Free My Favorite Mistake by Stephanie Bond

my brain. I remembered him being a handsome guy, but in
    the three years since I’d seen him, he’d matured into a mountain of a ful -grown man, fil ed out and hardened. Of course, the black Western hat was a little imposing, but no less so than the long tan suede duster he wore—a ful three cows’ worth.
    I swal owed hard at the transformation from military officer to horseman. Cindy was right: Redford was a cowboy.
    He turned in my direction and his gaze latched on to me. A grin spread over his face revealing white teeth and high dimples. God, I’d forgotten about the dimples…and the
    impact of his luminous dark eyes. He walked toward me, and I was instantly conscious of my prim ponytail and gray wool coat—a far cry from the mussed hair and denim jacket uniform I’d worn during our brief time together. He’d certainly never seen me in a skirt (although he had seen me in far less). I was surprised he even recognized me…and alarmingly thril ed.
    My heart was thudding like crazy when he stopped in front of me, the tails of his open coat swirling around him. Testosterone wafted off him like invisible tethers, tugging at me from al sides. Under the influence of his bronze, virile stare I managed a smile.
    “Hel o, Redford.”
    “Hel o, Denise,” he said, his voice guttural, but smooth. Then he reached up with his be-ringed left hand to remove his hat.
    The gesture was so chivalrous, my toes curled. It was just the kind of thing that he had done before to make me feel so feminine and yielding. Beneath the hat, his thick brown hair was a bit longer than the military cut he’d sported when I’d known him. I was startled to see flashes of silver at his temples, a few lines around his amazing eyes. No doubt his experiences in the Gulf had matured him beyond his thirty-eight years. I had offered to meet Redford at the airport because he’d never been to the city. But I suddenly felt foolish because this man had been in places that would make the streets of Manhattan seem like a playground. A pang of gratitude struck me for the sacrifice he’d made, and I felt spoiled for the freedoms I had enjoyed while he’d been overseas. I had the sudden, crazy urge to give myself to him…just like before.
    “You look wel ,” I said, my voice unsteady.
    “You look beautiful,” he said, then leaned forward and dropped a kiss next to my mouth.
    The feel of his lips on my skin was startlingly familiar, and I fought the instinct to turn toward his kiss, to meet his lips. I couldn’t discern if the contact lasted longer than necessary, or if I was simply processing things in slow-motion. Even after he pul ed away, I could feel the weight of his kiss lingering on my skin. When I’d known him before, Redford had elicited a strong visceral response in me, uncommon to me, but obviously not uncommon to him, judging from the women around us who literal y seemed to lose direction when they saw him.
    Everyone in Manhattan was familiar with the Naked Cowboy in Times Square—a scantily-clad guitar-playing tourist novelty—but Redford was the real deal with his khaki shirt
    tucked into loose, faded jeans, held on to narrow hips with a wide black leather belt. His black roper boots would have received a shine this morning from the horsehair brush his grandfather had given him, I thought as details came flooding back. And the bronze of his skin wasn’t the sprayed-on version that many men in New York sported. The fact that I knew what this cowboy looked like naked gave me a boost of female satisfaction…and the dangerous stirrings of temptation. Redford clasped my gloved hand and my ring bit into my skin, a not-so-gentle reminder that I had no business being tempted.
    “God, it’s great to see you, Denise.”
    I didn’t trust my voice…or any other part of my body at the moment, because everything was either tingling, swel ing, or vibrating. From the left side of my brain, a rational
    thought found its way through the mush: Lack of