The Best Mistake of Her Life (3 page)

“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.”

“W
ELCOME
, 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….