The Best Mistake of Her Life

by Aimee Carson

  “But the party has just gotten interesting.”

  “If you call being trapped in a bathroom interesting.”

  “It depends on who you’re trapped with,” he said, his eyes growing darker. “And what you’re doing.”

  Kate placed a hand on his chest with the intent of holding him back, ignoring the hard muscle beneath the shirt. “Memphis, I really want to leave.”

  “We’re not leaving until you acknowledge my presence.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been ignoring me all evening.”

  She stared up at him, her heart thumping its approval at Memphis’s matching rhythm beneath her hand. “I haven’t been—”

  “You haven’t spoken two words to me since we walked through that front door,” he said, his tone low. Kate wasn’t sure if she heard irritation or desire in his voice, but she got the impression it might be both. “I’m not a convenience to pull out when you need help or …” His tone dropped another octave. “Or when you’re feeling alone and needy.”

  God help her, she was feeling needy all right.

  “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” she said. And it was the truth. “I was just trying to make tonight easier.”

  The doubtful look on his face was small, but significant. “Kate, you think too much. And easier on whom? Me?” He stepped closer, and his scent filled her senses, his handsome face filled her view. “Or you?”

  Heart pounding, she dropped her gaze in defense. Unfortunately that meant she was staring at the chest that had fascinated her since her teen years. The lean, lanky torso of adolescence had filled out into the wall of well-cut muscle of adulthood. Her body insisted he was right, she was thinking too much. But her mind kept reminding her of her goals to keep things simple and easy. To get through the reunion with as much dignity as possible, and, above all else, to get her messed-up life back on track. And for goodness’ sake, that included no repetition of past mistakes.

  Memphis was never easy. Nothing about their relationship was simple. And he was her biggest mistake. A gorgeous, sexy reminder of just how far off track her life could get if she followed anything other than her brain.

  “I was trying to make it easier on me, of course,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze and hoping the honesty would help her cause. But she was a little embarrassed by the amount of distress and desperation that seeped into her voice. “I just can’t think straight when you’re around, Memphis.”

  His eyes locked with hers, the moment stretching forever as she waited for his response, and then a dark look crossed his face.

  “Christ, Kate,” Memphis muttered, the frustration clear in his voice. “You’re not the only one.”

  He covered her mouth with his, and a tiny breath caught in her throat—a small sound that spoke volumes. He didn’t demand. The kiss wasn’t angry, and neither was it a punishment for ignoring him. If it had been any of these she would have pushed him away.

  Instead, it was the touch of a man who wanted a woman and wasn’t able to deny himself. Which made it impossible to resist, and Kate sighed, parting her lips in welcome.

  His response was immediate, cupping her face with his hands and tipping her head to capture more of her mouth. His lips and tongue slanted across hers as if he couldn’t get enough of the contact, and Kate nearly groaned out loud from the simple pleasure.

  During the first two years of her marriage the sex had been good, though sparse, and the pleasure had steadily waned thereafter as Dalton’s time constraints grew. Until Kate had withered from the neglect. After she’d confessed to Dalton about her night with Memphis it had been a long time before her husband had touched her again. And from then on his sparse attentions had felt more like duty than desire. But with Memphis, she always felt wanted.

  And there was nothing more powerful than feeling too irresistible to ignore.

  She met him kiss for kiss and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. When she finally parted the expensive covering, she ran her hands over his chest, allowing herself the freedom to explore every dip, every bulge—the ridges of hard muscle and sinew. She found and traced the scar low on his flat abdomen, and a small groan escaped Memphis’s throat, no doubt in remembered pleasure.

  She pulled her mouth away.

  “Kate,” Memphis said, his voice hoarse, full of frustration.

  Until she placed her mouth on the puckered scar on his collarbone.

  “Kate.” This time his gruff voice was low, full of approval.

  Her lips traced the well-healed scar and then moved lower, relishing the warm, salty skin. Making love to Memphis was always exhilarating, one of the few times his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude and love for danger were an asset. Her whole life had been spent toeing the line, and this wild, risk-loving man pushed her to the boundaries and beyond. It was a powerfully addicting feeling.

  When her mouth brushed across a flat nipple, Memphis sucked in a breath, cupping her head to hold her close. She smoothed her palms across his taut abdomen and slowly knelt to the floor, her lips moving to the old burn on his left flank. Kate’s fingers unfastened his belt. Once she had him unbuckled, she moved on to the front of his pants, her tongue tracing the scar just beneath his navel.

  The hiss from Memphis melted her to the core.

  Longing for closer contact, Kate pulled out his erection and began to lavish as much attention on the hard length as she had on each individual scar, her lips and tongue paying homage to every inch. Memphis moaned and clasped her head tighter in encouragement, and need wound tight between her legs, leaving her hot. Damp. The harsh breaths coming from Memphis’s throat spurred her on, made her feel reckless, and alive—her only thought to bring him to completion.

  But Memphis, apparently, had other plans.

  “Not yet, Angel Face,” he murmured, and he hauled her to her feet, his mouth landing on hers. The kiss that followed was raw, rough, but unhurried as he pushed her off-the-shoulder sleeves down her arms, leaving her breasts exposed. He took a moment to run his palms over the curves, calloused skin moving across her tips. Desire curled tight in her belly, desire that only grew stronger as he slid the hem of her dress up to her hips and cupped her buttocks, lifting her onto the bathroom counter.

  When he bent her back over his arm, sanity briefly tried to take over Kate, and she murmured. “This is crazy—”

  His mouth landed on a nipple, and fire and melted steel coursed through her veins, her tip swelling in response. Kate sucked in a breath, dropping her head back.

  Just a few more minutes. Just a few, and then I’ll—

  Memphis scraped his teeth across a tip, and pleasure engulfed her. She threaded her fingers through his hair, encouraging him as he divided his time between her breasts, lavishing attention on one before moving back to the other. Until she was so hot and so bothered and so ready for him she didn’t protest when Memphis gripped her buttock, her thigh draped over his forearm, and swept aside the crotch of her undies. Heated gaze on hers, he thrust inside.

  “Memphis,” she whispered, closing her eyes in delight.

  He arched between her legs again, his voice gruff. “I’m not stopping.”

  “I don’t want you to,” she whispered. “But we should go—”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” he said, and rocked his hips again.

  Pleasure welled higher, and a soft groan escaped her lips. “I’m not sure I can be quiet.”

  “Then let me help you with that.” And he lowered his head for a kiss.

  Mouth fused with hers, one hand on her buttocks, Memphis made love to her with a determination that was electrifying. And, despite their surroundings, he was in no hurry. Memphis James took what Memphis James wanted.

  And right now, he wanted Kate.

  The pace was slow, unhurried, yet with a dark desire and a hint of desperation stamped in his every movement. Until Kate dug her nails into his shoulders, egging him on. Begging for more. Urging him to go faster. The only noise
in the room was the tiny strangled sound of satisfaction that escaped her throat. And when Memphis finally succumbed to her near-silent pleas, his thrusts now hurried and aching with need, the building pressure of pleasure burst upward and outward, and she came with a force that left her clinging to Memphis in its wake.

  Shoulder propped against the bathroom wall, Memphis silently watched Kate reapply her lipstick.

  “My dress is creased,” Kate said.

  “No one will notice.”

  “And my hair is a mess,” she said.

  “You look fine.”

  She looked better than fine, she looked beautiful. And although the ice-princess persona was firmly back in place, he was beginning to recognize the signs of the underlying edginess brimming beneath her reserve.

  Usually it was the subtle, rapid blinks of her eyelids that were the only clue to her distress. Right now it was evident in the faint tremble of her fingers as she swept a blond wisp of hair from her cheek and tucked it back into place. The strand had worked its way free from the elegant twist at the nape of her neck—most likely knocked loose when Memphis had held her head as Kate had worshipped his body with her mouth. The erotic memory brought an inevitable swell of desire, but Memphis pushed it aside. Because every tiny shake of her unsteady hands put another nick in his heart.

  “The only thing anyone will notice is the glow in your face,” Memphis said.

  Kate pressed her palms to her cheeks, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her brow creased with concern. She’d spent most of her life so contained she probably wouldn’t recognize her own feelings if they walked up and slapped her. He hadn’t entered the bathroom to make love to her, only to tease and get a rise out of the normally composed woman.

  Now he had an overwhelming urge to get her away from this toxic environment, to get her to relax.

  “I’ll take you home,” he said

  She met his gaze in the mirror. “I don’t want to leave right away.”

  Surprised, Memphis shifted his weight on his feet. “I figured after everything the gossipmongers had said—”

  “No,” Kate said as she turned and leaned back against the bathroom counter, bracing her hands on the marble behind her. “I told you before, I don’t care what they think about my marriage.”

  He tipped his head. “So what does Kate Anderson care about?”

  Kate didn’t hesitate. “Fixing my life.”

  The regal set to her chin disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. He folded his arms against his chest, hating that he had to ask the words out loud. “Does that include continuing to stay away from me?”

  Her forehead crumpled in confusion. “I don’t know, Memphis,” she said, the doubt and the uncertainty and the honesty cutting deeper than they should. “I just don’t know anymore.”

  The look on her face made his chest grow tight, and he pushed away from the wall. “Damn it, Kate,” he said softly. Reaching the woman had never seemed so important, and he finally admitted to himself just how much was at stake. “Please tell me you’re not engaged in some sort of self-torture mission because of what we did five years ago. As if you don’t deserve pleasure or happiness because of the past.” He hiked an eyebrow. “Because martyrdom isn’t an attractive quality in this day and age.”

  Kate let out a small self-deprecating laugh. “If avoiding pleasure was my intent, I wouldn’t be doing a very good job of it, now would I?”

  Despite the tension, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not really.”

  Her gaze shifted away from his. “And not that I think suffering in any way shape or form makes up for my sins, but trust me when I tell you I’ve suffered quite a bit already.”

  “How?”

  Kate’s expression went blank, and then she turned back to the sink. Not meeting his gaze in the mirror, she washed her hands, as if she hadn’t washed them two times already.

  “How?” he repeated.

  She pulled a tissue from the decorative container on the counter and pivoted to face him, holding it out to him. Clearly she was stalling for time.

  “What’s that for?” he asked, refusing to take the tissue.

  Kate nodded in his direction, not meeting his gaze. “I suggest you wipe your mouth. Mind you, you have testosterone to spare, but the lipstick really detracts from your manly appearance.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked, not that he gave a damn about having Kate Anderson’s lipstick coloring his mouth. Memphis shifted on his feet, refusing to budge. “What happened when you told Dalton about us?” he said

  She blinked hard, and then turned back to the sink, rearranging the contents of a decorative basket on the counter. “All things considered, he took it remarkably well,” she said, her tone carefully even. But the nervous activity of her hands was a dead giveaway. “He knew we were in trouble, and he acknowledged he was also at fault for the two of us drifting apart,” she went on, her fingers smoothing the petal of a silk flower. “The competition to get into the law school he wanted was tough. And that meant his college years consisted of him being buried in the books. Spending hours away from home.”

  “Lots of couples survive similar circumstances.”

  Kate shook her head gently. “It got worse in law school, and even when he was home, he wasn’t mentally with me.”

  Memphis knew there was more to the story, and he met her gaze in the mirror and, lifting an I’m-not-going-away brow, he said, “But what was his reaction about us?”

  Kate heaved out a breath, and scrunched her eyes closed, her thumb and her forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose. “We talked about everything in depth with a marriage counselor, and Dalton seemed to come to grips with the news. He was even able to discuss his feelings with the counselor in a logical, reasonable fashion. He told me he wanted to fix our marriage.”

  “So what was the problem, Kate?”

  She dropped her hand to her side and met his gaze in the mirror. “At home he began to hurl indirect slurs my way.”

  He stared at her, as if he could will her not to look away.

  “I couldn’t discuss his humiliating words with any of my friends.” She let out a low laugh that held no humor. “And I certainly didn’t want to confess to my family what I’d done.”

  “Did you ask him to stop?” he said.

  There was a small pause before she answered. “I did, but that only made his derisive comments worse,” she said. “He started making them in public, too, trying to hide them behind humor. He told jokes about women being untrustworthy. Liars and cheats. The only one not laughing was me.” She met his gaze again. “And the comments grew more vindictive as time went by.” Kate swiped an imaginary hair from her cheek, as if trying to brush aside the unhappy memories. “Until I finally realized he just couldn’t forgive me.”

  Memphis watched her smooth her hand down her dress, as if trying to fix the faint creases from their moment of passion, and Memphis couldn’t take the nervous activity anymore. He reached out to wrap his fingers lightly around her wrist, subduing her antsy hand. He held her gaze, his voice low. “Four years is a long time to spend seeking forgiveness,” he said, rubbing his thumb along the pounding pulse at the base of her thumb.

  Her blue eyes were alive with emotion. “Especially when you’re struggling to forgive yourself.”

  The words pinched his heart, and Memphis frowned. “Kate, you came clean. You tried to repair your marriage. There was nothing more you could have done.” Kate didn’t look convinced, and Memphis went on, struggling to convince her of the truth. “Ultimately,” he said. “Dalton made his own choice.”

  Despite everything, a part of him had to ask the question, his gut tightening uneasily. “Do you still have feelings for him?”

  Her sigh was so small it was almost inaudible. “I still believe in his politics. I know better than anyone that his commitment to serving the people is genuine.” She lifted her chin, squarely meeting his gaze. “And I will always support him unconditionally in his
fight to better the lives of others. But no,” she said, shaking her head softly. “The only feelings that remain are the ones of respect for his dedication to his work.”

  An intense feeling of satisfaction bloomed. And suddenly, the need to leave the complications behind was intense. “I found a side door while searching for the den,” he said. “I say we slip out and leave this party behind.”

  Kate’s hesitation was brief. “On two conditions.”

  Doubt narrowed his eyes. “Which are …?”

  “First, we fix your appearance.” Kate reached up and wiped his mouth with the tissue, and Memphis was left wishing she’d used her lips instead. “Real men don’t wear lipstick.”

  “And second?”

  “You have to feed me.”

  As if on cue, her stomach growled, and a smile crept up his face. “Deal,” he said. “I know the perfect place.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  FROM the outside, the old fishing wharf restaurant looked as if it had fallen on hard times, but Memphis knew better. And the number of cars in the parking lot confirmed the unique establishment’s popularity. As they made their way for the door, Memphis loosely linked his fingers with Kate’s, enjoying the feel of skin on skin. And while there was nothing better than touching her in the midst of a round of passionate sex, he craved this simple contact, too.

  “When you took me home to change into jeans,” she said. “I thought we’d end up at a beachside dive with sand under my toes.”

  Chuckling, Memphis opened the door and led her inside. Music blared, people chatted loudly and mouthwatering smells filled the air. “This dive has the world’s best hamburgers and a great selection of beers,” he said. Just inside the doorway, Kate slipped her hand from his, and disappointment surged—because he missed her touch. “It also has a conspicuous lack of a judgmental public.” He shot her a meaningful look as he steered her through the crowd. “When you decide to come to Rick’s, you don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  Kate took a seat at one of the large wooden cable spools that doubled as tables, and her lips twisted wryly. “Except, perhaps, getting a tetanus shot,” she said dryly, eyeing the bar along the wall that was creatively fashioned out of wooden shipping crates.