THIS PERFECT KISS

by Christie Ridgway

  "No," she said, grabbing at the first thing she could think of. "It's a full moon." She cleared her throat and scooted away from his hands. "My astrologer has, uh, warned me to stay away from the opposite sex during the full moon."

  Rory looked amused. "That's for werewolves, sweetheart."

  "Well, sure, but—" She broke off as Iris approached them, towing Greg. "But I remember now," Jilly said, looking at the little blond girl. "I already have something to do tonight. I'm going to the opening of a new FreeWest art gallery with my business partner."

  Sighing in relief, she transferred her gaze to Greg. He was such a nice, relaxing presence after the heated intensity of Rory. This kind of man would take no for an answer. She smiled at him.

  And Greg smiled back. "You'll be at a gallery opening in FreeWest tonight? With your partner?" He swung Iris up in his arms and the little girl clung to his neck like a monkey. "That sounds great. Rory and I enjoy supporting new businesses. And art! We love art, too. We'll meet you there."

  Rory looked from Greg to the surprised-into-silence Jilly, then back to Greg. He grinned. "By Jove, I think you did it. For once, she can't think of anything to say. Good work."

  Jilly gaped at the two obviously smug, satisfied males and started sputtering. Everything you expect to happen will be the opposite, Aura had said. "Uh Oh. Oh, no—"

  But Rory had jumped to his feet and the brothers were already walking away, giving her no more time to protest, refuse or, excuse.

  Oh, no.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Greg leaned against one of the few unadorned patches of wall in the art gallery, occasionally taking a sip from the glass of white wine in his hand. He didn't know if the sour taste in his mouth was due to the shitty Chardonnay or because he had to watch Kim interacting with, even touching, other men.

  Wearing black jeans and a loose-tailed men's dress shirt, she was turned in profile to Greg and surrounded by a small group of apparent friends. Her heavy golden hair was twisted against the back of her head, held there magically by two black-lacquered chopsticks. She reached forward to give a casual tap on the forearm of a huge black man, and when she smiled at his response, the gleaming color of her hair caught the light, and caught Greg's undivided attention.

  From the beginning, he'd always watched her. Four months into Kim's marriage to Roderick, he'd returned to live at Caidwater. Temporarily, he'd thought then.

  He'd been between movies, and with time on his hands and someone young and sweet livening the rooms at the mansion, he'd started to watch Kim. He'd catch her swimming in the indoor pool, cutting roses in one of the gardens, painting her toenails in the sunroom.

  She'd been shy around him at first. Excusing herself when he came into a room, not looking him in the eye even when he coaxed a few words out of her, gripping her bottles of fingernail polish like a lifeline.

  But then she'd changed. After discovering she was pregnant, books had quickly replaced the bottles of polish. He'd continued to watch her, fascinated by the way she had blossomed as her body had. She'd smiled, laughed, teased, and talked to him. About pregnancy, babies, and anything else that had caught her fancy, because she'd started to read everything. The Caidwater library had finally found a resident worm.

  In those months he'd watched her grow up, grow into motherhood, grow into womanhood.

  Watching her now, though, watching her chuckle and then gently bump the person next to her with her shoulder, Greg felt that sick sense of shame rise in his belly again. He let it fill him.

  He was still ashamed. But it was no longer because he loved his grandfather's wife. And it wasn't because four years ago he'd let her get away.

  He was just goddamn ashamed he hadn't gotten over her by now.

  While Roderick's legal papers had forced her to stay away from Iris, Kim could have contacted Greg. But during the four years that he'd wondered and waited, she never had. She'd made it absolutely clear last week that she never wanted to see him again.

  So tonight he'd crashed the gallery opening to convince himself that it wasn't love he had for Kim. Just a bad case of wanting what was forbidden.

  That made sense, didn't it?

  "What are you doing over here by yourself?" Rory's shoulders hit the wall beside his with a thump.

  Greg forced his gaze away from Kim to look at his brother. There was an edge to Rory tonight, too. He was dressed all in black, his eyes the only color relieving the darkness.

  "A better question would be why you wanted to come at all," Greg countered, then took another sip from his glass, envying Rory, who appeared to have found the only beer in the room.

  He pretended to survey the nearby avantgarde sculpture—a tower of egg cartons sprinkled with wood shavings. "Is an appreciation of the arts approved by your Blue Party masters?"

  Rory narrowed his eyes, then glanced at Greg's wineglass. "That swill must be worse than I thought to put you in such a nasty temper. And whether or not the stuff here is 'art' I will leave to someone who cares a hell of a lot more about it than me."

  Despite his lousy mood, Greg had to laugh. Rory always had a one-track mind.

  His brother's gaze roamed around the room. "Have you seen Jilly?"

  "The one track," Greg murmured.

  "Huh?"

  "Haven't seen her."

  Rory impatiently pushed himself away from the wall. "I think she's avoiding me." He drained his bottle of beer, then shoved the empty into Greg's free hand. "I'm going to find her."

  Shaking his head, Greg remained where he was. As usual, Rory's need for immediate action always impressed him. It was what made him think the political life was going to be a disaster for Rory. It was what made Greg always feel less than a man himself.

  In a sudden pocket of silence, a laugh sounded. Greg looked in the direction of the pretty sound, though he knew whom it came from. Kim. She'd drifted to a corner of the gallery. Then she half turned, catching sight of Greg.

  Jilly hadn't warned her he'd be there.

  Expressions chased themselves across her paling face. Surprise. Fear. Neediness. Across the room, their gazes held. Greg remembered the dark warmth of her brown eyes.

  The wineglass she held slipped bonelessly from her hand and landed with a crash against the polished floor.

  Kim snapped her gaze away from his. Color flooded her face, and he could tell she made an excuse to her companions. The black man leaned down with a napkin to grab up most of the mess.

  When he straightened, Kim almost jerked the napkin out of his hand. And then, without another look in Greg's direction, she hurried away.

  Maybe he was more like his brother than he thought, because Greg couldn't suppress the sudden urge to start after her, not thinking of anything but catching up to her.

  He followed her until she made her way into a small galley kitchen. She had her back to the narrow entry and her head was bent as if she were inspecting her hands.

  "Did you cut yourself?" Greg asked.

  Her shoulders jerked at the sound of his voice. She shook her head. "I'm fine."

  He took a step toward her, and as if she sensed him, she whirled and retreated a few steps of her own. Staring at him from the distance between them, she worried her bottom lip. She wasn't wearing lipstick or any other kind of makeup. When she'd lived at Caidwater, her mouth had been a soft pink and her eyelashes dark, to make her eyes that much richer.

  That much more forbidden.

  But she looked just as beautiful to him now.

  And she'd said she never wanted to see him again.

  So the way in which she made his heart pound, like the slam of a fist, had to be because she was forbidden to him. That was all. Nothing more.

  Now. Then. Forbidden.

  "I was damn noble when I was young," he said, his mood spiking to new, angry heights. "And stupid. Maybe if I had kissed you, touched you even, I wouldn't have wasted the last four years on some dumb-ass dream."

 
; Hugging herself as if in fear of his touch, she took another step back.

  It only made him angrier. "Damn it, Kim. I'm not going to try to now, for God's sake. You've made it clear you don't want me to even get close to you. And maybe I've finally figured out that this is your game, that this is what gets you off."

  She shivered, but kept silent.

  He wanted to prod her, push her, make her cry. Make her want him with all the pain-filled longing that he'd felt four years ago.

  That he felt now.

  "How many other men have you played like this, Kim? How many have you made fall in love with you, only to demand they don't speak of it to you or to anyone? How many haven't you let touch your skin or kiss your mouth?"

  With every angry question he stepped closer to her and she moved back. Now it was her shoulders against the wall, and they stood toe-to-toe, but her face remained a pale, unreadable mask. It was as if she were frozen inside.

  The cold stunned him. "God, Kim." His anger leaching away into tiredness, he quieted his voice and looked down at the toes of his scuffed cowboy boots. "Don't you ever feel anything?"

  "No," she said. "I try not to."

  He looked up.

  There were two spots of color on her face, one on each cheek.

  Greg swallowed. No, he thought, his anger reheating. This had to be just another of her manipulative games. "Why not?" he asked suspiciously.

  Her chin jutted toward him. "You know. Because of the bad thing that happened before."

  He frowned. The bad thing? What the hell did she mean? "But we never did anything bad, Kim. We never did anything before."

  She looked at him like he was two years old and short of sense. "No. Not us. Me. I did the bad thing. Marrying Roderick. Marrying your grandfather when I didn't love him."

  Greg shook his head, trying to understand her, trying to believe her. "So the rest of your life is punishment for that mistake?"

  She shrugged. "The rest of my life is up in the air right now."

  Shaken by the sadness in her voice, Greg stepped back. "Kim…"

  She took that chance to make a break for it. She was around him and at the doorway of the kitchen in a flash, but then she turned. "Just so you know…" She licked her lips, then rushed the rest out. "With you—with you it was never a game."

  The words hit him like nine separate blows. He absorbed each one, "never" bam "a" bam "game" bam. His eyes closed against the hurt. For the past few days he'd been trying so goddamn hard to pretend he hated her.

  Taking a breath, he opened his eyes. Looking at her only intensified the pain. "I know," he said. Deep down, he had known.

  Their gazes met, and it was like four years had never happened. It was just like those months at Caidwater when she grew round with Iris in her belly and the only intimate communication they had was with their eyes.

  I cared about you. He read the words clearly. Nearly heard them. I never wanted to hurt you.

  Greg sighed, trying to tell her everything. And I never knew if my feelings were impossibly wrong or just incredibly right.

  I'm sorry. Kim slowly came toward him.

  Greg froze, unsure of what she intended, but knowing any sudden movement of his would spook her.

  Then she lifted her hand and touched his hair.

  God. Lightning seared him, a crackling heat that cut like a firebreak through his brain and traveled down his body, hardening his shaft in one rocketing, desperate upthrust.

  He reached for her. "Kim—"

  But she ran before he could return the touch.

  * * *

  Jilly took a pinch of Rory's shirtsleeve—she was leery of actually grabbing hold of his arm—and tried pulling him toward the far end of the gallery. "Let me introduce you to some of my neighbors," she said loudly.

  Rory didn't seem to hear her, and he had no trouble resisting her forward movement. Despite her tugs, he held his ground and continued to stare after Kim, who had just bolted from the gallery's small kitchen. "Who's that?" he asked.

  Jilly craned her neck and pretended not to know whom he meant. "That's Mackenzie, the manager of the condom shop."

  Rory winced. "You had to remind me of that place, didn't you? But I mean the tall blond woman. The one who appears to have just done the Riverdance all over my brother's ego."

  "Oh, her." Oh, he'd noticed that, too, Jilly thought nervously. She'd been hoping Rory hadn't seen the scene between Greg and Kim the way she had. But Greg did look shell-shocked after talking with her partner, and Jilly had no idea why.

  "Do you know her?" Rory asked again.

  Jilly cleared her throat. "Well, um, yeah. She's my business partner. You know, the one who handles the Web-site side of things."

  "What's her name? She looks familiar."

  Beneath her 1940s beaded sweater, Jilly felt a drop of sweat form. It trickled toward the waistband of her straight, black, knee-length skirt. "Kim." Kim had made it absolutely clear she'd never met Rory, that he probably wouldn't even know her first name, let alone the last name she used now.

  But Iris was the spitting image of her mother.

  Rory rubbed his chin and glanced over his shoulder again, as if to get another look at Kim. But thankfully, she had disappeared. He looked back at Jilly and shrugged. "Is she married?"

  A second bead of sweat pricked Jilly's spine. "Are you interested?" What the heck would she do if he said yes?

  He grinned and chucked her under the chin. "Jealous?"

  She pretended not to be and rolled her eyes. "I was merely going to point out that your political image might take a beating if you so quickly moved on to a new conquest."

  He laughed, drawing glances their way. Jilly sent a silent warning to a woman standing nearby who had suddenly taken a good look at Rory and was sidling nearer. Getting the hint, the woman smiled knowingly and backed off.

  Jilly crossed her arms over her chest. "Well?"

  Rory's gaze dropped to her sweater and he groaned. "Don't do that," he said. "When you do that, I can't think."

  Jilly looked down to see what he was talking about. And quickly unfolded her arms. Pearl buttons marched up the front of her light pink lamb's wool sweater and she'd left the top three unbuttoned, which should offer a completely modest look. But with the sweater's tight fit and her abundance of … ahem that filled out sweaters, it wasn't wise to make moves that pushed any more of her forward.

  He took a deep breath. "Now. What were you saying?"

  Jilly hoped her skin didn't appear as warm as it felt. "You were showing undue interest in another woman."

  Rory glanced across the room at Greg, who still stood in the kitchen. "I just wondered if your partner was already involved with someone. Looks like she just gave my baby brother the I-have-to-wash-my-hair-tomorrow night speech."

  Jilly smiled in relief. Of course, that must be it. Greg had asked Kim out, and naturally, she'd refused. "Sorry, Rory, but there actually are some women immune to Kincaid charm, with or without another man in their life. Kim isn't involved with a guy, and I can tell you she's definitely not interested in becoming involved with one."

  His eyebrows went up. "Oh? So that's the way it is." He regarded Jilly with new interest. "Are you the woman in her life, then?"

  Jilly blinked. "Am I the—?" His meaning dawned on her and her jaw dropped. "I am not … what would make you think…" Not knowing whether to be embarrassed or outraged, and if either response was anywhere near politically correct, she settled for sputtering.

  Then she looked at Rory more carefully and noticed the wicked amusement gleaming in his eyes. She smacked him in the chest. "You stop teasing me."

  He started laughing outright. "You should have seen your face."

  Jilly huffed. "Well, just consider the look on your face if what you suggested was true and the press found out about it. What would the Blue Party think about a candidate dating a woman who … liked women?"

  "Okay, okay." He stopped laughing. "But just for the record, though the B
lue Party might want upright candidates, it's not interested in legislating morality." He leaned closer to her. "Which means it's perfectly acceptable that a potential candidate like myself spends time with his beautiful, sexy fiancée on a Friday night."

  Jilly thought maybe he'd sucked the air right out of the room with that tempting mouth of his, because she couldn't breathe. "I'm not sexy or beautiful," she said. But it sounded nice. More than nice. Tantalizing.

  One of his eyebrows lifted devilishly. "Want me to prove it to you?"

  "No!" Though she had to catch herself from swaying toward him. "I told you this afternoon. My astrologer advised me to stay away from the opposite sex during the full moon," she said piously. "We're already pushing it."

  It was best to get all her armor out, because some tide had turned at the picnic today. Obviously Rory had come to some decision, and this teasing, charming, and yes, even sexier side of him was the result. A side that was way, way too lethal to one of Sister Bernadette's best pupils.

  Jilly turned her back on him, desperate for a way to cool him down and keep him at a distance. The contrast of the bright blue of a book cover against the tan color of a sensible dress caught her eye in the crowd.

  Perfect.

  She slanted him a glance, keeping all amusement out of her expression. "Come on," she said sweetly. "Let's circulate."

  He gave her another one of those teasing grins. "Call it whatever you want, I'm game."

  Oh, bad, seductive, sinful man. "Stop that," she said. "I don't know what's gotten into you all of a sudden."

  His eyes seemed to consume her. "The truth of the situation. Your naked back, with my hands all over it, has been shown to millions. Then we kissed, quite convincingly, I might add, for those pestilent tabloid shutterbugs, to prove we have a special relationship." He shrugged. "So we might as well have one."

  She stared at him. So that was what he'd decided at the picnic. "Just like that? You said it's so, so let's make it so?" She put her hands on her hips. "Maybe I don't want to."