This Perfect Kiss (17 page)

“Tone myself down?” she asked softly.

He swallowed. “I just think the senator might be offended by any clothing too outrageous, you understand? And if you could keep any talk of aromatherapy or astrology or anything else you might or might not be interested in to a minimum, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Hmm.” She sucked her lower lip as if lost in thought, but he wondered if she might really be holding back a smile.

His heartbeat quickened. He wanted
something
to go right in these last few weeks before he became the upright, respectable Blue Party U.S. senatorial candidate. And the day he kicked off his campaign, he’d savor the image of his profligate grandfather rolling over in his grave.

“Hmm,” Jilly said again, apparently still musing.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, trying not to sound overeager.

She sucked a moment longer, then looked up at him, a little smile curving her mouth. “Yes.”

And if he saw an odd gleam in her green eyes,
he ignored it, because he couldn’t afford to be suspicious. And he was so relieved, he leaned into her, his palms flat against the door. Only a small thank-you buss on that well-sucked lower lip, he swore to himself. But just as his mouth reached her mouth, the door gave way.

Jilly stumbled back. Rory stumbled forward. His forehead whacked her chin. She cried out, he grunted, and then Kiss squealed in delight as he dashed up Rory’s back, leaped from his shoulder onto Jilly’s hair, and from there swan-dived to the floor.

As Rory rubbed his smarting head and Jilly gingerly touched her chin, they both watched the rodent escape from the room.

With another long-suffering sigh—not the last he’d ever release in her presence, he feared—Rory shot her a sidelong glance. “Has it ever occurred to you we bring out the worst in each other?”

In the small office at Things Past, Kim frowned at her computer monitor, trying to concentrate. Thoughts of Jilly kept intruding, though. She’d left early that morning for her San Francisco weekend, and the mischievous smile she’d worn didn’t bode well for Rory Kincaid.

At the knock on the open door, Kim lifted her head, welcoming the interruption.

Except when she saw that the interruption was Greg. Her palm instantly itched with a ghostly tickle, a trace of the memory of his hair against her hand. She swallowed. “No, Greg, I—”

A little girl appeared from behind him, peeking around his thigh even as the rest of her stayed hidden. Her small hand gripped Greg’s worn jeans and she observed Kim with eyes that startling shade of Kincaid blue.

The child’s hair was a familiar gold.

Iris
.

She popped out of sight. Kim blinked, then rubbed her eyes. Maybe she’d imagined her…

But Greg was watching Kim closely as he reached behind him to pull the small figure back
into view. He had a hand on each one of her little shoulders and she leaned trustingly back against his legs. “Kim,” he said quietly. “This is my aunt, Iris Kincaid.” He cleared his throat. “Iris, this is—”

“Kim.” She didn’t even know she could speak, let alone move, but she found herself out of her chair and hunching down to child level. “Hello, Iris.” Kim’s heart was racing, yet she forced herself to be calm as she smiled at the little girl.

Greg tugged on Iris’s long hair. “Say hello, sweetheart.”

Iris ducked her head instead.

Kim looked up at Greg and he shrugged. Then he cleared his throat again. “We wondered if you wanted to come to the beach with us.”

Kim wondered if this was a dream. She was thinking of pinching herself when Iris muttered. “What’s that?” Kim asked.

The little girl stuck out her lower lip, then raised her voice. “
He
wants you to come to the beach with us.”

Pinch
. Oddly enough, Kim found her lips twitching. “Ah,” she said, holding back her smile. She welcomed any of Iris’s moods. It was enough to watch the child breathe, the child she had given birth to, the child she’d so lovingly tended for the six weeks she was allowed to be a mother. “But you’re not so sure you want to share him.”

“Iris,” Greg said warningly.

“It’s okay,” Kim said, standing to give herself some distance before she scared Iris to death by grabbing her up in her arms. “I’m just happy to
have met you.” Kim met Greg’s eyes. “That’s enough,” she lied.

Greg gently tugged on Iris’s hair again. “Give me a break here, bug,” he said lightly, though his expression was serious and his eyes so darn watchful.

Kim tried to appear uncaring.

“All right,” Iris said grudgingly, looking down at her red sneakers. “She can come.”

Kim almost cried.

The drive to the coast was quiet. Kim was afraid to say anything, Iris apparently didn’t feel like talking, and the traffic occupied Greg. Once they reached the beach, he filled his arms with a Mexican-striped cotton blanket and a huge bucket filled with sand toys. “Hold Kim’s hand while we cross the parking lot,” he told Iris calmly.

Apparently used to the “hold a grown-up’s hand” rule and maybe distracted by the nearby promise of the white sand, Iris lifted her fingers toward Kim without protest. Kim hesitated, half terrified and half elated. She could
touch
her daughter.

“Hurry
up
.” Impatient with the delay, Iris matter-of-factly grabbed Kim’s hand herself, to immediately start dragging her in the direction of the low wall separating parking lot from sand.

The muscles of Kim’s hand cramped in an effort not to squeeze her daughter’s too tightly. Such a small palm, she thought with amazement, and such little fingers. But so much bigger than the little fists that baby Iris used to hold close to
her infant cheeks. The wonder of the changes had barely registered before Iris dropped Kim’s hand and hopped over the wall. She ran straight toward the crashing waves, twenty-five yards of sand away.

“Iris!” Kim heard the fear in her voice. She started in her own dead run.

“She’ll be fine.” Greg called out, halting her. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Her heart still pounding, Kim took in a long breath of salty air and had to admit Greg was right. Once Iris neared the sand packed hard by earlier waves, she spun around and ran back toward them, smiling with glee, her arms flapping in the breeze.

With her gaze Kim traced the curve of her daughter’s smile. “She looks…”

“Just like you,” Greg said. He trudged past her for a few feet and dropped his load down onto the sand.

She hurried to help him unfold the blanket, always keeping one eye on Iris, who swooped and hopped across the beach like a creature half-seagull, half-sandpiper. With the striped cotton stretched between her and Greg, the fringe fluttering like the excitement in Kim’s belly, she met Greg’s eyes. “Why?” she asked. “Thank you, but why?”

Why had he offered her this gift of an afternoon with her daughter? Why would he do such a thing when she’d hurt him?

His gaze cut away to the pounding waves and he didn’t answer.

Once the blanket was laid out and the bucket
upended, Iris danced around the beach for just a few more minutes before she settled onto the sand with the toys. Kim looked over at Greg for a clue to what to do, but he’d stretched out on the blanket and closed his eyes.

Swallowing hard, Kim edged toward Iris slowly. Sitting down a few feet from her daughter, she slipped out of her ratty running shoes and socks and dug her feet into the sand. The top inch was warm, while just below, it was cold and damp. Winter sand. For the past four years Kim had been just like that. Only an inch of her warm and alive, while just below, the rest of her had lain cold and untouched.

Iris glanced at her. “Aren’t you going to help?”

Kim started. Her daughter wanted her help. “Oh. Okay. What are we building? Asand castle?”

Iris curled her small upper lip. Kim bit back another smile, because the forthright gesture reminded her of Jilly. Forthright was good. Kim had the feeling she could learn a lot from her daughter. “No castle?” she guessed.

Iris made another moue of disgust, her face clearly asking if she had to explain
everything
to grown-ups. “I
live
in a castle. What I like to make is sand houses.”

Sand houses. Kim scooted closer, blinking away the sting of tears in her eyes. The princess in the castle wanted to make sand
houses
. She didn’t trust her voice, so she merely followed Iris’s orders for a while, filling the bucket with saltwater, collecting bits of shells and seaweed to decorate the small cottages that Iris molded and patted into shape.

In a circle of sand about eight feet in diameter, she industriously constructed a whole community of houses, some close together, some farther apart. Each one was built and decorated slightly differently, though the most elaborately adorned house was also the smallest, standing in the center of the circle. The wind whipped Iris’s long hair across her face, but she didn’t seem to notice as she carefully placed the last shell into the small house’s side.

“There,” she said finally. “Done.”

At the pronouncement, Greg opened his eyes and shifted closer to Iris’s community. “Looks good,” he said. “Why don’t you tell Kim about it?”

Something in his voice suddenly scared Kim. “Oh, I can just enjoy the pretty sight,” she said quickly. Lord knew she was good at protecting herself from the hard stuff.

Iris was staring at her. “You don’t want to know about my houses?”

Kim briefly closed her eyes. “Of-of course I do.”

The little girl spread her slim arms. “This is IrisLand.”

Kim swallowed. “You mean, like Disneyland?”

Iris curled her lip again. “Nuh-uh. Like…” She looked at Greg for help.

“It’s not an amusement park,” he said, his eyes fixed on the child. “It’s where Iris would like to live…and how she would like to live, I guess. More like Mister Rogers’s neighborhood.”

Iris jumped to her feet. “I have a house for everyone I like. See—” She pointed to a large cottage near the center. “This one is for Mrs. Mack. I make it plenty big because she likes to clean.”

Kim remembered the Caidwater housekeeper. “I’m sure she’d thank you for all that space to keep tidy,” she said seriously.

With a nod, Iris skipped to some other houses. There was one for her former nanny, the maids, the gardeners, even one for Greg’s agent. A big house, yet unclaimed, stood by itself, almost completely out of the boundaries of IrisLand.

“Who gets that one?” Kim asked curiously, pointing to it.

Iris made an unnameable face. “That one is for my nephew Rory.”

Greg choked out a laugh. “You keep making his farther and farther away, Iris. How nice is that? You know you like him a little bit.”

Iris ignored him, instead skipping to the center of the circle to drop down beside the smallest, most lovingly built house. “And
this
one belongs to me and Greg.”

Kim stilled, her feet deep in the cold, damp sand. “You and Greg?”

“We’ll live in it always, me and Greg, happy ever after.”

Kim smiled a little, obviously the little girl had a big-time crush on him.

“I’ll call him Daddy.”

Daddy. This wasn’t a little girl’s romantic crush after all. She wanted to live in a small, normal house and she wanted Greg to be her daddy.

“Iris.”
Pain filled Greg’s voice.

Kim stared at him. She’d thought all the hurt in regard to Iris was her own. But it etched his features, too, even as the wind toyed with his boyish
cowlick. Suddenly he didn’t look so young anymore.

Just add this, Kim thought, to her collection of sins.

Iris chatted the rest of the afternoon away. At some point she even warmed up enough to give Kim a pick of houses in her neighborhood. Kim noted, however, that Iris limited her selection to one of three that were almost as far-flung as Rory’s.

But Kim well knew that all good things came to an end, so when Greg announced it was time to go, she didn’t cry like Iris did, though she wanted to.

The sun was setting and the late afternoon breeze was cold, but it was toasty inside the car. Within minutes Iris was asleep in the backseat and even Kim felt deliciously warm, almost all the way to her heart. A quiet song played through the car’s speakers, and Kim let the softness wash over her.

No matter what, she had this memory. She could smell the salt air in her hair and if she closed her eyes, she could—miracle of miracles—still feel the sensation of Iris’s hand in her own.

“We’re here.” Greg’s voice startled Kim awake.

She blinked. It was full dark now, and they were parked outside Things Past. She whipped her head around. No. It hadn’t all been a dream. Her daughter still lay curled in the backseat, sleeping heavily.

In the glow from a streetlight, Kim memorized her daughter’s features from the small, almost turned-up nose to the half-moon curves of her
eyelashes. Without thinking, Kim reached out to touch her, but then she snatched her hand back. Maybe it was better not to ask for more. Never to want more.

“You asked me why I did it.” Greg’s voice was quiet and sure, like a shoulder to lean on in the darkness. “You wanted to know why I brought her to you today.”

“Yes,” Kim whispered. She continued to memorize the beauty of her daughter. It was easier than looking at the only man who had ever touched her heart.

“Because I love her,” he said.

Kim flinched, her knees drawing toward her chest as if to reflexively protect herself. Then, damn him, he made it worse.

“Because I love you. I always have.”

She froze and all the coldness came rushing back into her body. Stiff and unable to move, she was completely unaware of the tears coursing down her cheeks until Greg unbuckled her seat belt and turned her to face him. He had his hands on her shoulders, then her arms, and then he was wiping the tears away with his thumbs. But his touch didn’t penetrate her numbness.

He loved her.

Crying about it was only going to confuse Greg and cause him even more hurt, yet the tears kept coming. She stared at his beautiful and bewildered face through them. He was still wiping her tears away and she still couldn’t feel his hands.

He loved her
.

Nobody had ever said he loved her before.

Dressed in his tuxedo, Rory paced outside the closed door of the second bedroom in his suite at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in San Francisco. His head hurt from too many cups of coffee during the day-long meeting with the Blue Party strategists.

His jaw hurt, too, from gritting his teeth every ninety seconds or so, which was how often the image of Jilly had popped into his head—the image of how she’d looked this morning when he’d picked her up on the way to the airport. In a leopard-print coat and matching round hat, she’d ducked into the passenger seat of his Mercedes wearing a little smile that announced she didn’t care what he thought of her outfit.

He’d thought it was nuts.

No, he’d thought
he
was nuts.

How had he hoped to successfully pull off this dinner with the senator and the other Blue Party bigwigs with Jilly in tow? It was an idea as ridiculous as whatever get-up she was likely wiggling into at this very instant. He cleared his throat. “Are you almost ready?”

Oh, please God, nothing leopard-spotted or tiger-striped
.

A muffled response came through the other side of the door.

He closed his eyes, his gray cloud weighing heavily on his shoulders. If she walked through that door in something outrageous, how would he explain her to the senator? Rory cleared his throat again. “Um. Jilly. I don’t know if I made clear how imperative it is that we make a good impression tonight.”

“You mean, that
I
make a good impression.” Her voice was clear as a bell this time. Wry, too.

Rory ignored the wryness. “The senator is naturally interested in the woman I’ve been…spending a lot of my time with. He’s put a lot of confidence in me, and I’ve got a lot at stake with him.”