Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and Men\Cover Me\My Favorite Mistake (30 page)

The third picture showed us kissing as man and wife. Unbidden, my mouth tingled and the elusive elements of his kiss came back to me—the way his eyes darkened as he inched closer, the possessive feel of his mouth against mine, the promise of his tongue…

With effort, I forced myself back to the present and to the photo in my hand. We were covered in confetti the witness had tossed on us through the open window. Redford was wearing a black sweatshirt. I couldn’t tell from the photo, but remembered that I’d been wearing a T-shirt with no bra, my hair messy and hanging around my shoulders, not a speck of makeup. Natural, hedonistic…what had I been thinking?

In hindsight, I hadn’t been thinking—at least not beyond the next orgasm. Redford had been the first man to tap in to my sexuality and I’d been blinded by lust. I had mistaken enthusiasm for love.

I did have a fourth picture, although not of our wedding. I carefully withdrew the framed 5x7 from the box, drinking in the sight of First Sergeant DeMoss in his dress uniform, achingly handsome in his official U.S. Marine Corps photo. He had given it to me somewhat sheepishly at the airport, and I had clutched it all the way back to New York. I ran my finger over his face, my heart full over my naiveté at the time.

The phone rang and I picked up the handset on the nightstand, happy for a diversion from the troubling thoughts on the continuous loop in my head. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Kenzie.”

I smiled into the phone. “Hey, yourself.”

“So, did you wow the boss lady last night?”

“The dress was a hit. Thanks again for your help.”

“Did you get the account?”

“I’ll find out more this week, but I’m hopeful.”

“You’ll have to call me in Jar Hollow to let me know how it goes.”

“You’re not coming back to the city this week?”

“No, that’s another reason I called— Oh, wait, Sam just walked in and I need to, um…give him a message. Can I call you back?”

“Sure,” I said, then hung up with a smirk. A message—right. Good grief, the two of them were like teenagers. But I wasn’t jealous…really I wasn’t.

I tried not to imagine the acrobatics going on in Jar Hollow while I stared at Redford’s picture and waited for Kenzie to call me back. The phone rang again less than two minutes later—of course, if the stories were true, she and Sam had had time for a quickie. I picked up the phone and sighed dramatically. “
Please
stop dangling your sex in front of me.”

Dead silence sounded on the line.

My chest blipped with panic. “Hello?”

A deep, rumbling laugh rolled out. “Well, that’s what I call picking up where we left off.”

I swallowed. “Who…who is this?” But I would have recognized that orgasmic voice anywhere.

5

L
AUGHTER BOOMED
over the phone again. “It’s Redford, Denise—your ex-husband. Who did you think it was?”

I was instantly nervous, hearing his voice when my body still vibrated from his memory-induced orgasm. “Um…someone else.”

“Sounds like a pretty interesting conversation,” he said, his smooth Southern voice infused with amusement. “If this is a bad time, I can call back.”

“No,” I blurted, my cheeks flaming. “I can talk now.”

“Good,” he said easily. “Listen, I got a letter from the IRS yesterday—looks like the government wants a little more of my time.”

“I received the same letter,” I said, regaining a modicum of composure. “You’re out of the Marines?”

“Retired for almost six months now.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Kentucky. Versailles, to be exact. This is where the girls are.”

So he had children—the girls he’d wanted. I don’t know why the news surprised me, but my disappointment was acute. And then I realized that Redford
having a family certainly made things easier for me—I could shake my stubborn fantasies once and for all.

“That’s nice,” I managed.

“And you’re still living in the same place?”

In other words, my life hadn’t changed a bit. My chin went up. “I’ll be buying my apartment soon.”

“Great. So, do you live alone?”

I frowned. “Yes.”

“No kidding? I thought you’d be remarried by now.”

“Um, no, I’m not married.” I stared at my closet door—plastic covering the wedding gown stuck out from under the door, mocking me.

“Not married? Don’t tell me I ruined you for other men,” he teased.

Had he always been so cocky? My mouth tightened. “Not at all.”

“Darn. And here I was hoping that you still carried my picture around.”

I glanced down at the framed picture still in my hand and dropped it back into the cigar box as if it were on fire. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He cleared his throat, as if he realized he’d overstepped his bounds. “Well, Denise, what do you know about this audit?”

“No more than what the letter said.”

“Three years seems like a long time to have lapsed to be audited.” He sounded concerned.

“No,” I assured him. “Considering the backlog at the IRS, I’d say three years is about right.”

“Are you still a financial planner?”

“Yes. I work for a brokerage firm now.”

“Congratulations. Does that give us an advantage? I mean, do you deal with the IRS often?”

“Only as an advisor to my clients regarding payment of fees or penalties.”

At the sudden silence on the other end, I realized my response wasn’t exactly comforting, and since the audit was most likely a result of my creative accounting, I felt as if I owed him a little reassurance.

“Redford, chances are this will be a routine interview. They’ll probably just want to ask us a few questions, see a few receipts, that sort of thing.”

He gave a little laugh. “I don’t even know where my tax records are—in storage somewhere.”

“I kept everything,” I said.

“Everything?” he asked, his voice suspiciously nostalgic.

I glanced at the cigar box containing souvenirs of my time with Redford and closed the lid. “All the tax records,” I corrected. “I’ll bring them to the interview.”

“Great. I guess I’d better start making travel plans.”

“The interview is a week from Tuesday,” I offered.

“Yeah, but I’m interested in buying a stud horse in upstate New York. I was thinking I could come up early and maybe kill two birds with one stone.”

So Redford had entered the family business. Another area where we were opposites—the closest I’d ever gotten to a horse was walking next to a carriage
in Central Park, and one of the beasts had nipped a hole in my favorite sweater.

“And I’ve never been to New York City,” he continued, “so I thought I’d try to squeeze in some sightseeing since I might never get the chance again. How would you feel about being a tour guide?”

“Fine,” I said, then wet my lips. “Are you coming alone?”

“Yes.”

My shoulders dropped an inch in relief. I don’t know why, but I didn’t relish the thought of meeting his new wife. “When would you arrive?”

“Whenever you can fit me in,” he said, and God help me, my mind leapt to a time when I had “fit him in” anytime I could.

“How about Friday?” he asked.

“I’ll ch-check my schedule, but that should be okay.”

“Great,” he said, his genial tone making it obvious that our conversation wasn’t affecting him at all. “And if you could recommend a place to stay while I’m there, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll look into it,” I promised. “How can I reach you?”

He recited a phone number, which I jotted down.

“Although you never know who might pick up around here,” he warned with a laugh.

On cue, I heard a shriek of childish laughter and the patter of little feet in the background.

“If you leave a message and you don’t hear back from me within a few hours, just call again.”

“Sure,” I said, my heart dragging. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Listen, Denise…”

My heartbeat picked up. “Yes?”

“It’s great to hear your voice again. I’ve thought about you a lot over the years and…”

And?
I swallowed, waiting.

“And…I’m glad to know you’re okay.”

I closed my eyes before murmuring, “Same here.”

We said goodbye and I disconnected the call on an exhale, feeling wobbly and acknowledging the sudden urge to eat a party-size bag of peanut M&M’s. I settled for a cup of nonfat, sugar-free vanilla yogurt with a little cocoa sprinkled over the top (not the same, no matter how much the weight-loss gurus try to convince you otherwise) and tucked myself into a chair with my legs beneath me.

So I was going to see Redford again. I lay my head back on the chair and released a sigh that ended in a moan. Just speaking to him on the phone had left me feeling fuzzy, as if he had brushed his naked body against mine. How pathetic was I that the mere sound of his voice could rattle me after all this time? Especially when Redford had obviously found someone else to brush up against.

I wasn’t naïve enough to think that Redford hadn’t taken other lovers after our annulment. But because our sexual relationship had been so radical and so…
incomparable
for me, deep down I guess I’d hoped it had been for him, too. That he hadn’t played the “kiss
you all under” game with anyone else, or that no other woman had left teeth marks in his shoulder.

I laughed at myself. I hadn’t really expected Redford to be pining for me, had I?

I mindlessly spooned yogurt into my mouth, sucking on the spoon (which even Freud would have deemed too obvious for analysis), while my thoughts coiled into themselves in confusion. I was scraping the bottom of the container with an eye toward licking the foil lid when the phone rang again.

My pulse jumped—maybe Redford had forgotten to tell me something. I idly wondered if he had kept my phone number and address somewhere, or if he’d simply looked me up through directory assistance. I padded to the bedroom where I’d left the handset and pushed the connect button. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Kenzie said. “I called back, but the line was busy.”

I wavered, wondering if I should tell anyone about my impending reunion with Redford. But I needed to tell someone, so I spilled my guts.

Kenzie was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “Damn. He’s the one with the huge schlong, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Do we have to go there?”

“Are you prepared to see this man again?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound casual. “It’s no big deal.”

“I don’t know, Denise. You were really weird when you came back from Las Vegas. Kind of…zombie-like.”

A changed woman, like Eve after eating from the Tree of Knowledge. I swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” she said, but sounded doubtful.

“Subject change. So you were saying that you’re not coming back to the city this week.”

“Right. I, um, haven’t been feeling very well, and I think I’ll take it easy here for the next couple of weeks.”

“Flu bug?” I asked, flopping onto my bed.

“Actually…it’s morning sickness.”

A few seconds passed before her words sank in, then I sat straight up. “You’re pregnant?”

She laughed. “So it would seem.”

“Omigod…congratulations!” Disbelief rolled over me in waves. The fact that one of us was going to be a mother made me feel so…old.

“Thanks, Denise. Sam and I both are thrilled, of course.”

“As you should be,” I said, feeling myself going misty. “When are you due? Do you know what you’re having? Do you have a name picked out?”

Kenzie laughed again. “August, no, and no. Lots of decisions to make between now and then. Oh, there’s the other line. Talk to you later in the week?”

“Sure.” I congratulated her again on the baby, then hung up, unsettled by Kenzie’s declaration, yet knowing it was inevitable that we all move on with our lives. At least, it seemed as if everyone
else
was moving forward. Even Redford had moved on. His phone call proved that
I
, on the other hand, was pathetically
mired in the past, more so than I would have thought possible.

With new resolve, I removed the wedding gown from my closet and lifted the plastic. I would need a good photo in order to list the dress on eBay and get top dollar. With trepidation, I undressed, then stepped into the gown and shimmied the satiny dress over my hips. The cool fabric glided over my skin like a caress. I fastened the halter around the nape of my neck, then reached around to pull up the zipper that ended just below my shoulder blades. Minus the leotard, the dress fit even better. I couldn’t resist a peek into the full-length mirror sitting in the corner of my cramped bedroom, and at the sight of myself in the ethereal gown, I nearly lost my nerve.

I imagined looking down at the end of the aisle and seeing my groom standing there, his eyes shining with love and desire at the sight of me in this gorgeous gown. Later he would remove the dress with kisses and caresses, his hands and breath so hurried that the gown would have barely fallen to the floor before we were buried inside each other.

I blinked, realizing my arms were covered with goose bumps, and my nipples were budded. I wanted to keep this dress, but doing so would be wasteful and foolish. Just having it in my closet was making me silly and soft. And horny.

So I made myself step away from the mirror and, with relative detachment, set up my digital camera and tripod. I set the timer and posed for three shots
in a bridal stance. Then I removed the dress and carefully replaced the plastic with a bittersweet pang. Some woman out there would both appreciate and be able to use the dress, and that gave me a bit of solace.

I pulled up the digital photos, selected the best one and cropped out my head and other extraneous background details. Then I logged on to eBay and listed my impulsive purchase in an eight-day auction, ending next Monday evening. I wanted to be done with the auction before I had to turn my attention to the audit.

I sighed while transferring the details from the tags to the screen. My heart hung low in my chest, but I knew that getting rid of the dress would help to clear my head of past and future marriage fantasies. No wonder Barry wouldn’t commit. I was probably giving off “rewind” vibes.