careful restraint, it had been a life-changing experience that had caused him to doubt his instincts. Because in that moment it had felt as if she belonged to him….
He jerked his thoughts to a halt. Just who the hell was the real Kate?
She held his gaze, and he wondered if her cheeks were flushed from anger or desire. There was no answer. And when she turned back to straightening out the contents of his closet, Memphis watched in amazement as she reached for the next pair of holey jeans and refolded them, as well.
He studied her profile, her movements graceful and dignified even while performing a mundane task. “When you’re done in here you can rearrange the dirty clothes in my hamper if you like,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.
“No, thank you,” she said smoothly as she continued with her self-appointed duties.
“And I have dirty dishes in the dishwasher that could use restacking according to size.”
“I’m sure you’re capable of handling that yourself.”
“My underwear could use a good ironing, as well,” he said.
Kate sent him a sharp look from the corner of her eye, but continued to fold his last pair of jeans, placing it in a neat line with the others.
“Angel Face, I hate to be the one to break the bad news,” he said softly, but with no shortage of sarcasm. “But rearranging my clothes isn’t going to change them into designer brands.”
She picked up a T-shirt and began to fold it. “I realize that,” she said as, midtask, she faced him, her clear skin and high cheekbones capturing his gaze.
The regal set to her chin begged to be challenged with a kiss. And if he concentrated real hard, he’d remember that wasn’t the job he’d signed on for.
Instead, he said, “I’ve always wanted to ask, is the politically correct Kate a fixed product of her family genes or just a result of her upbringing?”
“Neither.” Her tone was cuttingly cool as she continued rearranging his T-shirts. “What you call political correctness the rest of the world calls being civil.”
A laugh burst from his throat, and he swept a stray lock of wheat-colored hair from her bare shoulder, hoping for a reaction. Or at least to get her to stop organizing the contents of his closet.
“I can handle polite as long as it’s some semblance of the truth.” Frustration shifted his voice an octave lower. “But what I can’t stand is when you bury your head in the sand and try to rewrite the truth.”
She straightened the last T-shirt, the closet now tidy, and turned to face him, crossing her arms. But he wasn’t sure if the posture was out of defiance or to shield herself from his proximity. “What truth am I trying to rewrite?”
“Your family.” His gaze held hers. “The past.” He paused and leaned in close, enjoying the look of discomfort on her face, even as his chest twisted at the haunting sight of her luscious lips. His voice came out low. “You and me.”
She hesitated, blinked once, and then hiked a delicate brow. “I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
Disappointed he hadn’t gotten the slightest rise from her, he said, “Then what are you doing?”
“Concluding that you have nothing appropriate to wear.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to care about that, too?”
“Not at all.” The smooth smile on her face should have been a warning, and he barely withheld the groan when she shared her plan. “Because tomorrow we’re going shopping.”
CHAPTER THREE
“WELCOME, Mr. James.” The redheaded clerk greeted him as if they were old friends, and Memphis’s lips twitched at the irony. The saleslady then aimed her plastic smile at Kate. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Worthington—”
“Anderson,” Kate said smoothly. “It’s Anderson now.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” The hint of color on the clerk’s face was the only sign of her blunder. “I forgot.” The woman’s eyes slid back to Memphis as she rounded the counter, clearly curious about their relationship but too well-trained to ask. “I’m pleased you scheduled time with us this afternoon,” she said to Kate. “Why don’t we discuss your wardrobe needs, and I’ll see how I can help.”
Help? Shopping wasn’t on his list of enjoyable activities. But shopping with two women? Well … he didn’t see how the experience could get much worse.
Except it did.
Since Memphis had first entered the designer-clothing store, approximately two seconds ago, he’d fought the urge to walk back out, leaving the endless stretch of gray marble, the high, wood-paneled ceiling and the subtle lighting. Years ago the clerk wouldn’t have recognized his last name. So far Kate had gone by two, both of which commanded instant attention.
His lips twisted wryly. It had taken him thirty years to attain what she’d been granted simply by being born into one of Florida’s most powerful political dynasties.
While the two women talked, Memphis glanced at the suits that lined the far wall and the tables and racks with shirts and pants on display. Each article of clothing was arranged with a total of lack of concern for efficient use of real estate, signifying just how high-end the South Beach, Miami, store was—and how much the clothes would cost. Nowadays Memphis could handle the expense with ease, but he still had a problem with the attitude.
The only reason the saleslady was being so solicitous was because of Kate’s presence and his now mostly famous name.
“The VIP room is in the back.” The clerk sent Memphis an assessing look, obviously liking what she saw, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. Okay, so maybe the woman appreciated more than his name. “You two can enjoy the refreshments in our fitting room while I do the selecting for you,” the redhead finished.
“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
