The Best Mistake of Her Life. Aimee Carson
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