“Which, by the way, is not a word,” he added as she blinked out of her thoughts.
“You know what I mean.” She leaned her shoulder against the back of the sofa, moving a smidge closer to him. “Do you ever follow your heart?”
She watched her hand lift of its own volition and feather the silken hair over his temple before resting her fingertips there and tapping lightly. “Instead of your brain.”
* * *
Landon stilled when she touched him. It was the softest, barely there brush of her fingers, but it made his scalp tingle like a colony of ants skittered across his skull. And his head wasn’t the only part of him tingling. So were parts in his southern hemisphere. Her head was cocked just so, her shimmering green eyes bare of any makeup. All he wanted to do was sift his hand into her fiery waves and taste that mouth.
Thinky brain be damned.
He settled for lifting a piece of her hair that’d been brushing his hand since she’d turned to face him. As he rubbed the thick strands between his fingers, he realized how intimate touching her like this was. They faced each other, her fingers pressing gently against his temple, his hand in her hair.
He swallowed thickly, remembering she’d spoken last. “No. I don’t follow my heart,” he said, talking about two things simultaneously.
She pulled her hand away and studied him, her pink mouth sliding into an adorable little pout. “Why not?” She looked like he’d just told her unicorns weren’t real. Like the Easter Bunny was a sham.
“Because it’s not smart,” he said, his voice gruffer than he’d intended. “You cannot build a multimillion-dollar advertising business by ‘going with your gut.’ ” And he sure as hell hadn’t profited the one time in his personal life he’d followed his heart. He’d been willing to change his entire life for Rachel; had altered his future plans to support his girlfriend and their unborn baby. And what had she done? Thrown him away. Ridded herself of him, their future. Our baby.
He winced, pain slicing his heart. He hated reminders of that time in his life. Hated how utterly out of control he’d been back then. How powerless he was to stop an event Rachel had set in motion. Once he’d grieved, once he’d had some distance and looked back at them in a practical, pragmatic way, it was obvious how ill-fated he and Rachel had been. But up close, he hadn’t seen their imminent demise. Not at all.
Yes, his heart had been his worst enemy back then. Not Rachel’s though; she’d been thinking clearly. Had suffered no such qualms about walking away from him, from college, from being a mother.
That was the only time in his life he’d ever allowed his heart to blind his brain. And since the brain’s sole job was to process information, it seemed wise to use it instead of the organ that at best was unreliable, and at worst, put a majority of the nation into an early grave.
His lips pulled into a frown. Kimber’s arrival back into his life had brought not only memories of first meeting her at his parents’ house, but had also stirred up the settled dust of his past. Well he preferred to keep the past where it belonged. In the past. Not irritating his every nerve ending.
“I always go with my brain,” he said solidly.
She had folded her arms over her chest, jostling her breasts beneath her top in a way that he noticed there was nothing harnessing them there. No bra. God help him. She shuffled her shoulders and sent the small mounds sliding along the material. He averted his eyes and took a drink of his scotch, wondering if she had any idea she was doing it.
“I follow my heart,” she contested.
Of course she did. He could read her like a large-print book. Could see that she offered herself as a sacrifice when the situation called, could see her need to belong. To fit. To be loved. Her desire for a whole and complete family, likely because her parents had split up when she was young.
Ideals he’d let go of a long, long time ago. He had a loving family—his siblings, his father, his cousins, his nephew. They filled the empty space in his heart that had once been earmarked for a family of his own. They’d have to do. Because he wasn’t going there. He couldn’t.
“Are you where you want to be in life?” he asked.
Kimber frowned, a neat little pleat slicing between her amber brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I didn’t mean anything other than what I asked.” He slipped his glasses off and dropped them on the table next to his drink. “You’re listening with your heart, getting hurt by something I didn’t say.”
She placed her wineglass on the table and sat back again, quiet as if considering his words. And fidgeting. She pulled on her earlobe, stroked her hair behind her ear, brushed her finger over the tip of her nose. She was like a nervous squirrel. It drove him crazy, and not in a good way… or in a very good way, depending on his perspective.