This Perfect Kiss (15 page)

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 Blue 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.”

He leaned toward her, resting that full, sheik-of-the-desert mouth against her ear. “Give me a chance, baby. I can make you want to.”

Jilly closed her eyes as temptation ran like water over her body.

“God.” His voice whispered hoarsely in her ear again. “Your skin temperature just jumped fifteen degrees.”

Doing her best to ignore him, Jilly rallied her common sense and pushed him away. “Because you’re standing too close!” she said. “This room is crowded enough as it is.”

He chuckled knowingly and she tried pretending it was annoying instead of beguiling. Even more desperate than before, Jilly turned back toward the crowd and almost wept with relief when she got another glimpse of that blue book cover, even closer now. “Aura!” Jilly called to her friend.

Aura and Dr. John paused in their progress through the room. Spotting Jilly—who was waving wildly—they changed course and headed toward her. They made an odd sight, the huge, bald black man, with his many piercings and fierce tattoos, alongside the Martha Stewartish Aura, in her conservative dress and low-heeled shoes. She carried her book in one hand and used the other to push back her sandy-gray hair.

“Is that who I think it is?” Rory looked stunned.

Jilly smiled. “That’s my astrologer, Aura,
not
who you’re thinking of. With our local tattoo artist.”

Rory was still staring at the celebrity look-alike Aura. “Your astrologer,” he repeated. “And a tattoo artist.” Then he sighed as he continued to watch them approach. “Of course they’re your astrologer and a tattoo artist,” he grumbled. “Just some of southern California’s finest and freakiest.”

“And two of my very best friends,” Jilly said cheerfully. Two friends bound to direct Rory’s line of thought away from the passionate. She could only hope it would work for herself as well. “So be nice.”

“Nice?”

“Just think of them as potential voters,” she told him, and then her friends arrived and she was making introductions. Dr. John gave Rory a hearty handshake, and Aura not only shook Rory’s hand but continued to hold his palm in her own, turning it face-up for an inspection.

With an intent expression on her face, she handed over her thick, gold-edged book to Jilly and used the fingers of her now-free hand to trace the lines on Rory’s palm. He surprised Jilly by taking the attention without rancor or ridicule.

“Hmm,” the older woman said, almost in appreciation. “Success, long life, good health. You’re a very lucky young man.”

Rory shot an amused look at Jilly. “Not lucky tonight,” he said.

Aura glanced at Jilly and her mouth turned up in a secret smile. She ran her fingers over
Rory’s palm again. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. The night’s not over yet.”

“You’re right.” Rory chuckled. “I’ve never met a fortune-teller, but I’m beginning to regret that fact.”

Jilly made a face at him. “She’s an astrologer, not a fortune-teller.” She turned to Aura, frowning, as she watched the older woman continue to hold Rory’s hand. “I didn’t know you read palms.”

A mischievous smile broke over Aura’s face and her eyes twinkled with glee, Martha Stewart planning another impossible-for-humans-to-reproduce cake decorating project. “You caught me. I don’t. But it’s not every day I get to hold the hand of such a delicious-looking man.”

Rory and Dr. John laughed.

Jilly shook her head. “Aura, his ego is already too big. You’re supposed to be helping me cut him down to size.”

Aura released Rory’s hand and took back her book. “I’m sorry, hon, but I fell in love with this young man’s grandfather when I was a little girl, and his father not many years later.”

She turned to Rory again. “I was sorry to hear of your grandfather’s passing. It seems like the end of an era. But your father, is he well?”

The expression on Rory’s face cooled. “He’s living in France.”

“Ah.” Aura nodded, as if he’d actually answered her question. “You Aquarians are passing through a long period of trouble with family.”

If possible, Rory looked even more distant. “Is that so.”

Aura nodded again. “Yes. Jilly told me the two of you share a birthday.”

Jilly had forgotten that.

Rory perked up. “She talks about me?”

Jilly gritted her teeth. “As little as I can.”

Dr. John laughed and shook his head. “Dink, Dink, Dink.”

By rights, the glare Jilly sent him should have pierced a few more holes in the big man’s skin. “What?”

But Rory saved her from any secrets Dr. John might have spilled. “‘Dink’? What’s this about ‘Dink’?” he asked.

Dr. John laughed again, his deep bass almost shaking the floorboards. “Dink, as in dink-y. Dinky and demure, that’s our Jilly.”

Rory looked like he might fall over in a faint. “Demure? You think she’s demure? We must know different women.”

Aura reached out to touch his arm. “That’s just
so
Aquarius of you. You air signs get so confused by the wrappings that you never look at the package itself.”

She flipped open her book, ran her finger down a page, then told Rory, “But you’ll have a chance to do better next month. On the fourteenth, when Venus and your ruler, Uranus, join together. Take advantage of it.”

Rory just stared at her. “Excuse me?”

Instead of explaining, she merely shook her head and snapped shut her book. “Oh, and you Aquarians are so stubborn, too. You’re much, much too unwilling to alter your course once you’ve decided on one. Jilly’s like that as well.”

“I’ve noticed.” Rory smiled at Aura, suddenly oozing charm. “Maybe you have some advice for her on that. It seems she listens to you quite a bit.”

Aura’s eyes rounded. “What?”

Rory gestured at her book. “Maybe there’s something in there that can persuade Jilly to…soften a little. To…well, it’s a personal matter, but I’m sure she’d listen to you, as you
are
her astrologer.” He wore the kind of indulgent look that said, while he didn’t buy anything Aura had in that book for a minute, he was willing to tolerate the whims of the dinky little featherbrain beside him.

Jilly went hot again. First, because of his patronizing, smug, it’s-all-B.S. attitude, and second, because…

Jilly didn’t buy anything Aura had in that book for a minute either.

Call her too pragmatic, or unimaginative, or not in touch with her intuitive side, but when Aura offered her advice and pronouncements, Jilly usually let them slide right through one ear and straight out the other.

So when she’d told him that day on the boat that it was inauspicious for them to kiss according to her astrologer, and when she’d said that kind of stuff at the picnic and then again tonight, she’d just been giving him a convenient excuse.

Dr. John was laughing so hard he was in danger of popping a nose ring. Aura looked from Rory to Jilly in total bewilderment.

Jilly swallowed, trying to save the situation. “What Rory means is, he knows how much I
treasure you, Aura. After all, you’ve been like a mother to me.” As if her gesture were completely impulsive, she reached out and hugged Aura, while urgently whispering in her ear, “I’ll explain later. Just pretend I come to you for consultations.”

Some people are the type to not question urgent whisperings. Some people quickly catch on to the gist of situations. Unfortunately, Aura was not one of them.

She pushed away from Jilly, her hair quivering as she shook her head. “But, dear, you
don’t
come to me for consultations—you’re aware of that. Why, I happen to know that when you turn to page E-seven of the
Los Angeles Gazette
, it’s strictly for the daily crossword puzzle. You don’t even glance at your horoscope!”

Busted
.

Jilly couldn’t think of anything to do but chew her bottom lip and avoid Rory’s direct gaze. But out of the corner of her eye she saw that one of Rory’s eyebrows had winged up in that devilish way again.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “As I recall, you told me several times that this was ’inauspicious’ or that was ‘inadvisable’ according to your astrologer.”

Dr. John’s laughter resurged, with such strength that his guffaws turned into eye-watering coughs. Coughs that absolutely required a glass of water, claimed Aura, as she took John’s arm and led him off. Jilly stared after the two, suspecting they’d deliberately left her alone with Rory.

Traitors.

“I’m thirsty, too,” she said, shuffling backward.

He reached across the distance between them and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Not so fast, Dinky.” Gently, firmly, he pulled her closer to him, slow inch by slow inch.

Jilly’s heart started up a bossa nova in her chest. He wasn’t the kind of man who would like to be made a fool of, and she was afraid that was exactly what he’d think she’d been trying to do.

Maybe she could render him brain-dead with that sweater-arms-breasts move again! But no, her Sister Bernadette training prevented her from doing something so out-and-out sleazy. There was nothing else but to face the consequences, whatever they might be.

And then something redirected his attention. He glanced over her head, and his disgruntled expression instantly became one of puzzlement. His hold on her hair loosened absently and she scuttled back. Reprieve!

That was what she thought, until she turned to see what or whom she had to thank.

Kim.

“Where do I know her from?” Rory murmured. He narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin. “She’s so damn familiar.”

Jilly’s bossa-nova heartbeat sped to merengue rhythm.
No
. He couldn’t put Kim and Iris together
now
. Yes, it was all going to have to come out sometime, but that sometime was some time much later. Sometime when he wasn’t already irritated by her little astrology deception. Sometime when they could have a calm, rational dis
cussion about Iris and the custody issue. When that happened, Jilly wanted him to know her, like her, trust her.

Definitely not now. So what could she do to distract him?

He rubbed his chin again, drawing Jilly’s attention to his wicked, midnight-at-the-oasis mouth.

Did she…did she dare?

A little thrill of excitement rushed through her as the inspiration struck. It was all so simple, really.

“Now, who—” he began.

Jilly rose up on her toes. She threw her arms around Rory’s neck.

And then she kissed him.

His mouth burned Jilly’s. She made a little sound and tried escaping the raw heat, but his arm came around her like a vise. The silk of his shirtsleeve pressed against the bare flesh of her back, exposed where her sweater had ridden up.

Then, abruptly, his arm slid off her skin. He grasped her upper arms and jerked her away from him. “Not here,” he said hoarsely.

Certain they’d been scorched, Jilly touched her lips with trembling fingers. She gulped in a breath, but the oxygen it provided was quickly used up as he starting towing her across the gallery, his hand shackling her wrist.

From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the bright gold of Kim’s hair.
Good
. Kim was far away, in the opposite direction to the one Rory was heading in. At the moment, though, Jilly couldn’t think why that was so important. She frowned and pulled back on the arm Rory was using as a leash.

He swung around. “No.” His eyes pinned hers, then dropped, to focus on her mouth. “Don’t even think about it. You’re coming with me.”

Jilly’s stomach lurched. She should resist, she thought vaguely. But there was his mouth’s rough heat and the cunning way it had of stealing into other parts of her body, warming her so deliciously.

He pulled her forward again, and she let herself be led astray. For just a few minutes, she told herself, she could indulge this strangely wanton impulse. One kiss, two at the most.

He’d already slayed her with three when she found herself outside, fighting for breath, her head whirling. Some sort of male instinct had unerringly directed him to the gallery’s back door. He’d pulled her through it and out into the tiny, deserted delivery area. Then he’d pushed her against the stucco wall and proceeded to sear away any sensible thoughts.

“Jilly,” he whispered, his voice as tempting as a secret. “You need to open for me, sweetheart.”

In the near-complete darkness, he was an inky shadow. His body was barely touching hers, but with the cold stucco against her back and his hot presence just grazing the budded tips of her breasts, she felt erotically caged.

“Open for me,” he commanded again.

Jilly just couldn’t think clearly enough to obey. “The door?” she said, bewildered.

His big hands left the wall on either side of her head to cup her face. “Your mouth, sweetheart. Open your mouth.”

“Oh—”

That was all he needed. His lips touched hers again, soft as a child’s kiss this time, but then his
tongue slipped inside. The tip of his tongue met hers.

Jilly’s body jerked.

He groaned, and leaned into her, supporting her suddenly Jell-O knees with his heavy, hot weight. His tongue boldly stroked, sliding against hers, and she jerked again. Rory caressed her cheeks with his thumbs, as if to soothe her, but the touch only stoked the strange fire coursing through her body.

His tongue left her mouth, and she wanted it back, desperately. The urgent need made her push toward him, made her rub against his big body.

He groaned again and his hands dropped to her hips. He pulled them against his, tilting her into him. His arousal pressed into the vee of her thighs, making her blush, but then his tongue plunged back into her mouth, and the warmth of her skin was nothing compared to the sinful fire burning in her blood, or to the wet heat that suddenly rushed, liquid, between her thighs.

Jilly heard herself moan, and she had to grab onto his shoulders to keep herself upright. Her fingernails dug into his hard muscles as he pressed in a deliberate rhythm into her mouth with his tongue, and against her body with his hips.

Shuddering in reaction to the overwhelming stimulation, Jilly could only open herself more to him, widening her mouth, widening her stance. Rory’s tongue plunged again and he pushed his leg between hers. His hard thigh found the source of all the warm wetness, and he pressed.

Jilly jerked so strongly, the back of her head struck the stucco and broke their kiss.

“Easy, easy,” he whispered. His thigh continued its delicious, tingle-inducing pressure as he gently explored the back of her head. “Are you okay?”

“I’m dizzy,” she said. The tingles were everywhere, legs, arms, flesh, brain.

He chuckled. “Me, too, honey.” Then he bent his head and kissed her neck.

Jilly moaned again, the suction and heat of his mouth and the feel of his leg between hers too much to keep quiet about. She turned her head against the wall to give him better access, and his mouth traveled downward. He licked the skin over the pulse at her neck.

Clever, naughty tongue.

Then it licked lower, heading between the buttons of her sweater. Jilly’s muscles stiffened and her nipples hardened into even more aching points.

He pressed harder against her with his thigh, setting fire to all those wild tingles, and his hand came up to the fourth button of her sweater.

Jilly’s hand grabbed his.

It startled them both.

“Honey,” he said, his voice that seductive, hoarse whisper. “Let me.”

She didn’t let go. In Jilly’s mind, an image of Sister Bernadette was pacing before a green blackboard, her habit whirling around her ankles to expose her black orthopedic shoes.
Stop them
, the stern sister urged.
This is what the bad boys want
.

Jilly gulped, her heart racing. Sister Bernadette had never covered what to do if the good girl wanted it, too. And she wanted it so badly, with every pound of her heart, with every pulsing ache of heat between her legs. But Jilly knew she had to stop him from touching her breasts, because—

He kissed her again, hot, soft, and wet.

Because…she had no idea why.

Then he lifted his head, his breath ragged. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t go nunnish on me now.”

Nunnish. Sister Bernadette
.

“No.” Jilly twisted away from him, stumbling out of his persuasive reach. She’d taken vows, almost nunnish vows, and if Rory touched her breasts she knew she’d completely forget them. From the start, he’d brought out the bad in her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But no.”

Desperate to get away from him, she whirled, searching in the darkness for the knob to the back door.

“Jilly—” He came toward her.

“No!” Her hand found the knob, twisted it, then she dived inside the gallery, losing herself in the noisy crowd.

At the entrance to a large walk-in closet, Rory stared at the delectable sight of a sweetly rounded backside covered in denim and embroidery. He gritted his teeth as Jilly bent over to retrieve a hanger at her feet.

“There you are,” he said.

With a tiny shriek, she jumped two feet into the closet, falling on her knees.

Rory crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t feel the least bit guilty for having startled her. This room had once been his father’s and was thickly carpeted, even the closet. Anyway, a little discomfort was nothing compared to what she’d done to him. Three nights ago she’d left him harder than a flagpole, so hard he’d spent fifteen minutes in the cool night air getting himself under control.

Long enough for her to get away.

Not long enough for him to come to his senses. He’d been dead set on getting her back in his arms.

But when he’d finally cooled down a little and ventured back inside, the flash of a photographer’s camera had returned his good sense. Christ, they’d been
this
close to becoming even more tabloid fodder. If he’d gotten his hands on Jilly’s spectacular breasts, no doubt he would have had her tight skirt pushed up and himself pushed inside, right there against the goddamn wall.

That
would have given
Celeb! on TV
quite a ratings boost.

And would have brought him as low as his grandfather and father. The thought made him sick. The last thing he wanted was for Jilly to be further compromised.

As he watched, Jilly shook herself free of some tangled silk garments on the closet floor and got back on her feet. With a slow turn, she faced him, her eyes kitten-wide and wary. “What do you want?”

You
. Because beneath those wide eyes was
enough sexual dynamite to blast this entire ghost-filled monstrosity sky-high. Which was why he shouldn’t allow himself within a spark’s distance from her again, engagement or no engagement.

He sighed. “The minute I saw you, I knew you were trouble.” And that gray cloud above him just continued to darken. Because, despite the danger of an explosion between them, he was going to beg a favor from her.

She retreated deeper into the closet, sucking on her lower lip. Sighing again, he ventured closer. The small area was well lit, and he could detect her fast, nervous breaths as her chest moved in and out beneath an embroidered denim shirt. She made a vague gesture that sent some of the clothes on the rack swaying. “I guess—I guess I should have talked with you first thing this morning.”

Still enjoying her obvious discomfort with not a particle of guilt, he raised one brow and leaned his shoulder against the jamb of the closet door. “Yes?”

Her hand gestured again. “We should talk about that night.”

Hmm
. He hadn’t really considered what her reaction would be after running away from him, but now he could see she was agitated. Nervous.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

And sorry. He mulled the sentiment over. Sorry could work for him, perhaps even give him the upper hand with her, something he desperately needed. Especially because he needed her to agree to this favor. “What—”

Clattering and yelling from the hall outside the room interrupted him. Greg, Iris, Mrs. Mack, and God knew who else were running around this wing of the house, calling out the name of that cursed escape artist of a chinchilla.

Rory muttered under his breath and stepped inside the closet, half closing the door behind him to block out the search party’s noise. “What exactly are you sorry about?”

Hesitating, she sucked on her bottom lip again, giving Rory time to examine today’s selection of wacky vintage wear. The flared jeans were embroidered in a nature theme, and, he had to admit, quite spectacularly. Three decades ago some young woman with way too much time had hand-stitched vibrantly colored trees, flowers, and butterflies, almost completely covering the denim. Rory narrowed his eyes. Some young woman with way too much time and a sense of humor. A green-leafed tree grew up the left pant leg, and one of its branches stretched right across the front of the jeans. It was an apple tree.

And a juicy red piece of the fruit was embroidered to hang right over the bottom of the zipper placket, right over the vee of Jilly’s thighs.

God
.

“I shouldn’t have let you do that,” Jilly said suddenly.

His gaze jumped away from the apple to her face, which was a little red, too. He frowned. “Do what?”

“Kiss me.” She hesitated again. “And, you know…against the wall.”

“I agree.” He couldn’t stop his slow smile.
“Against black satin sheets would have been a huge improvement.”

Her eyes rounded. “What?
No
!” He could tell she was thinking about it, though. Her cheeks turned even redder. “Bl-black satin?”

She was made for black satin. He could see her pale skin and her dusting of gold freckles against the sleek darkness. “Honey, you need to find yourself a better class of lovers. Black satin is a definite yes.”

She was silent for another moment, and then she shook her head, as if freeing herself from a fantasy. “No. You don’t understand. I’m trying to tell you I don’t want to do that type of thing at all. It’s just not fair.”

Not that he was so sure doing “that type” of thing with her again was wise either, but the “just not fair” roused his curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

Her mouth, that lush, sweet mouth, primmed. “Sister Bernadette—”

“We’re not going to talk about your convent upbringing again, are we?” It gave birth to all sorts of unholy fantasies of his own, mostly centered around Jilly’s luscious curves molded by a naughty corset and then covered by a gray school uniform.

She lowered her eyebrows and plodded on. “Sister Bernadette told us about…about men. Well, she told us about boys, but I’m certain the same thing applies.”

This was getting curiouser and curiouser. Suddenly Rory found himself enthralled. He rocked back on his heels. “Go on,” he prompted.

She shuffled her feet. She was still standing among some fallen clothing and he thought he saw one of the disarrayed piles shift strangely.

“The sister explained that when you let—” Taking a breath, Jilly began again. “The sister explained that when you let a boy, a male, touch your—”

“Kiss! Kiss!” Whistles, more calls, and little smacking sounds penetrated through the half-closed closet door as the chinchilla search party made another pass near by.

Determined not to be interrupted just when things were getting interesting, Rory leaned back against the closet door, closing it with a solid click. “Touch your what?” he asked innocently.

“Touch your…” With her hands, Jilly gestured in the vicinity of her shirt. “You know.”

Rory narrowed his eyes. That shirt was a piece of erotic suggestion, too. Clouds floated and robins flew in the shirt’s sky-blue “air.” The birds carried cherries in their embroidered beaks, and two of the succulent pieces of fruit appeared to be falling through the air, right over Jilly’s nipples.

He shuffled himself now, shoving his hands in his pockets to ease the fit of his jeans. “Touch your cherries, you mean?” With his chin, he indicated her shirt.

Jilly looked down, blushed redder, looked quickly back up. “Yes,” she said faintly.

Rory couldn’t help himself. “But I
didn’t
touch your cherries,” he pointed out.

“Well, yes.” She cleared her throat. “That’s exactly right—”

“But I
did
touch your apple.” So sue him, but
this was getting fun. And paying her back with a little teasing was almost worth the discomfort he was causing himself. “Some might consider it even
more
intimate, by the way.”

“My apple?” Jilly said blankly. Then she froze. After a moment she shifted her legs and looked down.