The Best Mistake of Her Life

by Aimee Carson

  “What’s the discussion today?” she said apprehensively.

  “How you and Dalton are going to manage the reunion festivities.”

  “What do you mean?” she said. Her heart already around the level of her belly, there didn’t seem much farther for it to go.

  She was wrong.

  “A reporter asked Dalton about the reunion,” Brian went on. “Apparently your ex and his fiancée will be attending.”

  She stared at her brother, who really should have looked more alarmed while delivering the unwelcome news. “But Dalton and I discussed this. He said he didn’t want to go.”

  Brian scowled. “It seems he has changed his mind. He probably figures acting as if everything was normal is a way to get beyond the bad press.”

  Her heart reached her toes and wedged tight. There just wasn’t any room to move lower.

  Memphis cleared his throat. “Could make the reunion a little awkward.”

  Kate sent him a wide-eyed look that most likely telegraphed the panic she was feeling. “You think?”

  After an assessing gaze, Memphis crossed the kitchen and retrieved a mug from the cabinet, filled it with coffee and set it in front of her. “Cream or sugar?” he asked, as if that was the biggest dilemma she had to deal with today.

  “A shot of whiskey, please. No, wait,” she said, wrapping her cold fingers around the warm ceramic mug. “Make that two shots.”

  Memphis’s mouth twitched. “I’d suggest you stick with cream.”

  He poured a dollop of the oh-so-insufficient addition into her coffee, and Kate inhaled a fortifying whiff of the brew, letting the wonderful smell wash through her before taking a sip.

  “Okay,” she said, setting her mug down and hoping she was ready. “What kind of comments are on the web page, anyway?”

  Brian raised a brow. “You really want to know?

  If she was going to listen to the murmurs behind her back at the cocktail party next week, she wanted to be able to take them in context. “Fire away.”

  “They call her the replacement wife.”

  “So what does that make me?” Kate said.

  “Obsolete?” Memphis suggested helpfully, and she shot him a look.

  “I’m only twenty-eight years old,” she said. “Surely that’s too young to be considered obsolete.”

  “That’s not all,” Brian went on.

  “What else could there possibly be to discuss?” Kate said.

  “Plenty, apparently,” Brian said. “But the biggest discussion by far is how you, Dalton and his new lady are going to navigate the two social functions at the reunion.”

  Kate closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Lovely. Now the town was arguing about how she should schedule her social calendar. “Any decent suggestions that I can use?” she said, her lips quirking wryly.

  Brian scrolled through the screen while Memphis stood behind him, arm braced against the counter, reading over her brother’s shoulder. Kate couldn’t look.

  “The comments fall into two camps, the serious and the absurd.” Brian scanned the text for a moment. “One lady suggested you two should divide up the night.”

  “Sounds civilized,” Memphis said, shooting her a mocking smile. “Right up Kate’s alley.”

  Kate’s lips flattened, and her brother ignored Memphis and went on. “Another suggested you two should divide the reception hall in half and each stick to your own side.”

  Memphis shot her a serious look he clearly didn’t feel. “I’d suggest you take the half with the restroom.”

  “Funny,” Kate said, hoping her look communicated just how much she wasn’t amused.

  Brian scrunched up his face. “Which begs the question, what is the minimum safe distance between you and your bastard of an ex, anyway?”

  Memphis swiped a hand down his face, clearly fighting to hold back a smile. “Kate and I were just having a similar discussion last night at the dinner party.” His eyes were hot as they met hers over her brother’s head, sending goose bumps prickling down her back. “Except our discussion was about where my hand—”

  “Enough,” Kate said as she closed the laptop computer with a resounding thunk, ignoring the traitorous thrum of desire that begged for more of Memphis.

  After last night her body was beyond willing, but her mind was still convinced it was a mistake to want more, and her heart couldn’t stand the infighting. And by the look on Memphis’s face, the one that said he was ready to pick up where they’d left off—which probably meant the kitchen—once Brian was gone, her mission was going to get more difficult.

  Amused, Memphis held her gaze.

  Without looking at her brother, Kate said, “Brian, I need to have a discussion with Memphis.” She turned her gaze to Brian. “Alone, please.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SENSING he wasn’t going to like what came next, Memphis stared at Kate. She had a we-need-to-have-a-conversation look that was the total antithesis of his which-room-next? thoughts.

  “Brian, please,” Kate said.

  Her brother pushed back in his chair and stood. “Okay,” he said, drawing out the vowels in the word as if buying time to think.

  Kate didn’t allow him the luxury. She took his arm, steering him toward the hallway. “Thanks for the warning about the comments. I’ll walk you to the door.” As they all entered the foyer, heading for the front entrance, Kate said, “Give me a call later, okay?”

  Brian looked up at the bra on the chandelier. “You need help getting that down?”

  Kate kept her eyes straight ahead, escorting her brother toward the front door. “Memphis will take care of it.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to that,” Memphis said, and Kate shot him a look behind her brother’s back, but Memphis simply crinkled his forehead in amusement.

  Brian turned at the front entrance. “I can help—”

  “I love you, Brian.” Kate opened the door and gently pushed him out onto the stoop. “Now leave,” she said as she closed the door in his face.

  Memphis lifted a brow, biting back the grin. “That was rude.”

  “He’s my brother. Occasional rudeness is to be expected and is always forgiven.”

  “No need to apologize to me, either,” he said. He let his voice drop an octave. “I like it when you get pushy.”

  Her lips pressed in a flat line and she crossed her arms, as if bracing for the conversation. Without bothering to look in the direction of her bra, she said, “Will you help me get that down?”

  Clearly she didn’t like the lingering evidence of their previous escapades.

  He glanced at the scrap of white lace dangling like a living, though certainly not breathing, reminder of just how out of control they’d been last night. How out of control she had been.

  Not that anyone would know to look at Kate now. Her casual pants and delicate blouse were simple, though no doubt designer. And, combined with her sleek blond hair, her presentation was so chic and cool it screamed “do not bother unwrapping, ice princess inside” to anyone who braved a closer look.

  As far as he figured it, he knew her better than most.

  But given how much she’d kept from her family, perhaps it was time to delve deeper. His curiosity had grown too acute to ignore anymore. Was her reserve simply a byproduct of her upbringing? Or was there something more to her habit of coolly encasing her emotions in ice?

  Either way, it was past time Memphis discovered the full truth.

  Because he’d finally experienced her raw sexuality and had been pleased as hell. The wildly abandoned Kate had surpassed even his best teenage fantasies. He would never be satisfied with a single night, but he also wanted more than just hot sex with a woman he didn’t understand.

  And that meant prying the lid off her intriguingly cool facade.

  “I think the bra looks nice there,” he said, stepping closer. He sensed, rather than saw her straighten her back. Gathering those defenses. “It reminds me that there is a real Kate living benea
th that careful exterior of yours.”

  She blinked hard. Twice. And then three more times. He wondered if every time she opened her eyes she was disappointed he was still there.

  Finally, she said, “The ladder is in the garage.”

  “At least give the interesting decoration a day to grow on you.”

  Ignoring his statement, she headed back up the foyer. “I have several different kinds, including a folding ladder and a stepladder,” she said. “I’m sure you can find one that will work.”

  “It is an obnoxiously sized chandelier,” he said. “So the proportions are off with just the bra. But if you tossed the matching panties up there, it would balance out the look.”

  “Just be careful to set your equipment up properly,” she went on smoothly, a dignified sarcasm to her tone. “We wouldn’t want you to fall and break your neck.”

  “Maybe you also need a couple of garters to go along with them, as well.” Amused, he followed her through what appeared to be a utility room and into the garage. “Though that might be a bit much.”

  “Because climbing up an ordinary piece of equipment should not lead to Hollywood’s premier high-fall stuntman crashing to his death,” she went on.

  “I’d be happy to pitch in for the cost of the garters.”

  “How embarrassing would that obituary be?” she returned smoothly, though her gaze cut through him like a jagged icicle.

  Memphis bit back the smile and then took a moment to look around the garage, her single luxurious sedan lost in the five-car space. Everything was stored neatly and in its proper place. Hell, the floor looked so clean you could probably eat off it without experiencing the tiniest bit of gritty crunch between your teeth. Order and cleanliness inside a home was reasonable, he supposed. But in a garage, it was unnatural.

  Chin just high enough to show she meant business, Kate pointed at the line of ladders hung neatly on the far wall. “Take your pick.”

  Memphis heaved out an exaggerated breath of defeat. “I’m crushed you’re ignoring my decorating tips.” He lifted an aluminum ladder off its hooks, resting it on his shoulder. Kate headed back through the utility room, and Memphis followed, his tone amused again. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being treated like a schoolkid being told to clean up the mess I made?”

  “Because you are,” she said as she fell into step beside him. “You’re the one who tossed the bra aside.”

  He shot her a look between the rungs of the ladder. “But you were the one who shattered a picture frame.”

  “And I’ve cleaned up my mess,” she said, stopping beneath the chandelier and pointing up at the bra. “It’s only fair you clean up yours.”

  He set up the folding ladder beneath the chandelier. “I’m going to change your nickname from Angel Face to Kill Joy,” he muttered, climbing the steps.

  He reached for the bra, trying to lift it from the sea of pointed crystal prisms dangling just above his head. After a minute or two of adjusting the angle of his attempt, the lacy undergarment still refused to budge.

  “It’s stuck,” he said. “Apparently the bra wants to stay.”

  “Memphis,” Kate said, the long-suffering tone in her voice slipping a bit. “Do not mess with me. The caterer is coming this afternoon to finalize some details for the reunion.” She cast a worried glance at the bra. “I cannot have my chandelier playing dress-up when she arrives.”

  He heard the brittle tone of her voice and finally dislodged the bra, turning to park his hip on the top rung of the ladder and look down at the woman below. Something bigger than an inappropriately attired fixture was eating at Kate. “Are you bothered by how hard you came on to me last night?”

  She stared up at him, her voice soft. “No.”

  Satisfied, he pushed a little further. “Are you going to make love to me again?”

  This time her response was firm. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Her voice was irritatingly reasonable, as if she’d memorized her answer in advance. “I’m only twenty-eight years old, Memphis,” she said. “And I’ve already made enough mistakes in my life to fill a novel. I know Dalton made some serious mistakes, too.” She laid a hand on her chest, honesty radiating from her eyes. “But ultimately it’s my decisions, my actions, that I have to live with. And I’m going to do everything in my power to keep future regrets to a minimum.”

  “That sounds like a hell of a boring way to live.”

  “Not all of us are built for the thrill like you.”

  “You can’t spend the rest of your life making up for past mistakes,” he said. “Regrets are useless.”

  She let out a faint scoff. “Those who say never to waste your life on regrets have either never made any large enough to count or are just plain selfish.”

  Memphis studied her for a moment before descending the ladder, bra in hand. He came to a halt at the bottom, tipping his head. “There is nothing wrong with occasional selfishness, Kate.”

  She paused before responding with another answer that felt rehearsed. “You—” she pointed at him “—and me,” she went on, placing a hand on her chest. “We’re messy. Complicated.” She smoothed a hand across her cheek. “And right now I really need simple.”

  In view of everything she’d been through, the statement was hard to argue with. Memphis met her gaze, taking in the blue eyes and the sleek loop of hair at her neck. Kate liked her life pretty, neat and organized. She didn’t like messes, whether the literal ones on a staircase or the emotional ones being dragged through the media.

  And complicated defined their relationship.

  “Is that why you lied to your family about the end of your marriage?” he said as he stepped closer to Kate. “Because it was simpler?”

  From the shocked look on her face it was clear she hadn’t prepared for this particular question. The awkwardness rolled off Kate as her expression morphed through a range of emotions before she finally responded.

  “I was trying to spare them,” she said.

  “Spare them?” His brow bunched. “These are your parents we’re talking about. And Brian.”

  “I couldn’t expect my family to pretend everything was okay between me and Dalton during the election campaign. It was a burden I’d accepted for myself, not for them.”

  Bra in hand, he crossed his arms, refusing to let her off easy. Digging for the truth was too important. And the look on his face must have telegraphed his skepticism.

  With a sigh, Kate rubbed her temple, shifting her gaze to stare down the hallway. The seconds ticked by before she went on. “Succeeding in high school was easy for me,” she said in a low voice. “Succeeding in college was easy, too. My marriage was the first real failure in my life, Memphis. And I felt so …” She briefly pressed her lids closed before dropping her arm and turning to look at him again, her eyes now bubbling with a bleak emotion that knifed him in the chest. “Ashamed.”

  Working hard to keep his heart from bleeding too much, he reached out to cup her face. “There is no shame in failure, Kate,” he said as he smoothed his thumb across her cheek, holding her gaze and trying to impress upon her the importance of his words. “You’ve got to cut yourself some slack.”

  Time stretched as he enjoyed her silky skin. And slowly, what had started as a comfort shifted to something more, and his body began to hum with remembered desire, delighting in the emerging signs her body was, too. The slightly widened eyes appeared first. And then came the rapid rate of the rise and fall of her very feminine chest. Finally a touch of color crept up her cheeks.

  When she shifted her head slightly, breaking their contact, he dropped his hand. “Angel Face,” he said dryly. “I am not the enemy.”

  “I never said you were.”

  With a wry hike of his brow, he said, “And I can’t be just your friend, either.”

  “So what title would you suggest?”

  After a pause, Memphis held up her bra, dangling her lingerie from his finger. “How about frenemies with
benefits?”

  The furrow lining her brow grew deeper as she swept the garment from his hand. “No more benefits,” she said, her lips twisting with a frustration that was clearly self-directed. “You make me do things out of character.”

  “Do I?” he said, reaching up to trace her collarbone. He heard her breath catch and, in that moment he relived every sound that had come from her mouth the night before. “I bet I can convince you otherwise.”

  “Sorry, Memphis,” she said. “I’m not going to give you the chance.”

  One week later Kate gripped her clutch purse and smoothed a hand down her cocktail dress, hungry, but too nervous for appetizers. As far as evenings went, Kate had had better. But the recent arrival of Tabitha Reed at her side meant the party was about to get worse.

  “I like your choice of a date, Kate.” Tabitha’s green cat eyes were fixed on Memphis as he mingled with the guests on the far side of the chic living room of Cheryl Jackson’s home. As hosts, the Jacksons were gracious, and one of the few couples present Kate considered real friends. Tabitha Reed certainly wasn’t. “He is absolutely delish,” Tabitha went on.

  “I suppose,” Kate murmured noncommittally, studying Memphis as he spoke with Tabitha’s husband. As much as Kate hated to, she agreed with the woman’s assessment.

  No man, no matter the clothes, compared. The simple dress shirt and pants perfectly displayed his athletic physique. Toss in the lopsided smile and a girl was a goner—because that smile frequently transformed into a grin of sensual memory that could melt butter faster than a fiery griddle. But it was the eyes that did Kate in. She no longer thought of them as caramel-colored, because that description was entirely too sweet. No, the rational-thought-slaying effect of his gaze could only be described as closer to a shade of intoxicating whiskey.

  Tabitha said, “Is he as good in bed as he looks?”

  Better.

  Kate pushed aside the surge of memories and ignored the trace of guilt the tiny white lie brought. “I couldn’t say.”

  Tabitha’s head whipped to face Kate, her stylish, chin-length black hair swinging around her elfin face. “You don’t know?”