Mr. Imperfect

by Karina Bliss

  “You want us to call in on our way down, visit the patient?”

  Christian gave him the details. “Thanks, man, I owe you.”

  “Line me up a hot date. I love country girls.”

  Bernice May came on to the porch with two mugs. The steaming tea slopping over the sides didn’t seem to bother her.

  “You want a hot date?” Christian asked her.

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “I’m onto it,” he told Jordan. “How’s Luke doing? I’ve been watching the news…the media’s giving him a hard time.”

  Jordan lowered his voice. “Bitter. I’m hoping this new project will help. Gotta go.”

  “What new project?” But Jordan had already hung up.

  THE SMELL OF THE HOSPITAL—impersonal and sanitary—reminded Joe of the rehab center. Walking toward Marion’s room, he wondered whether he should have run this by Dr. Samuel first. Except if he’d advised against it, Joe would have ignored him. For once in his life he had no doubt about the right thing to do.

  Which was just as well, he thought as he spied Sally Morgan coming toward him, because there were still a few obstacles to overcome. He crashed into the cleaner who was bending over her trolley and caught her as she lost her balance. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” He waited until she was steady, then released her. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “No harm done, I guess,” she grumbled.

  Sally spotted him. “Uh-oh.” Joe sidestepped the trolley and went to meet her.

  As soon as he was within earshot, she started. “I thought I told you to get lost. You are not seeing Marion.”

  Joe stood his ground. “I know. I’m here to see you.”

  “Me?”

  He took advantage of her momentary confusion. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, that the accident makes it even more important I put Marion and John Jason first. So—” he cleared his throat “—I’m moving to the South Island.”

  “Good riddance.”

  They’d once been good friends, which was probably why she was being so hard on him now, Joe reflected. He had hurt so many people. “I’ll get a job and send back every dollar I can.”

  Sally didn’t soften. “Make sure you do.”

  “In the meantime, I have something I want you to give Marion.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not telling her you’re here, Joe, I’ve already told you that.” She pushed past him.

  “It’s your mother’s wedding ring,” he called, “the one she left to Marion.” He saw the moment Sally was caught, conflicted, and breathed an inward sigh of relief.

  Reluctantly she came back. “How did you get that?”

  Joe shrugged awkwardly. “I took it when I left, thought I might have to hock it for booze.”

  Her fists curled. “You bastard!”

  “The thing is, I didn’t. Will you return it to her for me?” She hesitated and he added quickly, “You don’t have to say where you got it. Make something up.”

  “Let you off the hook, you mean.” Her expression tight with contempt, Sally held out her hand.

  Joe reached into one jeans’pocket, then the other. “That’s strange….” He fumbled in the back pocket. “Oh, I remember. I put it in the glove compartment of my car for safe-keeping.”

  “In this neighborhood…? Where’s it parked?”

  Joe hung his head. “Out back.”

  “Well, let’s go get it.”

  She marched ahead of him toward the entrance. “Sal—” his tone was humble “—there’s a shortcut.” He held open a side door. With an exclamation of impatience she came back. Joe led the way through the labyrinth of corridors he’d explored earlier. They walked past the hospital laundry, where workers talked loudly to each other over the rumble and hum of a dozen commercial washers and dryers. Turned a corner, then another.

  “This can’t be a shortcut,” Sally complained.

  Joe stopped, scratched his head. “I think I took the wrong turn.”

  “Damn it, Joe!”

  “No wait, it’s through here.” He opened a door to his left, gestured for her to go first.

  Sally walked into a utility room full of buckets, mops and cleaning products. “How could you turn into such a loser? I don’t know—”

  “When you’ve been had.” Joe slammed the door behind her and locked it, then pocketed the key he’d lifted from the cleaner. He just hoped the skeleton set was hard to find. “Sorry, Sal, I know you’re only trying to protect her,” he called through the door. “But for the record, Marion keeps the ring in her jewelry box. Some things are sacrosanct, even to me.”

  The door vibrated as Sally started hammering on it. “Let me out! Now, Joe!” Her tone grew imperative. “Right now!” Smiling faintly, Joe strolled down the hallway.

  The hammering resumed, louder and angrier. “Somebody! I’ve been locked in here! Help!”

  Joe turned the corner and the din Sally was making lessened. Satisfied, he picked up his pace. He didn’t know how long his reprieve would last.

  Only when he hit the main hallway did his footsteps slow and start to falter. He came to a stop in front of Marion’s door and squeezed a hand to his throat. It felt as though his heart was about to jump right out of it. Sending a silent prayer heavenward, Joe turned the handle and went in.

  “Hello, Marion,” he said gently to the slight form lying in the bed, and because he was so damn scared, added unnecessarily, “It’s me.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “CAN I TALK to Sally, hon?”

  “Here’sAuntie Kez.” John Jason swept his Batman cape aside and handed Kezia the phone. “Only until I get Roland—Auntie Sally wants to say hello to him.”

  Kezia curbed her irritation. It was obvious where she stood in Sally’s pecking order—after the rat. Calm, she had to be calm and get information. Shots reverberated through the building as the carpet layer started using his nail gun.

  “Sally? Hang on…Rusty!” The nail gun stopped. “Take a break for a minute, will you?” Kezia waited until he was out of earshot. “Sal, what news?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t talk now, Kezia.” Sally’s voice sounded stilted and formal. “Can I ring you back?”

  “No you can’t, because you won’t.” Four days of playing diplomat had got her nowhere. “What’s been happening?”

  There was silence on the other end and Kezia’s heart plummeted. “Sally? What’s Marion’s condition?”

  “The same.” There was a peculiar note in Sally’s voice that Kezia couldn’t decipher. “Look, I really have to go. Tell John Jason I’ll call him tomorrow. ’Bye.”

  Chilled, Kezia dropped the receiver back in its cradle, leaned her forehead against the wall and closed her eyes. “The same was not good. If Marion were to make a full recovery she would be feeling more sensation by now. The specialists had been very clear about that. Please God, don’t do this.

  “Auntie Kez?”

  “What!” Her eyes opened in time to see John Jason’s recoil and her conscience took another blow. “I’m sorry, honey, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. What is it?”

  Eyeing her warily, he flicked back his cape and kept his distance. It killed her. Nothing would go right until she told Marion what she’d done. This weekend.

  “I can’t find Roland.”

  “Remember Christian put him in your room so he could clean out Roland’s cage.” Despite her torment, Kezia’s mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile, remembering Christian’s face when she’d given him that task.

  “I do it twice a week,” she’d insisted, straight-faced. As with every job she’d tripled her workload.

  Except he’d simply given her a look and grabbed a clothes peg and some rubber gloves. “It won’t work, you know,” he’d said. “You’re stuck with me.”

  Kezia shook off her doubts. He’d left her twice; he’d leave her again. That was one thing she could count on.

  John Jason stamped his foot, his eyes glittering
through the slits in the mask. “My rat’s not there!”

  He was right; Roland wasn’t in his room. Wasn’t anywhere else in the hotel or the grounds. Kezia searched and re-searched. By dinnertime, John Jason had worn Kezia out with his tantrums and tears, and she suspected Roland had escaped or been flattened under the newly laid carpet.

  She didn’t tell John Jason her suspicious, keeping up a running commentary on the adventures the rat was having and helping the boy lay cheese trails so Roland would be lured home. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back.”

  “You promise?” It was a measure of the child’s need that he was prepared to put his faith in her again.

  Wishing with all her heart she could give John Jason the answer he wanted, she cupped his chin in her good hand. “I promise to try my very hardest, but if he doesn’t want to be found…”

  John Jason sagged against her in relief. “Then you’ll find him because he wants to be found. He’d never leave me.” Now she was in serious trouble.

  “Who’d never leave you?” Christian was in the doorway. “Me?”

  “Roland’s gone missing,” John Jason blurted.

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up when he’s ready, don’t worry about it.” Christian patted the little boy’s head with an almost forced heartiness. “So, what’s for dinner? Please tell me it’s not breaded chicken and mushroom gravy.”

  A suspicion occurred to Kezia. “Don’t you want to join the hunt?”

  He looked away. “Let me go wash up first. I won’t be long.”

  She stared after the rat-hater’s departing back. He wouldn’t have…would he? “John Jason, how about watching a video?” She settled Batman in front of the television and marched down to the bathroom, not bothering to knock before opening the door.

  It was full of steam. Really, they needed an extractor fan in here. “What do you know about—”

  The shower curtain swept back and Kezia momentarily forgot what she was going to say. Her gaze slid over Christian’s naked body, slick under rivulets of water.

  “The rat?”

  “Yes…the…the…” Discomfited, she turned her back, felt foolish for showing him how much he affected her, then turned back to show him she wasn’t. Affected. Through the steam she fixed her gaze on his eyes, blue as heaven, knowing as hell.

  “The rat?” he prompted again, and she flinched, spoke more sharply than she meant to.

  “What have you done to Roland?” Realizing she’d raised her voice, Kezia shut the door.

  He shook his head in disgust. “You really don’t trust me, do you? Pass the damn soap.”

  Kezia held out the soap and he jerked her forward against his wet chest. Water sprayed her face like rain. “My cast!”

  “It’s fiberglass,” he reminded her, and hauled her all the way in, ignoring her yelp. Hot water pummeled against the denim of her jean skirt, which grew sodden and heavy. “Do you know how many old ladies hit on me today? Do you know how much I hate your car? Do you know how hard I’m trying to fill your Goody Two Shoes and prove you can trust me? And you ask me if I’ve killed that goddamned rodent? Screw you!”

  So he was buckling under the pressure. “I guess that’s a no, then,” she said calmly. Dread mixed with her relief.

  Christian’s eyes narrowed, then one hand pressed the small of her back while the other tangled in her hair. Very slowly he tilted her face up to his, exposing her throat. “Screw you,” he said again, a threat and a purr combined. “Two can play mind games.”

  He bent his head and his mouth was hot on her neck. His tongue followed the water droplets down, all the way to where they disappeared into her pink camisole top. Kezia shuddered as his mouth closed over a nipple, clearly outlined under the wet cotton. She pushed him away. “Stop.”

  “That’s not what your body’s telling me.” He caught her arms, splayed them against the shower tiles to hold her still and took his time, teasing her nipples to tight need.

  “Stop it!” Her voice shook. She tried to put more authority into it. “I said—”

  He caught her lower lip lightly between his teeth and his tongue slid into her mouth, cajoling hers into a response while he ground his lower body against hers. And Kezia felt herself get wetter and hotter and more desperate.

  Desperate for what?

  She couldn’t remember but it had to be this: to drown with him under the pummel of water, to drown in him. Christian yanked her skirt up to her waist, his hands everywhere, tantalizing and teasing, and it still wasn’t enough.

  It wasn’t enough to run her hand down his ridged abdomen to the smooth, velvet hardness, to make him groan and grow harder. Not enough to lick the water droplets off his chest and rake the fingers of her good hand down the sleek muscle of his back. Water trickled inside her cast; she didn’t care. Steam billowed around and between them, but she could still feel him, oh, yes, and crave him.

  She let Christian pull off her panties. He cupped her bottom in his searing hands and lifted her up. With a moan, Kezia clung to his neck for support, wrapped her legs around his waist and impaled herself on him. He thrust and she countered, both clumsy and panting in their need, too hungry for grace. This coupling was like no other they’d shared. Impassioned, raw, almost painful in its intensity.

  Kezia’s climax seized and shattered her. As she clasped Christian closer in the throes of his own release she knew with utter certainty she would never get over this man. And she hated him for bringing her down to this level of need. “Put me down.”

  Still shaken by what just happened, Christian heard the anger in her voice. It had been mutual…hadn’t it?

  Gently he pulled out, slid her along his body to the floor. “That wasn’t meant to happen, I’m sorry.” He felt like a heel, an animal rutting in heat. “We didn’t even use any protection.”

  Her expression was unreadable. Her voice fierce. “Don’t worry, I’ve just finished a period. There won’t be any consequences you can’t handle.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” With a shock he realized he wanted her to be pregnant. She’d have to marry him then. Crazy thinking. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m furious.” She slapped away his helping hand, winced slightly as she pulled the sodden skirt down around her thighs.

  Christian handed her a towel. “I hurt you.”

  She didn’t deny it, wrapping the towel around her body sarong-style. “How can you make me feel like this—say one thing and do another?” She turned on him like a caged lioness. “I hate this, this…”

  “Need?” Relief made Christian dizzy. He had a chance.

  “Weakness. My own weakness.”

  Someone’s cracking, babe, he thought as she slammed the door behind her. But it’s not me.

  The door flew open again. “What did you do to Roland?”

  He wrapped a towel around himself. It was infuriating how quickly Kezia could rebuild her defenses. “I hid him.”

  “You hid him?” Her face was a study in shock. “I’ve been searching the hotel for hours, John Jason’s been crying…What the hell do you think you’re playing at!”

  “Think about it. The rat disappears, John Jason is inconsolable. You find and return the rodent and are back in his brilliant books. I thought it was a pretty good plan myself. I did mean to call but you kept me so damn busy I didn’t get a chance.”

  A range of expressions flitted across her face. “It’s a plan,” she conceded. “But where is he? I searched everywhere.”

  “In a shoebox, bottom of the wardrobe. Go put some dry clothes on and then get him.”

  Back in his bedroom Christian dressed quickly in jeans and an Italian shirt, his spirits rising. Their lovemaking had removed any lingering doubts he had that Kezia had stopped loving him. She was scared to trust—hell, so was he—but if he held fast to his promises she’d see that he meant to stand by her. And the idea of hiding the rat was inspired. As he opened the old wardrobe he allowed himself a self-congratulatory grin.

  The s
hoebox was light. Too light. Christian saw the reason—a ragged hole chewed in one side of the cardboard. “Sonavabitch, don’t do this to me.” He opened the box anyway, saw food pellets, the lid of water, a few droppings. No Roland.

  The dirty rat had escaped.

  HANDS—DOZENS OF HANDS—grasping and letting go. Marion falling, hitting each step with a dull thud. John Jason, mouth open in terror, keening beside his dead mother. Kezia woke with a shout, her heart pounding. His scream had been so real. Sweat saturated her nightdress and she kicked off the covers. Another nightmare, that’s all, she told herself. Calm down.

  A hair-raising wail pierced the dark.

  Heart rocketing into overdrive, Kezia leaped out of bed and grabbed for the lock on her bedroom door. As her fingers closed over the metal, the wail came again and she dropped the key. Swearing, she fell to her knees and scrabbled around until she found it, jammed it back in the lock and jerked the door open.

  At the end of the hall a sliver of light escaped under the door of John Jason’s room. She heard the murmur of voices—one young and querulous, the other deep and soothing—and her panic subsided. Christian was there.

  She pushed open the door and he raised his head, sent her a reassuring glance. He was sitting on the bed in a pair of jeans and the rotating night-light dropped stars across his bare torso. John Jason lay cradled in his arms, his face buried in Christian’s chest. Every now and then the little boy gave a deep shuddering gasp and tightened his hold on one bicep.

  “He’s okay now,” Christian said quietly, and John Jason lifted his tear-stained face.

  Seeing Kezia, his eyes brimmed with tears again. “Don’t let her lock me away,” he sobbed, and clung tighter to Christian.

  Kezia stumbled back. “I’ll leave,” she managed.

  “No.” Christian patted the bed, his eyes a compelling silver in the lamplight. “Come over here. Let’s sort this out.”