Lyon lowered the sword and squinted up at her. Kimber wasn’t sure if he was wondering what a lady was, or wondering if she qualified. She gave him her best demure eye-blink in order to allow Landon to dispense a valuable life lesson.
“Especially one this pretty.” Landon had spoken so low, she thought for a moment she’d imagined the compliment. Her heart fluttered. Seriously. Fluttered. Once again she was sixteen, peeking out of Angel’s bedroom window and watching Landon do push-ups on the dock outside their rented lake house. She’d longed for him so much back then. Even when he wore a sweat-soaked white T-shirt and navy gym shorts. She glanced at him but, like back then, he didn’t notice her now, either. She still longed for him. That would make this, the choice to come here and stay the week, her latest entry in a diary of bad decisions.
“What am I s’posed to do?” Lyon asked his uncle, sounding inconvenienced that he couldn’t charge her, then demand sustenance.
“First,” Landon said, taking the toy from Lyon’s grip and tossing it onto the bed. “You don’t challenge her to battle.”
She bit her lip to stifle a laugh.
“You say hello. Introduce yourself.” Landon faced Kimber to demonstrate, offering his palm, not in handshake mode, but like he might kiss her hand. She slid her palm into his warmer one and he wrapped his fingers around hers gently, but with enough strength that her every body part recognized him as a man. “Landon Downey,” he said, his voice like velvet and as warm as the sunshine streaming in from the window behind him. He tipped his chin, and a shadow dipped into a small cleft there. Had she never noticed it until now? Or, like his eyes, had she simply forgotten the detail over the years?
“Kimber Reynolds,” she said on a sigh. He lifted her hand and her breath caught expectantly.
But rather than his firm lips grazing her knuckles, instead he turned her hand to the side and gave her arm two short, professional pumps. The warmth in her palm receded the instant he pulled his hand away. “Nice to meet you.”
Before she had a chance to realign her frittering hormones, Lyon clasped on to her and gave her arm a vigorous shake. “I’m Lyon Downey.”
She stiffened her muscles and managed to regain control of her arm. Barely. “Nice to meet you, Lyon.”
“Now will you make me breakfast?”
Kimber spent the next half hour getting acquainted with Lyon, which basically involved him showing her every toy he had, which was a lot of toys. She wondered if Landon bought them especially for this visit, or if he kept them here for whenever Lyon came over. After Lyon had tired of show-and-tell, and Landon was satisfied that Kimber would not cook up his nephew and have him for dinner, Landon stood from the bed, pulled his phone from a pocket, and motioned for her to follow him out.
She smoothed her dress as she stood from the pile of superhero figures Lyon had dragged from the closet.
Landon didn’t look up from his phone. “You’re good, then?”
Lyon threw a toy in the air and nearly put his own eye out. She forced a steady smile. “Yep. We’re good.”
“Great. Lyon, I’ll see you after dinner, okay? Be good for Kimber.”
“Okay,” he answered in a sweet little-boy voice that warmed her heart. Goodness. The kid had more personalities than Dr. Jekyll.
“Walk with me,” Landon murmured to her as he strode by, still fervently avoiding her eyes. She followed him into a den or office of some sort where he gathered his briefcase, head down. “You know about Lyon’s mother?”
She nodded, then answered aloud since he still wasn’t looking at her. “Yes. Angel told me.” Rae Lynn Downey had died when Lyon was three. Poor Rae. Poor Evan. Poor Lyon. Tragedy struck everyone in one form or another, never granting immunity even to those most deserving.
“Just wanted to be sure you knew,” he said quietly. “Sometimes he talks about her.” Then he added in a harder voice that was all business, “I will be home at eight. Lyon’s bedtime is eight thirty. I’ll say good night to him when I get in.” He stopped at the doorway where she lingered. She took in his stubble-free face. The crisp, clean smell that wafted off of him. Aftershave, maybe? “Any questions?”
She licked her bottom lip, the only questions entering her consciousness a string of highly inappropriate requests. He lifted a sandy-colored eyebrow, his eyes flickering to her mouth.
“Actually, yes,” she said, pausing to clear her throat. “Do you have a map of the penthouse so I can find my room?”
His lips twitched and smile lines bracketing his mouth appeared before disappearing just as quickly. Her eyes lowered to the shallow dent in his chin, and she could swear her breasts grew heavy. She definitely did not remember that cleft. Meow.