“I’ll be here,” Mick murmured, stunning her further. “I won’t let you be alone in this, Kimber.”
“I’ll be fine.” Mick had never wanted the responsibility of… well… anything. What was he talking about?
His eyes flickered over her face, brows arched at a sympathetic bend. “You’ve always been so independent.”
She took a breath and, desperate for a subject change, reached up and plucked the clip from his hair. The strands flopped down in every direction, and she rearranged them on his head. “There. Now you look—”
Before she could pull her hand away, he lowered his lips and placed a feather-light kiss on her mouth. When he backed away, Kimber registered a man standing in her open doorway.
Landon.
In that single second in time, he’d walked in to find her hands in Mick’s hair and Mick’s mouth on hers, making one thing certain.
Landon had the worst timing imaginable.
* * *
What. The fuck.
Landon gripped the shopping bag, his fingers numb, his vision blurred by a sea of red at the sight of the guy kissing Kimber. Had to be her ex. He’d heard enough about him to know this guy had no problem eschewing basic decency.
And kissing Kimber, after Landon had made love to her days ago, was definitely indecent.
She plucked her hand from the guy’s hair and pushed him aside. But the sight of Mick’s frown didn’t make Landon feel marginally better.
“Landon,” she said. “What a surprise.” Her smile was fake. As fake as the photos in Lissa’s portfolio.
“I should have called.” Apparently.
“Yeah, you should’ve,” her ex said, taking a step toward the door.
“No.” She stayed his next step with a hand around his arm. Landon would like it if she stopped touching the tattooed, pierced dickweed altogether. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told Landon. It sounded like the truth. “Mick, why don’t you go help Neil in the store?”
“Yeah, Mick. Get to work.” He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help himself.
Mick met him at the door, a few paces from where Kimber was standing, and stopped short of scuffing Landon’s shoes. “Peddle your prissy ass elsewhere, millionaire. Let us common folk handle our business.”
After mentally determining he wouldn’t injure the mobile and stuffed dog inside, Landon dropped the shopping bag. He leaned in, marginally, but enough for Mick to move his chin back a fraction. “This is our business, Mick. She’s carrying my baby. You’re just a guy she used to date.”
He raised a finger, Landon presumed to poke him in the chest with it. If he did, Landon would break it. So help him, he’d snap the digit in two.
“You—”
“Enough!” Kimber shouted. Mick’s finger halted midair, centimeters from needing a splint.
Mick lowered his arm but kept his eyes trained on Landon. Landon reclaimed his bag, sidestepped Mick, and walked in. He thought about planting a deep, slow kiss on Kimber’s mouth, then remembered that Mick had just kissed her and thought better of it. His stomach pooled with disgust.
“Mick. Out.” She pointed, authority ringing in her voice. In spite of the situation, or maybe because of it, she sounded sexy. “Close the door behind you. Please and thank you.”
Mick wasn’t happy about it, but he went. Landon started to put Kimber’s gift on the couch, but the cushions were already littered with Babies ‘R’ Us bags.
What the hell?
Had they gone baby shopping together? Landon suddenly felt like he’d been missing some major component. Was it possible the baby she carried wasn’t his? Possible that she’d been pregnant before they’d slept together? Or worse. Maybe she’d always wanted a child and had rigged the condom to—
“Would you stop jumping to a hundred different conclusions and let me explain?” she asked.
He turned to find her arms crossed over her chest. Miffed that she’d read his mind, he mirrored her posture. Fine. He’d let her explain.
She pointed at the bag in his hand. “Is that for me?”
“Yes.” He held fast.
A slightly bemused smile lit her lips like this wasn’t a big deal. But it was a huge deal. Enormous. He took in her simple, patterned dress, weathered leather bracelets, and sandals. She looked pretty today, inviting and familiar. And like that, his heart softened to room temperature butter. Wait. No. He was angry.
“My mother bought this stuff for me,” she explained. “I drove to Osborn yesterday morning to tell her in person. She’s excited, by the way.”
Very angry, he reminded himself, keeping his expression stony.
“I got home a few minutes ago and I couldn’t carry all this stuff up the back stairs so I asked for Mick’s help.”
Some of his anger dissipated. That sounded… reasonable. “And the kiss?” He hated to ask, for fear of the answer. But he deserved an explanation.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He kissed me. I was taking a clip out of his hair.” She still held it. She opened and closed the plastic jaws before resting the clip on the kitchen counter. “I think he has some sort of misguided, innate male protectiveness. He didn’t want to be a part of my life when it was just him and me. And, more importantly, I don’t want him.”
Her words hovered in the air, and he waited for her to say I want you or some other proclamation that would make him feel like less of a cuckold. That he felt this way at all made him want to hit something, and he wasn’t a violent guy. Though wrapping his hands around Mick’s skinny neck would make him feel better.
With a gentle touch, she loosened his fingers around the handle and took the bag out of his hand. He let her, watching silently as she set it aside. Before he could remind himself he was still upset with her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and her scent looped his brain. Not the cucumber fragrance he’d grown accustomed to, but something tangy and sweet, and one hundred percent Kimber. “Thank you for the present.”
“You haven’t opened it yet,” he said rigidly. He was still sulking, but he really hadn’t liked the way Mick had touched her. The way he’d kissed her. Like he was staking a claim on her. Or because Mick had kissed her before? Yes. That pissed him off most of all.
“I don’t care what it is. It’s from you,” Kimber said sweetly. “I’m sorry about Mick.”
The slide of her silky dress beneath his palms did wonders to lower his blood pressure. He’d missed her over the past few days, but had resisted calling more than the one time. He wanted to give her some space to think. Give himself some space to think. What he’d figured out during his alone time was that he wanted her and this baby in his life more often than not. Like all the time.
She was lucky he hadn’t slipped an engagement ring in with her gift. But even he wasn’t that stupid.
“I wish you’d kiss me,” she murmured, closing in on him and wrapping her arms tighter around his neck. “I miss you.”
Predictably, he caved at her request. But first… Palm cupping her jaw, he swiped his thumb across her lips. Knowing what he was doing, and why, she scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand before smiling up at him.
Landon took her lips captive, the kiss starting sweet and edging into wet, wild territory in a manner of seconds. All of their kisses had been like this one. Hot. Ferocious. Combustible. His jealousy melted into the need to claim her. He spied a bed on the other side of the room and backed her toward it, careful to sidestep the stroller—a stroller, too?—and other bags littered around the room.
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.” L
ovemaking 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. P
robably 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?”
His lips tipped into a smile. “I was going to surprise you. It’s going to be visible from the highway, but I can change the design for a fee. If we get the new location and info to them by—”
“This is my business, Landon.” And evidently she needed to remind both of them of that fact. “My store. My life.”
His mouth twitched. “I know that.”
“Do you? Because this is the first I’ve heard about moving my residence and store, advertising, and letting my employees go. How many decisions were you planning to make without talking to me first?”
He sighed again, and for some reason the sound made her angry. “Kimber, I’m not allowing you to live in a questionable neighborhood, at the top of a very tall flight of stairs.”
“ ‘Allowing’ me to?”
He ignored her. “How are you going to carry heavy groceries into your house? What about when you go into labor? Are you going to walk down forty steps and drive your rusted old car to the hospital by yourself?” His jaw clicked and then he added, “Or are you planning on having Mick help you with all of that?”
Her mouth dropped open. Mick? This was about Mick? Wonderful. Jealous and overbearing. “Mick has nothing to do with any of this. And—and I like my car. I like my apartment. I like my store where it is.”
Stunned, she couldn’t think of anything more to say. Just because she was pregnant didn’t give him the right to take over. He wanted her living in his house, running Hobo Chic the way he wanted, with the employees he wanted. “How can you even be sure a vintage store would do well in this affluent of a neighborhood?” So not her biggest concern, but she was desperate to find solid ground for this argument.
He shrugged. “If not, we, I mean you,” he amended, “can change what you’re selling. Purses or jewelry or something.” He waved a hand like the subject was closed.
The Millionaire Affair (Love in the Balance) Page 20