The Best Mistake of Her Life. Aimee Carson
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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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