The Best Mistake of Her Life
Aimee Carson
A fake date with her brother’s wild best friend…What could possibly go wrong? High-flying, high-profile, ex-prom queen and now ex-wife, Kate Anderson has her school reunion and she just can’t face it alone. Hot-shot stuntman, and her twin brother’s best friend, Memphis James is a dangerous option.Their breathtaking, sizzling hot chemistry makes him the perfect companion, but a far greater concern is their scorching shared past. Every turn Kate takes makes it seem like the wheels are falling off her once oh-so-sorted life. Should she flee the scene, or free-fall into the wildest fling of her life? If you like the films Friends With Benefits or The Wedding Date, you’ll love this.
Praise for Aimee Carson
‘Oh, my, what a fantastic debut by Aimee Carson.
I loved it! It really has everything that I like
in a good contemporary romance: a feisty heroine
who is far from perfect, snappy dialogue and
sizzling chemistry—and I mean sizzling. *That* scene
in the elevator … phew! The romance and relationship
between Alyssa and Paulo is actually quite simple, but
perfectly done. Aimee’s writing flows beautifully, and
she has created two great characters. I applaud her for
Alyssa’s ‘bad girl’ roots, I loved her! The book is well
written and developed, with plenty of sass and sparkle.
I can’t wait to read more from Aimee in the future.’
—www.everyday-is-the-same.blogspot.com on
Secret History of a Good Girl
About the Author
About Aimee Carson
The summer she turned eleven, AIMEE left the children’s section of the library and entered an aisle full of Mills & Boon
novels. She promptly pulled out a book, sat on the floor, and read the entire story. It has been a love affair that has lasted for over thirty years.
Despite a fantastic job working part-time as a physician in the Alaskan Bush (think Northern Exposure and ER, minus the beautiful mountains and George Clooney), she also enjoys being at home in the gorgeous Black Hills of South Dakota, riding her dirt bike with her three wonderful kids and beyond patient husband. But, whether at home or at work, every morning is spent creating the stories she loves so much. Her motto? Life is too short to do anything less than what you absolutely love. She counts herself lucky to have two jobs she adores, and incredibly blessed to be a part of Mills & Boon’s family of talented authors.
Also by Aimee Carson
Dare She Kiss & Tell?
How to Win the Dating War
Secret History of a Good Girl*
*Published as part of the Mills & Boon Loves … anthology.
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Best Mistake of Her Life
Aimee Carson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
MEMPHIS James stood on the twenty-second floor of the downtown Miami building and looked down at the camera crew on the street below, spectators lining the barricade like curious ants. There was only one chance to get the high-fall right—no do-overs possible. Along with the stunt engineer, Memphis had meticulously checked and rechecked every detail, including his harness, the cable hoist and the wind conditions. No matter how crazy the stunt, death wasn’t likely—more of a distant possibility that hinged on either mechanical error or miscalculation, so nothing was left to chance. Memphis never left anything to chance.
It was a necessary compulsion in this twisted business of mocking gravity. Because if his focus was off, mistakes were made and he could be killed or, at the very least, sustain a dream-crushing injury.
Or worse … someone else might pay the price.
For one second the memory resurfaced, just like it always did before a high-fall. In a now-familiar sequence of reactions, Memphis’s chest cinched tight, his stomach balled into a knot and his heart beat mercilessly against his ribs.
Willing his muscles to relax, Memphis forced the memory from his mind as he gazed down at the two-hundred-plus feet between him and the empty pavement. There was nothing to break his fall save the camera on the ground that would record his descent. His lips twisted wryly. He liked the idea that if something went wrong—and he hit the pavement traveling approximately eighty miles per hour—his last seconds on earth would be recorded for posterity.
If he was checking out, he’d do it with flair and with his name on everyone’s lips.
The stunt engineer broke into his thoughts. “Everything’s set. Wind speed steady at five mph.”
With one last look at the ground below, Memphis said, “That’s as good as we’ll get.”
“You ready?”
Now rock-steady, his pulse at a regular rate, Memphis took his position in front of the temporary window constructed of safety glass. “I’m always ready.” A grin slipped up his face. “But gravity is a bitch of a mistress.”
“An unforgiving one, to be sure,” the man returned with a chuckle.
Memphis’s grin grew bigger in anticipation. “So let’s not keep her waiting.”
One hand clutching the barricade, Kate Anderson shaded her eyes from the sun and stared up at the tiny hub of activity twenty-two stories above the ground. A gentle breeze carried a hint of the salty Atlantic Ocean tinged with hot pavement, and the crowd of curious gawkers pressed in around her, making the warm Miami day even warmer.
Or maybe it was her strained nerves that were overheating.
Up until now, self-preservation had deemed it necessary she ignore Memphis James’s return to town. But today’s tabloid article about Dalton and his fiancée had garnered Kate no less than eight sympathetic glances, three well-intentioned condolence hugs and one unsolicited pep talk from a bitter divorceé—all while simply waiting in line at the local café. As the recent ex-wife of Miami’s favorite homegrown politician, fading into the background was impossible for Kate, especially with a heavy social schedule looming ahead. And for the first time since she’d started dating Dalton at sixteen, she was faced with the prospect of attending an event by herself.
The pitying looks she’d received from complete strangers were bad enough, but the public scrutiny was bound to get worse. Imagine how awful the tabloid headlines would be if she showed up at her high-school reunion alone?
Former Prom Queen Jilted by Her Onetime King
Spurned Kate Anderson Attends Reunion Solo
Inhaling a calming breath, she forced her muscles to relax and renewed her resolve to ask Memphis for help, even if he was her childhood nemesis turned hot-shot stuntman … and a living reminder of the biggest mistake of her life. Apprehension threatened to crack her composure, and she stared up at the window far above the ground.
Where was the condolence hug when you really needed one?
There was a crackle of walkie-talkies from the crew on the street, and Kate caught her breath. One second later the window exploded, glass fragments spraying outward and fanning around the stuntman’s form, Memphis following a graceful descending arc before plummeting toward the bone-breakingly hard, air-bag-less pavement below.
Kate’s mouth turned to dust, her heart turned to stone and her every cell froze as, for several terrifying seconds, Memphis free-fell past twenty-one rows of windows. At the last possible moment the cable slowed his fall until he came to a jerky stop, just inches from the camera trained up at him from the ground.
Applause broke out around her. Dizzy, Kate sucked in a fortifying breath while her heart pulsed back to life, pounding with the aftereffects of an adrenaline surge so strong it had surely melted her nervous system. Kate released the barricade, her palms slick, and tried to brush off the grains of sand that had embedded into her skin during her tight grip. And she watched in shocked annoyance as Memphis calmly and coolly disconnected his harness as the crowd continued their cheering.
He had plunged to the ground at high rates of speed while she had aged five years in the process.
Since the day her twin brother had befriended the then thirteen-year-old hellraiser, Memphis had elicited so many heart-pounding reactions in her body that if her nervous system ever burned out completely, ninety-nine percent of the blame belonged to Memphis.
When Kate spied him heading off she abruptly brought her doubts up short. Without a second thought, she rounded the barricade and strode toward his retreating, blue-jean-encased figure. His well-formed backside and powerful legs brought back memories she’d done her best to forget.
A shout of displeasure came from the security guard to her left, but she ignored it and called out, “Memphis!”
Either Memphis hadn’t heard or chose to ignore her call, but more warning voices came as the crew and security began to target her more aggressively. Sensing time was running out, Kate broke into a brisk walk that bordered on a jog, her casual sundress flapping around her legs and her high-heeled sandals pinching her feet, as if to remind her they weren’t intended for giving chase.
“Memphis, wait!” she called again.
This time Memphis came to a stop and turned on his heel, and she knew the second he recognized her. For a brief moment, his expression froze. The reaction stopped Kate in her tracks, a mere ten feet from the man who was looking at her with those mesmerizing caramel-colored eyes …
Like a movie special effect, immediately she was transported back five years to the last time they’d been together. She had just yelled at him to get out of her brother’s hospital room. A yell fueled by fear for Brian, fury at Memphis and confusion at the memory of him making love to her in a fit of passion that had stripped her of the ability to function. Too bad the feel-good heights had been followed by the inevitable crash.
Dizzying emotional highs and death-defying lows.
Ecstasy and disaster.
Memphis never brought about humdrum emotions, and she needed to remember that truth. But her body was too busy appreciating the light brown, casually cut hair that blatantly defied refined society, the melt-in-your-mouth, thickly fringed eyes and the hard, masculine jaw that was sexily covered in half a day’s growth. His walking, talking, sex-on-two-legs attitude had intimidated her as a teen and aroused her as a young adult.
For a moment she questioned the sanity of her plan. Maybe attending the social events alone and exposing herself to more public ridicule was the better option.
A security guard grabbed her arm, his gruff voice unhappy as he said, “You can’t be back here, miss.”
But Kate dug in her heels and didn’t budge, her gaze locked on Memphis.
Memphis raised a hand. “Let her go, Hal,” he said, his gaze targeting hers as he walked closer, her heart pumping harder with his every step.
“You know her?” the security guard said.
A half smile curled the corner of Memphis’s lips with a familiar teasing humor, his sheer sex appeal cutting all the way to Kate’s heart. “Yeah,” Memphis said, coming to a stop four feet away. “I know her very well.”
It was the slight emphasis on the word very that infused Kate with warmth, and her palms—already damp from the hair-raising fall and the hell-raising man before her—grew even more damp, remembering the passion. The pleasure …
Quietly inhaling another calming breath, Kate pulled a hand wipe infused with organic lavender from the travel container she kept in her purse. Shake enough hands during a campaign and later as a representative’s wife and you learn to carry the necessary accoutrements. The ritual was soothing. Calming. And a vast improvement over the lingering grit on her palms left from the barricade. With the heated way Memphis was looking at her, a cold hosing-off was in order, but cooling her hands was the best she could do.
For a brief moment the apprehension returned, and she fought back the certainty that he’d never agree to her plan. She knew from personal experience that Memphis James did what Memphis James wanted. He always had and always would. Getting him to cooperate was going to require every ounce of the diplomatic skills she’d honed through the years.
As the daughter and granddaughter of two political giants, and a political ex-wife, God knows she’d had plenty of practice engaging in small talk. And given her history with the man in front of her, keeping the conversation superficial seemed wise.
She glanced up at the high-rise. “I see your death wish is still intact,” she said lightly.
He sounded amused. “If I had a death wish I would have jumped without the cable.”
“I heard you did while making the movie The Indestructibles.”
“That was a special circumstance,” he said.
“Special as in ‘crazier than usual’?”
He lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. “All in a day’s work.”
“Jumping off tall buildings? Leaping out of helicopters?” She lifted a brow. “Driving cars off cliffs?”
Good God, when Kate had finally watched that much-anticipated stunt on the big screen, her heart had stopped during the slow-motion scene.
Memphis’s brow bunched in amusement, and his voice held more than its fair share of suggestion. “You following my career, Angel Face?”
The nickname struck her hard, and emotion punted the protest from her lips. “Please,” she said, the light tone now a struggle to maintain. “Don’t call me that.” She’d hated his name for her as a teen, and had even more reason to despise the label today.
“Well,” he said, an amused sparkle in those sinful eyes. “Angel Face fitted the placid, rule-obsessed girl you used to be.” And then his gaze flared with a fire that sparked through the air and lit an unwelcome blaze in her, too. He stepped closer, looking down at her with the knowledge of a man who knew all her secrets, his rumbling voice loaded with memory. “But I guess we both know at least one incident where the nickname doesn’t fit.”
Fighting for calm, she sent him what she hoped was her legendary campaign-cool smile. “Angel Face didn’t suit me nearly as much as Devil did you.” It was time to set the ground rules of their new relationship. They were both adults, certainly they could move beyond the past to a more … sedate friendship.
One could only hope.
“So forget about coming on to me, Memphis,” she went on firmly, ignoring the disturbing sensation his proximity created. “I’m not that easily intimidated teen anymore. The years have taught me how to maintain a certain amount of grace and dignity, no matter the adversity.” A humiliating tabloid-dissected divorce had helped, as well.
“Are you referring to me?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “You take pride in being as adverse as possible.”
“A guy has to be known for something,” he said easily. “Is that why you’re here, to put your new skills to the test?”
“It’s an unfortunate perk,” she said. “I’m here because I need your help.”
The surprised scoff was sharp. “My help?” He stared at her for a moment, and then the hint of a teasing grin reappeared. “The circumstances must be dire for the mighty Kate Anderson to request assistance from little ol’ me.”
The soft Southern twang he reverted to when irritated, or aroused, only made his already rough voice sexier. The small knot of anxiety in Kate’s stomach bloomed bigger, and she licked her lips. It was a risk pinning her hopes on the wildly unpredictable Memphis.
But which was worse? Suffering through more of the humiliating public sympathy that, deep down, she knew she mostly didn’t deserve? Or enduring the taunting tone of the only man outside her marriage who knew why?
“Why are you coming to me for a favor?” Memphis crossed his arms across a well-cut chest, and his biceps bulged beneath his T-shirt, momentarily throwing Kate’s concentration. “Is Armageddon upon us?” he said wryly. “Is the end of civilization at hand?”
“It is according to the man holding the sign on the corner of Fifth and Main,” she said, striving for a nonchalant tone. “But on the off chance that doesn’t pan out, my ten-year high-school reunion is a month away. And there are several pre-reunion functions that I don’t want to attend alone.”
Memphis tipped back his head and let out a genuine laugh. Yes, compared to the end of days her predicament did seem rather trite. But right now the doomsday feeling was real.
“The solution seems simple to me,” he said. “Just don’t go.”
“I have to attend,” she said. “I’m in charge. I’ve been working on this reunion for the past year.” As chairwoman of the event she’d spent months coping with her isolation and loneliness by stressing over every detail. She had no choice. “Skipping out isn’t an option.”
“I guess it never occurred to you to go alone,” he said, and his voice lowered a notch. “Or is Kate Anderson still unable to show her face in public without an adoring sap on her arm?”
The critique stung. “I don’t need adoration.”
“You certainly were on the receiving end of plenty in high school.”
“I just want company.” She inhaled a breath, struggling for calm. “Who I go with doesn’t matter.”
“Just a hint, Angel Face.” Amused, he tipped his head, as if sharing a secret. “That’s no way to make a guy feel special.”
“You aren’t special,” she said lightly. “You’re trouble.”
His brow bunched together with exaggerated concern. “Clearly you need to work on your dating techniques,” he said. “I prefer to be wooed.”
“Wooed?” she said, struggling to maintain her composure. “This won’t be a date. You’d simply be attending as my friend.”
His eyebrow climbed meaningfully. “Except, I’m not your friend.”
“You are my brother’s friend and I’m asking for a favor.”
Two heartbeats passed before he said, “I guarantee you, Kate.” His eyes grew dark with an emotion that left her spinning. “You don’t want my help.”
She steeled herself against his sensually teasing tone. By the look on his face it was clear he showed no signs of relenting, and her anxiety edged higher. With Memphis accompanying her, no one would dare lecture her about moving on from being the discarded wife. “I’m asking nicely, Memphis.” She tried not to sound as desperate as she felt, digging deep for the Anderson smile that she’d perfected from an early age. “I just need a little of your time,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.
The muscles beneath her fingers bunched, and the last trace of teasing amusement in his eyes died. A myriad of expressions flitted across his face, none of them obvious. But when he spoke, his voice was resigned.
“Sorry. You’ll have to find another guy to parade around town,” he said, and then he turned and headed for the crew gathered around a monitor, watching a replay of his spectacular fall.
Kate followed him. “There isn’t anyone else.”
He kept his eyes forward. “Where are all your groupies from that expensive private high school you attended?”
“I didn’t have groupies.”
“Okay, I stand corrected,” he said, and then he glanced down at Kate. Unfortunately those long legs of his kept right on going, forcing her high-heeled sandals to double as track shoes. “Perhaps flock of admirers is a better phrase?” he went on.
“I didn’t have those, either.”
He let out an amused laugh. “That’s not how I remember it. What I remember is a straitlaced, popular princess who attended the high school with the highest per-capita-income area code in the state, Biscayne Bay Preparatory Academy.” He stopped and stepped close, and Kate’s discomfort stepped up a notch, too. “A girl who was too good to give the time of day to a kid from lowly County High on the seedier side of town.”
Heat crept up Kate’s face. As a teen, there had been a whole host of reasons why Kate had treated her brother’s best friend with a nonchalant reserve. Money had never entered her extensive list. “Your memory is jaded, Memphis.”
He cocked his head, staring down at her with the look of a man who wasn’t going to play along. “My memory is fine. It’s your perception that’s off.” His eyes lingered on her face, and a combination of desire and dread tap-danced across her chest. “Then again,” he went on softly, “burying your head in the sand was always your specialty.”
By God, her marriage had proved that right.
But if she stopped to list all her mistakes she’d never get anything done. “I didn’t come to discuss the past, Memphis.”
He took a stray lock of her hair between his fingers, absently rubbing the strands, the back of his beautifully muscled forearm millimeters from her breast. “It doesn’t work that way, Angel Face,” he murmured. Her body throbbing, she blinked back the disturbing emotions, careful to keep her face blank. His all-seeing eyes held hers as he went on, his voice reflective. “Yesterday is inextricably linked to tomorrow via that inconvenient concept we call today.”
He toyed with her hair a moment longer before dropping his hand.
She hated sounding desperate, but her tone came close to crossing that line. “I need your help, Memphis.” She paused before going on. “Please.”
For a fraction of a second he looked as if he cared that she was almost begging him. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Why?”
How to explain to a man who could never relate? “Today I was forced to listen to a divorceé give a detailed description of how her sex life improved after her lousy husband dumped her, and then she proceeded to inform me to get back on the horse before it was too late.”
His eyes crinkled in humor. “Sound advice.”
A skeptical scoff escaped her lips. “I’m growing weary of all the advice.”
“She was just offering you her sympathy.”
“I don’t need sympathy.”
“Yeah. And I’m not sure you deserve it, either,” he said thoughtfully, and a surge of guilt threatened to swamp her. But she pretended not to know what he was talking about when he went on. “Don’t you have any friends you could ask?”
“No one who is available.”
“Everything is for sale in this day and age,” he said easily. “How about an escort service?”
She forced a patient look on her face. “I’m not hiring an escort.”
His eyes crinkled in amusement. “It would come with some pretty powerful perks.”
Kate pressed her lips together and counted to five, reminding herself that Memphis did whatever Memphis wanted. And right now it was clear he was intent on making her pay for the past.
Kate briefly closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and seeking a peaceful calm, not the turbulent chaos that he specialized in eliciting. “I’m not looking for perks.”
Several seconds passed before he said, “Sorry, Kate.” He almost sounded as though he meant it. “I am not going to be your go-to patsy.” A hard glint flickered through his eyes. “I fell for your damsel-in-distress routine before, and I’m not doing it again.”
She ignored the old shame and concentrated on today’s humiliation instead. She had one trick left to get Memphis to agree. Her name was firmly attached to this reunion and, if nothing else, she would make sure it went off successfully.
“Brian told me you’d refuse,” Kate said. At the mention of her brother, Memphis froze, his face devoid of emotion. The pause was the most awkward to date which, given their history, was saying something. “He asked me to tell you to consider saying yes as a favor to him.”
Memory torqued his every muscle, and Memphis’s body tensed as he remembered the last time he’d seen Kate, right outside Brian’s hospital room. It was the only time in their history he’d seen her so tenaciously outspoken, not to mention livid, fighting for what she wanted. The feisty female he’d sensed all along but had rarely seen.
Until today.
Apparently the change was now permanent, and Memphis wondered how much their history together had contributed.
For the first time since she’d chased him down Memphis allowed himself a moment to take in every detail. The sleek blond hair was arranged in a loop at the back of her neck, a style that was casual yet elegant. A few loose tendrils framed her face. The blue eyes were clear and cool—and used to flip-flop between an infuriatingly eager-to-please manner toward her family and the frustrating ice-princess look of disapproval she’d saved for Memphis. Especially while lecturing him after every stunt he and her brother pulled as teenagers. And then there was the slim figure in a classy sundress that covered her gentle curves, a sight that could tempt a man into doing things he knew wouldn’t turn out well for him. A body that in one memorable night had ferried Memphis straight to heaven right before it had condemned him to hell.
Memphis cleared his throat, sorry all the memories weren’t as easy to banish. “How is Brian?”
“He’s getting around better now,” Kate said, the words expanding the uneasiness in his gut. For a moment her expression softened. “You should give him a call.”
Regret made his voice gruffer than he’d planned. “Eventually.”
There was an awkward pause before she went on. “Well,” Kate said. “Will you help me?”
He’d rather face the harrowing drop he’d done off the rim of the Grand Canyon last year, the one that had come close to getting him killed. All for an action film remembered only for its death-defying stunts by Memphis James and its lethal lack of a decent script.
Memphis ruffled an impatient hand through his hair, studying Kate. His teasing, provoking behavior in the past had all been in response to a teenage obsession that had frustrated the heck out of him. Fortunately, hellaciously sharp chemistry aside, experience had made him immune to her now. But Kate had definitely changed, correctly surmising the one weakness he had left and using it against him—which meant he was caught between the woman he’d sworn off long ago and the friend to whom he owed a debt that could never be repaid.
Helping Brian’s sister was the least he could do.
“Okay,” he said, letting out his breath and giving one last swipe through his hair. “I’ll do it.” He dropped his hand to his side. “Exactly what does this favor entail?”
“In celebration of completing our task, the reunion committee has voted to combine business with pleasure,” she said. “There are several meetings that have been turned into social functions.”
“Sounds like the kind of pompous crap your private-school classmates would pull,” he muttered.
“I want you to go with me,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes at her, growing wary. “How many events?”
Dropping her gaze to his shoulder, she fingered the belt of her dress, and her uneasy fidgeting didn’t bode well for Memphis. “A dinner party, three cocktail parties …” Kate met his gaze again. “And then there are the two events on the reunion weekend itself.”
Memphis’s mind balked at the thought. “No wonder you can’t find anyone to help you. I’ll agree to the dinner party and one cocktail party.” He shot her a you’re-crazy look. “But I didn’t attend Biscayne Bay Preparatory Academy. No way am I going to your reunion.”
“But that’s the main event I don’t want to attend alone.”
Memphis enunciated each word succinctly. “I am not going to your reunion.” Brian’s old classmates would take one look at Memphis and remember his highly publicized mistake. The one that had almost killed his friend … “That’s beyond the kind of torture I can take. You’ll have to find someone else for that phase of your plan.”
Kate blew out a breath and eyed him steadily. “One dinner party, two cocktail parties, and the reunion weekend,” she said, going on smoothly. “Brian will be there, and he’s looking forward to seeing you.”
Damn, another low blow. “One reunion event,” he said, hating that he’d caved in the face of her less-than-subtle pressure. “Either Friday or Saturday. Your choice.”
“Deal,” she said, and then her eyes swept down his well-worn jeans. “And I get to select the clothes you wear.”
The grin hit him hard, as did her sweeping gaze. “You got a problem with my wardrobe?”
She lifted a brow. “I remember what you wore after one of my misguided classmates invited you to our prom.”
“Tiffany Bettingfield didn’t mind my faded kakis and athletic shoes. Because after I watched you get crowned Prom Queen alongside your golden-boy Prom King—” his smile crept higher “—Tiffany suggested we head to my car. I was happy to show her that there are more important things about a man than his clothes.”
“Hopefully she’s recovered from her lapse in judgment by now,” she said with a sarcasm that was so smooth he almost missed the tone. “Do we have a deal?”
Despite everything, Memphis was delighted with Kate Anderson’s new spunk wrapped in her usual class. “Deal,” he confirmed. “But just to be clear, I’m doing this for Brian, not you.”
Her lips twisted. “Don’t worry, Memphis. I’m under no illusions you would ever do a favor for me.”
A sliver of anger shot through him, momentarily dimming his good humor. There was a time in his teens when he’d have done anything for Kate, if she’d only hinted that she cared. But those days were long gone, killed in a fateful night that had had far-reaching consequences that neither of them could have predicted.
Her ice-princess behavior and hands-off attitude used to frustrate the hell out of him, but these days things were different. He was certainly done touching Kate, but now he was impressed and intrigued by her cool demeanor and polite facade, especially in the face of their tumultuous past.
Yet a small part of him longed to see her emotional cool crack, just for a moment. And, after their teen years, provoking her was as ingrained as breathing.
“I did you a favor once.” He deliberately turned his voice husky. “Do you remember?”
He took comfort in the slight catch of her breath, a small smile forming on his lips as Kate clearly struggled to remain composed.
“Memphis,” she finally said, recovering her cool and holding his gaze. “That was a long time ago. And even you can’t be so conceited as to think of sex as a favor.”
He studied her for a moment and then he leaned close, inhaling the haunting scent of lavender he’d come to equate with Kate. “Well, it ranked right up there as one of the best nights of my life,” he murmured, and the bitter truth in his teasing words made his smile grow tight. “Right up until I found out you and Dalton were still married.”
CHAPTER TWO
GUILT.
Kate closed her eyes as her heart strained to keep from crumpling under the weight of the emotion. She’d let the feeling drive her back to a marriage that had begun to die long before the night she’d spent in Memphis’s arms. And then she’d let the emotion keep her stuck in her vow of forever well beyond the point where all hope for a happy-from-here-on-out was gone.
But there was only so much guilt a girl could take before she eventually was either permanently crippled by it or finally declared she was moving on. And the time for that was now, if for no other reason than to save her sanity.
She lifted her lids and said the words that were five years overdue. “I’m sorry.”
Too bad the apology didn’t make her feel any better.
“Sorry?” He tipped his head skeptically, as if vaguely amused by her pitiful words. “For which part? For leaving without saying goodbye? Or for me learning the truth from your brother?”
Her heart stopped. “You called Brian?”
“The very next day,” he said. “And in an attempt to figure out what the hell had just happened, I casually asked him how you were doing.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Imagine my surprise when he said you were having marital problems.”
Heart now doing double time, Kate pressed her lips together and blindly turned to look at the dwindling crowd, but she was determined to keep moving forward. Growing up in the spotlight—with every family problem scrutinized by the public in excruciating detail—had taught her to persevere. Pretending everything was okay wasn’t always the best choice, but sometimes it was the only one you had.
“The first function is this weekend.” She faced Memphis again. “We need to make plans.”
He shot her an incredulous look.
“Part of the deal was I’d help you pick out something suitable to wear,” she went on.
After a brief hesitation, his lips twitched. “I’m sure I can find something appropriate in my closet,” he said, the look in his eyes one of pure entertainment.
At her expense, of course.
Clearly her soundness of mind was taking a brief holiday. After all, she’d convinced Memphis to spend the next month helping her. She was going to need a straitjacket before this was over, mostly to keep from pulling her hair out in frustration.
“You forget,” she said, feigning patience. “I’ve seen your idea of appropriate.”
“Fine,” he said, startling her with his easy agreement. Grateful he’d given in so easily, she let her tensed muscles relax, until he jerked his head in the direction of the street. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?”
“To check out my wardrobe.”
“Now?” Her heart sank and the tension returned. She hadn’t even begun to recover from seeing him again.
“No time like the present.” He sent her a tiny smile that left her hugely nervous. “You can follow me home and check out the contents of my closet.”
Still questioning her good sense, Kate followed Memphis into the upmarket apartment in an exclusive neighborhood, noting that he was all but ignoring her as she trailed behind him into the kitchen. The lack of attention was a welcome change. He tossed his keys on the kitchen table and turned to lean a hip against the counter, watching her as she assessed what was clearly meant to be temporary living quarters.
In one slow pivot she took in the kitchen and the spartanly furnished living area. A flat-screen TV, a single leather recliner and a side table were the extent of the furniture. No couch. No bookshelves. The walls were painted white, and there were no pictures or mementos to break up the bland color theme. The apartment was a blank slate waiting for the occupant to fill it with his belongings, bringing a personal touch.
Memphis hadn’t bothered.
“It could do with a little sprucing up,” she said. It was then she noticed several framed photographs on the floor, propped against the wall as if it was too much trouble to hang them in place.
For a moment he looked as if he regretted letting her come to check out his wardrobe. “My needs are simple,” he said.
“I can see you have a love of basic white,” she said dryly.
“Even if I was into interior decorating, which I’m not, I’m not in town long enough to bother,” he said. “It has everything I need: a great location, a refrigerator …” The only movement was a slight tip of the head. “And a bed.”
The silence that followed filled the room, his expression remarkably placid, no overt twinkle in his gaze necessary. The thick, dark eyelashes gave him a sinfully sated look, framing caramel-colored eyes that oozed sex, whether intentional or not.
She knew he’d brought her here to make her uncomfortable, and the sooner she got this over with the sooner she’d get out of his apartment. Her heart was pounding embarrassingly fast, and no matter how many lectures she’d given herself as she’d followed him here, it was hard not to remember the last time they’d been alone together in an apartment. Completing her task and getting out of his home suddenly became a top priority.
But clothes meant closets, and closets meant bedrooms, and suddenly her heart stopped and she couldn’t breathe.
Stalling for time to recuperate from his effect on her, she crossed to the living room and picked up one of the pictures. It was of a red convertible Porsche, top back as it sailed off the end of a towering cliff. Like a surfer, Memphis was crouched on the driver seat, his hand on the top of the windshield, body poised to push off.
She wasn’t a fan of action movies, but when the film had been released Kate had gone to see it in the theatre. Alone in the dark, with only her popcorn for company, she’d watched the hero—who, in actuality, had been Memphis—push off from the free-falling car and do a back flip in the air before unfolding into position. Arms pressed to his side, body arrow-straight to decrease wind resistance, he’d aimed for the flatbed truck far, far below. At the last possible second he’d pulled the cord to the chute on his back and targeted the moving semi, landing gracefully on the trailer.
The stunt had brought back all the turbulent emotions Memphis had elicited as a teen, the larger-than-life adolescent constantly goading her into feelings that were too messy to handle. Exasperation. Danger. And a whole lot of electric chemistry that had short-circuited her ability to function when he was near. Back then, Dalton had made her feel safe.
But the only reason she’d been watching Memphis’s stunt on screen was because her husband had backed out on his date night with her. Just another one of many nights she’d spent by herself, achingly lonely because Dalton had been buried in his studies at law school. Not the happy marriage she’d envisioned when he’d proposed. But how could she fault him for fulfilling the dreams she had staunchly supported from the beginning? So she’d headed to the theatre alone. At the last second, she chose Memphis’s latest movie instead of the indie film she’d planned.
And she’d spent the rest of the night with vivid dreams, relieving the adolescent angst and the clashing attraction she’d worked so hard to keep under wraps.
Memphis’s voice came from behind. “That was my first big film.”
Disturbed by his nearness, she gripped the picture frame. “How did you get your start?”
“BASE jumping.”
Ignoring the heat from his body, she kept her gaze on the photo. “I never understood the appeal the sport held for you and Brian. Is skydiving from an airplane too tame?”
“A bit too regimented for my taste. Where’s the illicit fun in that?”
“Illegal or not, I’m not sure there is any fun to be had while free-falling toward earth,” she said, and finally turned her face to brave a look at him. “But I don’t understand how BASE jumping led to your career.”
“The second unit director of my first paid stunt, a low-budget film, just happened to be wandering by when I jumped from an antennae tower in Hollywood. A friend had to give him my name because, when I landed, I was too busy running from the security guard.”
She lifted a brow. “The authorities don’t look too kindly on people trespassing.”
“Like I said, it’s no fun unless there is an element of danger.”
“Yes,” she said with barely restrained sarcasm. “Because plummeting toward earth at high rates of speed isn’t dangerous enough.”
He stepped around her, leaning his back against the wall, the indolent pose made all the more sensual by the lean muscle in his arms and in the thighs beneath his jeans. “There is a crazy system in the stunt business. You have to be ballsy, but not too ballsy. Four out of five and you’re crazy enough to do anything required to get the job done. When you hit five …” He lifted a shoulder and stared at her with a trace of amusement. “When you get to five you’re just too crazy to deal with on the set.”
Crazy sounded right.
Kate tipped her head. “Which one are you?”
His trace of a grin grew bigger. “Depends on who you ask.”
Chaos. Disarray. Memphis’s life had always been notably fraught with disorder, not to mention danger. It was just one of many reasons why Kate’s parents had forbidden her brother from being his friend. Not that Brian had ever followed the rules, either.
Avoiding his gaze, she ran a hand along the smooth edge of the picture frame, fighting back the memories of a passion the likes of which she had never known before nor experienced since. The messy, chaotically electric feelings overwhelmed her in every sense of the word. Their exhilarating night had marked the midway point in her bleak, eight-year marriage, leaving Kate more alive in that moment than in the four years preceding or the four years after.
“How long will you be around?” she said. She hoped the question came out as simple civil conversation instead of real curiosity.
“As short a time as humanly possible.”
For some reason, his response bothered her, and she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Are you in that much of a hurry to leave?”
Memphis let out a sharp bark of a humorless laugh. “As far as I’m concerned, there aren’t enough stunts like the one I did today. I took the job despite the fact it meant returning to Miami.”
“I heard your parents moved.”
“I bought them a place in California several years ago, so there’s nothing left for me here.”
She ignored the obvious fact that Brian lived here. That Kate Anderson didn’t factor into his equation was no surprise.
“Where is home now?” she said.
“Wherever my next big gag is scheduled to take place.”
“Gag?” she asked, confused by the unfamiliar term.
“Stunt,” he clarified.
“Do you plan to keep up this nomadic existence forever?” She narrowed her eyes doubtfully. “And just what is your long-term career goal, outside of being labeled the man who never says no to leaping off tall buildings?”
“To be the best damn high-fall stuntman in Hollywood.”
She studied him for a moment. “And when does that happen?”
He stared at her, and, although his posture was relaxed, uncaring, the intensity in his eyes gave him away. “When everyone knows my name,” he said, as if the simple statement justified his insane job.
Before she could ask any more questions, he nodded in the direction of the hallway. “If you want to check out my clothes you’ll have to go to my closet,” he said, sending her belly BASE jumping for her toes, those sinfully sexy eyes far too steady on hers. “My bedroom is at the end of the hallway.”
The mood grew strained as Memphis followed Kate down the corridor. His chest grew tight, a potent mix of desire, tension and a touch of self-directed frustration snaking around his rib cage. His bedroom was just as barren as the living area, except for the king-size bed that was currently commanding center stage like a mocking reminder of their past.
He’d sworn off touching Kate again, but right now her delicate scent was filling every corner of the room where he slept. And suddenly, her presence in his personal space made him uncomfortably aware his vow of keeping his hands to himself might be harder to pull off than he’d thought.
“Everything is in the closet,” he said.
Kate looked around the almost empty room. “You don’t have a dresser?”
“The rental apartment didn’t come with one.”
She shot him a look. “And you couldn’t be bothered with buying a few pieces of furniture?”
“What would be the point? I arranged only for what I absolutely needed because I’m not going to be around long enough for it to matter.”
He had no intention of discussing just how hard he’d grappled with the decision to return to his hometown. It was the only place his reputation as a high-fall stuntman was ever called into question. Granted, his mistake had been five years ago, and had taken place during a prank. But still …
The five-year-old ache of regret resurfaced and he pushed it aside, refusing to dwell on the role this woman had played in that moment, as well.
And if he had to spend the next month attending one pretentious social function after another, he might as well indulge in his favorite pastime from his teens: provoking Kate, if for no other reason than to arouse some kind of emotion from her. And it had nothing to do with caring why she kept herself so carefully contained.
Not only was he done touching Kate, he was done wondering why she tried so hard to keep her emotions encased in ice.
She opened the doors to the walk-in closet, staring inside, and Memphis bit back the urge to smile as a look of dismay slowly spread across her face.
The jeans and shirts on the shelves were haphazardly arranged—okay, “hastily dumped” was probably a better description. And he had better clothes at home, but why cart them along for a month’s worth of work?
Kate finally turned a doubtful face to Memphis.
He gave an easy shrug, amused by her expression. “I travel light.”
Her lips quirked at the understatement. “There must be something usable in here.”
“Nothing that will fit the Anderson norm, for sure,” he said with a hint of humor, running his gaze down her form.
Although her sundress was simple and modest, nothing come-hither about it, the dress also reeked of wealth and privilege. As always, she was meticulously put together. And the exposed creamy skin of her shoulders was tempting him to take a taste.
“If by ‘Anderson norm’ you mean an occasional article outside of denim,” she said with an overly patient look, turning her attention back to the shelves. “You’d be right.”
“Nothing wrong with denim.”
“There is when it’s all you have.”
“For a former representative’s wife, I suppose you’re right.” He shot her a skeptical look. “But I don’t give a damn about standards.”
“That’s not true.” She pulled out a pair of jeans and shook them out, staring at the holes in the knees. “What I remember is a boy who went out of his way to defy every standard society threw in his direction.” And the look she sent him challenged him to disagree.
Humor tugged at the corner of his lips. “I think you mistake me for someone who cared.”
His family might have been poor, but he was comfortable with his simple beginnings. Proud of where he’d come from and what he’d made of himself. He didn’t give a damn about people’s perception of him now, and he’d been even less concerned way back when. As a teen, the only exception to that rule had been the disapproving looks on Kate’s face.
Those had irked the hell out of him.
“I think you cared very much about helping Brian annoy my parents,” she said.
He fought back the surge of resentment. “Oh, come on, Kate. Face it,” he said. “It wouldn’t have mattered what I did. The ugly truth is your parents hated me. Still do, truth be told.”
Jeans clutched in her fingers, she dropped her hands to her waist. “They didn’t hate you,” she said with an exaggerated show of patience, though there was a hint of a defensive tone. “They simply—” She paused, as if to find the right words, and refolded the pants into a neat little bundle, placing them back on the shelf. “They were worried about your influence on Brian.”
The delicate phrasing brought a small scoff of irony. “They were more concerned about the neighborhood I lived in and the risk I’d contaminate their only son.”
When she turned with protest in her eyes, he shot her a half grin and crossed the room to lean against the doorjamb. Near enough to smell her scent, to touch her skin. And there was a lot of skin exposed in that pretty little slip of a sundress, demure or not.
If he couldn’t get her aroused, he’d have to get her annoyed. He supposed the partial grin on his face might have been a touch predatory. “Though they should have been worrying I’d contaminate their perfect darling of a teenage daughter.”
Hesitation rolled off her like sweat from a newbie poised to leap from a skyscraper, until she straightened those tempting shoulders, her blue eyes recovering their cool. “There was never any risk of that.”
Another amused scoff burst from his mouth. “I remember the heat that sizzled between us every time you showed up to coolly give me a piece of your mind.”
“That was anger.”
“That was lust.”
Her brow crinkled with disagreement. “I was just a kid.”
“You were a half-grown woman.” The words came out throatier than he would have liked. He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and leaned in closer, catching a whiff of her scent. “You were turned on by the guy your parents would’ve never let you date. The chemistry was impressive.”
“It’s your ego that was impressive.”
“With good reason.”
“Always the hero in your own script,” she drawled lightly.
Despite her light tone, her blue eyes bubbled with barely restrained emotions, yet he couldn’t identify the first one. Memphis couldn’t tell if she was disturbed by his nearness or irritated by his refusal to go along with her interpretation of the past. Time stretched until it grew uncomfortable, their history pulsing between them. In a space of a full ten seconds filled with desire, heat and intense pleasure, Memphis relived just how right this woman had felt in his arms. Although their moment hadn’t come until long after their teens, he didn’t trust the feeling, sure it was a figment of his lust-induced mind. His adolescent fantasy come to life.
How could she have felt anything but right when he’d spent years imagining how she would taste? And when she’d finally released all that careful restraint, it had been a life-changing experience that had caused him to doubt his instincts. Because in that moment it had felt as if she belonged to him….
He jerked his thoughts to a halt. Just who the hell was the real Kate?
She held his gaze, and he wondered if her cheeks were flushed from anger or desire. There was no answer. And when she turned back to straightening out the contents of his closet, Memphis watched in amazement as she reached for the next pair of holey jeans and refolded them, as well.
He studied her profile, her movements graceful and dignified even while performing a mundane task. “When you’re done in here you can rearrange the dirty clothes in my hamper if you like,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.
“No, thank you,” she said smoothly as she continued with her self-appointed duties.
“And I have dirty dishes in the dishwasher that could use restacking according to size.”
“I’m sure you’re capable of handling that yourself.”
“My underwear could use a good ironing, as well,” he said.
Kate sent him a sharp look from the corner of her eye, but continued to fold his last pair of jeans, placing it in a neat line with the others.
“Angel Face, I hate to be the one to break the bad news,” he said softly, but with no shortage of sarcasm. “But rearranging my clothes isn’t going to change them into designer brands.”
She picked up a T-shirt and began to fold it. “I realize that,” she said as, midtask, she faced him, her clear skin and high cheekbones capturing his gaze.
The regal set to her chin begged to be challenged with a kiss. And if he concentrated real hard, he’d remember that wasn’t the job he’d signed on for.
Instead, he said, “I’ve always wanted to ask, is the politically correct Kate a fixed product of her family genes or just a result of her upbringing?”
“Neither.” Her tone was cuttingly cool as she continued rearranging his T-shirts. “What you call political correctness the rest of the world calls being civil.”
A laugh burst from his throat, and he swept a stray lock of wheat-colored hair from her bare shoulder, hoping for a reaction. Or at least to get her to stop organizing the contents of his closet.
“I can handle polite as long as it’s some semblance of the truth.” Frustration shifted his voice an octave lower. “But what I can’t stand is when you bury your head in the sand and try to rewrite the truth.”
She straightened the last T-shirt, the closet now tidy, and turned to face him, crossing her arms. But he wasn’t sure if the posture was out of defiance or to shield herself from his proximity. “What truth am I trying to rewrite?”
“Your family.” His gaze held hers. “The past.” He paused and leaned in close, enjoying the look of discomfort on her face, even as his chest twisted at the haunting sight of her luscious lips. His voice came out low. “You and me.”
She hesitated, blinked once, and then hiked a delicate brow. “I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
Disappointed he hadn’t gotten the slightest rise from her, he said, “Then what are you doing?”
“Concluding that you have nothing appropriate to wear.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to care about that, too?”
“Not at all.” The smooth smile on her face should have been a warning, and he barely withheld the groan when she shared her plan. “Because tomorrow we’re going shopping.”
CHAPTER THREE
“WELCOME, Mr. James.” The redheaded clerk greeted him as if they were old friends, and Memphis’s lips twitched at the irony. The saleslady then aimed her plastic smile at Kate. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Worthington—”
“Anderson,” Kate said smoothly. “It’s Anderson now.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” The hint of color on the clerk’s face was the only sign of her blunder. “I forgot.” The woman’s eyes slid back to Memphis as she rounded the counter, clearly curious about their relationship but too well-trained to ask. “I’m pleased you scheduled time with us this afternoon,” she said to Kate. “Why don’t we discuss your wardrobe needs, and I’ll see how I can help.”
Help? Shopping wasn’t on his list of enjoyable activities. But shopping with two women? Well … he didn’t see how the experience could get much worse.
Except it did.
Since Memphis had first entered the designer-clothing store, approximately two seconds ago, he’d fought the urge to walk back out, leaving the endless stretch of gray marble, the high, wood-paneled ceiling and the subtle lighting. Years ago the clerk wouldn’t have recognized his last name. So far Kate had gone by two, both of which commanded instant attention.
His lips twisted wryly. It had taken him thirty years to attain what she’d been granted simply by being born into one of Florida’s most powerful political dynasties.
While the two women talked, Memphis glanced at the suits that lined the far wall and the tables and racks with shirts and pants on display. Each article of clothing was arranged with a total of lack of concern for efficient use of real estate, signifying just how high-end the South Beach, Miami, store was—and how much the clothes would cost. Nowadays Memphis could handle the expense with ease, but he still had a problem with the attitude.
The only reason the saleslady was being so solicitous was because of Kate’s presence and his now mostly famous name.
“The VIP room is in the back.” The clerk sent Memphis an assessing look, obviously liking what she saw, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. Okay, so maybe the woman appreciated more than his name. “You two can enjoy the refreshments in our fitting room while I do the selecting for you,” the redhead finished.
“I think you and I should divide and conquer,” Kate said to the clerk. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”
Memphis winced and shifted on his feet, already impatient. “I’m perfectly capable of picking out my own clothes.”
Capable, and a lot quicker than two choosy females.
“Remember our agreement?” Kate said, clearly biting back a smile. “I do the selecting.”
Stifling the groan was difficult. “But I could have it done in five minutes.”
“I booked the private fitting room for considerably longer,” Kate said.
At her amused look, Memphis narrowed his eyes. Was trapping him in designer hell her way of paying him back for cornering her in the closet?
“And my time is a part of the service, Mr. James,” the clerk said, interrupting his thoughts and turning her full-wattage smile on him. “I’ll select a few suits appropriate for the formal event.” After a lingering glance at Memphis, the clerk headed off.
“She looked eager to help,” Kate murmured, clearly entertained as she watched the woman for a moment before turning to face Memphis.
His lips quirked. “Eager is a good description.”
“I think she might even offer to undress you herself.”
“Intriguing suggestion,” he said dryly. “Though I doubt it would speed up this process.”
“Obviously she’s willing to go above and beyond the call of duty,” she said, stepping closer to reach a rack of white dress shirts.
Which, unfortunately, brought her scent to his attention.
Last night his dreams of Kate had been the ultimate in erotic. It was easy to blame them on the lavender that lingered in the air in his home, or the memories of sparring with her in his closet, but Memphis knew better.
Though beyond tempting, it was best not to dwell on the dreams. He turned to eye the clothes on the rack beside them. “What is tomorrow night’s dinner party for, anyway?”
“A pleasant way for the members of the reunion committee to celebrate while ironing out a few last-minute details,” she said. Sliding the hangers on the rack of dress shirts, she studied each one critically in turn, taking a whole lot longer than he liked. “And discussing any updates that need to be made to our website,” she said.
“You have a website?”
“Of course, it’s the best way to find classmates and generate excitement about the event. Didn’t you go to your ten-year reunion? It would have been, what …?” She paused, as if trying to remember, staring down at the shirt in her hand as if its selection was paramount to the future of the world. “Three years ago?”
“Two,” he said. Growing impatient with her inspection of a simple shirt, he reached out and selected one from the rack. “I’m two years older than you and about a hundred years wiser.”
Which seemed to sum up their relationship through the years.
She sent him an amused look, clearly disagreeing with his statement. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”
“Because no one in their right mind needs to sort through a rack of dress shirts where every one of them is white.” He held up the one in his hand, his brow pinched with skepticism. “Outside of the correct size, what else is there to choose?”
She took the shirt from his clasp. “Cut. Style,” she said patiently, but Memphis got the feeling it was a struggle for her. “The collar and the thread count, just to name a few.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You want to be comfortable, don’t you?”
“I won’t be comfortable until these functions are behind me,” he said with a small frown of frustration. “And who really cares what I’m wearing?”
“You should. As my companion, the press is likely to analyze and criticize your every move, including your choice of attire. Take it from someone who knows,” she said. “You don’t want to give them any ammunition beyond their own twisted imaginations.”
She studied him for a moment before returning the shirt in her hand to the rack. And Memphis had the distinct impression he’d just taken a step backward in his mission to complete the afternoon of torture.
“Why did you put that one back?” he said with a groan.
“The fit will be wrong,” she said. “You’re in excellent shape, so you’ll look best in a tailored style.”
He picked up another shirt she’d rejected. “And what’s wrong with this one?”
“The thread count. All other things being equal, the thread count is important in how it feels against your body.” Obviously the skepticism rolled off him in discernible waves. She steadily held his gaze. “You don’t believe me.”
In answer, he simply hiked a brow.
She removed the two he’d selected from the rack and handed them back to him. “Okay,” she said, holding up the ones she’d chosen. “Let’s go take them all for a test drive.” She bunched her brow in amusement and went on. “I bet you’ll feel a difference.”
“I bet you’re wrong.” He followed close behind as she headed for the private dressing room in back. “At least tell me you don’t try to control the clothing of every guy you’ve dated since Dalton.”
“I haven’t been out on a date yet.”
Stunned by the news, Memphis stopped short. Her ex was engaged, albeit at record speeds, but she hadn’t even found the time to go out with another man. Kate must have sensed he was no longer following her, and she stopped and turned to face him.
He shouldn’t be so curious. “Why not?”
“No time.”
Memphis scanned her face, wondering what was stirring behind those blue eyes of hers, a disturbing thought working its way into his brain. “I hope that’s not just an excuse because you’re pining for your ex.”
“Trust me, Memphis,” she said, her lips twisting. “I’m not pining for a man.”
Both relieved and disturbingly challenged by the news, Memphis leaned in close. “Not even for me?”
She blinked once as she met his eyes, the emotion unreadable. “Least of all you.”
Although he’d started out teasing her, as Memphis stared at Kate’s steady blue gaze, a small stab of resentment flared, and he struggled to tamp down the unwanted emotion in his chest. There was a time in his teens when he would have loved to have Kate pine for him, despite their age difference. And how could she throw herself so passionately into a night of making love with him only to go back and spend another four years with her husband? He sure as hell hadn’t entered into the moment with forever in mind, but it still grated that she could nonchalantly walk away.
As if he were a dress shirt that wasn’t suitable.
“Well,” he said softly. “I know you like what I did to you.” Her eyes widened a fraction, and he went on. “There’s no denying that.”
He enjoyed the way, these days, she held his gaze instead of visually scurrying for cover when confronted. But she didn’t look quite as composed now, her breaths coming a little faster. Whether it was from attraction, nerves or irritation at his reminder of her less-than-noble moment, he wasn’t sure.
“It was simply sex, Memphis,” she said in a low voice.
“There was nothing simple about it.”
She bit her lower lip. “That night had everything to do with my state of mind and nothing to do with you.”
“It was me you wrapped your arms around while you cried.”
“I’d had a huge fight with Dalton and left with the intention of never going back. I was looking for an escape from it all. I didn’t expect to find you at my brother’s apartment.”
He paused, letting the memory wash over him. After years of being away from Miami, he’d been disappointed his friend was out of town, but crashing at Brian’s place on his way through had only made sense. Until a sobbing Kate had let herself into her brother’s apartment, so inconsolable she couldn’t speak. Thrown by the sudden appearance of his old crush and disturbed by her profound sadness, he’d pulled her into his arms to console her. It was the first time he’d ever felt sorry for Kate Anderson.
And it would definitely be the last.
“I know you were upset, Angel Face.” Although his voice was soft, he couldn’t contain the edge to his tone. “But after twenty minutes of sobbing against my chest, when you’d finally recovered enough to speak, all you did was beg me to make love to you.”
And in the span of a fleeting two seconds, he’d debated waiting until she was less emotional. A fleeting two seconds of brilliant insight that had been followed by hours of blissful—pleasurable—ignorance.
As the silence grew, tension infiltrated the air.
“Memphis …” Kate closed her eyes, and her voice grew wearily frustrated. “I made a mistake. All I can do is say I’m sorry. What else do you want from me?”
Edgy, feeling the sudden urge to leap off a tall building, he was beginning to realize he didn’t know the answer to that question himself. He hated being considered a mistake. And what did he want? Another apology? A hundred of them? Or maybe a chance to prove she wasn’t as delicious as he remembered …
He tamped down the thought. For now he’d settle for a little acknowledgment. Starting with the truth she dodged when convenient. All pretense and teasing gone, he said, “I want you to admit out loud that you wanted me that night as much as I wanted you.”
She lifted her lids, the blue eyes troubled, but said nothing.
The need to hear the words grew more acute, and he shifted closer, determined to use any means necessary. “And when you spend the night with me again,” he went on. “I’d prefer you didn’t sneak away without saying goodbye.”
Her mouth worked for a moment before she responded. “I won’t sleep with you again.”
Damn, he should be agreeing with her.
Why wasn’t he agreeing with her?
Unfortunately, the only thing he wanted right now was to pull her into his arms and verify that she didn’t taste as good as she did in his memories. Without pausing for a second thought, he reached for her, Kate’s lids stretched wide in surprise—and they were interrupted by the redheaded sales lady.
“Here you two are.” The clerk beamed at them as if she’d just bought the winning lottery ticket. “Follow me and I’ll take you to the VIP room.”
Still wobbly from the disturbing near-miss encounter, Kate gratefully sank into one of the copper-colored silk armchairs of the luxurious private fitting room as the salesclerk loaded the rack with their selections, along with her own. The large room came equipped with a well-stocked bar and an offering of gourmet cookies. The latter didn’t interest Kate at all, but the former might come in handy before the afternoon was over.
The bumpy trip down memory lane had left her shaky. She’d spent the first two years of her marriage convincing herself time would make things better, and the second two years feeling neglected. Her fight that fateful night with Dalton had left her horribly confused and hopeless that things would ever improve. She’d needed to feel that she was important to him. He’d needed her to accept the life of sacrifice as a future politician’s wife. Going to her parents afterward to confess her relationship was over had been a mistake, because they’d simply said that marriage was hard, Dalton was a good man and to go back to her husband. In that moment, she’d never felt more alone. Brian’s company would have helped.
Memphis had been a dangerous substitute.
“I don’t know why I’m going along with this,” Memphis muttered as he stood in the center of the dressing room, as if unclear exactly why he was still here.
Kate pushed the memories aside and crossed her legs. “Just start with trying on a few shirts,” she said. “It can’t be near as bad as hitting an air bag from a hundred-foot drop—”
Memphis pulled his T-shirt over his head—cutting her sentence short—and tossed the garment aside. Kate was grateful she was already sitting. Now clad in nothing but jeans, Memphis’s form elicited a full-scale assault on her senses. The vision of a lean, muscle-adorned chest brought back a slew of powerful memories….
Memphis, frowning as he finally relented to her pleas and claimed her mouth with his.
Her, beneath him, clinging to his hard torso as passion drove away the years of loneliness.
“Can I get you anything from the bar, Ms. Anderson?” the clerk said. Now that Memphis was shirtless, the woman’s voice sounded strained.
Kate blinked, and the vision of a bare-chested Memphis returned. A drink? Absolutely. An alcoholic beverage was definitely in order.
Kate sent the saleslady a beyond-grateful smile. “What do you have?”
“Champagne.” The redhead’s gaze slid to Memphis, and she looked as if she needed a drink too. “We also carry a nice selection of wine and several imported beers.”
“Wine,” Kate said. “Red, please.”
The saleslady complied, and as she poured the drink Memphis said, “She’s a lightweight, so I wouldn’t be too liberal with my portions.”
Kate shot him a look. Memphis obviously felt no need to send the saleslady away, and the clerk was clearly loath to leave. Kate was simply glad the woman provided a buffer, so she accepted the glass with a smile. After a sip that curled low in her belly, she took another—all in the name of fortification, of course—and sent the saleslady a bigger smile.
“Have a seat and we can rate the selections,” Kate said.
The clerk’s return grin was brilliant as she complied. “If you insist.”
Kate glanced at the masculine chest on display and restrained the sigh. “Might as well enjoy your job,” she muttered.
“Some days are definitely better than others,” the clerk murmured.
Memphis headed for the rack, the corded muscles and sinew in his back rippling as he shifted through the selections.
Eyes on the vast expanse of masculinity on display—and trying hard not to remember how long she’d gone without—Kate picked up the basket of cookies, offering the clerk one. “If you can’t have wine, at least enjoy a baked good.”
Kate turned and saw the clerk was just as pleased with the view.
“I probably should,” the redhead said. “I think my blood sugar just dropped.” Her smile was wan. “I’m feeling a little woozy.”
As if oblivious, Memphis turned and lifted his arms over his head, spearing them into the sleeves of a dress shirt, the muscles in his chest shifting. Kate heard the clerk catch her breath at the beautiful display that highlighted his athleticism, his power and his dedication to his job by how meticulously he maintained his physical condition. And with the sexily rumpled style of his brown hair, Memphis always looked as if he’d just climbed out of bed after enjoying a satisfying night….
Kate briefly pressed her lids closed. Dear God, maybe that perception was more a reflection of her than him. She took another gulp of wine that her hit her empty stomach and burned, the warmth spreading lower.
Shirt now buttoned, Memphis turned to face the two ladies, clearly underwhelmed by their participation to date. “Well?”
Disappointed the shirt covered the nicest thing about the room, and feeling a little fuzzy, Kate murmured, “Nice. But I’ll need to see the rest of them.”
“Absolutely,” the clerk said in agreement. “No need to be too hasty.”
After several more rounds of the same, she and the clerk were no closer to choosing, and Kate was feeling even more light-headed as she drained the last of her wine. At this rate they could be here all day, and Memphis would have to cart her out of the private dressing room in a wheelbarrow.
Halfway through the shirt selections Memphis tried on one of his choices.
“How does that one feel?” Kate said.
He shrugged into the oxford. “Strangely enough,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. “It feels like a shirt.”
She rose from her seat, surprised to find her legs even more rubbery than they’d felt while sitting. Handing him the shirt with the higher thread count, she said, “Now try this.”
Kate waited as calmly as she could as he slipped out of the first and into the second, pivoting to face the mirror.
She turned to inspect his reflection. “And?”
He cocked his head, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I suppose if I have to attend this fancy freak show, I might as well be comfortable,” he said. “This one is definitely softer.”
A big I-won smile spread across her face. “I told you so.”
His grin was deliciously tiny but big on meaning. “You’re gloating.”
“I’m just pleased that Memphis James can admit when he’s wrong.”
His voice lowered an octave. “Too bad Kate Anderson can’t do the same.”
She froze, staring at his reflection, wondering what, specifically, he was talking about. That she thought she’d been prepared for Memphis’s presence in her life again? Or perhaps he was referring to her recent assessment of the night she’d made love to him, stating it had been a mistake? Or maybe her declaration she wouldn’t repeat the same mistake again?
Feeling wobbly, Kate pivoted on her heel to face him, her back to the clerk, her voice low. “I’m not wrong.”
“You are about several things.”
The intense look on his face and the heat in his gaze seared her to the soul.
Seemingly oblivious to the tension, the clerk said, “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. James, how did you get those scars on your chest?”
Eyes on Kate, Memphis pulled off the shirt and handed it to her, a hint of humor in his gaze as he pointed to a small patch of purplish skin on his left side. “I got this as a teen when I tried a burn before I’d had any formal training.” Memphis looked at the clerk and pointed to the well-healed, angry puckered line along his right collarbone. “Two years ago I took a fall and broke my clavicle. Despite the fracture, I did the stunt two more times to get the gag just right. By the time I was done the break was bad enough to require surgery.”
And then his gaze switched back to Kate. “This last one is from a spill I took jumping my dirt bike six years ago,” he said, pointing at the scar just below his navel, and the memory sent Kate’s belly spiraling with all the stomach-dropping sensations of one of his high falls.
During the longest night of her life, she’d used her lips and tongue to trace the mark on his flat abdomen before moving lower. The wine was definitely having an effect now, because she was feeling decidedly unsteady.
From behind her, the clerk’s voice sounded far away. “Shall I search for a few more items for you, Mr. James?”
Memphis’s gaze bored relentlessly into Kate’s, despite the fact he was addressing the redhead, his voice husky. “I have everything I need right here.”
Kate’s lips flattened and her chest pinched around her heart.
If the clerk was picking up on the undertones, hopefully she thought it was anger. Because Kate was angry, at Memphis for being so inappropriate and woefully unconcerned about their audience, and at herself—for still being susceptible to the bold, too-large-for-life Memphis.
Finally, the clerk said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”
His gaze shifted briefly to the woman. “I’d prefer that you didn’t,” he said, and Kate’s belly burned at his frank words. His eyes returned to hers, and the tension in her insides reached levels that interfered with her ability to breathe as he went on. “Ms. Anderson and I will come find you when we’re done.”
A sensual heat and heart-thumping anticipation swelled so acutely it pushed the breath from her lungs and filled every available space in her stomach. As the salesclerk turned on her heel and exited, neither of them moved, their gazes engaged in a duel.
Once the lady pulled the door shut behind her, Kate took a deep breath and gathered her strung-out nerves, feeling woozy from the wine and the man. “Memphis, let’s just concentrate on finishing.”
He didn’t move. “That’s what I’m doing.”
A crackling electricity hit her body and spread. “No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re intentionally trying to make me uncomfortable. And that isn’t going to help us complete our task,” she said, and she turned to head for the rest of the shirts.
Memphis wrapped his fingers around her wrist, preventing her departure from his side, and her heart rate surged into overdrive as she reluctantly faced him.
His gaze was relentless. “Maybe that’s not the task I’m trying to complete.”
Oh, God. She wasn’t ready for this.
She would never be ready for this.
Desperate to delay the inevitable, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But she did, she just couldn’t admit it, because right now his skin on hers reminded her of just how long it had been since she’d been touched by a man.
Fingers wrapped around her wrist, Memphis took a step closer. “Do you remember what you said the last time we made love that night?”
Kate’s mouth went dry and her throat constricted, cutting off her breath. The heat of his palm was but a small reminder of the fire this man had the ability to create. It was several moments before she could answer. “No.”
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