THIS PERFECT KISS

by Christie Ridgway

  Jilly stared down at the tiny bubbles rising to the top of her glass. "I'm sorry I messed up," she said.

  "No." Kim patted Jilly's arm. "That's not what I meant. But you should be living your own life, not trying to fix mine."

  "What life?" Jilly whispered. When she'd talked her way into the job at Caidwater, she'd thought reuniting Kim and Iris would make her life complete. She'd thought it would be like reuniting with her own mother. But Jilly realized now that it wasn't going to work. Big pieces of herself were still missing.

  "Oh, Jilly." Kim's forehead pleated in concern. "Why are you here tonight anyhow? I thought you and Rory had parted ways."

  Jilly opened her mouth, but no good answer came out. Three days ago she'd been absurdly happy to see him outside the window of French Letters, then absurdly angry at the way he'd instantly ordered her around. In the end, though, she'd agreed to attend the party. Maybe because it was the end. She had to witness it.

  After tonight, whatever it was they'd had together would be like a dream. A fantasy. "I just had to see it through," Jilly said. "To see it really be over."

  "Why don't you tell him you don't want it to be over? Why don't you tell him how you feel?"

  "What?" Jilly's eyes widened. "Rory doesn't want the love of a woman like me."

  "Oh, sure," Kim scoffed. "That's why he insisted on that engagement. That's why he bargained you into his bed."

  Jilly bit her lip. So maybe he wanted her, but it was in the way that someone wanted what was worst for himself. And there was another reason for not telling Rory the truth. The most important reason of all.

  "What if he used my feelings against me?" she whispered hoarsely. That was her grandmother's lesson. Love could be used to hurt, to manipulate, to humiliate. She wouldn't give someone that power over her again.

  "Jilly…" Kim said. There was an ache in her voice that matched the ache in Jilly's heart.

  Movement caught her eye and she took the Champagne glass out of her friend's hand. "Greg's over there trying to get your attention. You better go see what he wants."

  With one last concerned look, Kim hurried toward her new husband. Jilly leaned against the balustrade and watched her walk away. Kim was really walking toward a new life, she thought. That also was the result of this interlude with Rory.

  She'd lost Kim. For four years it had been Jilly and Kim against the world. Their business and their friendship had given Jilly a focus and a purpose. But now, now Kim had Greg and her daughter. Jilly didn't begrudge her that, not for a second, but it meant that their lives were going to change. It meant that she was alone again, just like all those years growing up in that gray-and-white house.

  She closed her eyes tightly, suppressing a cold wave that threatened to sweep her away. Loneliness was like that, dark and engulfing, but she would find a way to fight it.

  It was silly to feel so sad, she told herself. Silly, because she'd been alone most of her life. Surely she wouldn't have trouble managing it again.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. Caidwater was filling up with guests and many had already spilled onto the terrace. Through the French doors she could see Rory standing in the library with the senator. Obviously at ease in his evening clothes, he looked expensive and accomplished, and his exotic features made him only that much more compelling.

  She shivered, remembering his warm hands moving slowly on her skin, the laugh in his voice when he admitted to his bedhead affliction, the way his body fit hers like a key in a lock. Despite all her vows, he'd opened up her sensuality and her heart.

  He turned his head as a beautiful blond woman, in an icy blue column of a dress, joined him. Rory bent and kissed her lips. It was nothing more than a casual salute, but it went halfway to squeezing the air from Jilly's lungs. The rest was taken by the less-than-casual grip the tall woman took on his arm. This was the type of woman Rory wanted. This was the type of woman who matched what he wanted for his life.

  Jilly turned her back on the sight and looked out over the gardens. Well. There it was. The end. She'd seen it through and she'd survived. At least it couldn't get any worse.

  But then a familiar, expensive fragrance drifted toward her. Someone called in her direction.

  "Gillian." It was the old name in the unforgettable voice. It was the past rising up and the distinct feeling that yes, indeed, it could get much, much worse.

  One hand braced on the solid rock balustrade, Jilly turned. That dark and engulfing loneliness rose up again, but she pretended she didn't feel its chill against her back.

  "Jilly, Grandmother, not Gillian," she said, looking coolly at the woman who had raised her but never loved her. "My mother wanted me to be called Jilly, and that's who I am."

  * * *

  Rory disentangled himself from Lisa's clutches. He needed to check on the party's progress and, more important, on Jilly's whereabouts. Their argument had left him with a bad taste in his mouth and a cold heaviness in his chest. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to apologize or go a few more rounds, but he just knew he had to be with her.

  "Excuse me," he said, politely smiling at the senator. "But I need to tend to a few things."

  The older man bent his silver head. "But come back soon, son. And bring Gillian—Jilly—with you, too. I want your announcement as soon as possible and she should be at your side. Then tonight can be a celebration."

  The announcement. Rory touched the crumpled speech in his pocket and beat off the cloying cloud that was descending lower. He pasted on another smile. "Soon, sir."

  Thinking he'd caught a glimpse of Jilly outside, he hurried through the French doors and onto the terrace. But once there, he was immediately stopped by the head of the security force he'd hired for the evening. "Mr. Kincaid," the man said over the soft play of the orchestra. His expression was serious.

  Rory frowned. "A problem?"

  "There's some press at the gatehouse. They have credentials, but they're not on the list."

  "Credentials? What pr—?" He broke off, his attention snagged by the sight of Jilly. She was standing at the far end of the terrace, against the balustrade, her posture tense and stiff. A small frown wrinkled her brow as she listened to a gray-haired woman in front of her.

  "Rory?" Aura drifted toward him, holding a tray of canapés. "Would you object to me passing out my business card?"

  His head swung toward her. "What?"

  She nudged the tray into the hands of the security guard, who reflexively closed his fingers over it. Then she dug into the pocket of her red vest and drew out a small stack of cards. "I always carry them. Who knows when a person might need my kind of help?"

  "Sir?" the security guard asked. "What do you want me to tell the team at the gatehouse?"

  A too-thin woman with an oversprayed hairdo touched Aura on the back of her arm. "Are you the one doing readings tonight? I'm Gemini, Virgo rising."

  Aura smiled at the lady. "Just a moment, dear. Rory? Do you mind?"

  Rory was distracted from answering when the older woman talking to Jilly turned. Her familiar face gave him a jolt and he searched his memory banks for her name. Ah. Dorothy Baxter. The senator had introduced them at another fund-raiser several months before.

  Dorothy Baxter was an old and generous friend of the senator's and therefore an important friend of the Blue Party as well. What was she doing with Jilly?

  "Rory? Rory?" Aura again. "May I pass out my card?"

  "Mr. Kincaid? The press?" The security guard still gingerly grasped the tray.

  Rory's attention snapped back to the questions at hand. The press. He thought swiftly. "If they're not on the list but they have credentials, they can come in. No cameras, though."

  "Yes, sir." The guard nodded, then looked down at the tray of canapés in his hand and then over at Aura, who was lost in conversation with her wannabe client.

  With a sigh, Rory took the tray himself. As the security guard moved off, Rory saw Jilly abruptly begin to walk away from Mrs. Baxter, but
the older lady said something that made her reluctantly turn back.

  He frowned, Jilly's obvious dismay setting off warning bells. What was going on? He took a step in her direction, but was halted by the Blue Party's Charlie Jax. The man put his hand on Rory's arm and spoke in his ear. "Now, Rory," he ordered. "The senator wants you to make that announcement now."

  Rory tightened his fingers on the silver tray, Jax's tone and the knowledge that he had to pay attention to it grating on his nerves. "Okay. I'm on my w—"

  Mrs. Mack rushed up to him, her expression anxious. "Mr. Greg is leaving. I—I don't know what to do. But he has suitcases. And Iris. I know you wanted her to be at the party."

  Suitcases. And Iris.

  Charlie Jax tugged on Rory's arm. "We want you to make that announcement now, Rory."

  What the hell was Greg doing? Rory wondered. Shaking himself free of Jax, he shoved the tray toward Mrs. Mack. "I'll be back when I can," he said, then pushed Jax in Aura's direction.

  Without missing a beat, the astrologer turned away from the Gemini, Virgo rising, she'd been speaking with and grabbed the politico's palm. Aura smiled serenely. "Let me see here…"

  Rory ignored Jax's panicked look and dashed inside.

  The senator caught sight of him rushing through the library and called out, "Rory! Don't you—"

  "Just a minute, sir." Rory waved his hand and sped by. In the foyer, guests continued to pour through the front door, but there was no sign of Greg, or suitcases, or Iris. His stomach clenching, he headed down another corridor in the direction of the kitchen. Maybe they would use the service entrance.

  Barreling through the kitchen door, he braked to a halt. A scene of controlled bustle greeted him, with Paul and Tran moving quickly between trays and the refrigerator. But at the far right of the room, the door leading outside was open and three people were preparing to exit, each gripping a suitcase. Greg, Iris, and Kim. Kim, Iris's mother.

  The resemblance between them startled him now, and he was shocked he hadn't realized it before. As he watched, Kim untangled Iris's long blond hair from the strap of the small duffel she had slung over her shoulder. The little girl ignored the gesture and ignored the woman. But Kim's expression of patient yearning struck Rory like a blow to the chest.

  As if she sensed his gaze, she looked up and met his eyes. Her jaw firmed, and she touched Greg on the shoulder. A loving touch.

  Greg's head turned and he saw Rory. Greg and Kim slowly set down the suitcases they carried. Only Iris seemed unaware of the simmering tension among the three adults.

  Rory strode toward them. "Where are you going?"

  Greg rested his palm on top of Iris's head. "I'm ferrying some things to my new house. Kim and Iris are coming with me. We'll be back."

  Rory narrowed his gaze. "You're sure about that?"

  "I'm not running away. But I am taking control this time, Rory. I'm not going to back down."

  "No." The low, clear voice of Jilly's partner, Greg's wife, broke in. "I'm taking control."

  She walked toward Rory, then held out her hand. "Kim … Kincaid."

  He heard her slight hesitation at the last name and wondered if it wasn't such a comfortable fit for her either, considering the past. Her grip was unhesitating, though.

  "I need to make an appointment with you," she said.

  Rory took a deep breath. God. This woman was not only his former stepgrandmother but also his new sister-in-law.

  "Greg! Greg Kincaid!" Suddenly two men crowded the kitchen doorway. The discarded suitcases blocked them from entering, but still a flashbulb went off. "Celeb! magazine here. Is it true you were married in Las Vegas yesterday?"

  "Is this your new wife?" Another flash. "Kim Sullivan Kincaid Kincaid?"

  Rory automatically moved between Kim and the reporters just as Greg drew Iris behind him, but not before the man with the camera spotted the child. He nudged his loud-mouthed pal.

  The reporter's eyes actually gleamed. "This is the daughter, then? Roderick's … or yours?"

  Though his brain froze, Rory's body went into action. Even as the words Roderick's … or yours? echoed in his mind, he bolted for the door. Greg bent and whispered something to Iris, who ran to Kim, and the woman hurried her daughter out of sight. Then the brothers faced the press again.

  "It's time for you to leave," Rory said.

  "We just want a few answers." The reporter gave Greg and Rory a smarmy smile. "It's not every day the grandson of a Hollywood legend marries his former step-grandmother. You're news, Greg."

  "Leave," Rory said, louder.

  "And then there's the kid. Paternity is always a hot Hollywood issue."

  "That's it." Greg kicked the suitcases out of the way.

  "No." Rory caught his brother's arm and pulled him back, even while the grandson of a Hollywood legend marries his former stepgrandmother roiled in his brain and in his belly. "I'll deal with this." Paternity is always a hot Hollywood issue.

  Behind him, a clatter of metal made him glance back. Paul and Tran, each holding a silver platter like a shield, had taken up places beside Greg. Behind them, several of the FreeWesters, including Dr. John, stood like a red-vested, weirdly menacing battalion. A flash went off again, nearly blinding against the metal platters.

  "Get out," Rory said.

  "Don't you have a statement, a few words maybe?"

  Rory blocked his brother from surging forward again. "No." Once more he pushed Greg behind him.

  "Just tell us who the kid's real father is," the reporter challenged.

  This time, metal trays clanking against each other like weaponry, Rory and the troops took a step forward together. "Get the hell out."

  With the FreeWesters and Greg backing him up, Rory grabbed the door. Under a barrage of flashes, he then managed to push it closed on the photographer and the reporter, and with a satisfying click, he turned the lock.

  Shouted questions continued to sound from outside and the door trembled under a battery of knocking. But Rory ignored the noise and faced the odd collection of erstwhile volunteers. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you all." The trays rattled again as the "soldiers" exchanged satisfied grins.

  Rory turned to the largest of them. "Dr. John, would you track down a security guard and have them escort our friends off the property?"

  At the big man's nod, the red-vested soldiers dispersed. Grateful, resigned, and surprisingly half amused, Rory watched them return to their regular duties. Their inspired and automatic defense was going to make for some interesting tabloid photos. But most interesting of all was that they didn't appear shocked, dismayed, or even titillated by the accusations, as tonight's party guests would undoubtedly be.

  He appreciated that. Admired it.

  But then Rory had no choice but to meet Greg's eyes.

  The questions and innuendos spread across his mind like newspaper headlines. ICON'S GRANDSON MARRIES HIS OWN GRANDMA. Bleh. Even worse, MAN FATHERS GRANDMOTHER'S DAUGHTER.

  "Jesus, Greg," he couldn't help saying. "What the hell have you done to my life?"

  Greg didn't bat an eye. "I've been trying to tell you. This isn't about you, Rory. This is about me, my wife, our child. Iris isn't here to make you look good to the voters."

  Rory grimaced, the headlines and innuendos still running through his head.

  Greg spoke again. "She cares about being loved. About being happy. Not what 'Kincaid' means. That's up to me and you now, Rory."

  But he could still hear that reporter. Just tell us who the kid's real father is.

  The kid's real father was Roderick. Roderick, who had left Iris in Rory's care.

  But despite that, and despite the disgusting headlines that were about to explode into reality, as Rory stared into his brother's hard eyes, he knew Greg wasn't going to be satisfied with leaving it at that. With leaving Iris with him.

  Rory shook his head. This certainty of purpose, this determination, was a new side to his brother.

  And Rory respected him for it.<
br />
  Remembering Kim's firm grip, he knew she was going to put up a good fight, too.

  Rory blew out a long breath, that cloud hanging over him like a suffocating weight. "For God's sake, Greg. If I don't try to hold onto her, what will the Blue Party think? And the voters?"

  Candidates with squeaky images, candidates who wanted to renovate politics into something cleaner and more honorable, did not give up custody of children to men who married their ex-stepgrandmothers. The ex-stepgrandmother who had birthed, then abandoned, said child. Knowing his grandfather, Rory had no doubt that when he did a little digging on that prenup, he'd discover that Kim had been without choice. But that wouldn't be how it played in the press.

  "You have to think about Iris." Greg folded his arms over his chest, and for the first time, Rory forgot Greg was his younger brother and saw him as the man he had become. "You have to do what's right."

  What's right. The words instantly touched off the mother of all headaches. Jilly had also talked about doing what was right, the morning she'd left him. Rory rubbed his forehead. He'd never considered himself someone who would do the wrong thing, for God's sake. Quite the opposite.

  But the truth was, for the opportunity to be a Blue Party senatorial candidate, for a shot at respectability and for renovating the Kincaid name, he'd been doing the wrong thing over and over. Like Iris and her Blue Hat, Green Hat moment, he'd been willing to wear his family loyalty inside out and his sense of justice upside down.

  Blue Hat, Green Hat. Iris's favorite book. And he hadn't even known it. He closed his eyes, disgusted with himself. All along he'd been thinking of her as just one more responsibility. A duty. Oh, yeah, Greg was correct yet again.

  Though the decision Rory was about to make—had already made—was no doubt going to complicate his future plans, Iris should be with the ones who had cared for her the longest and loved her the best. It was time to make the Kincaid name stand for something different.

  "Fine, then," he said slowly, his headache vanishing as quickly as it had come. "What's right, what's true, is that you are Iris's father. And I'll make certain that the three of you are a family." Rory held out his hand, even as he was keenly aware that he'd just set his whole damn world spinning.