The Best Mistake of Her Life

“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 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.”