My Favorite Mistake Read online

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Temporary?”

  I nodded. “A…phase.”

  He pursed his mouth and leaned forward until our faces were mere inches apart. “You’re telling me,” he said, his voice low and husky, “that the amazingly sexy, sensual woman I knew and married in Las Vegas no longer exists?”

  His words stroked my skin like the blade of a knife—raising gooseflesh and promising peril if I made a wrong move. His eyes were dark and teasing…tempting. Challenging me to be that woman again—the one who’d given him full power over her body and done things she’d only read about, the one who’d fallen under his spell so completely that she’d thrown caution to the wind and married a man with whom she had nothing in common. Only one answer made sense, but I wavered, lured by the promise in his eyes that we could pick up where we’d left off. Five days of pure carnal bliss.

  I opened my mouth and the words stalled on my tongue. I moistened my dry lips. “Redford…”

  The tip of his tongue appeared to wet his lips. “Yes?”

  “Here’s your food,” the waitress announced.

  I sat back and watched awkwardly while she deposited various plates and bowls in front of us. I felt light-headed from the pressure of the decision at hand.

  When she left, Redford was still staring at me. “You were saying, Denise?”

  I inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “I was saying that you’re right, Redford. That woman doesn’t exist.”

  The light went out of his eyes, but he smiled nonetheless. “Okay. You don’t have to worry—I’ll behave myself.” He picked up his fork and knife. “Are we still on for sightseeing tomorrow?”

  I nodded slowly, relieved that Redford had accepted my explanation without question. Maybe we could be friends after all…. And we still had to get through the audit on Tuesday. “You’ll be okay by yourself tonight?”

  His eyebrows shot up, then an amused smile curved his mouth. “I’ll manage.”

  My cheeks flamed. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Relax, Denise. I didn’t expect you to entertain me every minute that I’m here. Jim’s coming by tonight and we’re going to get a drink, maybe find a cigar bar.”

  Go out on the town, find a couple of girls? To which he had every right, I told myself. “You still smoke?”

  He nodded, then grinned. “I’m afraid you’ll find me pretty much the way I was when you knew me before.”

  My thighs tingled. He was mocking my assertion that I was different now. I carefully picked up my soup spoon. “So I’ll come by your hotel in the morning, say around ten?”

  “I’ll be ready,” he said, all pleasant politeness.

  I watched as he dove into his food with the enthusiasm I remembered—the enthusiasm with which he approached everything in life, including sex. Once upon a time, he had tackled my body with animalistic energy. It had changed my life…for a few precious days. He’d just let me know that he was willing to take me to that place again, where nothing mattered except how good we made each other feel.

  I focused on spooning some type of soup into my mouth, but my hand was shaking. I just hoped that Redford wouldn’t notice.

  10

  WORK FRIDAY afternoon was a blur. I spent most of it staring at my computer screen, (I received a quick e-mail from Barry who said he’d call later), and communicating with Ellen Brant’s voice mail (saying I was looking forward to hearing from her and finalizing the paperwork for her investment account). Ellen’s assistant finally called me back and asked if we could meet Tuesday afternoon. I couldn’t imagine the audit taking all day, so I agreed. I should have felt happy, but honestly, I felt lousy that I was taking advantage of an opportunity that Barry had arranged, yet I was keeping so much from him. I typed a chatty, understanding e-mail reply to Barry, then looked up laboratory diamonds on the Internet, telling myself I needed to be familiar with the emerging industry if an investment opportunity presented itself.

  The technology was fascinating—a machine compressed carbon under extreme pressure to form a diamond, in two days replicating the same process that took nature thousands of years to achieve, except the “laboratory” diamond was flawless. (So Redford had been right.) Diamond mine owners were concerned about the competition, but seemed sure that most customers would prefer “real” diamonds, citing that eternal love was best represented by a naturally formed stone. Creators of the engineered diamonds, however, argued that love was best represented by a flawless stone.

  I bit my lip, frowned and logged off.

  On the walk home, I found myself looking at my surroundings as Redford might: leaning my head back to gaze at the buildings, taking time to notice the street vendors, even splurging on a bouquet of Gerber daisies, which were scandalously expensive this time of year. I resisted, however, buying a bag of peanut M&M’s. If I had the willpower to turn down Redford’s offer of a sexual escapade, I could resist anything.

  When I arrived home, the tickets to Las Vegas that I’d ordered for me and Barry were in the mail—a reminder that I had made the right decision concerning Redford. I found a vase for the flowers and nuked a wedge of low-fat lasagna—my scant lunch had left me starving. While I ate, I booted up my laptop to check my wedding-dress auction, then frantically dialed Cindy.

  “SYLVIESMOM is winning!” I said. “You have to bid higher!”

  “How high do you want me to go?”

  “It doesn’t matter, because there won’t be a transaction. Just keep bidding!”

  “Okay.”

  I looked at my watch. “Wait a minute—aren’t you supposed to be having a drink with the guy from your class?”

  She sighed. “He called and asked for a rain check. He said something had come up. Personally, I think he got a better offer.”

  “That’s not possible,” I murmured, furious with the jerk. “Want to come over?”

  “Thanks, but I told my neighbor I’d help her paint her bathroom. You’re not entertaining Redford tonight?”

  “No,” I said, too quickly.

  She picked up on it. “Did something happen after we talked?”

  “No,” I said, then swallowed. “Well…yes. I found out that Redford’s not married.”

  “Really?”

  “No wife, no kids.”

  “Omigod—maybe he’s still in love with you!”

  I emitted a strangled laugh. “Cindy, that’s ridiculous. If he were in love with me, don’t you think he would’ve gotten in touch with me before now?”

  “Maybe he was afraid you’d reject him.”

  I laughed again. “Trust me—Redford is afraid of nothing.”

  “So, if he’s not in love with you, what does it matter if he’s available?” Then she gasped. “You’re not still in love with him, are you?”

  “No!” I snapped. “I…well, it just makes me uncomfortable, spending so much time with him now that I know.”

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  “God, no. Redford would never hurt me.”

  “Then what? You don’t trust him?”

  “No, of course I trust him. Redford is the most honorable man I know.”

  “Ah…you don’t trust yourself.”

  “No—I…” I stopped and took a deep breath. “I feel guilty gallivanting around with a single man behind Barry’s back.”

  “Denise, going to the Empire State Building isn’t gallivanting. Besides, it’s just one day.”

  “Two days—I’m going stud-shopping with Redford on Sunday.”

  “Come again?”

  “We ran into Sam today, and the horse farm is close to his place, so I’m riding up with Redford to see Kenzie.”

  “Sounds logical to me.”

  I chewed on my lip, then exhaled. “You’re right. It’s completely logical. I’m making too big a deal out of this, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. Have fun painting. Oh, and don’t forget to raise your bid!”

  “I will!”

  I hung up,
digesting Cindy’s sensible words, then alternated between compulsively checking my dress auction and picking up the phone to call Barry and rat on myself. Instead, I dialed my mother’s cell phone, expecting to leave a message, astounded when she actually answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom. It’s Denise.”

  “Denise, what a nice surprise. Is anyone dead, dear?”

  I frowned. “Uh…no.”

  “Oh, I thought you might be calling with bad news. I had a premonition this morning that I was going to hear bad news today. Didn’t I, Harrison?”

  I could picture my dad nodding. This wasn’t going well. “Actually, Mom, I called to tell you that…Barry and I are engaged.”

  My mother shrieked and covered the mouthpiece. “Harrison—our daughter is getting married!” She came back on the line. “Oh, Denise, we’re so happy for you! Aren’t we happy for her, Harrison?”

  “We’re happy for you, sweetheart,” my father shouted in the background.

  “Have you set a date?” my mother asked.

  “No—”

  “Oh, you’ll have to get a dress! Oh, won’t that be fun!”

  Thinking of the gown hanging in my closet, I massaged my temple. “Yes. How’s your trip?”

  “Horrible,” my mother declared, then launched into a diatribe about how miserable the weather had been. “Noah never saw such rain. I’ve been wet through and through since the minute we arrived.”

  I had made appropriate sympathetic noises, then told her to call me when they returned to the States and gave them my love. She was shouting, “My daughter’s getting married!” to her friends before she even disconnected the call.

  I felt like crap.

  What would my mother think of me if she knew that I’d already been married once?

  Not married, I chided—my marriage to Redford had been annulled. Obliterated. Expunged. It didn’t exist.

  Which wouldn’t be so hard to believe if Redford DeMoss wasn’t so very, very real. And so very, very sexy. I closed my eyes and remembered the way he had leaned across the table, baiting me with those amazing eyes to let down my guard, to let him in—literally—again. Even now, a tug on my midsection, a warming of my thighs betrayed my answer to Redford. I wanted him so badly it hurt. If only everything I held dear—everything I wanted to be—wasn’t at stake. If I gave in to my desires this time, it could be a mistake I’d never recover from.

  Desperate for a distraction from my relentless thoughts of Redford who was at this moment with his buddy Jim and probably picking up women with a mere eye-twitch, I turned to the most un-sexy chore I could think of: I delved into the depths of my archived files and pulled out our tax records.

  What I found was not comforting. Although I had receipts for most of the home office deductions I’d taken, the expenses themselves were a stretch—and significant. The U.S. tax code at the time was such that as a couple, we actually paid more taxes than if we had been two single people filing. I’d filled out the forms a few days before the annulment had been finalized and, in hindsight, had not been in the best frame of mind. My marriage had been a big mistake—being penalized by the government had only added salt to my wounds. I’d felt entitled to…fudge a little on the return. Now I just felt like eating fudge.

  Damn, I wished I’d bought that bag of peanut M&M’s.

  Even worse than my questionable deductions, I’d dragged Redford into this mess. And I would be humiliated when the tax agent dressed me down for taking advantage of the government, then levied fines and penalties—maybe even criminal charges. Somehow I couldn’t bear the thought of looking inept in front of him. Being dragged off in leg irons didn’t hold much appeal, either.

  Buried near the financial papers from the time we’d been married, I found pamphlets and books on Thoroughbreds and the Marine Corps and logistics—Redford’s field of expertise in the Corps. I’d bought them at a bookstore at the Las Vegas airport to learn more about my new husband and his life—what I thought would become my life. The books were dog-eared. As I flipped through, I found myself absorbed once again, as I had been three years ago, and settled against the headboard of my bed.

  Logistics, I realized, had prepared Redford to run just about any kind of organization. It was good training for the Thoroughbred business he loved, which, I learned from yet another book, required managerial knowledge of every aspect of the business—from hiring good people, to buying quality stock, to overseeing the intricacies of breeding. And I do mean intricacies. Those chapters I read twice, alternately wide-eyed and wincing. Yikes. (But I still wanted to see a stallion’s penis.)

  Around 10:30 p.m. the phone rang. I tore myself away from my reading long enough to pick up the handset, expecting to hear Barry’s voice on the other end. I couldn’t wait to tell him about the tickets to Vegas.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Denise. It’s Redford.”

  My throat closed. In the background I could hear bar noise—music, muffled voices.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  I guiltily set aside the book on Thoroughbreds. “Just reading. Are you and Jim having a good time?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, it’s great to catch up.” He cleared his throat. “Denise…I just wanted to call and say…”

  “Yes?” My breath caught in my throat. Curled up in bed with the voice of a sexy guy in my ear…. Heaven help me, I felt as if I were sixteen again. My breasts grew taut beneath my thin nightshirt.

  “I just wanted to say that it was great to see you again, and…well, good night.”

  “Good night,” I murmured. “I’ll see you in the morning, Redford.”

  “You don’t know how good that sounds,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Good night, Denise.”

  I hung up the phone, lay my head back and groaned. Shivers skated over my skin and heat radiated from the juncture of my thighs. I was in a bad place if Redford was able to turn me on with a few innocent words.

  I smoothed a hand over my stomach, then under the elastic band of my panties, closing in on the center of my pleasure. Releasing myself was insurance, I told myself. It would help me to resist the barrage of sexual cues that Redford emitted naturally…

  I closed my eyes and his face came into my mind, his eyes hooded and his jaw clenched in restraint. He was above me, inside of me, thrusting cautiously at first, until I could accommodate the amazing length of him fully. Then I took over the rhythm, lifting my hips to meet him thrust for thrust. A warm hum droned deep inside me, flowing over my stomach and down to my knees. The pleasure was singular and intense. I reached under my nightshirt to stroke a budded nipple. Redford loved it when I touched myself. I groaned and strained harder against the pressure in my nest. The vibration inside intensified, like a chant of many voices, rising to the pinnacle note. The bed beneath me seemed to fall away in pieces as I shot into space, crying out his name. “Redford…Redford…ohhhhh…oohhhh….”

  I lay still for a few seconds, imbedded in my mattress, marinating in the pleasurable pulsing of recovery and the languid angles of my limbs. It was the last time, I promised myself—the last time I would fantasize about being with another man…about being with Redford. I couldn’t continue to condition my body to respond to him physically…his memory had become a sexual habit, I realized…one I had to break if I were ever to get on with my life.

  The more my mind swirled, the more alert I became. Other worries began to infringe: the IRS audit, Ellen Brant’s business, deceiving Barry and my parents, the wedding dress I was trying to win back. I tried to relax, to tell myself that I needed to be refreshed and emotionally tough to get through the next few days. Yet as I stared at the ceiling, adrenaline coursing through my veins, I knew that tonight I would get about as much sleep as I used to when Redford had been in bed with me—little to none.

  11

  Saturday

  Days left on eBay auction: 3

  Bidding on wedding dress up to: $1029

  Winnin
g bidder: SYLVIESMOM

  THE NEXT MORNING, dead tired and running fifteen minutes late, I trotted into the lobby of the hotel where Redford was staying. That darned SYLVIESMOM seemed determined to get my dress!

  Redford was leaning against a stalwart wood column, dressed in jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt, holding his duster coat over his arm and his black hat against his thigh. I bit back a groan—the man was gorgeous. My stomach quickened, the memory of last night’s self-gratification fresh.

  He grinned as I approached, then squinted. “Hey, there. Are you feeling okay?”

  So much for concealing my dark circles. I nodded and fingered back a lock of hair that had fallen out from under my wool hat. “Fine. Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem,” he said, nodding toward a picture window with a particularly nice view. “I was just enjoying the scenery.”

  As were the people around him, I noted wryly—several women behind the reservations desk ogled him openly. I frowned, knowing that I’d probably worn that same pathetic look on my face around Redford.

  “Ready to go?” I asked.

  “Wherever you want to take me,” he said, swinging into his coat and planting his hat on his head.

  I refused to acknowledge the spike in my pulse, resolute to be the pleasant but distant tour guide. We would be so busy today, there would be no time for intimate eye contact or waxing nostalgic about our few days in Vegas. I walked two steps in front of him, pumping my arms as fast as my bulky coat would allow. I had dressed for minimum exposure and sex appeal today: loose jeans, turtleneck, chunky sweater, Merrill loafers, unflattering hat.

  “I like your hat,” he said, easily catching up with me with his long stride and holding open the door that led outside.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, bracing myself against the cold blast of February air. “I thought we’d go to the Statue of Liberty first.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Is there anything special you’d like to see today?”

  He made a rueful noise. “Ground Zero.”