More than once, she thought wryly.
But sex with Landon was about more than sacking a hot guy. Being with him would be a dream come true, a fantasy sixteen years in the making, a night of—
Gloria’s scolding face popped into Kimber’s psyche, and her brain registered a warning.
Oh. Right.
The point was not to make this into more than what it was. The point was to prove to herself once and for all she could have a fling. She didn’t have to turn every relationship into potential matrimony. She could love ’em and leave ’em with the best of them.
Kimber chewed on a fingernail. This was ridiculous. She was as skilled at not getting attached as she was at knife-throwing. In other words: not at all.
Time to turn that around then.
She’d never find a husband if she kept smothering the life out of her dates. If she kept caging them into her world and not letting them breathe. A small part of her started to argue that she wasn’t quite the Black Widow she’d just accused herself of being, but she shut down her defenses. She had to get out of this rut. And it was a deep rut. One mired with mud, and desperation, and the bones of her past relationships.
Tired of staring at the door like a desperate dog waiting on its owner to return, she went to the bathroom and fussed with her hair. She brushed her teeth again, checked her toenail polish, swept powder over her nose. She sat on the bed. Then laid on it. Then got up and remade it so that there were no wrinkles on the duvet.
She frowned at the door, then at herself, for waiting around like a good little maiden. Either Lyon was awake and being a bear, or Landon was taking his sweet time coming to her. Either way, she needed to find out what was going on outside of her room.
At the end of the hallway, both Landon’s and Lyon’s bedroom doors stood open, Lyon’s nightlight glowing in the darkness. She was headed that way when voices echoed down the bisecting corridor, coming from the direction of the kitchen. She recognized Landon’s low murmur immediately, and a secondary voice. A man’s voice. Evan.
She hesitated, her face heating as she remembered the compromised conversation Evan had caught her in the middle of not so long ago. But since she was being brave and bold—ha!—she took a deep breath and entered the kitchen anyway.
Evan sat next to his son holding a crayon. Lyon swung his feet back and forth under the kitchen chair, filling in the spaces on a fresh coloring book.
Lyon looked up when she walked in. “Look, Kimber!” he shouted, no evidence he’d been out cold minutes ago, “Man of Steel coloring book!” He lifted the picture he was working on and showed her.
“Wow, does your dad know you, or what?” She cast an approving glance at Evan.
Evan winked at her. But not in a flirty way. In an I Know What You Did Last Summer way. She licked her lips nervously and flicked her attention to the island where Landon was leaning on his forearms.
“Did we wake you?” he asked. Oh, that dirty devil. He didn’t smile, didn’t waggle his eyebrows, but she could see the heat in his eyes, the slight twitch of his lips.
“I wasn’t asleep,” she answered as evenly as she was able.
He gave in and smiled, sending her pulse into a hectic rhythm. She bit down on her lip, studying the dip in his chin, the way his capable hands were folded neatly on the counter where he leaned. He may be trying to look casual, but she could see the rigidity in his spine. No, he was coiled. Ready to pounce. Ready to get the hell out of this kitchen.
A shiver climbed her spine but heated as it licked its way down. She pressed her thighs together to keep flames from gathering between her legs and setting her alight. The man could level her with a look. While she stood next to his unassuming brother and nephew.
Good Lord, Kimber, pull it together.
She was about to make an excuse about needing a bottle of water when Evan spoke.
“I’ll just crash in Lyon’s room.” He addressed Landon, obviously picking up the conversation they’d been having before she interrupted.
“Are you staying tomorrow, too?” Landon kept leaning, his eyes trained on his brother. Somehow, though, she felt him watching her from his peripheral; knew he had a plan he was working out this very moment.
Evan colored part of Superman’s boot orange and Lyon argued he was doing it wrong. He relinquished the orange crayon and accepted the red one. “I want to take Lyon to Navy Pier, but yeah, we’ll be out of your place by morning. We’ll get breakfast out, too.” He nudged his son. “Chocolate chip pancakes okay?”
The boy’s wide smile showcased his toothless gap. “Yeah!”