THIS PERFECT KISS

by Christie Ridgway

  So in order to help out her partner, Jilly had been using him. Celibate. Ha. Virgin. Ha-ha. Every word, every kiss, every hot inch of flesh had been calculated to twist him around her little finger. To get him to "trust" her.

  This was what he got for straying from the straight and narrow. For forgetting his responsibilities. It had all been a wicked, wicked game.

  Oh, sweet, cheating little cupcake.

  He couldn't wait to take his first bite out of her.

  * * *

  "Ouch!"

  The sound of Rory's painful exclamation coming from the library made Jilly pause on her way into Caidwater. She'd planned to lose herself in her work this morning because he was more dangerous than ever, now that he'd put forth the tantalizing idea of breaking her celibacy—and then left the decision entirely in her hands.

  If he'd instantly tried seduction as soon as she'd admitted temptation, she would have found it far easier to refuse. But he hadn't tried to manipulate her. Instead, he'd insisted it was her choice. Knowing she would have to come to him and ask him to take her to his bed sent shivers rolling down her spine. The idea became just that much more exciting.

  "Ouch!" Rory exclaimed again.

  Giving in to her curiosity, Jilly peeked around the library door. And had to smile.

  "Doctor" Iris was at work on Rory. He was seated in a chair, a black doctor's bag at his feet. The little girl wore a real-looking doctor's coat—probably a costume she'd discovered in one of the rooms—that was folded back at her wrists and trailed to the floor. In her hand, she held a very authentic rubber mallet.

  "Hold still," Iris said bossily. Her face had that mulish expression she seemed to wear exclusively for Rory. She lifted the mallet and then bonked him on the knee.

  Rory grimaced and kicked up his leg. "Go easy, will you?"

  Without answering, she dropped the mallet into the bag and then rummaged through it for something else. "You need a bandage," she said decisively. When she straightened, she held a thick roll of cotton gauze.

  He eyed it suspiciously. "Where do I need a bandage?"

  Jilly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The only thing the past few weeks had done for his relationship with the child was to ripen the distrust they had for each other. Kim was right. Time was running out and Jilly needed to discuss the situation with Rory. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples, trying to ease a sudden headache.

  "You're here."

  Jilly's eyes popped open. Rory had spied her in the doorway. She cleared her throat. "Well, um, yes."

  "Come in."

  His voice was charged with something, something dark, maybe even angry. Jilly hesitated, then told herself she was being silly. It was probably just the gauze that Iris was tightening around his forehead that made him sound strange.

  As she approached him, he glanced at his aunt. "Iris, could we finish this later, please?"

  "No." She continued winding the headband. "You said you'd play with me."

  "Later."

  "No. You're dying."

  "What if I promise not to kick my toes up until you're here to enjoy it?" he suggested.

  She didn't budge. "I'm keeping your brains in. Thank me."

  "Thank you."

  Jilly could tell he was clenching his teeth.

  "It sounds like Rory wants to talk to me alone, Iris," she said, trying not to squelch her nervousness at the thought. His face was stiff and his eyes were unreadable. "I'm certain he'll play with you later if you go away now."

  Iris cocked her head. "Hmm. Okay, but I'll just play over there." She pointed toward a boxed game sitting by the windows, then retrieved a pair of scissors from her bag and leaned toward Rory's face.

  Jilly dashed forward to take the scissors from her hand. "I'll do that." She cut the gauze.

  The little girl tucked in the end of the bandage, then skipped over to the windows, her white coat dragging across the carpet. She sent Rory a pointed look. "I'll operate on you while I'm waiting," she said.

  Jilly's eyes widened. But then she realized that Iris was sitting beside a game of "Operation." She vaguely remembered commercials for the kids' game. The player—er, doctor—used tweezers to remove parts of a little man. If the doctor fumbled, the "patient" got a loud zap and his nose lit up.

  "She calls it Rory, huh?" Jilly gave the real Rory a sympathetic smile.

  He didn't smile back. "Sit," he said, pointing to his desk.

  Jilly's pulse jumped at the barked command, and she slowly followed him there and took a seat. He eased his big body behind his desk and pinned her with his eyes. There was tension everywhere—in his gaze, in the rigid set of his broad shoulders.

  "I know what you're doing," he said.

  "Wh-what?"

  "I know you've been using me."

  Jilly stilled, struck frozen by the Arctic chillness in Rory's eyes. "What?" She couldn't think of any other response.

  "You had a reason for wanting this job. You've had a reason for every move you've made. You and your partner, Kim. My grandfather's seventh wife. The woman who bore Iris." He laughed, a sound so harsh it hurt to hear it. "God, what a fool I've been."

  She wanted to clap her hands over her ears. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to run away and turn back the clock and start the whole world over again.

  "You—" She licked her lips and tried again. "You don't understand." How did he know? What did he know? She was afraid to ask.

  "I heard you talking about it this morning. You can tell your partner the audio's just fine at your Web site. And, baby, I understand perfectly. I've been through this before, remember?"

  Jilly grew even colder. She remembered the afternoon they'd been locked in the closet. User. He'd said she wasn't a user. Not like that woman who said she loved him but then jumped into bed with his father to make a career for herself. "No," Jilly said. "This isn't like that at all!"

  "Because you haven't screwed dear old Dad?" he said crudely.

  Jilly flinched.

  "But my father can't give you what you want. Only I can do that, right?" He shook his head. "What a nasty game you've been playing, sweetheart."

  She flinched again. He thought … he thought she'd been playing with him. "Rory … no…"

  He sneered, and the vicious expression was more frightening than any words he'd used. "I'm not going to buy any of it, sweet thing. Not anymore. Not your little celibate-virgin act, not your breathy protestations."

  Jilly closed her eyes. This was bad. Very, very bad. "It was my idea, not Kim's," she said dully. Reuniting mother and daughter had seemed so right, so fitting. Such a wonderful way to ease Jilly's own regrets. "Don't blame her."

  "What do you two want exactly?" he asked casually. "Don't answer that. Money, right? To not sell your story to the tabloids?"

  "No—"

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand was the going rate ten years ago. A cool quarter million to keep out of the Enquirer the sordid threesome my dad and I had going. But I can't imagine that your Kim has anything as salacious, so I'll give you half that."

  Jilly stared at him.

  Zap! From the other end of the room, Iris had started her surgery. "Oops, Rory," she called out. "I had trouble with your ankle bone."

  His eyes didn't even flicker. They stared Jilly down, flat, and oh so hard and cold. "Take it or leave it," he said.

  She swallowed. "No money. We don't want money."

  He looked ready to sneer again, or worse, to let out another of his raw laughs, and she gripped the arms of her chair. "I'm not kidding, Rory. She wants to see her daughter."

  He went ahead and laughed anyway. Zap! Another sound of surgery gone awry punctuated his bitterness. A tight smile curved his mouth and he nodded toward Iris. "And I'm my aunt's favorite nephew."

  Jilly rubbed at her throbbing temples. How had it come to this? How could she have messed up something she'd begun with the best of intentions? How had she caused pain when she'd only wanted to assuage her own?

&n
bsp; She gazed at Rory, bandaged as if he were truly wounded. But he was hurt, she realized. She had hurt him by her dishonesty.

  Her stomach churned. This man, this man who had rescued her from a chinchilla—twice—who had made her laugh and made her ache, whom she'd teased unmercifully about pierced tongues and secret tattoos, who had lit fire to a thousand sheik-and-harem-girl fantasies, hated her.

  And she—oh, no. Her stomach churned again.

  She … loved him.

  But this wasn't supposed to happen! When Jilly had finally been given her mother's letters, she'd realized how vulnerable love could make someone. Her grandmother had used her mother's love for Jilly to keep them apart. She'd used Jilly's desire to be loved to keep her under strict control.

  Jilly had promised herself then and there that she would never give her heart.

  And yet she was in love with Rory. She loved him for making his own way, as she had. She loved him because, despite how much he detested Caidwater, he'd taken responsibility for it. She loved him because, when his four-year-old aunt continued to be uncooperative, he continued to try to build a relationship with her.

  And it wasn't every man who could look daggers at a woman below a disheveled, unnecessary bandage.

  And still make her shiver with desire for him.

  Zap! In the opposite corner, Iris cackled to herself as she tortured poor patient Rory. Jilly glanced over at the child, then stiffened her spine. She steeled herself against all the emotions, the hate, the desire. The love. She couldn't think of it now. She certainly would never speak of it.

  Only one thing mattered anymore. Kim and Iris.

  "I swear to God, Rory," she said fervently. "I swear to you that Kim doesn't want money. She wants Iris. At least some time with her, some kind of visitation." Jilly's voice broke, and she took a breath to regain control of it.

  His eyes narrowed. "She can't come traipsing back into Iris's life. I won't let her do that. It happened to Greg and me. In and out, now and then, sometimes June, sometimes March. It's hell."

  Jilly's hands were shaking. Did this mean he believed her about the money?

  "Enough of the histrionics. Just name your price, honey."

  Zap! Jilly glanced at Iris, and controlled the sudden need to zap the real Rory herself. "What can I do to make you believe me?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice quiet. "How can I make you at least consider what Kim's asking?"

  He was already shaking his head, looking bored, so she smacked her palm on the desk to get his attention. "It wasn't her choice to leave Iris," she said through her teeth. "You can check that out yourself. There was a prenuptial agreement."

  Rory stared at her. "What kind of prenuptial agreement?"

  "The kind that an eighteen-year-old girl would sign, not realizing it left everything with your grandfather should their marriage end. Everything. Money, houses … children."

  He leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. One eyebrow lifted. "Maybe Roderick already knew what kind of person his seventh wife would turn out to be. He had the right to protect himself and his future progeny."

  Jilly closed her eyes, opened them. "Rory. I don't think you're unfair. Please listen. Please think about it."

  "I think you have something else up your sleeve. Another scheme."

  Tears stung the corners of Jilly's eyes. Oh, how betrayed he must have felt ten years ago to be so bitter and distrustful now. But the honest truth was, she had schemed. Stupidly, stupidly schemed, not knowing what she was up against. Not thinking how badly it might turn out. Not ever guessing in a million years that she might fall in love with him.

  She swallowed. "How can I make you believe what I'm saying? What do you want from me?"

  He rubbed his chin, and then a little smile played over his mouth. "Hmm…"

  She was so desperate to make the situation right that just his little "Hmm" had her spirits lifting eagerly. "What?" She slid to the edge of her seat. "What do you want?"

  His smile widened, but there wasn't any humor in it, just a kind of satisfaction. "You know what I want."

  "What? What?"

  "You."

  Stupid. She hadn't seen it coming. "Me," she repeated.

  "You. In my bed." His blue eyes glittered. "In my bed until I leave L.A. If you're there every night—hmm, let's make that any time I say—then, my sweet little 'virgin,' and only then will I look into your friend Kim's claim."

  Jilly's whole body trembled as she stared into Rory's eyes. She couldn't tell if he expected her to agree or to refuse. She could sacrifice her sexuality for her friend or she could let Rory take Iris away forever. Which choice made her the whore and which choice made her the nun?

  Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. She didn't know which to choose.

  But, oh, how right she'd been to be afraid of love. Because here she was, in love with Rory and forced to yield to his control.

  She gripped her hands together. Unless … unless she went into this bargain and his bed just for herself. For the opportunity to experience, truly experience, the exciting, no-holds-barred living she'd always promised not to pass up. Wouldn't it be the thrill of a lifetime to allow herself the chance to love this man with her body the same way she loved him with her heart?

  If she kept quiet about her feelings, she could even be safe from his power over her. Wouldn't that mean victory even in surrender?

  The pain in her chest eased a little.

  But the words still came out slow. "All right," she said.

  His body tensed. "All right?" he repeated warily.

  She nodded, just a little breathless. "Your bed. Until you leave L.A."

  He blinked.

  Zap! "Hey, Rory," Iris crowed, "I just took out your heart!"

  Then he smiled, cool and confident, his eyes glittering, glittering. Jilly shivered.

  He didn't take his gaze off her face. "That's just fine, Auntie," he called back. "Because I won't be needing it."

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  Jilly was able to duck any further discussion of their bargain because Caidwater was suddenly overrun with people. Party planners arrived to go over last-minute details for the Blue Party fund-raiser Rory was hosting in less than two weeks. Then the caterer appeared for a final consultation as well.

  Jilly's own responsibilities kept her busy, too. Workers from the museum that was receiving the most valuable of the costumes showed up as previously scheduled. She spent the afternoon transferring the plastic-bagged clothes onto the museum's rolling racks, then wheeling and securing the racks in the museum's truck.

  It was dusk before Jilly waved the drivers down the curving Caidwater driveway. Blowing out a long breath, she reentered the house and heard Rory and several others—the party planners, she guessed—in the near distance.

  Not yet, she thought. She wasn't ready to face him without a little suck-up-her-courage time. As their voices came closer, she quickly slipped through the door to Caidwater's movie theater.

  But she wasn't alone here either, though the room was dark. An old black-and-white movie was playing on the screen, the sound turned off, and the flickering light from the film revealed Greg in the first row of the hundred or so seats.

  His head turned. "Jilly Skye, come on down," he called out softly.

  She smiled and walked slowly along the gently inclined aisle between the plush velvet seats. Her smile softened when she saw that Iris was in the seat beside Greg, her head against his shoulder, obviously asleep. Jilly dropped onto the soft cushion on Greg's other side and tilted back her head to look at the screen.

  "What's this?" she asked. Two men were apparently arguing in a tent lit by the quavering light of a lantern.

  "Roderick Kincaid in Desert Life, Desert Death."

  "And we're watching without sound because—?"

  His palm stroked Iris's long blond hair. "Puts her to sleep every time."

  "Ah." She wiggled more comfortably into her seat
. It was strangely soothing to watch like this. The lack of sound distanced her from the action on the screen, and when one man pulled out a gun and shot the other, she didn't even blink

  "You hiding out from someone?" Greg asked.

  At that moment a new character rushed into the tent, wearing the robes of a desert sheik. Jilly tensed. "Roderick?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Finally. Here was the source of all her desert-prince-and-ingenue fantasies. She must have seen this movie at one time or another, and Rory's face had the same stark handsomeness of his grandfather.

  "They say our great-grandmother was the princess of a nomadic tribe in the Sahara," Greg told her. "I always thought it was a load of studio-generated bullshit, but when you see the old bastard in those robes, you have to wonder."

  Jilly looked at him curiously. "You didn't like your grandfather much either?"

  "Hated him, especially … later. But he was a damn good actor, I'll give him that."

  Nodding in agreement, Jilly slid lower in her seat and rested her head against the back of the chair. The story unfolded silently on the screen, but she hardly took it in, thinking only of how Roderick Kincaid had changed her life. She'd never even met the man, but his choices had irrevocably affected her.

  Without Roderick Kincaid, she would never have met Kim. Things Past wouldn't be the same—or maybe even a success—without Kim. And, of course, Jilly would never have met Rory.

  She would never have fallen in love.

  Oh, one day she might have taken a chance on some gentle, mild-mannered guy who wouldn't try to command or dominate her, but she would never have loved such a man.

  That path wouldn't be half as scary as the one she was stepping onto now, though. What she was considering doing with Rory, what she'd already agreed to do, was going to be short-lived. It would most likely end with her heart breaking.

  On the screen, Roderick Kincaid was galloping across the sand dunes on a white horse. Suddenly he reined in the horse, slid off its back, and fell to his knees. Apparently anguished, he dug his hands into the sand, then lifted them. The camera closed in on the grains sifting through his fingers. Jilly's stomach clenched. That was she. Reaching for something, touching something she wasn't going to be able to hold onto. "Have you ever felt, Greg," she whispered, thinking aloud. "Have you ever felt like a dream is slipping away, slipping right through your fingers?"