  stay on task. "I think we need to sort out where we are in this …   whatever this is we have. We haven't been very responsible about stating  our positions."

He nodded, barely. A sign for her to speak.

She didn't know where to start …  "We're going to have a baby." There.  Start with the basics. "I'm not interested in moving in with you. Or  taking your money to buy Hobo Chic from Mick," she added. "That's  something I'm saving for on my own. Something I will do on my own." His  eyebrows pinched but he remained silent, so she said the next thing on  her mind. "We can share custody. We can share parenting. And I think we  should make as many major decisions as we can before we have a slobbery,  pink, adorable baby distracting our focus." Bringing up their baby  tightened her chest, but she swallowed down her feelings. This was for  the best.

Meanwhile, his face had fallen during her mini monologue. She didn't  know if his reaction was due to her saying she wasn't moving in with  him, or more because she'd taken control of the conversation. She liked  that control. Liked creating her future instead of him creating it for  her. Glo was right. This was easier without lust sullying her brain.

"As far as us … " This was the hardest part. Suggesting the one thing she  didn't want to suggest. But she had to. For their child's sake. They  couldn't raise a kid together who didn't know where his or her parents  stood. They couldn't just keep doing what felt good and lay waste to  anyone in the path between. "We can be partners in raising our child.  But as far as us … " She shook her head, the words refusing to come. "We  can't … " She closed her eyes. Say it. But she didn't have to. Landon said  it for her.

"We can't be lovers," he said, his voice barely a whisper.



Oh, the irony.

If he wasn't mistaken, Kimber had just suggested an arrangement. An arrangement with the Tin Man.

He'd spent his life making lists, drawing up agreements, arranging his  relationships to prevent them from eking into territory beyond his  control. For the first time in his life, someone was doing the same  thing to him. And, for the first time in a long time, he had no control.

She wanted to categorize him, maintain an emotionless, neutral position  where he was concerned. He'd be angry if he didn't see her point of view  so clearly. It'd been his view as well, at least until the redhead  before him turned his world upside down. Still, he couldn't work up the  anger to storm out.

He didn't want what she offered. He didn't want her living here, keeping  her distance from him, working with Mick. But, he amended, he could get  over that part if forced. And he didn't mind discussing and debating  topics regarding their child. He wanted to talk about what would be best  for their bundle of joy from birth to college-if he or she decided to  go. What he did mind, what was tearing his heart in two, was her  suggestion to stop seeing each other.

He wondered what she would say if she learned that for him, what they  had superseded sex. That he wanted affection more than her body. Hell,  he wanted both. For the second time in his lonely, miserable life, he  wanted it all and couldn't have it.         

     



 

He raked a hand through his hair, closed his eyes, and tried to think of  a way out of this. A way around it. He was a smart guy …  normally.

If he argued, he doubted she'd welcome the disagreement. He could tell  it hadn't been easy for her to lay out how she's feeling, and he  respected her for telling him so bluntly. He supposed he could go along  with what she offered for a little while, then seduce her into seeing  things his way. While that would be fun, for both of them, he knew  they'd wind up right back here again, at her kitchen counter or his,  discussing this same topic. Only then she'd be ten times angrier. He  didn't want her to hate him.

I want her to love me.

At one point, she'd claimed to. Should he remind her of the day she laid  across from him in bed? The day her eyes softened as she touched his  cheek and told him under no uncertain terms "I love you"? Or had she  simply been on the emotional roller coaster of  did-we-or-didn't-we-make-a-baby? And now that they had, she what …   decided she didn't love him after all?

Pain speared him. His own indecisiveness pissed him off. He used to be  in control. He knew his limits, was capable of checking his emotions at  the door. Now he was all over the place. And not just over a baby-A  baby. Would that ever sink in?-but also over Kimber. He opened his mouth  to remind her of the day she'd made that promise, that vow he'd been so  sure he hadn't wanted to hear.

But the words "I agree" came out of his mouth instead.

It was the first time he'd ever lied to her. It wouldn't be the last.  Each and every time he saw her over the next eighteen years, whenever he  met her new significant other, whenever they exchanged their child,  he'd have to pretend he didn't love her. Hide how hurt he was that they  weren't together, that he couldn't touch her.

Something told him eighteen years wouldn't do it. That he might love her  forever. And how much worse would it be to see the living, breathing  evidence of how compatible they'd been once upon a time? Having a human  being, half him, half her, around reminding him what he could have had  if their relationship hadn't started and ended with a list?

"Oh. Okay. Good." She sounded surprised by his reaction. She'd probably  had a speech in queue, probably expected him to stand his ground. Start  with talking her into moving in with him again, or argue that moving her  store to the Magnificent Mile was the best course of action. He wanted  to do all of those things. But to what end? Her decision was made. Even  if he could coerce her into one or two things, what would be the point?  She'd made up her mind. And he'd make it as easy on her as possible.

"Want to start today?" His voice was neutral, his shoulders pulled down  in defeat. Getting through this part was paramount for him, a stage of  grief he wanted to get through as soon as possible so he could move on  to the next. Her casual response kicked him while he was down.

"Yes. That would be best." She opened the fridge and pulled out a  container of orange juice. "Look, I went to the grocery store." She  smiled proudly. She was taking this better than he was. That hurt.

She couldn't be more beautiful. With her natural, wavy hair draped over  her shoulders and the casual V-necked shirt coasting over her narrow  shoulders. His eyes veered to her stomach even though it was too soon  for her to have a "baby bump." Would he be around to see that happen?  The thought made his heart sink because he wasn't sure. She poured a  glass of juice and took a drink, and all he wanted to do was taste her  lips. Breathe her in for a minute and pretend she hadn't completely  marginalized him or his unspoken feelings.

But he couldn't. He wasn't allowed.

"Um, okay." She licked her lips, her eyes bright. Unaffected. "Let me think. We should probably start with-"

"Legal pad?" He had no tone, lacked the energy to fake one. Reaching  into his jacket, he extracted a pen and glanced around the room for  something to write on. "Lists are what I'm good at," he added dryly.

Kimber didn't smile or laugh or offer any acknowledgement of a list  before this one. The list. Whatever they had-or had started to have-was  over. His gut twisted.

"I have printer paper."

"Fine." He accepted the sheets she pulled out of the printer on the kitchen counter. A printer on the kitchen counter.

Why wouldn't she let him move her into his larger, roomier penthouse?  Then she could decorate the office to her preference, buy whatever she  needed. Like a desk. For her printer.
         

     



 
But this wasn't about her having an office or about him providing what  she needed. The issue, the real one, is she didn't want him. He wanted  her so badly he thought he might throw up at any moment.

Why won't she love me?

Whatever. That conversation wasn't happening. Pressing his lips  together, he vowed to compartmentalize. He laid out the paper and jotted  down a header. Communication.

He wrote a second header: Custody.

The word made him so sad he wanted to die.

A third column he titled Privacy.