The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance)

by Jessica Lemmon

“Kimber.” His soft annunciation of her name mingled with his commanding tone stalled her brain cells like her head had flooded. “Thank you again for doing this. I believe that’s all I have from my end.”

  She heard the shuffling of papers, the collapse of a stapler. The man was organized. She frowned at the random cardboard boxes filled with clothing in her storeroom. One had the word Mend written on it, another read Sell, and the other wasn’t marked at all, overflowing with sleeves and pant legs and belts. No way was she qualified to live in Landon Downey’s white-glove-tested, immaculate home.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” he asked, wrapping up the call.

  Just one. Where was her bedroom in relation to his? Because if they were side by side, she didn’t think she’d survive the week listening to his shower turn on without dissolving into a lust-puddle.

  “None,” she said solidly. Then, to her horror, she blurted, “I’m sorry to hear about you and Lissa.”

  Silence.

  Why had she said that? Not only was it inappropriate, it was a lie. She wasn’t the least bit sorry Lissa and Landon were split.

  Mick picked that moment to poke his nose through the curtain. “Who are you talking to?”

  She peeked her head around the clothing rack she was half-hiding behind and waved him away frantically. “Thanks, Landon. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” Only it had come out more like: ThanksLandonIllseeyoutomorrowBye because she’d said it in one hurried exhalation. She gaped at the phone in her hand, at her thumb covering the Talk button. She didn’t recall him saying good-bye. She’d hung up on him?

  You hung up on a millionaire. Extra idiot points for you.

  She stepped out from behind the rack, still staring down at the phone in her hand. “I… need to go over the schedule with you for this week,” she told Mick.

  “Who was that?” He gestured to the phone with the arm covered in tattoos. She’d found them sexy when she’d first met him. God only knew why. Or maybe she was just being petty. She’d been petty about a lot of things lately where he was concerned.

  She weaved her way around the racks and boxes in the storeroom. “Neil is working my shifts in addition to his own, so he’ll be pulling some overtime this week. But Ginny’s coming in for extra hours to help him,” she said, ignoring his question.

  Mick took the store phone from her hand and pressed a button. “Who’s Landon Downey?”

  “A friend.” Sort of.

  “A boyfriend?” His lips curved up in one corner, making his dark eyes sparkle. From his full mouth to mile-long eyelashes and thick, overgrown curls, it wasn’t any wonder she’d picked him up in that nightclub two years ago. The mistake she’d made was not recognizing a fling when she saw one. Mick wasn’t exactly permanent material. Definitely not the right person to own a business with, she thought, regret poking her.

  “He’s not a boyfriend. He’s Angel’s brother. And he needs a babysitter this week.”

  Mick laughed. It was sharp and didn’t send a flock of butterflies fluttering in her stomach like Landon’s rich chuckle had. “You? Babysit?”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts, hoping to cause some cleavage in her V-necked blouse. Not that he’d notice. He liked large breasts and hers were B cups on their best day.

  What are you thinking? She didn’t care if he noticed her cleavage or not. She dropped her arms. It was none of his business what she and Landon were to one another. She refused to engage Mick in this up-and-coming argument. Plus, the truth was far more disappointing than the reality.

  “Do you think you can come in on Saturday?” she asked. “It’s the only day Neil will need backup.”

  “You know I hate to work the floor,” he said, his shoulders slumping. He reminded her of a put-upon fifteen-year-old.

  Sometimes she thought he hated work, period. She had taken care of the schedule since the store’s inception. And the special orders, stock, mending, financials, the floor plan… He had taken on the tasks of painting the front window and flirting with the female customers.

  “Unless Ginny is here.” He waggled his brows.

  Her ire rose and she took a deep breath. She shouldn’t fight with him, but it’d become the norm. The last two months, Hobo Chic’s sales had plummeted and they’d managed to needle each other not only about work issues but every grievance they’d had as a couple. It was like she couldn’t help being catty. Which was probably why she couldn’t muzzle herself now. “Can you have the decency not to flirt with other women while I’m around? We did used to date, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.” His smile oozed into the come-hither tilt he’d used to get her into bed the night they’d met. When he reached for her, she stepped away from him. His charm hadn’t worked on her for a while now. He licked his lips and chewed on the ring in his bottom lip in frustration.

  She wasn’t going to get anything done if they stood here sniping at each other much longer. “Please?”

  He ran a hand through his too-long hair and pretended to think about it. “Yeah. Okay.”

  She smiled, and because she really did care about him as a friend, squeezed his hand as she walked by. But not before she took the phone out of it.

  * * *

  “I’ll cover her expenses,” Landon told Evan over the phone moments after hanging up with Kimber. Or, more accurately, moments after she’d hung up on him. He was still obsessing over that fact. He didn’t like being hung up on. It was rude. But he was trying not to overreact, and it wasn’t as if he’d had a list of available options for this situation.

  “Fine by me, brother,” Evan said over the din of voices in the background. “Have you seen her recently? Because I ran into her after the funeral.”

  Their mother’s funeral was nearly two years ago. Landon had flown to Ohio and out again, allowing as little downtime in between as possible. He’d told himself it was because he couldn’t leave work for long, but if he were being honest, he hadn’t wanted to marinate in the sadness that had overtaken his father’s house. Anyway, Aiden had been there. He was better for Dad than Landon in this situation. In any relationship situation as it was turning out.

  “The last time I saw her was when she lived at our house that one summer.”

  Evan let out a sharp laugh. “When she was in the tenth grade? Dude. You should see her now.”

  He frowned. “Don’t be a jerk, Ev. She’s a family friend.”

  “Trust me. I’m not.” Laughter edged his voice. “Just… be prepared. For the hot.”

  He recalibrated. He’d thought Evan may have been revving up to tell him about an unattractive attribute of hers.

  “I mean, not my type,” Evan added. “Redhead. But still hot.”

  She sounded hot, came the out-of-left-field thought. Her voice had been a smoky, mid-range tone as opposed to Lissa’s childlike soprano. Kimber had a sultry laugh, too, even though he could tell it was borne of nervousness. He supposed that was understandable. How odd to go and live with someone she’d never met. Clearly, he hadn’t put her at ease. He was unable to pull off the charm both Evan and Aiden had when it came to the opposite sex. For some reason.

  For some reason? You know why. Because he wouldn’t allow himself to, that’s why. Charm led to emotions, which led to attachment, which led to… disaster.

  “It doesn’t matter how ‘hot’ she is,” Landon stated more harshly than he’d intended. “I hired her to take care of Lyon.”

  “Sure. Whatever you say, Master of Your Domain. Look, I have to get back to my immersion class,” Evan said.

  “What’s up next? Trust falls?” It was a jab. And Evan knew it.

  “Not funny,” Evan said, followed by a creative curse word.

  Ah, being the oldest had its perks. Landon had gotten every one of his siblings with that trick. He’d held out his arms, promised to catch them, then step back and let them hit the dirt. He chuckled.

  “None of us will take care of you when you’re old,” Evan growled.

  “I
am old.” Thirty-seven and single. He’d crafted a plan to avoid this situation. Lissa had dismantled it.

  “I gotta go,” Evan said abruptly. “Good luck reining it in when you see her, dude.” He let out a low whistle. “Gooooood luck.”

  The line went silent and Landon shook his head.

  He’d been hung up on again.

  * * *

  Since he’d given the security desk Kimber’s full name and let them know it was okay to bring her up to the penthouse floor when she arrived, the knock on his door the next morning didn’t take him by surprise. She was a few minutes early, which surprised and impressed him. He prided himself on being punctual. Her prompt arrival almost made up for the hanging-up-on-him part.

  Almost.

  Landon smoothed his tie and opened the door to greet—

  He froze, blinking at the redhead gracing his doorway, the blood rushing from his head and straight to his groin.

  Hot.

  It was the only coherent word pounding in his skull. A sexual awareness he hadn’t felt in years hit him mercilessly… and kept hitting. For a moment, all he could do was stare at Kimber Reynolds, his jaw slack.

  Soft-looking, cream-colored skin was draped in a delicate vintage dress in a pale hue of pink with tiny black polka dots. Black lace sleeves rested over slight, feminine shoulders, revealing more of her flesh through the peek-a-boo holes in the material.

  Lord in heaven. She looks like a 1940s wet dream.

  And he was still staring.

  He snapped his mouth shut and stepped aside, recalibrating his thoughts onto something less distracting than the way the dress floated over her frame. “Kim—ah, Ms. Reynolds, good to see you again.”

  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.