“I think you and I should divide and conquer,” Kate said to the clerk. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”
Memphis winced and shifted on his feet, already impatient. “I’m perfectly capable of picking out my own clothes.”
Capable, and a lot quicker than two choosy females.
“Remember our agreement?” Kate said, clearly biting back a smile. “I do the selecting.”
Stifling the groan was difficult. “But I could have it done in five minutes.”
“I booked the private fitting room for considerably longer,” Kate said.
At her amused look, Memphis narrowed his eyes. Was trapping him in designer hell her way of paying him back for cornering her in the closet?
“And my time is a part of the service, Mr. James,” the clerk said, interrupting his thoughts and turning her full-wattage smile on him. “I’ll select a few suits appropriate for the formal event.” After a lingering glance at Memphis, the clerk headed off.
“She looked eager to help,” Kate murmured, clearly entertained as she watched the woman for a moment before turning to face Memphis.
His lips quirked. “Eager is a good description.”
“I think she might even offer to undress you herself.”
“Intriguing suggestion,” he said dryly. “Though I doubt it would speed up this process.”
“Obviously she’s willing to go above and beyond the call of duty,” she said, stepping closer to reach a rack of white dress shirts.
Which, unfortunately, brought her scent to his attention.
Last night his dreams of Kate had been the ultimate in erotic. It was easy to blame them on the lavender that lingered in the air in his home, or the memories of sparring with her in his closet, but Memphis knew better.
Though beyond tempting, it was best not to dwell on the dreams. He turned to eye the clothes on the rack beside them. “What is tomorrow night’s dinner party for, anyway?”
“A pleasant way for the members of the reunion committee to celebrate while ironing out a few last-minute details,” she said. Sliding the hangers on the rack of dress shirts, she studied each one critically in turn, taking a whole lot longer than he liked. “And discussing any updates that need to be made to our website,” she said.
“You have a website?”
“Of course, it’s the best way to find classmates and generate excitement about the event. Didn’t you go to your ten-year reunion? It would have been, what …?” She paused, as if trying to remember, staring down at the shirt in her hand as if its selection was paramount to the future of the world. “Three years ago?”
“Two,” he said. Growing impatient with her inspection of a simple shirt, he reached out and selected one from the rack. “I’m two years older than you and about a hundred years wiser.”
Which seemed to sum up their relationship through the years.
She sent him an amused look, clearly disagreeing with his statement. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”
“Because no one in their right mind needs to sort through a rack of dress shirts where every one of them is white.” He held up the one in his hand, his brow pinched with skepticism. “Outside of the correct size, what else is there to choose?”
She took the shirt from his clasp. “Cut. Style,” she said patiently, but Memphis got the feeling it was a struggle for her. “The collar and the thread count, just to name a few.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You want to be comfortable, don’t you?”
“I won’t be comfortable until these functions are behind me,” he said with a small frown of frustration. “And who really cares what I’m wearing?”
“You should. As my companion, the press is likely to analyze and criticize your every move, including your choice of attire. Take it from someone who knows,” she said. “You don’t want to give them any ammunition beyond their own twisted imaginations.”
She studied him for a moment before returning the shirt in her hand to the rack. And Memphis had the distinct impression he’d just taken a step backward in his mission to complete the afternoon of torture.
“Why did you put that one back?” he said with a groan.
“The fit will be wrong,” she said. “You’re in excellent shape, so you’ll look best in a tailored style.”
He picked up another shirt she’d rejected. “And what’s wrong with this one?”
“The thread count. All other things being equal, the thread count is important in how it feels against your body.” Obviously the skepticism rolled off him in discernible waves. She steadily held his gaze. “You don’t believe me.”
In answer, he simply hiked a brow.
She removed the two he’d selected from the rack and handed them back to him. “Okay,” she said, holding up the ones she’d chosen. “Let’s go take them all for a test drive.” She bunched her brow in amusement and went on. “I bet you’ll feel a difference.”
“I bet you’re wrong.” He followed close behind as she headed for the private dressing room in back. “At least tell me you don’t try to control the clothing of every guy you’ve dated since Dalton.”
“I haven’t been out on a date yet.”
Stunned by the news, Memphis stopped short. Her ex was engaged, albeit at record speeds, but she hadn’t even found the time to go out with another man. Kate must have sensed he was no longer following her, and she stopped and turned to face him.
He shouldn’t be so curious. “Why not?”
“No time.”
Memphis scanned her face, wondering what was stirring behind those blue eyes of hers, a disturbing thought working its way into his brain. “I hope that’s not just an excuse because you’re pining for your ex.”
“Trust me, Memphis,” she said, her lips twisting. “I’m not pining for a man.”
Both relieved and disturbingly challenged by the news, Memphis leaned in close. “Not even for me?”
She blinked once as she met his eyes, the emotion unreadable. “Least of all you.”
Although he’d started out teasing her, as Memphis stared at Kate’s steady blue gaze, a small stab of resentment flared, and he struggled to tamp down the unwanted emotion in his chest. There was a time in his teens when he would have loved to have Kate pine for him, despite their age difference. And how could she throw herself so passionately into a night of making love with him only to go back and spend another four years with her husband? He sure as hell hadn’t entered into the moment with forever in mind, but it still grated that she could nonchalantly walk away.
As if he were a dress shirt that wasn’t suitable.
“Well,” he said softly. “I know you like what I did to you.” Her eyes widened a fraction, and he went on. “There’s no denying that.”
He enjoyed the way, these days, she held his gaze instead of visually scurrying for cover when confronted. But she didn’t look quite as composed now, her breaths coming a little faster. Whether it was from attraction, nerves or irritation at his reminder of her less-than-noble moment, he wasn’t sure.
“It was simply sex, Memphis,” she said in a low voice.
“There