This Perfect Kiss (7 page)

With Iris in the canoe once more, he paddled swiftly back toward the boathouse. He had that meeting to get to. As a matter of fact, he should probably be grateful to Jilly and her astrology-induced reluctance, because he was already cutting the time pretty close. A kiss might have caused an unexplainable delay. That disaster he’d expected.

Yeah, he should be grateful.

But he wasn’t, because as he headed back, that something-bad-is-gonna-happen dread dropped over him again like a suffocating shroud.

With the boathouse, golf cart, and waterfall in sight, he slowed the canoe. He glanced at Jilly’s back, her posture straight and serene-looking in that white blouse.

Suddenly another impulse surged inside him, an impulse growing out of some emotion he didn’t even recognize—perhaps part kissless frustration, perhaps part just plain sick and tired of waiting for the worst to happen. He tried controlling the dangerous inspiration, he really did, but it was rash and unreasonable and pissed as hell.

The reckless impulse drove him. Drove him to
paddle past the golf cart and paddle past the boathouse and then forward still. Iris shrieked with delight as he flirted with the steamy-looking outer spray of the waterfall.

Then Jilly gave him a look over her shoulder, just one startled look, as if she guessed what he was planning. The spray had sprinkled water-drop jewels in her hair, and her soft mouth was molded in the form of a “No,” but Rory thought, Yes. Oh, baby,
yes
.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said.

A month ago, a week ago, even an hour ago he wouldn’t have. But something about the canoe pond and the memory of the boy who had once played there made him brash. Or maybe it was that Jilly’s
Lost in Space
lunchpail had put him in touch with his inner child. That was a fine, southern California, psychobabble excuse.

And then there was his gut-deep certainty that something was about to go wrong anyway.

So just get it over with
. A devilish voice whispered sultry temptation in his ear.
Go ahead and drop the damn anvil yourself
.

It seemed like a hell of a good idea. One quick way to dissolve the dread for all time.

Two hard paddle strokes. Three, and then they pierced the cold apron of the water. Iris laughed and the water clattered like a thousand wet tap dancers against the aluminum canoe, and by the time they made it through, all three of them were completely drenched.

Satisfaction waved over Rory, a satisfaction that didn’t die even when he brought the canoe back to shore and even though Jilly hadn’t
uttered one word. Just to be on the safe side, though, he avoided looking at her for the entire return trip in the golf cart. Certainly she’d expect some sort of logical, reasonable explanation, and he didn’t have one that would make sense to her. Yet he was glad he’d taken care of the hovering problem himself.

But when they were back on land and within squinting distance of the rear terrace, that satisfaction suddenly evaporated and he felt his gut fall toward his sopping shoes.

Dammit. A collection of suits. Just like his premonition, the Blue Party strategic team, including, most likely, the “forceful” Charlie Jax, was early. They were waiting for him on the terrace. He slid a glance Jilly’s way and groaned. Shrink-wrapped clothes, all right. The dousing had made her white blouse nearly invisible and he could see the lace-edged outline of her bra and the rise of remarkable flesh almost bursting out of it.

Beneath his own clammy jeans, his body hardened and he broke out in a sweat.

“Who’s that, Rory?” Iris asked, pointing at the dark-suited group.

Jilly pushed a wet, squiggly strand of hair from her face and raised her eyebrows in question too.

“That’s some people I’m meeting with. A political team.” God. He and Iris looked like wet seals and Jilly the voluptuous mermaid that watched over them. Nothing close to the straight-arrow image the Blue Party wanted for its candidates.

He dragged his gaze away from Jilly’s breasts. “They’re here for an important meeting and…and I’m an idiot.” A horny idiot.

Jilly shot him a look. “I’ll second that.”

He winced. Damn. What had he been thinking? It had seemed inevitable at the time, but now his actions were quite obviously asinine. He drove a hand through his wet hair. Blame these bad decisions and bad ideas on being back at this place. Because he was usually so smart, so focused, so unswayed by a pretty face…or a to-drool-for body.

“Listen,” he said to Jilly quickly. “These people hold my future in their hands. I’m being considered for candidacy in the U.S. Sen—”

“I heard,” she interrupted, frowning as if the idea brought a sour taste to her mouth.

He ignored her expression. “It’s really important I make the best impression I possibly can.”

“Dry
would have been a huge improvement, then,” she said sarcastically.

Ouch
. So she wasn’t going to be a big help right now. He could hardly blame her.

Still determined to salvage the situation, he gazed in the direction of the wide flight of steps leading up to the terrace and the team, excuses and explanations parading through his mind. “There’s got to be some way to fix it,” he muttered. If not, the Blue Party strategists might strategize his ass right out of the candidacy.

A thought struck him. “How about this.” He paused and turned around to face Jilly and Iris. “What if we say I saved you both from drowning?”

Jilly rolled her eyes. “We’ll say you’re a big fat liar, won’t we, Iris?”

The little girl grinned. “Big fat liar,” she repeated gleefully.

He winced again. “Okay, fine. But how about if—”

“Greg!” Iris suddenly shrieked, staring over Rory’s shoulder.

Rory turned around. Apparently during the time he had been creating thorny problems for himself, his brother had unexpectedly returned to Caidwater. Greg trotted down the terrace steps toward them.

Iris hurtled past Rory. Greg grinned, bracing himself as the little girl met him halfway and threw herself at him. His arms closed tightly around her as she hit his chest.

Rory moved toward Greg more slowly, with Jilly somewhere behind him. He watched his brother squeeze his aunt in a tight hug.

“Hey, bug,” Greg said, and kissed the top of her wet head. He raised his eyebrows at Rory. “Hey, bro.” Then his grin widened as his gaze moved on to Jilly.

Rory scowled back, remembering that transparent blouse and those don’t-forget-about-me breasts. His brother had no business staring at them. And then there was the way Iris had greeted Greg, while she treated him like burned oatmeal.

He looked away, and his scowl deepened. Now that he was this close, he could see the faces of the Blue Party team and their stunned expressions as they took in Jilly’s wet, provocative curves.

He opened his mouth, willing some half-plausible explanation out, but nothing came.

Damn and damn again
. Instead of immediately smoothing over the moment with the politicos, he quickly stripped off his shirt and shoved it in Jilly’s arms. “Put this on,” he said, meaning to turn away from her without a word. But she looked irritated and so much like a wet kitten ready to spit that he paused.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and tapped her damp, gold-dusted nose with his finger. He sighed, still looking at her as she covered those sweet curves with his dripping shirt.

Oh, yeah, he was sorry, all right. Because, after all, that ill-conceived drenching hadn’t changed or solved anything. That dark, doomed cloud was looming over him once more.

With nothing left but to brazen out the situation, Rory hauled in a deep breath and jogged up the steps to face the dark suits. With any luck, the team would just ignore what they’d seen.

But as he introduced himself and damply shook Charlie Jax’s hand, Rory quickly deduced the campaign director wasn’t the type of man to turn a blind eye to anything. As a matter of fact,
both
his small, dark eyes quickly shot in the direction of Jilly, who was ascending the stairs wearing Rory’s shirt and an undecipherable expression.

Jax’s thin face was equally inscrutable. “And this is…?” he asked.

Someone I promise to avoid from this moment on
. “My, um, a, uh, friend of mine.” Rory almost groaned out loud at his complete lack of suavity
and quickly focused on his brother and Iris, who were also heading up the steps in their direction. “And let me introduce you to Iris Kincaid and my brother, Greg Kincaid.” At least Greg’s hand was dry.

“The actor,” Jax said.

“That’s right.” Greg walked forward and gave the man’s hand a friendly shake, despite Jax’s clearly disapproving manner.

Rory quickly greeted the other three members of the Blue Party team. Then he pasted on a rueful smile. “If you’d just excuse me for a few minutes, I’ll join you shortly in the library for our meeting.”

Rory signaled his brother with his eyes, who thankfully and instantly got the message then guided Iris toward the house. That left Rory with the dripping and who-knew-how-mad Jilly. He clamped his hand around her arm. “Let me see you…out.” Yeah. Out was the safest place for her.

Charlie Jax’s voice stopped them in mid-stride. “Wait!”

Rory swung around reluctantly. “Yes?”

Jax smiled thinly. “You never said what happened. How did you get so…wet?”

Oh, there was a wealth of questions in that simple little word “wet.” What was Rory doing with a woman who looked like Jilly? What was Rory doing
wet
with a woman who looked like Jilly? “A little—mishap.” He didn’t dare look at Jilly’s face.

“Oh, my,” said Jax. He smiled another thin, knowing smile as he assessed Jilly’s damp, curvy
body. “We’ll need to ensure that such things aren’t a habit with you, Rory. Though certainly a mishap like this might be…tempting, the Blue Party demands more. As our candidate, we just can’t afford you any indiscretions.”

Rory forced himself to return the smile. The warning was loud and clear. “I understand,” he said. Which he did. A rising political career, especially a Blue Party political career for someone with the last name of Kincaid, didn’t need the kind of complication a wet woman in “GO WILD” pants provided.

The campaign director studied Rory. “Then I’m sure in future days you’ll keep your mishaps to a minimum, or at least more…
private
.”

Private, his ass. What Jax meant, of course, was that in future days a sweet treat like Jilly must be completely-off limits. Or else.

Or else the Blue Party would rethink its choice.

Rory nodded and took a firmer grip of Jilly’s arm, pretending he wasn’t the least bit aware of her delectable body or carefully blank expression. It was time to get her out of here.

Out of his sight. Out of his mind.

Except the minute he got her in the house she shook her arm free of his grip and planted her feet on the floor. The carefully blank expression evaporated. He thought maybe she was a little mad.

“I don’t like being called a mishap,” she said hotly.

Make that
really
mad. He cleared his throat. “Well—”

“And I particularly don’t like it after someone makes a pass, then passes me under a waterfall,
then tries to pass me off as their ‘uh, friend.’ I’m a professional—”

“Oh, God, please don’t say that!”

She glared at him. “A professional
businessperson
.”

He rolled his eyes. “Next time I’ll let you hand out your card.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. She shouldn’t do that. It caused her endowments to rise to distracting prominence. “There better not
be
a next time,” she said.

“I hope not,” he answered fervently. Honestly.

Oh, God, he
really
hoped not.

A few hours after the campaign meeting, Rory sat in the library in front of his laptop, staring as the screensaver ricocheted a bright red ball through an ever-changing maze. When his fingers found the computer’s mouse and stroked it, he wasn’t even thinking, really.

His mind was occupied with the last items Charlie Jax had gone over with him—essentially a second round of heavy-handed hinting. Getting wet and half naked with a sexy, voluptuous woman was not the stuff of upright and “true-blue” Blue Party candidates.

The party’s plan was to infiltrate Washington and shake it up—by backing politicians who were personally ethical and who would be publicly beyond reproach. It was going to mean something—something honorable and good—to be a national leader again.

As he continued staring absently at the screen, some other part of his mind automatically logged
on to the Internet. The cursor swam across the navigational screen toward his bookmarks icon.
Click
. He touched the mouse’s button and the addresses of the places he regularly visited on the Web were listed there, including one he didn’t actually remember saving.

Click
. A new screen materialized.

He let out a humorless laugh. An address he didn’t actually remember saving?

Right
.

Why was he lying to himself? This was Jilly’s Web site he was looking at, and he remembered very well saving its address. He maneuvered the mouse once more.
Click
.

The screen changed again and he saw the interior of her store as the Web cam slowly panned. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk, his chin on his hands, and waited.
There.

There was Jilly
.

Dry now, she sat behind a cash register, her pose the mimic of his own with her elbow on the counter, her chin on her hand, her eyes pensive. She didn’t look mad, like she’d been when she’d left Caidwater. As he watched, she sucked her lower lip into her mouth. Rory’s muscles instantly tightened.

Hell. Bad day for new liaisons or not, it didn’t even take them being in the same canoe for him to wish he’d tasted that unusual mouth, to wish he’d stroked that dusting of freckles, to wish he’d held those remarkable breasts in his hands.

Despite all the warnings, she was still making him crazy.