The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance)

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I bet you couldn’t hold still if you tried,” he said, his voice a low warning.

  She frowned at him, folding her hands into her lap. Her brows went up as she accepted his challenge, but a second later, she pulled the inside of her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Told you.” He cupped her chin and pulled her lip free from her teeth with his thumb. The moment he touched her, his big “thinky” brain shorted out. He knew he shouldn’t kiss her. Knew he was reacting to the stress from work, or Evan’s and Angel’s suggestions that Kimber liked him. Or maybe he was simply responding to the attraction that had lit between them last night in the brief, heated space separating their bodies. The same attraction that burned now. He knew all of those things. Intellectually.

  But he leaned across the short distance and laid his lips against hers anyway.

  A sigh drifted out of her mouth and her eyes fluttered closed. As if he was giving her the best gift in the world. His pants grew tight in an instant. A smart guy would pull back, excuse himself to bed, and apologize for being rash. He was a smart guy. So why was he still moving his mouth gently along hers?

  Because she tastes too damn good, came the answer. He traced her bottom lip with his tongue; tasting the red wine on her mouth, savoring the notes of raspberry and dark cherries lingering there. Delectable.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned into him, one knee digging into his leg, and pulled his head toward hers. She darted her tongue into his mouth while he fought to keep pace. He clasped her at the ribs, holding her against him, and matched her mouth blow for blow. It was erotic as hell to have this woman literally writhing against him, her soft braless breasts pressed into his chest, her mouth making his brain relay information in sluggish Morse code.

  “Your knee,” he said between her devouring his mouth. He cupped her knee in his palm to relieve the pressure—the bruise she was leaving on his leg—and slid her leg aside.

  “Oh,” she breathed into his mouth. Her glassy eyes cleared and she abruptly pulled away and sat back on her heels.

  He sat in exactly the same position, his back to the couch, arms at his sides, erection throbbing loud enough for the neighbors to hear…

  She grew restless, eyes darting around the porch, shoulders shifting. She reached for her Pinot Noir and took a drink. So fidgety.

  He chuckled.

  After she swallowed her wine, she frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  The main difference between her and him was she had no clue what she was capable of; probably didn’t know where she’d be in two years. He knew what he was capable of. Knew who he was, and who he wasn’t. He’d plotted and planned his life out in incremental pieces for the last decade. Where he’d bet Kimber had been flying by the seat of her tantalizingly tight pants since adolescence.

  “Where do you see yourself in five years?” he asked, curious if he was right. But he was. He knew it.

  She let out a short laugh. “Back on the interview clock?”

  “Just trying to prove a point.”

  Anger flared in her green eyes. “What point? Don’t dance around it. Just say it.”

  Fair enough. “You’re looking for who you are. You’re tempting and sexy and I can see that you like me. But you also don’t know what you want.”

  He’d offended her. A scowl bisected her forehead. “And you do?”

  “Yes.” He wanted predictability, a company that excelled, a glass of thirty-year-old scotch on the balcony of his penthouse.

  “I’ve liked you for a long time, Landon.”

  Her honesty and the turn of the conversation took him by surprise. He broke his casual position by bending forward and taking a drink. When he leaned back, she was waiting for his reaction. Maybe for him to say he liked her, too. And he did. But telling her that would set high expectations.

  Too high.

  “I know you do.” He hated to ruin her peaches-and-cream worldview, to point out the thorns in her rose-colored glasses, but he didn’t want to lie to her, either. “I don’t want to sully who you are,” he said. “I don’t want to see you jaded. Bitter.” Like me.

  She blinked a few times. “Wow. Cocky much?”

  He sniffed. “Not cocky. Just honest.”

  She shifted in her seat, her shoulders going back, her chin lifting in defiance. Her nipples pressed against the beaded owl on the shirt she wore, a distracting view, but he forced his eyes back to her face. Eyes that flared with bottle-green anger. Redhead. He’d never dated a redhead before. Maybe the lore was true and she was every bit the hothead she appeared to be right now.

  “Just because I follow my heart,” she said adamantly, her face a confusion of strength and hurt. “Just because I’m transparent and not in control of my every body movement”—she gestured with her hands, sending her small breasts sliding against the shirt and turning him on even more—“doesn’t mean I’m a doe-eyed innocent. I know what I’m doing. I think I can handle kissing you without losing all essence of who I am.” Clutching the tie around his neck, she leaned in. “I am an independent, intelligent woman who does not need to be saved from anyone. Least of all you.”

  She was a woman all right. A seething, beautiful woman who was very close to him and smelling like the cucumber body wash stocked in her bathroom. He knew. He’d grown accustomed to the warm, sweet scent that eked its way into the hall every morning after her shower.

  “I wasn’t being insulting,” he said, hiding his amusement.

  “Yes you were,” she challenged, tugging him closer. He went, the tension pulling the tie against the back of his neck, unable to keep from admiring how beautiful she was, even this close. Natural, naked skin, full lips… “But I forgive you.”

  The side of his mouth ticked. He was going to kiss her again. But he’d give her a chance to make the first move. She did, fisting his tie even tighter and laying her lips onto his, but she didn’t stop there. With the swing of her leg over his lap, she settled on top of him. She sat right over his manhood, heat emanating from her core and through his slacks.

  It wasn’t often, if ever, he found himself turned on by being put in his place. Was rarely ever put in his place, come to think of it. He would concede he’d given Kimber less credit than she deserved. Either she knew what she wanted, or had opted to take the upper hand when she found herself at a disadvantage. He respected both tactics.

  She deepened the kiss, running her hands through his hair and clutching his head. His hands went to her butt, cupping and kneading the soft globes in his palms, stopping short of grinding her against him and relieving the painful ache pounding his balls like a pair of bongos.

  She stroked his tongue with hers, completely in control of this kiss and knowing where to take him. He fought to keep up, to figure out what she might do next, to catch the curveballs she was throwing. God, it was exciting. Amazing. The not-knowing… who knew that could be so enthralling?

  Then she stopped. Abruptly. Just turned off like a switch, climbed from his lap, reclaimed her wine, and settled onto the cushion she’d been lounging on when he’d first walked out here.

  He licked the side of his mouth, still tasting her there, his hands at his sides, chest heaving, hair probably a mess from her roaming fingers.

  She wouldn’t look at him, a study in casualness except for the one hand forced into a fist at her side. Trying to keep herself from fidgeting, no doubt. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. And she’d more than proved her point. If he wanted a partner to spar with, in bed or out, she was a worthy opponent, not some delicate flower he had to handle with care.

  Giving in and moving the hand she’d forcibly stilled, she pushed her hair over her shoulder and studied the skyline. The moon was an unimpressive half, not a fancy crescent or mournful full. His chin was elevated when she spoke next, her words stunning him so much, he snapped his head to face her.

  “Hope no one saw that and is uploading it to YouTube.” She blinked as if she’d stunned her
self, too. “I’m so sorry. That was… wow. Rude. I’m sorry.”

  He found himself mildly amused. “It’s fine, really.” It was.

  “It’s not,” she insisted. “It’s mean.”

  “I know you didn’t intend to be vicious. Trust me, Kimber, it’s fine. Lissa and I weren’t exactly head-over-heels-in-love there at the end.” Or for most of the beginning. For six years, their relationship had been more controlled and organized than a lab experiment. Which had been fine by him. What hadn’t been fine was the grainy video shown to him on someone’s cell phone. There wasn’t a good place to find out his fiancée was involved in some seriously heavy petting with another man, but a charity dinner for cystic fibrosis had to be one of the worst.

  “That’s sad,” she said.

  She had that heartbroken look in her eyes again. He didn’t like that fragility. It made him want to… he didn’t know what. Protect her, or something. Which was insane. Like he was in any position to be anyone’s knight.

  “It wasn’t…” He didn’t know how to go about explaining his and Lissa’s relationship without sounding like a machine. “It didn’t start out that way,” he amended. “I cared about her.”

  Oh yes. Way to not sound like a machine.

  But it was the truth. He’d cared about Lissa. He’d never loved her though. “By the time we were engaged, we were friends at best.” They’d been over each other. He’d thought they’d been friends, had a kind of understanding most couples didn’t have. They could travel, work, all without answering to each other. It’d been an ideal arrangement. Companionship, sex. A partner. But it hadn’t been enough. Not for Lissa. He’d learned that the night he’d seen the footage of her and Carson Robbins. The prick.

  “Then why did you get engaged?” Kimber asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Are you a reporter?” he asked.

  Her cheeks tinged with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

  He touched her knee, smiling for her benefit. “Kidding.”

  “Oh.” He was rewarded by a small smile. He wanted to kiss her again; found himself wishing she would saddle him so he could once more grasp on to her cushiony, delicious body. Sounded like a better idea than them sitting here talking about his ex-fiancée.

  “So… why did you?” she pressed.

  She wasn’t going to let that go. He would have to tell her the ugly truth. Is there any other kind?

  “Because, like the YouTube video, Lissa thought an engagement would be good publicity.”

  Kimber’s eyes widened. Naïve to the ways of the world. If only she knew how many things were staged, arranged, and pretended. He watched her. She watched him back.

  Would she be strong enough to handle this about him? Or would she stand firmly on her moral high ground and use his revelation as an excuse to leave? There was a reason no one in his family knew he and Lissa were about as in love with one another as Democrats and Republicans. Because they would have lectured and browbeat him a long time ago.

  Like Kimber was planning on lecturing him now?

  He liked her. Too much, he realized a bit belatedly. But then, there was no danger of losing himself to her, was there? His head was efficiently separated from his heart. As they’d clearly just established.

  But she didn’t lecture him. She reached for his hand and squeezed. He wanted to turn his palm over and intertwine their fingers. Instead, he slipped his hand free and reached for his scotch.

  “Don’t be,” he said after a thorough drink. “I am the Tin Man.”

  Her brows lowered. “You think you have no heart?” she asked with a hint of disgust.

  He knew he didn’t. At least, not in the way she was suggesting. “Lissa’s nickname for me.” He raised a shoulder dismissively.

  “Well Lissa is a cheating, awful, horrible person who took you for granted. If I were you, I wouldn’t heed to her opinion.”

  He sat up taller, felt stronger. Kimber coming out swinging in his defense? He didn’t need it, but he appreciated it. Other than his mother and sister—and they did not count—he hadn’t had a woman in his corner in a long, long time. If ever. Kimber was so real. Authenticity radiated from her like steam from a kettle. So different from the women he’d shared his life with before.

  Nice to know he could count on the truth for as long as she was around. She’d never use him up for her own needs, whether he was willing or not.

  A spark of hope lit within him and he snuffed it out. Hoping for a future with Kimber was pointless. The lure of fake bait at the end of a fishing line. He knew who he was. And getting a glimpse of someone he could’ve been before he’d endured his unchangeable past didn’t matter now. That man wasn’t real.

  “Heads up,” she murmured, pulling him out of his darkening thoughts. He followed the direction of her gaze to the baby monitor. The screen showed Lyon’s tangled bedding and abandoned Superman figurine, but his nephew was nowhere to be seen.

  A moment later, Lyon appeared at the patio door. Kimber stood and Landon had the inconceivable urge to latch on to her wrist and pull her down next to him, despite their pint-sized company.

  “Let me guess. Water?” she asked Lyon.

  Lyon nodded.

  “Come say good night to your uncle,” she said sweetly. Landon’s heart pinched as she turned those soft eyes on him before walking inside. Then pinched harder when he caught his nephew against his chest and managed to wrangle the boy into the seat next to him.

  While his nephew recapped his adventurous day of Legos, Gotham City, and peanut butter sandwiches, Landon couldn’t stop his eyes from going over Lyon’s head to the swing of Kimber’s bottom as she walked through the living room to the open kitchen.

  Not going to happen, he reminded himself sternly.

  For her sake. And for his.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  This is all your fault,” Kimber teased after telling Gloria the gory details about what happened on the patio with Landon.

  Glo choked out a laugh.

  She’d sworn Glo to secrecy. Kimber didn’t know what, if anything, Evan knew about Landon and Lissa’s relationship, but she’d made it clear to Gloria not to repeat any of it.

  “Well you, my friend, are welcome,” Glo said, sounding satisfied.

  “I’m ‘welcome’?” She laid on the sarcasm pretty thick, but Glo didn’t flinch.

  “You shared a delicious lip lock with a powerful, wealthy man, sweetie. You are welcome.”

  She made an excellent point. “Okay, well, maybe I’ll blame Mick. If I didn’t need the money to buy him out of Hobo Chic—”

  “I warned you not to turn your boy toy into your business partner.”

  Kimber leaned on the bench, one eye on Lyon who waved before he slid down the slide in the playground. She smiled and waved back, then frowned at her best friend. “Do you really think now is the right time for an ‘I told you so’?”

  Glo took a sip from her extra-large Starbucks cup. “Maybe not.”

  “Anyway. If I hadn’t needed the money, I could have said no.”

  “It’s perfect, actually.”

  Kimber sipped her iced coffee and watched Lyon play on the slide. “What’s perfect?”

  “You always fall in love with every guy you date,” Glo said. “Well, maybe not with them but with the idea of being in love.”

  Kimber didn’t know what brought on that bit of psychobabble. Unfortunately, Glo was right. Mick. Joey. Stephen. All of them would have been perfectly suitable short-term relationships. It was Kimber who’d sunk her hooks in them and tried to drag it out. Tried to make it work.

  “It’s because of the divorce,” Kimber said. “I’m trying to make up for the fact that I couldn’t save my parents’ marriage, so I try to make every relationship stand the test of time.”

  Glo’s black eyebrows disappeared into her thick, ebony bangs.

  “Dr. Phil,” Kimber supplied.

  “Huh.”

  “Kimber! Watch!”

  “I’m watch
ing!” she called to Lyon, applauding when he slid to the bottom and rolled to the ground. She laughed, then her laugh faded. If she had said no to Angel’s offer to babysit, she never would have met Lyon. And he’d opened her heart in a way she couldn’t describe. Like he’d knocked down a wall and let light in.

  Yeah. And that light-filled, wall-less heart has nothing to do with Landon.

  “You’re so good with him,” Gloria observed.

  “I know. Weird.”

  “No. It’s not the least bit surprising that you’re good with children. You are a very self-sacrificing person. You love in a genuine, uncompromising way. Whereas I’m just… mean.”

  “You’re not mean,” Kimber said. Then frowned. Glo’s description of Kimber reminded her of Landon’s assessment last night. Was she really seen as a saint? She’d gone out of her way to prove to him she wasn’t saintly last night. She’d risen with the worst feeling of dread this morning, and hoped she might not run into him.

  She did run into him, of course. The house may be big, but the kitchen was the hub of all morning activity. There’d been no avoiding him. Lyon had been watching TV from the kitchen table while his Froot Loops went soggy while Kimber munched on an English muffin. Landon had stepped into the kitchen in a sexy charcoal suit and a pair of stylish silver-rimmed glasses she’d never seen before.

  He made himself a cup of coffee, pausing to tell Lyon to eat his breakfast and to mention to her that he hoped he’d be home earlier than the last two nights. He’d also slid her a knowing look that made her nipples tighten before murmuring, “Red or white wine tonight? I’d like to prepare my palate.”

  She fanned her shirt now, her face growing warm as she remembered the way he’d licked his bottom lip and sent her a smile. Her palate was prepared for one thing for sure: more of his amazing mouth.