The Best Mistake of Her Life. Aimee Carson
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