The Millionaire Affair(6)

She slid her hair behind her ear, a delicate gold charm bracelet  slinking along her wrist and the barely visible freckles on her arm.  "Been a while," she said, her mouth tipping into a shy smile.

His gaze slid from her arm, to the curve of her hips, and down her legs.  Before he became wrapped up in a fantasy involving the pair of  high-heeled saddle shoes she wore, he averted his eyes to her luggage.  "May I?"

"Oh. Sure." She winced but it looked to be a reaction to herself rather than him.

When he reached for the suitcase, she pulled her hand away frenetically.  He took the handle from her, as careful not to touch her as she was  him. Her soft scent captured his attention briefly before he stood and  distanced himself. Evan was right. She did not resemble the  sixteen-year-old in his memories.

No longer a mushroom cloud atop her head, her hair fell in coppery,  shoulder-length waves beautifully offset by porcelain skin and a full  cherry-red mouth. A simple gold chain with a tiny key pendant dipped  into the hollow of her throat when she inhaled as her bright green eyes  swept the room with interest.

"Nice place," she muttered in that sensual voice of hers.

He blinked a few times in succession to test if the woman in his living  room was really as beautiful as he'd first thought. But closing his eyes  didn't make her any less attractive. The smattering of freckles dotting  her nose begged to be touched.         

     



 

He squeezed the handle on her luggage to keep from the ill-advised impulse. "Thank you."

She sent him a tight smile. It, and the death grip she had on her purse straps, hinted that she was uncomfortable.

Of course she's uncomfortable. You're staring at her like a serial killer.

He gave her a tour of his place while she made comments about the  curtains or the furniture, guessing at brand or style or the year it was  made. He had no idea about any of it. When Lissa left, he'd had the  furniture she'd decorated the place with donated and had hired a team of  designers to redecorate for him. He didn't know if the new furnishings  reflected his taste, but it didn't reflect hers, and that was good  enough for him.

He shouldn't compare Kimber to Lissa as he showed her down the hall, but  found himself doing just that. There was something about Kimber's  style-a uniqueness, as if each item she wore had a sentiment attached.  Lissa's wardrobe had been more generic, trendy, and brand-name laden.  His eyes moved to Kimber's breasts, a tad smaller than his ex's-but  natural, he'd guess-to her shoes with a low heel. She was taller than  Lissa by a few inches. Kimber's hips were lush and round, the epitome of  gentle, feminine beauty; whereas Lissa-with her spray tan, pointy hip  bones, and silicone C-cups-more represented the industry that had  perverted it.

They turned left off the main hall. Kimber's accommodations were at the  very end, his bedroom at the end of the opposite hallway. Lyon's room  sat cattycorner to Landon's bedroom, which was one of the reasons he'd  purchased a high-tech video baby monitor. The gadget was top of the  line, outfitted with infrared night vision and a room temperature  indicator. One could never be too safe, and he wanted to make sure she'd  be able to keep an eye on Lyon from anywhere in the house. Both eyes,  technically. He knew from experience she'd need all the help watching  Lyon she could get.

She took a look around her bedroom. He followed her scrutinizing gaze  from the thick cream rug to the gold and green flowered bedding, to the  striped curtains parted over a window view of the city, and finally to  the attached bath with a fluffy robe hanging in welcome.

His housekeeper had stocked extra toiletries and left a vase of fresh  flowers by the window as well as some women's magazines. He hoped the  setup didn't make Kimber feel like she was staying in a hotel. Landon  had ordered a basket of body wash and chocolates from a local boutique.  It'd arrived yesterday. He'd agonized over choosing a scent, but the  woman on the phone assured him cucumber mint was their best-selling  product.

Kimber went to the bed and touched the basket, smiling over at him as she did. "Is this for me?"

No telling if she was impressed or being polite. "Yes."

She flattened the plastic covering her gift and leaned in to study the  contents. He felt a surge of something foreign wash through him. Doubt.

How …  disconcerting. He frowned.

"Fair trade chocolate." Her grin had widened, parting her red lips over  straight, white teeth. Braces, remember? Worth it, he thought  automatically. She tilted her head, which sent her fiery hair over one  shoulder, and regarded him through eyes that complemented the colors in  the room. "A girl could get used to this kind of treatment, you know."

Okay. He was definitely attracted to her. On a basic, carnal level. Ask  her to leave. This won't end well. But he couldn't. For one, Lyon needed  a nanny and Landon needed to go to work.

The other reason was far more selfish. Far more discriminate. He was  genuinely attracted to her. And damn if it didn't feel a hundred times  more amazing than he'd imagined it might.

His attraction to Lissa had been the real thing when he'd met her six  years ago. But since their mutual agreement, the initial buzz had worn  off. His attraction to her turned out to be more about sticking to their  arrangement than a genuine reaction to the model. Everything about  their relationship since then had been planned, expected. A duty.

The terms had been simple: sex, companionship, a partnership, designed  to keep them both out of the messiness of entangled hearts. Until Lissa  met Carson backstage at one of her lingerie shows. Then she'd tossed her  and Landon's arrangement into the incinerator and sent him back to  square one.

But Kimber …  While he wouldn't act on the volatile mix of attraction and  desire he felt for her now, she did fill a need in this pocket of his  life. She'd agreed to one week. A week to watch over his nephew, live in  his home. With the stress of Lissa's adventure just now wearing off,  the pressure of nailing the Windy City potato chips account, and the  added challenge of having a six-year-old in tow, Landon considered that  having her here was, in many ways, a gift to himself as well.         

     



 

Selfish? Maybe. But it'd been a while since he'd been selfish. Eons.  He'd respect her space. Keep his hands to himself. Keep his  borderline-erotic thoughts and his heated gazes to a minimum. He'd be at  work most of the time. It wasn't as if he'd have to suffer under the  scrutiny of those guileless eyes of hers for most of the day.

And since women were as unpredictable as lit bottle rockets, rarely  firing in a straight, even line, he'd be smart to stay away. The women  in his life veered and circled, then exploded too near for comfort.

"You should meet Lyon," he said abruptly.

"Will I need an appointment to get in?" She toyed with the bow on the  basket with fingernails coated in a sheen of pale polish. "Is there an  elevator leading up to his floor?"

His lips twitched. She was sassy. Smart. Feisty.

Intriguing.

Forcing his mouth into a neutral line, he refused to give her the smile  trying to come forth. Flirting with this woman would be all sorts of bad  news. She was Angel's friend. She was Lyon's nanny. She'd be sharing  his house for the remainder of the week.

He gave her a curt nod toward the door, and himself a final stern  reminder to ignore the instant attraction. It was the only thing about  this entire situation he couldn't afford.





CHAPTER THREE


Kimber needed to shut up. But her default nervous reaction was the  stupid laugh that kept bubbling from her throat and a smart-aleck remark  or two. Or three.

Bad enough she'd marched around here babbling about décor like he'd any  interest in brands, fashion, or style. Mick had been interested, but he  was an exception to the rule …  and the last thing she needed was another  guy like him. She needed to remember that. Landon was not Mick. And she  was here to watch Landon's nephew, not ogle his …  everything.

But she'd never been in a six-thousand-square-foot penthouse with a  drool-worthy view of Lake Michigan before. And she'd never been gifted  gourmet chocolates by a man who smelled like a waterfall on a spring  morning. Who wouldn't be distracted?

When she'd met his stormy eyes through the lenses of his stylish black  glasses, she'd made it her goal to crack that buttoned-up façade. At the  moment, she thought as she watched him march down the hall and adjust  his cuff links, he was not amused.

What he was, was out-of-this-world, F-I-N-E fine. He looked every bit  the clichéd successful millionaire. His razor-sharp black pants fell  over a pair of shining black shoes, his long legs eating up the corridor  as he walked. The freshly pressed gunmetal gray shirt stretched over  his back, and she watched the muscles there shift as he swung his arms  at his sides. Earlier, she'd caught the way his sleek black-and-charcoal  tie made his eyes appear a matching shade of gray. She'd forgotten  about his hazel eyes that changed color to complement his wardrobe. What  a fashion accessory.