“I used to,” she said quietly, pulling his shirt closed over her tank top and buttoning the buttons one by one.
“Don’t they teach you that in fashion school?” He threw the wide end of the tie over the narrow end, then repeated the motion.
“Yes. I learned how when I was seven; used to love to tie my dad’s ties.”
The mention of her father reminded him of the summer her parents had divorced. She’d been upset. He’d seen the evidence in her defeated stature at his family’s dinner table. His parents had been a unit, so in love that it’d nearly killed his father when Mom died. But Landon had a solid family, siblings. Kimber had no siblings, he remembered, and her parents’ marriage had fractured when she was at a fragile age.
He didn’t know what it would be like not to be able to count on his family. He’d probably taken for granted that his parents would be there for him when he came home from college that summer. And they had. They’d welcomed him back, no questions asked. Well, almost no questions. He’d been as vague as possible when his mother asked why he was home and not on campus. He’d told her that Rachel dumped him, that he was okay, but wanted to be home. She’d accepted his words at face value, never prying into his personal life. She’d died not knowing she almost had another grandchild. At least she’d gotten to know Lyon, he thought, suddenly sad.
He stuffed the bottom of the tie through the loop, shaking off his morose thoughts. “I never thanked you for helping me with my paper that summer you stayed with us.” Creative writing. Hell on earth. One would think that as a marketing major, who was an excellent designer, he’d have a good grasp of writing a paper. He didn’t. Slogans were a breeze compared to two-thousand-word fictional stories. Kimber had offered to look at his story—hell if he could remember now what it’d been about—and handed it back to him obliterated with red marks. She’d apologized profusely at the time.
“Oh, that,” she said now, a smile tugging her mouth. “I was… overzealous back then.”
“You were also right.” The praise he’d gotten for that assignment was for the elements she had suggested adding. Advanced English Lit had treated her well. She was smart.
She finished buttoning the shirt. “Did you get an A?”
“I got a C.” He tightened the knot of the tie, sparing her a glance. “Not your fault.” The television blared from the other room, shocking the silence from the air and surprising him. He jerked, in the process knocking his hand against her chin. Her teeth clacked together audibly and she lifted a hand to cover her lips, scrunching her eyes shut.
“Oh my God, Kimber. Are you all right?” Way to go, just punch her in the face, why don’t you? He cradled her jaw in his hands. Her damp eyes fluttered open. “I’ll get you some ice.”
Lightly touching his hand, she shook her head. “No. I’m okay.” She blinked again, sniffing. “Natural reaction to being clocked in the jaw.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She smiled, though, holding no grudge. Rather than move his hand away, he trailed his fingers from her face to her neck. Her hair tickled the backs of his hands and her eyes darkened to forest green. His attention snapped to her lips and, in a rush, he remembered last night. The way she’d climbed on him, claimed him, stroked her eager tongue against his…
She thought about it, too. He could tell by the way she tipped her chin… And he was kissing her again. With no more invitation than that. He moved his lips slowly, gently over hers, his fingers resting on her neck, his thumbs under her chin. Then it was over and he was pulling his head back to train his eyes on hers.
“I want you.” He brushed her lip with the pad of one thumb. “Badly.”
She watched him, motionless and silent instead of fidgety and flabbergasted.
A good sign. “Say something.”
“This is the part where I’m supposed to say this is a bad idea, right? That we should be responsible and think of Lyon and not get involved.”
“Probably,” he admitted.
Her eyes turned up to his. “I don’t want to say that.”
His hopes levitated. Hopes he had no reason to feel. Kimber wasn’t like the women he’d dated before. She wasn’t cold and calculating. Most of his girlfriends past were career-driven and would sooner dive into oncoming traffic than leave work for a week to do him a favor. Paid or not.
Despite his reasoning not to encourage her, he did. “Then say what you want.”