My Favorite Mistake (14 page)

A knock on my door sounded and I inhaled deeply. Maybe an evening at a Broadway show would convince me once and for al how different Redford and I real y were: city girl,

country boy. I smoothed a hand down my sleeve, hoping I wasn’t overdressed, then swung open the door.

And hung on to the knob to keep from fal ing.

Redford stood there, hatless, looking like a mil ion dol ars in a black suit, white shirt, and black dress shoes. A taupe-colored wool scarf that looked remarkably like cashmere was draped casual y around his neck. His dark hair was neatly combed, stil slightly damp, his square jaw clean-shaven. In a word, he was…mouthwatering. (Or was that two words?)

“You look beautiful,” he said.

I final y found my voice. “You look…great…too.”

His grin was the perfect accessory. “Do I pass?”

“Um…yes.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

I swal owed. “No chance of that.” I gestured behind me. “Just let me get my coat.”

And my resolve,
I thought as he fol owed me inside.

12

REDFORD STEPPED INSIDE
my apartment and closed the door behind him. “Nice place,” he said, nodding.

I tried to picture the eclectic furniture and scarred wood floors from his perspective. “It’s old,” I said with a little smile. “But it’s solid and the neighbors aren’t psychopaths.” I pointed. “Living room here, kitchen there, study there, bathroom there, bedroom…there. It’s smal . Everything in New York is smal .” I was babbling.

“It’s nice,” he repeated, running his hand along a built-in wooden bookshelf. “Good bones, lots of character. Did you say you were going to buy it?”

I nodded. “Someday.” As soon as El en Brant opened her account and my commission check was cut.

“So you and your fiancé are going to live here?”

I blinked. “Wel …I don’t know.” The truth was, I hadn’t even thought about it. Barry and I had lived separately—and contentedly—for so long, I just assumed…Frankly, I don’t

know what I assumed.

He accepted my ambiguous answer and studied the framed photographs on the bookshelf. “These must be your parents.”

I nodded. “In front of their home in Florida.”

“You look like your mother.”

I warmed because I thought my mother was beautiful. “Thank you.”

“Who are these people?” he asked, gesturing to other frames.

“My girlfriends,” I said. “There’s Jacki and her husband Ted. There’s Cindy.” I smiled. “She’s single, but determined to meet Mr. Right. And this is Kenzie, Sam’s wife.”

“I’l meet her tomorrow.”

“Right,” I said slowly, thinking ahead to the long drive. “I thought I’d bring our tax files and we could discuss the audit.”

He looked uncomfortable, then recovered. “Sure.”

But his reaction made me think that he was dreading the audit more than he let on. No doubt he was worried about the potential cash outlay…as was I. Not to mention the

exposure of my tax-cheating ways.

“And this must be your boyfriend?”

My head jerked around to look at the smal frame of Barry, his corporate head shot. “Fiancé. And, yes, that’s….him.”

“Nice-looking fel ow.”

Thanking him seemed weird, so I just smiled and headed toward the closet to get my coat.

“Does he smoke cigars?”

“Hmm?” I pul ed out my coat, turned my head and froze. The Punch cigar box of keepsakes from our wedding sat on the shelf. Redford tapped it with his finger. I didn’t want him to know what a sentimental fool I was. “No!” I practical y shouted, and he jerked back his hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

I felt ridiculous. “No, it’s okay, real y. I…” My voice petered out and I stood there, stewing in my deceit. I wondered idly if I was losing my mind. Some people say it’s always the quiet ones that wil fool a person, and I decided that was me. On the surface, I was a nice, thrifty, hardworking good girl. But deep down, I was naughty.

I had begun the train of thought half in jest, but by the end, the revelation that I wasn’t a very good person struck me hard…was it possible that the hedonistic, hypersexual, irresponsible way I’d behaved with Redford in Vegas was the true Denise Cooke, and the rest of this was just an act?

“Are you okay?” Redford asked, taking my coat and holding it behind me. “You look like something hurts.”

I pressed my lips together, then shook my head. “Just hungry, I suppose.”

“I can fix that. Ready to go?”

I nodded and fol owed him outside into the cold and down the sidewalk, in the direction of a more wel -traveled street in order to catch a cab.

“Nice neighborhood,” he said.

“Yes. It’l be beautiful in the spring.” I dug my gloved hands deeper into my pockets. “Everything real y comes alive.”

“Sorry I’l miss it,” he said with a wistful note in his voice.

I looked over at him. “I’l bet Kentucky is beautiful in the spring, too.”

“Oh, sure—nothing like it.”

“Is the grass real y blue?”

He laughed. “Sometimes. Actual y, bluegrass is a type of grass that has a dark cast to it. When it’s tal and blowing in the fields, it looks blue.”

When we got to the curb, he surprised me by hailing a cab like a pro. I slid inside, saying, “There are lots of good places to eat close to the theater. We shouldn’t have a

problem—”

“I made reservations,” he cut in.

“Oh…that’s nice.”

“The concierge at the hotel recommended a place cal ed Mil weed’s.”

The place where Barry had proposed. My throat constricted. “Yes, I’ve…heard of it.”

“Is that okay with you?”

“It’s great,” I said cheerful y. In fact, what better place to be reminded of Barry?

The restaurant hadn’t changed much in the six days since I’d been there, except for the addition of a piano player. As luck would have it, we were seated at the same table

where Barry and I had been seated. I wasn’t surprised—in fact, I rather expected it. When the same waiter appeared, a strange sense of déjà vu enveloped me. It was as if some

otherworldly power was forcing me to compare the two men—one I had a life with, the other I had a lust with.

“Okay, I get it,” I murmured to myself.

“Pardon me?” Redford said, one eyebrow raised.

“I said I think I’l get a glass of wine.”

“How about a bottle?”

“Even better.”

The waiter was staring at me. “Weren’t you…?”

He remembered me. I shifted in my seat and tried to look clueless. He glanced at Redford and back to me and cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

Redford looked at me and I shrugged. After surveying the wine menu, he ordered a bottle of something I’d never heard of that seemed to impress the waiter. I was accustomed

to Redford in his hat and boots, drinking a long-neck beer. I was comfortable with the
aw-shucks
version. This refined side of Redford disarmed me. The man sitting across from me would have looked at home at the head of any corporate boardroom.

And was so achingly handsome that he would be welcome in any woman’s
bed
room.

“Does your ring need to be sized?” Redford asked.

I blinked. “Pardon me?”

He pointed to my left hand. “You keep twisting your ring.”

I looked down to see that he was right. “Um, maybe I do need to get it cut down a bit.”

“Size six, right?”

I nodded, surprised that he remembered, although anything he did at this point shouldn’t have surprised me. I clenched my hands together in my lap, grateful when the waiter

reappeared to present the bottle of wine to Redford. He glanced at the label and nodded, then the waiter uncorked the bottle and poured a half-inch into his glass. I watched, mesmerized, as Redford held up his glass to look at the bril iantly berry-hued wine. Then he swirled the liquid slightly and inhaled the aroma before taking a sip and nodding to the waiter. “Very good.”

The waiter fil ed my glass, then Redford’s glass, and took our orders—steak for Redford, trout for me. When we were left alone, I felt trapped. I wanted to stare at Redford, to drink him in, yet I didn’t dare. To avoid eye contact, I sipped my wine…heartily. Whether Redford picked up on my discomfort or was feeling uneasy himself, I wasn’t sure, but he seemed content to listen to the pianist and empty his own glass. Gradual y, I relaxed, even closing my eyes.

“Would you like to dance?” Redford asked.

My eyes popped open. “Dance?”

“You know—stand close and move our feet at the same time, more or less.”

I gave a little laugh. “I…don’t know.”

“Come on,” he said, standing and extending his hand. “I don’t get dressed up that often.”

I stared at his hand and in one split second, I recal ed the magic that those long, blunt fingers had worked on my body. Of its own accord, my hand went into his and I felt myself being pul ed to my feet. I fol owed Redford the short distance to the tiny, dimly-lit dance floor next to the piano and told myself it was safe for us to touch in front of so many people.

He pul ed me close in a slow, smooth waltz—my right hand in his left, near his shoulder, his other hand firmly on my lower back. My left hand I laid loosely on his shoulder,

keeping my engagement ring in sight. Redford moved with remarkable grace and natural athleticism. Beneath my hand, I felt the muscles move in his shoulder, felt the heat radiate from his body. He had taken me dancing in Vegas, I recal ed, and had held me so close we had breathed the same air. I looked up into his face, my heart buoyed crazily by the glimmer in his dark eyes.

Wordlessly, we found a rhythm and our bodies moved in tandem. My breasts brushed the wal of his chest and I closed my eyes against the thril that zinged through my body.

And to shut out the glimmer of my ring.

Our bodies merged as close as public decency laws would al ow. I put my cheek against his shoulder and drew the clean, minty scent of him into my lungs. He put his chin next

to my temple and I imagined that he pressed his lips against my skin.
What-ifs
revolved in my head while my body responded to distant memories…sexual familiarity.

Suddenly I became aware of the hardening of his sex against my stomach. He retreated from me slightly, but knowing how I affected him made me feel heady. I fol owed him

and brushed against the length of his erection with the slightest twist of my body. I felt his jaw clench and he emitted a low groan.

“Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”

Tiny hairs raised on the back of my neck, and I shivered. Being in Redford’s arms intercepted al rational signals to my brain. Feeling like a tease, I stepped back and inhaled deeply. A glance at our table showed our food had been delivered, topped with warming covers. “We should eat—we don’t want to be late for the show.”

He nodded curtly, visibly straining—wil ing away his hard-on, no doubt. I tried to help by walking back to the table slowly and in front of him. When we arrived at the table, he held out my chair. I sat, stil tingling from our encounter. After scooting my chair in, he leaned down and murmured, “That was close.”

A thought I repeated to myself throughout our dinner and the show; but as the evening progressed, it was harder and harder to remember why being close to Redford was so

treacherous. Our seats for
42nd Street
were spectacular and the show itself was amazing—quintessential Broadway. Coupled with the fact that people around us stared at Redford. “Is he a movie star?” someone behind us whispered. And al I could think was how much I enjoyed his company. He laughed and applauded throughout the show, occa sional y looking over to wink or smile. When the show was over, heaven help me, I didn’t want to go home.

As we walked through the lobby, I cleared my throat. “Redford, I was thinking…since we didn’t make it to the Empire State Building today, what would you think about going…

now?”

“Is it open late?”

“Until midnight. The city is beautiful at night.”

He grinned. “Sounds great. I’l get our coats.”

I stood there watching him walk away, and my insides wel ed with anticipation…and trepidation. This reunion with Redford wasn’t going as I’d planned. Instead of remembering

al the logical reasons I had for ending the marriage, I was remembering al the titil ating reasons why I’d said, “I do” in the first place.

“Denise? Oh, it
is
you.”

At the sound of my name, I turned…and froze. Barry’s boss El en Brant was coming toward me, al smiles.

13

AS ELLEN WALKED
toward me, I slid my gaze across the room toward Redford, who was handing the clerk our coat-check tickets. A sweat broke out along my hairline, but I managed a smile for El en and the older woman next to her. “Hi, El en. Did you enjoy the show?”

She gave a dismissive wave. “I’ve seen
42nd Street
a dozen times, but Mother can’t get enough of it.”

She introduced me to her mother. I nodded politely, eager to disappear. “It was nice to meet you—”

“Denise is newly engaged to one of the station’s producers,” El en told her mother. “I believe you’ve met Barry Copeland?”

Her mother nodded. “I met Barry at the station once. He’s a handsome young man. Congratulations on your engagement.”

I smiled, near panic. “Thank you.”

“I’m looking forward to getting together Tuesday afternoon,” El en said with a little society laugh. “I’ve got to get my ex-husband’s money working for me as soon as possible.”

I tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a hiccup. “You’l feel good about working with Trayser Brothers.”

“I feel good about working with
you,
Denise,” El en said magnanimously. “A person can’t trust their money to just anyone these days.”

“How true. I don’t mean to be short, but—”

“Here you go,” Redford said, holding my coat behind me.

Dead silence fel around us. I gave him a tight smile and slid my arms inside, my heart thudding in my ears. I dreaded lifting my gaze; when I did, as expected, El en’s mother was frowning quizzical y at Redford, and El en’s penciled eyebrows had climbed high on her forehead.