No, Landon looked at her like he knew she could hold her own. He didn’t overpower her with sensuality or downplay her emotions when she spoke. He listened. Like what she said mattered.
But he hadn’t offered much conversation of his own last night, had he? He’d been silent while she’d told him about her college life, even delving into the mess she’d made of buying Hobo Chic with Mick.
So? He doesn’t spill his guts to virtual strangers. That only means he’s normal.
But they weren’t strangers. She’d spent the summer with Landon and his entire family. She’d celebrated Angel’s birthday, gone with them to the lake for their annual vacation, had eaten dinner with them every evening… Maybe that familiarity was why she felt so attracted to him now. Because even though she didn’t feel sixteen, parts of her body still reacted like she was. Her heart, for example, that fluttered at the thought of seeing Landon come home tonight. And the slight shake in her hand, rattling her wineglass, revealing her self-consciousness and frazzled nerves.
Ridiculous, those nerves.
He was a man and she was a woman. Flirting, attraction was a very real possibility. An acceptable side effect. Just because they’d shared some sly glances and comments laced with innuendo didn’t put her at a disadvantage.
She bypassed a pair of Adirondack chairs on the sprawling balcony and sat on the wicker sofa. Weighed down by her thoughts as much as her vain attempt to unravel the mysteries of the universe, she leaned her head back and cleared her mind.
Many of the neighboring buildings’ windows were lit, their occupants rummaging around the kitchens while televisions flashed in the living room. Turns out the rich lived much like everyone else did. Just with an infinitely better view.
She heard the balcony door open and turned her head. Landon stepped out, jacket off, sleeves cuffed, tie in place. Not exactly casual, but two out of three wasn’t bad.
“There you are.” His smooth voice poured over her like honey, sliding into her stomach and making her aware of that man-woman tension she’d been contemplating seconds ago. She ran her eyes over his forearms dusted with light brown hair, admired the elegant stride of his long body as he walked toward her.
Her next words exited on a soft sigh. “Here I am.”
“I can join you,” he said. “Unless you’re having a moment of peace. If so, I’ll leave this and go.” He held up the wine bottle she’d opened.
“I hope you don’t mind that I opened it.”
“I was saving it for when I finished up with the Windy City account, but that’s okay.”
“What?” He tipped the bottle and she covered her glass with her palm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I am.”
Removing her hand, she pressed it to her chest to alleviate her pounding heart. “Don’t do that.”
He finished the pour and turned the bottle to catch a lingering purple drop. “Sorry.” He didn’t mean that. She could see the amused gleam in his eye.
“I didn’t know you had a mean streak.”
“Older brother curse.” He was standing. He gestured to the couch, a question on his face. She nodded and he sat next to her. Not too close, but her chest tightened as if he’d sat down and pulled her onto his lap.
Mmm. She’d like that.
She gave her head a brief shake. Whenever he was near, her body went into some kind of high alert, her nipples thermometers registering his specific brand of body heat. She crossed her arms over her breasts, wishing she had left her bra on. Of all the nights to go commando.
He draped his arm along the edge of the sofa behind her head like he had last night. Casually. Calmly. Like he was content to sit on the balcony with her and savor his scotch. If it wasn’t for the tightness around his eyes and the lines bracketing his unsmiling mouth, she would have believed he was both calm and content.
She wondered if he had anyone to talk to in his world.
“How was your day?” Lame, she chastised herself, but it was a start.
“T.G.I.F. Yours?”
That wasn’t an answer. One of those wasn’t even a word. He’d given her an acronym, then followed it with a question.
“I couldn’t be more tired if I tried,” she answered honestly. Your turn, mister. “Did you reimage the best potato chip in the world?”
He grunted. A definitive no.
“Probably too much to hope that you’d get it done in a week, right?” she guessed. She had no idea how long these sorts of things took, or how long it took for a brand switch to go from concept to completion.