Mr. Imperfect

by Karina Bliss

  Things must be getting back to normal. Someone needed her. Still she hesitated, rooted to the spot by a weariness that went bone-deep. Right now, she had nothing left to give.

  Marion sighed.

  And although she knew it was selfish and unfair, Kezia’s exhaustion smoldered into resentment. Couldn’t someone else carry the load for once? Did it always have to be her? She listened as her best friend’s footsteps receded, crossing her arms to stop herself from going after her.

  Marion could find another shoulder to cry on for once. Or better yet, toughen up and sort out her problems herself. She was better off without that loser of a husband anyway.

  The horror of her thoughts made Kezia drop her face into her hands, but some part of her broke free. I’m sorry but I can’t ignore my own needs anymore. Otherwise I would have given Christian up for nothing.

  “I said, stay down there, John Jason!” Marion sounded fraught. “I’m just getting that last box from your old room…Wow, this is heavy, what’cha got in there? Blocks?” Now her tone was conciliatory as if to make up for her earlier sharpness. “No, honey, that’s okay. I don’t need you to carry the other end. But you’re my big strong boy, aren’t you? Let me just feel where the stair is….”

  The banister.

  Kezia wrenched open the French doors, raced across the room and hit the hall running. She was opening her mouth to shout a warning when the rug shot out from underneath her. Instinctively she threw down a hand to save herself and muffled a scream as agony splintered through her wrist.

  “You count the stairs for me, I can’t see them.” Through a red haze of pain she could hear Marion burbling. “One, two, three…Wait, let me adjust the box, get a hand free.”

  Kezia shoved to her knees in an instant and was on her feet in another. “Marion!” The word came out as a croak, desperately she cleared her throat as she hurtled down the hall. “Don’t touch anything!”

  Unable to stop herself in time, Kezia slammed into the wall at the top of the stairs. Marion turned in surprise, one hand reaching for the banister. “Leave that,” Kezia cried, “it’s not safe!”

  Marion dropped her hand, her brown eyes startled as they peeped above an enormous box. “Where did you spring from?”

  Kezia’s knees gave way; she sank to the floor.

  “Can I try that, Auntie Kezia?” John Jason sounded impressed. “Run into the wall, too?”

  “Sure,” she said, light-headed with relief and pain. She cradled her throbbing injury. “My wrist is killing me.”

  “You hurt yourself?” Marion started back up the stairs.

  More than you’ll ever know, thought Kezia.

  Then everything happened really fast. Marion’s foot missed a step and she overbalanced. She dropped the box to save herself and the bottom blew out under the impact, sending blocks cascading around her feet. Kezia scrambled upright. Instinctively, Marion grabbed for the banister and a sharp crack rent the air. The wood gave as Kezia jumped a couple of stairs and caught at her friend’s blouse with one hand. Started to topple forward. Pain knifed through her injured wrist.

  And she let go.

  Screaming, Marion fell backward down the remaining ten stairs, hit the bottom with a thud and lay still.

  In the sudden terrible silence John Jason began to shriek, “My mummy’s dead! My mummy’s dead!”

  “WHO DIED?”

  “What?” Christian looked at the redhead blankly. A frown marred the smooth brow of Miss Congeniality, her affability waning under the lack of attention. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  Thrusting out breasts she’d probably paid a great deal of money for, she repeated the question. “I asked, who died? You were miles away and the look on your face…”

  “No one died,” he said shortly. “Look, I’ll go chase that drink.” He was on his feet before she could answer and heading for the bar where his business partner had disappeared earlier, ostensibly to buy another round. Now he realized he’d been set up with the lovely Michelle. Or was it Rochelle? He honestly couldn’t remember.

  It was a Friday night and the Auckland bar was packed, but Jordan King’s height and the long blond hair falling over quarterback shoulders made him easy to spot as he sat on a bar stool holding court. The females jostling around him were all of a type, Christian noted, show ponies with taut rumps, glossy manes and lots of jingling gold. A fortnight ago he would have found them attractive. Now he changed course and threaded his way to the other end of the bar. If he had to look at one more set of bleached teeth he’d go blind as well as mad.

  At the gleaming metallic counter he shouted his order over the football commentary blaring from the big-screen TV. “A champagne cocktail for the lady in booth five.” He handed over a big bill. “You can keep the change if you deliver it.”

  Across the bar, Jordan saw him alone and raised an eyebrow.

  Christian shrugged and said, “All yours.” He received a disgusted look in return. The unspoken message was easy to read: What the hell is happening to you?

  Kezia Rose, that’s what. Christian had been back a week. Or more precisely—he glanced at his Rolex—four hours short of five days. And was driving himself and Jordan crazy by doing what he’d never done in his life—vacillating over a woman.

  Monday, he’d done the noble thing in leaving Kezia to find a better man.

  Tuesday, he’d kill any better man who came near her.

  Wednesday, so she didn’t want him, fine, there were plenty of women who did.

  Thursday, why the hell would anyone want to be monogamous anyway?

  Friday, maybe he should call her to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. Or did Jordan think that was too pushy?

  “Cut this emotional crap, tell her no isn’t an option, and screw her into submission.” Jordan King had inherited more than looks from his Viking forbears, and witnessing Christian’s man-of-steel in meltdown had stripped away his veneer of civilized male. “Thank God, Luke is back in the country. I’m through with being Dear Abby.”

  Christian couldn’t blame him. He was heartily sick of himself.

  “Damn it, Kelly.” Jordan had slammed his fist on the board table. “Why are you pining for one mulish woman when there are so many beautiful weak-willed ones out there?”

  “Good point,” Christian had agreed. “Let’s go find some.”

  They’d gone to The Bar, where Jordan had ordered two beers.

  “Actually—” Christian had been determined not to look sheepish “—I’ve quit drinking.”

  Jordan had sent him a withering look.

  Christian scowled back. “Screw you. This has nothing to do with her.” And the night had gone downhill from there.

  A hand grasping his shoulder brought Christian back to the present and he steeled himself for Miss Congeniality’s breathy tones. The grip tightened beyond a woman’s strength. “If you’re buying, I’ll have a double.”

  Christian heaved a sigh of relief. “Man, am I glad to see you.” He changed the order, then turned with a welcoming grin, which faded almost immediately. In his youth Luke Carter had been a world-class athlete and he still had the physique and vitality of someone whose blood pumped at optimum efficiency.

  Tonight, however, he looked like hell.

  His tailored suit must have been slept in, his gray eyes were bloodshot and he was white under his tan, but what really shocked Christian was the look on his friend’s face. He looked…defeated.

  Luke’s expression tightened. “You don’t look so hot yourself.” He cast a glance across the bar at Jordan, a Viking afloat in a sea of Chanel and pheromones, and shook his head. “I see our boy is busy. Let’s find somewhere quiet.”

  By its nature the sports channel had created a female-free zone; Christian led the way into the room’s dimmer recesses and found an empty booth, his mind working overtime. Luke had been in Europe for a week, back last night. He and Jordan had expected him in the office this morning but figured he was making up for lost time with his
wife.

  Luke threw back his Scotch, caught sight of Christian’s orange juice and raised a brow.

  “I met a kid who made me realize I was following too closely in my father’s footsteps.” Christian kept it short, knowing Luke, who’d had a similar childhood, would understand the shorthand. The other man nodded and Christian cut to the chase. “What’s up?”

  “Amanda’s left me for someone else.” Luke’s delivery was short and brutal, but his hand shook on the glass. “I came home last night to an empty house.” He shook his head in disbelief. “She ended our marriage with a goddamn note.”

  Christian censored his first reaction—“You’re well rid of her”—and tried to imagine how Kezia would approach this. “How do you feel about that?” he said carefully.

  Luke stared at him. “I feel like shit, thanks for asking. And whatever you’ve substituted alcohol with, I’ll have some.”

  Embarrassed, Christian dispensed with Kezia’s approach. “You want to know what I really think?” He took a sip of orange juice. “You poor bastard.”

  “Damn right.” Luke signaled for another drink.

  “I mean the guy who’s taken Amanda on,” said Christian.

  THERE WAS ABSOLUTE SILENCE while he watched Luke struggle against the urge to knock him senseless. As he braced himself for the blow, his friend suddenly dropped his head between his hands and laughed.

  “I knew I could count on you to put this into perspective.” Luke sat back and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. “So what if my marriage of twelve years is breaking up? So what if my wife says she’s found true love with someone else? It comes down to you feeling sorry for the other guy.” His tone grew bitter. “And all these years I thought you liked her.”

  “I gave her the respect due my best friend’s wife.” Christian studied Luke’s reaction closely as he added, “And I will again if you two reconcile.” He caught Luke’s instinctive recoil and was satisfied. Still, best to be sure. “Do you love her?” It wasn’t a question any of them had ever—would ever—ask. Sourly attributing this new empathy to Kezia’s influence, Christian wondered if his friend knew what had become so evident to his partners—that he didn’t love Amanda.

  Luke’s folly, Christian and Jordan called Amanda privately: beautiful, intelligent and spoiled, enamoured with the trappings of wealth. Luke had married young, when he was naive enough to mistake lust for love. At least that was Christian’s take on it and he’d always congratulated himself on avoiding a similar fate with Kezia. Now the irony bit deep.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I feel responsible for her.” Luke’s reply was pained and Christian stopped pushing. “I do know it’s time I reassessed what I want out of life, and that means pulling back from the business.”

  This was more shocking than Amanda’s defection. Luke lived and breathed the business. Seeing his reaction, Luke’s expression hardened. “How much more damn money do we need to make, Kelly? Where’s the meaning in it now?”

  “Wealth has its uses.” For some reason, Christian started talking about the community trust fund attached to the hotel; saw the interest in Luke’s eyes. They discussed it for some time, along with which manager could assume some of Luke’s responsibilities while he took a break. The lines of fatigue on Luke’s face deepened.

  “You need sleep.”

  “You’re right there.” Luke massaged his temples. “And I’ll need all my wits about me when I meet Amanda at the lawyer’s tomorrow.” Still he didn’t move.

  Christian wondered if he was reluctant to return to his empty house. “Why not stay with me for a while? It’ll be like old times.”

  “Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be?” The cryptic remark stumped Christian. He looked more closely at his friend and saw a glint of his old devilment. “C’mon,” drawled Luke, “you didn’t think I was going to let you dunk me in the deep stuff and not return the favor, did you? I’ve heard all about her.”

  “Jordan’s got a big mouth.”

  “I’m sure you want to tell me all about this Kezia Rose—” the glint grew more pronounced “—seeing as how you like everyone to be in touch with their emotions now.”

  “Screw you.”

  “What I want to know is, since when does Christian Kelly let someone tell him when to quit?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” Damn he hated this.

  “It always is,” said Luke without sarcasm. “Does she love you?”

  Surprised by the question, Christian answered. “She said so.”

  “Then get back there and let love conquer all. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?” This time, Luke’s tone was full of cynicism, and pain.

  Christian realized he’d known his marriage was a sham all along and was hurting. “You don’t believe that shit.” He said it to console. Not just Luke, but himself.

  “No, but I have no reason to. You do.”

  “We lost a child—a long time ago.” Where the hell had that come from?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LUKE SIMPLY WAITED. The silence stretched between them, until Christian had to fill it. “I would’ve made a lousy father.” Not with that! He rushed to qualify it. “Hell, I don’t even know how to play.”

  “Mate, you don’t know how to do anything but play. Your challenge is to stop once in a while.”

  Okay, Christian thought, let’s change the subject before this gets embarrassing. “I’m scared,” he heard himself say instead. “Not for me—for her. I don’t know how to do this crap. What if I stuff it up?”

  “You’re asking me?” Bleak humor glimmered in Luke’s eyes. “I’m heading for divorce, my wife is screwing a man who can give her emotional security, and I don’t know who I want to be anymore. But I won’t be a guy who never tried to find out. I won’t be a whiner, a loser, a coward.” He glanced at Christian’s clenched fists. “Want to hit me yet?”

  Christian unclenched his hands and his jaw. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ll be her better man.” He stood and Luke stood with him. “Come on, asshole. I’m taking you home to bed.”

  “I always wondered what your line was, Christian,” Jordan said from behind him. “Now I can see why women fall over themselves.”

  “Wise guy,” Christian said without heat. “Where’s the harem?”

  “Ditched.” Jordan grabbed Luke’s hand and pulled his mystified friend into a bear hug. “I’m sorry you had to come home to this.”

  Christian winced. “Have I been that pathetic?”

  “Yes.” Jordan released Luke but kept a light hand on his shoulders. “But I was talking about Amanda.”

  Luke narrowed his eyes. “How the hell do you know that? I’ve only just told Christian.”

  His expression pained, Jordan turned Luke toward the big screen and, with a sinking premonition, Christian looked, too. News had replaced sports. The sound had been turned down to a mumble, but behind the newscaster was a big picture of Luke and Amanda’s wedding. The happy couple had been separated by a stylized rip and, across the top, a headline proclaimed Tycoon’s Wife: Marriage Over.

  “Oh, my God.” Instinctively, Christian stood in front of Luke and, with Jordan running defense, shepherded him past the curious stares of the few looking at the broadcast. They were out and heading for the car park before the gossip could catch and spread.

  Luke jerked to a stop as soon as he realized they were steering him to Christian’s Ferrari. His face had set like granite, impossible to read, but his tone exuded suppressed violence. “If I need baby-sitters, I’ll ask for them.” He turned and stalked toward his own vehicle.

  Behind his back, Christian exchanged glances with Jordan. “Let me drive,” he coaxed Luke. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Not nearly enough.” Luke kept walking.

  “Then come home with me,” Jordan tried, “and we’ll have a session.”

  “Another time.” He pointed his remote control and the locks clicked.

  They came up behind hi
m as he opened the driver’s door. Jordan pushed it shut and leaned against it. “You’re not seeing her tonight, buddy, and you don’t have to go through this alone.”

  “In fact—” Christian seized the car keys “—we won’t let you.”

  “That’s sweet of you, girls.” Luke’s tone was pure poison. “But if you don’t step away from the car and give me back my goddamn keys I’m going to smash your faces in.”

  “And we have such pretty faces,” Christian remarked to Jordan, who shook his head, causing his long blond mane to shimmer under the streetlights.

  “Next he’ll threaten to pull my hair.”

  Luke’s punch caught Christian in the solar plexus and knocked the breath out of him. He bent double, cursing himself for being caught off guard when Luke had so obviously been ready to explode.

  Luke grappled for the car keys but he hung on to them and butted headfirst into his friend’s concrete midriff, hearing a satisfying whoosh of air as he sent him backward into Jordan. He stood up wheezing, to see Luke straining to break Jordan’s bear hold.

  “Takes you back to our old arm-wrestling competitions, doesn’t it?” Christian gasped conversationally. “I’m just trying to remember who won.”

  “I did.” Both men ground out the words simultaneously. With an immense groan, Luke wrenched one arm free, reached back to grab a handful of Jordan’s hair and pulled.

  “Aaaaah!” Jordan’s surprised bellow rang through the car park. “That hurts!” He released his hold and pushed back just enough to bring a knee up hard into Luke’s tailbone. Luke let go, dropping his hands to his injured rear, and Christian made the mistake of laughing.

  The next thing he knew, he was on the ground clutching his balls and trying not to be sick. Luke was kneeling beside him apologizing profusely. “The worst thing you can do to a guy…I lost it…I’m sorry.”

  “Well, that solves the fatherhood dilemma anyway,” Christian whispered when he could speak.