As Rory came closer, Jilly's mental smile fell away and she caught her breath. Sand dunes popped into her brain. Naked male limbs beneath flowing robes and heat, heat, heat. No wonder southern California was experiencing another drought. Rory was here.
Coming to a halt in front of her, he eyed Jilly, then sighed. It was a resigned, almost strangled sound. Apparently the sand dunes didn't go both ways.
"Why are you dressed like a refugee from a bad production of Grease?" he asked.
She refused to be insulted. Along with her jeans and white blouse, she wore black-and-white saddle shoes and a Hollywood High letterman's sweater she'd ecstatically unearthed at a garage sale. "This is authentic vintage-fifties wear, I'll have you know."
Feeling the warm sunshine on her shoulders, she shrugged out of the sweater and looped it over her arm. "What's it matter how I'm dressed, anyway?"
Rory shot her another, unreadable glance. He sighed again. "It doesn't. That's the problem."
"Hey, Rory," Iris piped up. "You know what? You look at Jilly funny."
They both transferred their gazes to the four-year-old. Jilly had forgotten all about her.
Rory frowned. "What did you say?"
"You look at her funny."
"I do not," he answered, but he was getting that green-around-the-gills expression he always wore when he was interacting with Iris.
"You do."
Jilly thought this was pretty interesting. She sidled closer to Iris. "He looks at me funny how?"
"When you know he's looking, or when you don't know he's looking? He looks at you funny both times. But he looks at different parts of you."
Bristling, Jilly shot Rory a quick glare. "Which parts?"
"Your—"
"Iris," Rory quickly interrupted, "I don't have much time to spend on a picnic. Perhaps we should get going."
Jilly gave Rory another look, but surprise, surprise, he suddenly seemed hell-bent on grabbing the picnic basket at Jilly's feet.
Straightening, he glanced at the two females again, though he avoided Jilly's eyes. "Are we going to stand around yakking, or are we going to have this picnic you promised?"
And before anyone could answer, he was hurrying down the steps and toward one of the eight garden gates cut into a tall, massive hedge surrounding the rear terrace. With a shriek, Iris tore after him. Jilly grabbed up the quilt she'd brought and followed more slowly, promising herself to interrogate the child later. Not that she was really that interested in where and how Rory looked at her, of course. She pushed open the gate Rory and Iris had disappeared through—
To gasp at the sight spread out before her. This was only one of the wedge-shaped gardens that surrounded the Caidwater mansion, and Jilly had yet to explore them. But she couldn't imagine another being quite as remarkable.
The size of a small park, it was a garden obviously designed for children. Gently rolling grass led past climbing trees, berry bushes, and a pond with a fountain in the middle and a tiny bridge at one end. Jilly walked across the soft carpet of grass. Croquet was set up on a flat expanse of lawn, the colored stripes on the miniature wickets and child-sized mallets gleaming in the sunshine. Mounting a small rise to join the waiting Rory and Iris, she noticed the buildings nestled in the two far corners of the garden's pie shape. On the left sat a small red schoolhouse, complete with bell tower. On the right, a thatched cottage with a steeply pitched roof and ivy-covered walls.
Jilly stared at Rory. "Oh, my," she said. "It's—it's—"
"Just another example of how far people take fantasy in southern California," he answered dryly.
She blinked, trying to take it all in. "Who did this?"
"Caidwater's original owners, a pair of silent-film stars." His mouth twisted. "An adult's overblown notion of a kid's playground."
Before she could reply, or even begin to read the expression on Rory's face, Iris skipped away again. "Follow me!"
They let the little girl decide the exact location of their picnic. His face a mask of resignation, Rory positioned and repositioned the quilt under Iris's direction, never once seeming to realize she was deliberately trying to goad him. Jilly finally took the matter into her own hands by setting her bottom firmly in the middle of the pastel-shaded quilt.
She sent Iris a woman-to-woman look. "Just right," she said.
As usual, the little girl was perfectly reasonable when it came to anyone but Rory, so Jilly also made it her business to hand around the food in Paul and Tran's basket. With a melon wedge and two finger sandwiches cut in the shape of butterflies on her plate, along with sparkling cider bubbling in a plastic champagne flute, Iris seemed quite content.
Rory didn't relax so easily. His gaze on his little aunt, he spoke in a hushed undertone to Jilly. "Do you notice what she's doing? She's biting the wings off those butterflies."
Jilly passed him his own plate, more sandwiches, melon, and a helping of a salad of cabbage and walnuts. "She's supposed to eat them, Rory. That's lunch." She looked over at Iris in time to see little-girl teeth sink into an "insect" with obvious relish.
Jilly laughed. "When I was her age I would have loved the chance to eat bugs." Not that her grandmother would have allowed anything so frivolous. "Don't you remember being a kid?"
"Being a kid? Oh, I remember, all right." With a faint, not-quite-amused smile, he looked off into the distance as if the past were just on the other side of the tall hedge. "Everyone at Caidwater was a kid. From my grandfather to my father to whatever woman they were involved with and whatever friends they had hanging on at the time."
Not knowing quite how to respond, Jilly made one of those "mmm" sounds that she hoped would encourage him to talk.
And he did, after biting into his sandwich and chewing. "Life here was just one party after another for a passel of adult-sized, spoiled-rotten, I-want-what-you-have kids."
The words came out matter-of-factly, as if he'd analyzed his childhood and compartmentalized his feelings toward it a long time ago. Jilly admired this ability at the same time that it chilled her blood. "That doesn't sound so terrific," she said lamely.
He surprised her with a grin. "Are you nuts? It was a hell of a lot of fun for a long time." He glanced at Iris, but she didn't seem to be aware of the conversation. "Nobody made Greg and me sit down for meals. Nobody gave us a bed time. Nobody cared if we went to school or not."
Jilly blinked. "But how did you … why…" She began again, trying to imagine two boys left to fend for themselves. "That sounds like something out of Lord of the Flies."
"Nah." He shook his head. "Nothing so gruesome. More like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn."
Jilly still couldn't reconcile what he had said and who he was. Greg and Rory had been two neglected little boys who had gone on to build successful careers. "At some point you two started going to school, though, right? How did Tom and Huck finally get civilized?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes you become the opposite of what—who?—you're raised to be, if that makes any sense."
Oh, how much that did.
"But I can actually pinpoint the day I realized someone at Caidwater needed to be an adult. Fifth grade. Mrs. Russo's class. We were to do a science experiment that day, something with wires and electricity." He smiled, clearly caught in the memory. "Man, I didn't want to miss that."
Jilly made another "mmm" sound, which was rewarded when Rory continued to talk.
"There had been a big bash here the night before. I got up early to make sure I had plenty of time to rouse someone to drive us to school. I carried a pitcher of Roderick's famous hangover remedy—screwdrivers—as I walked around. I knew better than to go into bedrooms, so I looked for someone passed out on the floor or a couch. But it was deathly quiet around the place, except that the lights were on in the room with the indoor swimming pool. I went inside."
Jilly tried interpreting his expression, but it was beyond her. Just as was a child carrying around a pitcher of vodka and orange juice. She swallowed. "And inside?"
"Inside was empty. Except for a pair of women's panties floating on the surface of the pool. The rest of her clothes lay on the bottom like a drowned body. Something about that … the discarded clothes, the image of someone drowned … I just knew I didn't want Greg to see that."
Rory looked away from her. "So I chucked the hangover remedy, ran to the utility closet, and grabbed the lifesaving hook, in a hurry to drag those clothes out. As I scooped them from the water, I remember realizing it was up to me. It was up to me to save both of us."
Jilly's bite of sandwich tasted like dust. "S-so what did you do?"
Looking back at her, Rory shrugged. "Well, though I missed that day of school, I never missed another one. I made sure Greg didn't either. I bullied whoever I could, from Roderick to one of the gardeners, to get us there. I hoarded cash, so if I was really desperate, I called a taxi."
Jilly glanced around at the miniaturized, impeccably cared-for garden. She swallowed. "It seems hard to believe childhood here wouldn't be idyllic."
Rory's smile had a cynical edge. "That's because you're still caught up in the fantasy. But I realized when I was eleven that fantasies aren't dependable." He smiled again. "And that I'm the kind of person who needs to be absolutely sure of what's real and what isn't."
That chill trickled into Jilly's blood again and she twisted around her finger the gorgeous but too-large emerald engagement ring. "Rory—"
"I want to go to school," Iris suddenly said. "Greg says I have to go to school next year when I'm five, and I want to."
Rory turned toward the little girl as if just remembering she was there, but then smiled approvingly. "And you will, Iris. I promise. At my house near San Francisco, remember? And maybe Washington, D.C., after that."
Jilly swallowed. At his house near San Francisco. And maybe Washington, D.C., after that. Where would Kim and Iris's relationship be then? As if a cloud had passed over the sun, the air around Jilly cooled. Her appetite completely gone, she could only stare at her plate as Iris and Rory worked through the food in the picnic basket. Once Iris was down to the crumbs of her cookie dessert, she jumped up and ran toward the red schoolhouse.
"My compliments to the chef," Rory said, handing her his empty plate and glass.
"Chefs," she corrected him automatically. "It's a brand-new catering business in FreeWest, run by my friends Paul and Tran."
Rory stretched out on the quilt, stacking his hands beneath his head and closing his eyes. "Your turn," he said.
She closed the lid of the picnic basket. "My turn for what?"
"Tell me something about Jilly Skye and how she grew up. I gave you the condensed version of the Caidwater Chronicles. Turnabout is fair play. You must have some interesting stories to tell."
Interesting stories to tell? Licking her lips, Jilly stared down at him. He was going to be sorely disappointed if he thought her past held any excitement. Because Jilly's mother had been a rebellious, then pregnant teen, Grandmother had guarded Jilly from anything interesting happening at all. Protecting Jilly, Grandmother had said, and again in the name of love, from her own "bad blood."
His eyes opened. Their blue was stunning, and such a contrast to his olive skin and black hair. "You can't be shy?"
"Shy?" Jilly didn't think it was the least bit shy to be suddenly floating away again on thoughts of long Arabian robes and what a man wasn't wearing under them. Her gaze ran down the lean length of his body and she wondered what his skin would feel like against her palms. She wondered how it would be to bump her tongue over the intriguing ridges of his chest and stomach.
Wiping her palms on her jeans, she cleared her throat. "I'm not shy. I just don't have anything to tell."
He chuckled and closed his eyes once more. Jilly found it easier to breathe when he wasn't looking at her. "You said your grandmother raised you," he prompted. "In a house of gray and white."
"And then when my mother died I came to L.A.," Jilly said. "I took over her business, I became involved in the FreeWest Business Association, and I built up the store in a way that I hope my mother would be proud of."
His eyes opened again. "That's important to you?"
"That my mother would be proud of me?" Jilly nodded. "Yes. It's my way of connecting with her. My grandmother was certain my mother would come to nothing. And then even more certain that I would make a disaster of my life. But…"
"You showed her?"
"And maybe myself," she said slowly. "You know what I mean, right? With your business? You did that, too. Made it yourself. Made yourself."
He took his time sitting up, all the while looking at her, deep inside her, Jilly thought. Then he smiled. Her breath disappeared again.
"Made myself," he said, and one of his big hands lifted to cup her cheek. "You're right. We both did that."
Jilly didn't think it was a good idea for him to be touching her, but she couldn't have moved away even if his fingers were burning her. Which they were. Oh, a sweet, shivery burn.
A dangerous burn. Sister Bernadette, Jilly thought to herself as a warning against the seductive, tempting prickles that rushed across her flesh.
Rory's gaze sharpened. "What did you say?"
Oh, boy, had she whispered it aloud? Her eyes widened and she tried scooting back, but Rory instantly slid his hand into the hair at the back of her neck to keep her close.
The heat from his palm made her scalp tingle. "I didn't say anything."
"You said, 'Sister Bernadette.' Who's that?"
"She—she was one of my teachers." Jilly swallowed, trying to control all the secret places that were suddenly warming in response to something as simple as his long fingers tangled in her hair. "When I was in high school at Our Lady of Peace Academy. She taught a class for seniors called Deportment and Discipline."
He grinned. "And you said you didn't have anything interesting to tell. It sounds like something to do with S and M."
"No!" Jilly's eyes widened in amused shock. "Sister Bernadette would pray for your soul for thinking such a thing. It was a class on … on male-female relationships."
Rory shook his head. "C'mon. You want me to believe you took a class on male-female relationships when you were, what, seventeen or eighteen? Isn't that a little late?"
"It's true. Our Lady of Peace is a school housed in an old convent. Girls only. Believe me, with the way we were sheltered, seventeen was quite early to be discussing sex education."
Rory looked like he might fall backward in shock if he weren't still gripping her hair. "Someone … you … that looks like … you were raised in a convent?"
"I was raised by my grandmother and taught by nuns. At a very strict school."
She saw him swallow, the long muscles of his tanned throat moving smoothly. He shook his head from side to side in amazement. "I don't believe it," he said. "Taught by nuns, then settling in FreeWest, of all places. I'll bet you couldn't wait to make up for lost time."
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth. Oh, no. Oh, no, twice. Once, because that speculative look on his face was making her all shivery and burning again. Twice, because she couldn't have him thinking she'd wanted to "make up for lost time." Not in any sexual way. Quite the contrary. She'd come to L.A. determined to disprove her grandmother's dire predictions.
Be careful of what you say, because misunderstandings will come easily today. Aura's prediction. "No," Jilly said hastily, alarmed by the way his gaze remained focused on her lips. "You don't understand."
But he didn't seem to be listening. Instead, he kept looking at her, touching her, and she felt that indescribable pull toward him. "You know," he said almost absently, "I've been fielding questions for days about why we don't appear in public."
She swallowed nervously. "I'm in public all the time. Why, I was just at the grocery store yesterday."
His small smile didn't reach his intent eyes. "We. Why we don't appear. Together."
She had a bad feeling about where this was going. "No. You said our engagement
wasn't going to change anything between us."
"And it hasn't. I'm still impossibly intrigued." He leaned toward her. "How about you?"
She leaned back. This wasn't supposed to happen. The picnic was supposed to establish a friendship, not anything more passionate. Oh, but she was intrigued.
"You make me crazy, you know that?" he murmured, coming closer.
Jilly's pulse jumped, but then she thought of their small chaperone, the one she'd been so smart to bring along. "Iris…" she said warningly, then put her hand on his chest—ignoring its interesting hardness—and pushed.
He didn't budge.
"Iris!" she called out now, desperate for the child's presence to dash cold water on what was happening between them.
Then, thankfully, Rory's gaze flickered, and he suddenly lifted his head. "Damn. Greg's here."
As if from a far distance, Jilly heard Iris's shrill welcome and then her excited chatter as she filled Greg in on the picnic. It was obvious that Iris saw the younger man as the father in her life.
But the thought flew away as Rory's fingers twisted in Jilly's hair and tugged gently. Reluctantly she met his intense gaze again.
"Tonight," he said. "Tonight we'll go out. Away from the house. Just the two of us."
No. That was what she was supposed to want to say to such commands. But instead, she licked her dry lips and told the truth. "You don't want to go out with me. I make you crazy. You just said so."
"But we're engaged, remember?"
"Just for the press," she said hastily.
"And for all the Internet junkies and tabloid readers." With his free thumb he stroked her cheek. "Since everyone believes we can't keep our hands off each other, what would it hurt?"
Jilly searched her mind for an answer. Because there certainly were fifteen good reasons, at least, not to agree.
Think, Jilly, think. She needed to remember why she shouldn't say yes. Except she could think only of Rory, of his blue eyes, of his warming touch, of his sexy mouth that had kissed her so passionately.
But he'd kissed other women, too, no doubt. His type of women, the type who wouldn't make him crazy. Leggy, classic, Grace Kelly blondes who knew more about men and what would please a man like Rory than one nun-led class had ever taught Jilly.
THIS PERFECT KISS Page 12
