At Caidwater, at least, he could put some locked gates between them and Jilly.
Something—the threat of violence, maybe—shut her up after that. It gave him time to concentrate on maneuvering through the traffic. The back of his neck ached with coiled tension as he tried to ditch the cars following them as safely as possible. But the photographers drove so recklessly that several times Jilly gasped, echoing his own fear.
She grabbed his thigh when he made a last-minute lane change to exit the freeway. They lost the Chevy, but the Dodge found its way behind them.
"Damn," Rory muttered. Thinking quickly, he made a fast left. "Say a prayer, honey."
Holding his breath, Rory sped through a stale yellow light. The blare of horns and the squeal of brakes behind him clearly indicated the other car had tried to follow.
"He didn't get through," Jilly said. Rory instantly checked the rearview mirror. Cars were stopped in the middle of the intersection. The Dodge was blocked from following them.
Jilly's head fell back against the seat and she closed her eyes. "I think I aged from twenty-five to eighty-five in the last half hour."
Rory couldn't begin to say what the car chase had done to him. Driving more slowly now, he looked at Jilly again and reached out a shaking hand to stroke her hair. "You sure you're okay?"
"Fine." Her fingers caught his. "You?"
Something inside Rory's chest twisted, wringing out a strange mix of relief and tenderness. He couldn't speak.
"Rory?" She turned her head and opened her eyes. "Are you all right?"
At her impossibly sweet, impossibly concerned expression, his mouth went dry. He swallowed. "I'm fine, too. Thanks for asking." Not many did.
Still gripping his hand, she drew it down her soft, warm cheek. "I think someone knotted every one of my muscles."
Each one of his was kinked, too. "I know just what you mean." He shot her another sidelong look. Her face was pale and her mouth was set in a strained line. She'd obviously been clenching her teeth. He could kill those bastards.
"How about a soak in the hot tub when we get back to the house?" he said suddenly.
"Rory…"
He gently disentangled their hands, hating the way his continued to tremble at the thought of Jilly in danger. "Just the hot tub," he assured her. "And just long enough to make sure those photographers get tired of waiting for you at home."
He forced a grin he didn't much feel, because she needed to relax as badly as he did. "You don't need to worry. I'm not interested in older women anyway."
She looked blank, then laughed and slapped his arm. "Oh, fine. You talked me into it. We eighty-five-year-olds don't get such invitations every day. Hot, bubbly water sounds blissful."
And the hot, bubbling water felt blissful, Rory thought half an hour later, leaning against the tile. He sighed, and the sound echoed in the cavernous room that housed the hot tub. It was dark outside now, and running along the eastern wall of the room were windows that reflected the adjacent Olympic-size pool and the soft glow of the few lights he'd turned on.
The patter of footsteps made him look up. Jilly was wrapped in a voluminous bath sheet, though he could see the strap of a bathing suit tied around her neck. "Did you find something to fit you in the changing rooms?"
She cleared her throat. "Well, um, yes. One thing."
Her obvious nervousness put Rory on instant alert. But he'd promised an unthreatening, uneventful soak, so he dropped his head back against the tile and pretended to close his eyes. "Come in, then." Through his lashes he watched her hesitate.
After a moment she dropped the towel, then dropped instantly into the hot water.
Unfortunately, the "instantly" wasn't quick enough. The image of Jilly in a tiny black string bikini burned itself into Rory's brain. He stiffened and sat up. "What the hell are you wearing?"
She slid lower into the bubbles. "I thought you weren't looking!"
He forced himself back, trying to relax, though the water had just jacked up forty degrees. "I wasn't looking, I just happened to see." Liar.
"It was the only suit that fit me," she said defensively. "Believe me, it wasn't my first choice."
Rory muttered under his breath, every thought, every promise of relaxation quickly evaporating.
"What?"
"I said you must be my curse."
Even in the dim light he could see her eyes widen. Then she glared at him. "Well, I think you're my curse, too."
"You curse me worse than I could possibly curse you."
She slid along the underwater bench, closer to him. "I doubt that. I really doubt that."
"Think about it." He pointed his finger at her gold-dusted nose. "That damn camera of yours forced me into kissing you."
The mouth he'd kissed—so well, and so many more times than once—turned down. "Well, I was forced into accepting that kiss."
"And now, now I'm engaged to you." He crossed his arms over his chest.
She blinked, and slid even closer. "What? Well, I'm engaged to you. That's an even bigger curse."
Lost in their argument, Jilly had apparently forgotten the brevity of her bikini. She was sitting up straight, and the tops of her plump breasts were wet but completely exposed to his eyes. Rory's shaft stiffened as he watched the bubbles tickle at the nipples barely covered by the small black triangles of fabric. He remembered all that beautiful flesh filling his mouth and, groaning, closed his eyes.
"I'm cursed by wanting a woman—wanting her so bad that I ache—who's celibate. Beat that."
There was a long pause. "But I can," Jilly answered quietly. "Because you tempt me every day, every minute, to break my vow."
Rory's eyes slowly opened. The steam rising off the hot water had tightened the curls around Jilly's face and there was a sheen of moisture on the creamy skin of her face. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. She took a long breath and her breasts rose from the water.
Rory's palms itched. His penis throbbed. He'd been trying to figure out a way to handle her, to defuse the curse, and he suddenly had the answer. Not suddenly, by God. But inevitably. It had been coming to this since the first moment he met her. And he was so damn tired—years tired—of always considering the consequences. Of always being so responsible. Forget about all her protests of last night. It was his turn to play.
Slowly, slowly, he reached under the water and found her leg. He drew his finger down her thigh.
She shivered. "Rory…"
"Think about it, honey. Especially now that you're finally admitting you're tempted, and not just nutritionally challenged." He made another enticing pass over her leg. "It's going to come to this every time we're together unless we do something about all this … tension between us."
"What exactly do you mean?" she whispered.
He drew his hand out of the hot water and cupped the delicate curve of her shoulder. He saw goose bumps spread across the tops of her breasts. God. His mouth was so dry he had to swallow before speaking. "Listen. Why don't we forget about your pesky celibacy for now? And then when I'm gone, well, when I'm gone you can pick it right back up again."
He smiled, because it sounded so damn reasonable to him. And satisfying somehow, to think of her celibate again after he left L.A.
"Oh, Rory." She sucked in her bottom lip and he knew she was tempted again.
And, thinking of the night before, he knew it would take hardly any effort on his part to persuade her. After all, she was finally acknowledging her own desires. He leaned forward, focused on seduction.
"It's difficult…" she whispered. Her eyes had turned dreamy.
"I know," he said soothingly, leaning closer. She was millimeters away from letting temptation take her.
"Especially since I've been celibate my whole life."
Rory stilled. "Celibate your whole life," he repeated stupidly. Celibate her whole life.
The full truth hit him with the heart-stopping force of a cold Pacific tidal wave.
He wanted to scre
am in frustration. He wanted to smack his forehead against the hard tile. He wanted to lock Jilly up someplace where she couldn't confound him again.
What the hell had he been thinking? Of course she'd been celibate her whole life. She'd told him about the nuns and about her strict grandmother.
This woman who lived next door to a sex shop, this woman who oozed sex through every innocent pore, was not just celibate.
She was a virgin.
His mind whirling with the implications—no man had touched her, ever—Rory inched away from her, trying to ignore the devilish voice urging him closer. What did it matter? the devil whispered in his head. Rory was hot, she was hot, somebody had to be her first. Have her first. Rory shuddered.
"Rory?"
But he couldn't do it. Not like this.
Now he really wanted to smack his forehead against the tile. Why couldn't he, just this once, have the Kincaid conscience as well as the Kincaid last name?
But he didn't. And he couldn't let a celibate—albeit easily aroused—virgin have sex with him on a whim born out of a black bikini and a car chase. It didn't seem fair, especially not when he knew how easily he could make her say yes. With the undeniable and undeniably combustible attraction between them, and with his experience and her lack of it, he could kiss her and touch her breasts and have her underneath him on that towel she'd dropped in seven minutes flat.
"Rory?" she whispered again, her voice equal parts hesitation and temptation.
Four minutes.
Forcing his gaze away from her, he pulled himself out of the water and wrapped his towel around his waist to hide his erection. "Not tonight, Jilly," he said. God, he should be elected a saint in heaven for this sacrifice. "Go home and think about it. When and if you really want to—to break your vow, then we will." His penis went even harder at the thought. "But not like this. I want you to be sure."
The devil snickered, not in the least impressed with his nobility.
Rory walked stiffly away from the hot tub, his body giving him hell. So much for the relaxing soak. He hoped to God she'd decide in the affirmative by morning, because he couldn't survive in this state much longer. "I'll get dressed and then drive you home."
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
Rory prowled around the library, pausing at the windows to see if Jilly's cherry-red rattletrap was anywhere in sight, then resuming his prowl when the morning was as distinctly Jilly-less as it had been a few minutes before.
Damn her. She hadn't told him last night she'd be late this morning. When he'd taken her home, her hair had still been damp from the hot tub's steam and her expression serious. Had she been considering his offer? He couldn't guess then and he didn't know now.
He hadn't slept at all, his mind cluttered with images of voluptuous angels in tiny black bikinis and saintly men tortured by fires of desire. Dammit, he should have let the devil in him have its way with her. At least then he'd be able to sit down without poking himself in the belly. Christ, he'd been hard for days now. Weeks.
Yet he was glad he hadn't taken her to bed the night before. Because the experience was going to be that much sweeter when Jilly came to him on her own terms.
If she came to his bed.
And if she ever came back to the house. Where the hell was she?
He supposed he could check out her Web site. It wasn't as if he were so pitifully interested in what the woman was doing that he was really resorting to tracing her whereabouts via her camera. Iris had been asking for her this morning. If he spotted Jilly in her shop, he could tell his little aunt to stop prowling, er, waiting for her to show up any second.
It took him only a few moments to click into the Web cam image of Things Past. The shop was empty—he suddenly realized it was still a few minutes before opening time—but they must have turned the Web cam on early. The door of the shop's rear office was open and he could see movement in there, a shoe, then part of a woman's leg, and he squinted, trying to determine if it belonged to Jilly.
But it didn't, because Jilly suddenly appeared in the camera's line of sight from a different direction. He guessed she had just come from her apartment upstairs, because she had a purse slung over her shoulder and she was yawning.
A little spurt of satisfaction soothed his impatience. Maybe she hadn't slept well either. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, regarding her dispassionately. She had on ankle-length pants, flat black shoes, and another of those glittery little sweaters.
Without thinking, he found himself leaning closer to the screen again, frowning. Was this an I've-come-to-be-seduced outfit? As much as he wanted her clothes to scream "To hell with celibacy!" he just couldn't tell. Everything she wore made him hot, hotter than he could ever remember.
Startled by the thought, Rory forced himself back against the cushy leather chair. No need to get carried away. Jilly certainly was appealing, but his feelings toward her were nothing more than run-of-the-mill lust, after all.
She crossed the shop's floor, clutching a mug of coffee. He studied her rationally. She had nothing particularly special.
Except her breasts.
Well, yeah, there were those incredible, wet-dream breasts. But this was L.A. Breasts were everywhere. Breasts were as common as palm trees and taco stands. And if they didn't come naturally, then the just-as-common plastic surgeons were happy to implant them.
In other parts of the country, little girls saved up their allowance to buy Barbie dolls. In southern California, little girls saved up their allowance to buy Barbie's cleavage.
But Jilly Skye wasn't just breasts. She was sass and savvy business sense. She was vintage clothes and nunnish vows. If she was a curse, she was a damn cute one, and he was finding it difficult to remember why he'd tried so hard to resist her for so long.
As he watched the screen, she leaned into the office and appeared to speak to the shoe and the leg he'd observed earlier. Rory grinned and slid down in his chair, focusing on the tight curve of her ass.
"—stop—that—" Jilly's voice abruptly sounded close by.
Rory jumped guiltily and swung his head around. "What? I wasn't do—" He broke off as Jilly's voice sounded again.
"—what—you—now?" The words came through his computer speakers and clipped on, off, on.
Another female voice answered. "Audio fea— not work—"
Hmm. Someone—the owner of the shoe and the leg—was fiddling around with an audio feature that wasn't work—"I just can't seem to get it." The voice was suddenly clear and smooth. And apparently the woman speaking didn't realize that she had got it working just fine. "But I want to try your idea of on-line fashion shows soon."
Hmm. Rory rubbed his chin. On-line fashion shows sounded like a great idea. There was that savvy business sense again.
"Maybe you should try getting some sleep," Jilly said. "Were you at it all night? You know you only make mistakes when you're tired."
The other voice muttered something about being too worked up to sleep.
"I hear you, babe," Rory answered. "And I'll wager it's man trouble."
"You'll find a way," Jilly said cheerfully. She still had her back to him, but Rory imagined her sweet, one-dimpled smile. "I have faith in you."
Rory's mood shot optimistically high. "I have faith in you, too, honey," he told Jilly's digitized figure. It was kind of a hoot to insert himself into their conversation. "Now, my little nun, tell your nice friend good-bye, get in your car, and come to Papa." He grinned. So you can come for Papa.
He'd missed what the shoe and the leg had been saying, but then Jilly answered. "Don't hold your breath."
The other voice sounded like it might be doing just that. "Are you having trouble?"
Jilly looked down at her feet. "I don't know how to bring it up to him. The time never seems quite right."
Rory sat up straight. Him? Him who?
"You were going to wait until he was your friend."
"W
ell, I think he likes me." Jilly hesitated. "At least he feels something for me, that's pretty certain. But does he consider me a friend?" She continued to stare at her feet.
"Time's running out," the other female said. The tinny sound of fear in her voice sent a trickle of apprehension down Rory's back.
"I know," Jilly said. "But I need to make sure Rory trusts me before I ask anything of him."
He gripped the edge of the desk, and the trickle of apprehension turned into a chilly waterfall of superstition. Shit. Had he fallen for some sweet thing's line again? What the hell did Jilly want from him? And he didn't think it was for him to put an end to her celibacy.
She looked up and spoke to the woman in the office. "But I promise I'll get him to listen to me about Iris."
Iris? Rory shook his head. This was about Iris?
"Honest, Kim," Jilly continued, "I'll do anything to make this right." She shuffled back and Rory saw the shoe and the leg shift, then both shoes and legs. The other woman was coming out of the office.
The camera showed her fully, a tall blond woman with classic features. Rory recognized her as Jilly's partner, and that sense of familiarity struck him once again. The blonde was frowning. "Don't … don't do anything rash, Jilly."
"Rash? Me?" If he wasn't feeling so sick—no, angry—he might have laughed at the note of false bravado in the deceitful cupcake's voice. "I promised I'd take care of this. And I will. That's why I took this job, remember? So we could get what we want."
Rory didn't stop listening, but their conversation quickly wrapped up and Jilly left the shop. He continued looking at the blonde, though, his mind running over the women's exchange even as the sense of betrayal turned his breakfast to bile.
Iris … Jilly … the familiar-looking blonde, Kim. Click. Everything suddenly fell into place. Iris, Jilly, and the familiar-looking blonde. Kim, who looked just like Iris. Dammit, that was it. Jilly's partner was Iris's birth-her-and-abandon-her mother.
That's why I took this job, remember? So we could get what we want. Jilly had said that. Along with, I'll do anything to make this right. The birth-her-and-abandon-her mother apparently wanted something.
THIS PERFECT KISS Page 19
