Mr. Imperfect

by Karina Bliss

  While the bride kept a nervous watch for bees—she was allergic—the groom sweated in his gray coat and tails in the eighty-degree temperature. And the flower girl ripped her chiffon dress jumping over the lily pond. Anticipating repercussions, she howled during the exchanging of the vows until she was placated with a soda.

  Christian saw none of it, seething through the service and stalking to the bar the minute it was over. There he downed a neat Scotch. He put down his empty glass. “Another.”

  “Make that two.” The stout woman who’d joined him was dressed in a daffodil-yellow silk suit with the sort of hat—all flowers and straw—a goat would love. “You look like I feel,” she said. “I lost my son today.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He was shocked out of his dark reverie. “And you still came to the wedding?”

  “He’s the one I lost.” She grimaced at the first taste of whiskey. “I should have stuck with champagne.” There was the faintest slur in her words.

  The penny dropped. “You’reWilliam J.’s mother.”

  “And you’re Kezia Rose’s latest conquest.”

  Christian scowled. “We’re not together.”

  She took another sip from her glass. “Watch yourself. She comes across nice as pie but that one’s a heartbreaker.” The third sip went down without a face. “Though I hear you have a reputation in that area yourself. Lots of Penthouse playmates, Billy said.”

  “Did he?” Fighting irritation, Christian accepted the glass the bartender placed in front of him with a nod of thanks. “That just confirms that Kez is not my type.”

  “Good for you.” William J. Rankin the Third’s mother clunked her glass against his. “Everyone thinks she’s kind and sweet but if I wasn’t a lady I’d call her a ball-breaker.”

  Christian had been thinking the same thing, but hearing it voiced by someone else showed him it was patently ridiculous. Kezia was too honest to deliberately mislead anybody. “Maybe the fact that she ended the engagement is skewing your judgment.”

  “Maybe. And maybe you’re already under her spell. Lordy, I think I’m tipsy.” Mrs. Rankin sought the support of a bar stool and climbed on it with Christian’s assistance even though he was more tempted to push her off it.

  “One thing I will say for Suzie…” Mrs. Rankin wriggled around on the stool until her wide girth was equally distributed. “She appreciates her good fortune. And she wants babies right away.”

  “There you go,” said Christian dryly. “You can start thinking about a plaque for the nursery door.”

  “That’s right.” Her face brightened. “William J. Rankin the Fourth.” She toasted him and threw back her head to empty the glass. When she straightened up her hat was askew. “I don’t care what Billy says—” leaning over, she patted Christian’s knee “—I think you’re charming. Even if you do date centerfolds.”

  “There was only one, Mrs. Rankin.” Despite his mood, he was amused. “I have also dated computer analysts, teachers, accountants…how come no one remembers the other professions?” Through the open French doors, he watched Kezia’s cherry-red dress float against her slender calves as she approached the bride and groom with a congratulatory smile. He should be glad she hadn’t changed her mind all those years ago. He could shake off the regret that had been plaguing him these past two days.

  “So is it true implants make their breasts feel cold?”

  With a sigh, Christian took Mrs. Rankin’s glass away. “Bartender, how about a nice cup of coffee for the lady?”

  Over the woman’s hat he saw William J. sweep Kezia up in a hearty embrace and plant a big sloppy kiss on her surprised face. Suzie stiffened until there was as much starch in her posture as her bridal gown. “By any chance,” Christian asked Mrs. Rankin, “did you and William J. share that champagne?”

  “We had to open a second bottle,” she confided. “To calm our nerves.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Christian. A beaming William J. wrapped one arm around Kezia, the other around his bride. He looked to be sharing reminiscences in an overflow of tipsy affection. Suzie’s expression grew pinched and though Kezia maintained her composure, there was quiet desperation in the way she scanned the crowd for an escape route. Her eyes met his and shied away.

  The last of Christian’s resentment evaporated as his conscience kicked in. “Mrs. Rankin, will you excuse me, please?”

  Summoning his most charming smile, he slid off the bar stool and sauntered outside. He came within earshot in time to hear Suzie’s pained, “You can’t have two loves of your life, Bill.” She turned on Kezia. “Speaking of which, where’s yours?”

  “Right here.” Christian yanked Kezia out of William J.’s arm and into his, to kiss her thoroughly enough to lay the bride’s doubts to rest and to punish Kezia for tormenting him at the same time. He forgot both intentions the moment their lips touched.

  She made a protesting sound against his mouth and Christian lifted a hand to the nape of her neck and held her while he deepened the kiss, hungry for more, demanding an acknowledgment that she felt the same desire.

  And for an instant he got it. Her surrender was sweet, a torture. With a moan, she broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against his pounding heart, trying to shield her expression. Dazed, Christian lifted a protective hand to her hair.

  William J. was staring at him openmouthed. Christian thrust out a hand. “Congratulations.”

  William J. closed his mouth and took it. “Thanks.” He had the grace to look shamefaced. “It’s good to see you’re taking the relationship seriously.”

  “We’re deadly serious, aren’t we, honey?” Christian felt Kezia take a deep, shaky breath, then slip out of his grasp and turn with an enigmatic smile that would make the Mona Lisa’s transparent.

  “Deadly,” she agreed. Christian had never appreciated how well she could cloak her real feelings, and was intrigued.

  “Wow.” Suzie looked light-headed with relief. “How about a kiss like that for the bride?”

  He obliged, lingering long enough to teach her new husband a lesson about territorial incursions. The bride thanked him with a squeeze of his forearm. The bridegroom pressed his new wife against his side so tightly she squawked and then he said gruffly, “I hear you’re gifting Kezia the hotel.”

  “We’re still in discussions,” she answered before Christian could speak.

  Astonished, he said, “Don’t tell me you’re backing out?”

  Uncertainty quickened her reply. “No, but I thought you might have reconsidered, given our earlier—” she glanced at the bridal couple “—conversation in the car.”

  “I never renege on an offer. I might be disillusioned but I’m not petty.” It occurred to him that Kezia could have said nothing when he was accepting the blame for ending their relationship. Instead she’d told the truth even when she believed it might jeopardize the deal.

  Christian suddenly felt nothing but petty. So she hadn’t loved him enough—at least she’d never pretended otherwise. It was time he grew up and got over it.

  More relations converged on the happy couple, separating him from Kezia. Christian found himself hemmed in by well-wishers lining up to pepper Suzie’s cheeks with different shades of lipstick and started backing himself the hell out of there.

  Over a sea of shoulders, Suzie waved goodbye. “I think giving Kezia the hotel is so romantic,” she said. “You must really love her.”

  Christian came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the lawn and the crowd swirled Suzie on, a meringue confection in the midst of color and laughter. God, no! He wasn’t that much of a fool. It was Kezia’s hot little body he craved. He caught sight of her standing under a magnolia tree, chatting with a couple of teenagers.

  The sun gilded her bare arms and the dark strands escaping her French twist. When she smiled, tiny creases fanned out from the corners of her eyes. He could see where the wrinkles would eventually form—around her smile.

  He could also see by the shadows in her eyes that she’d w
eathered loss and disappointment, and by the tilt of her chin that she hadn’t been defeated by it.

  For someone who considered his interest strictly physical he was finding it impossible to look past her face. Telling himself that Suzie knew squat—she’d married William J. Rankin the Third for God’s sake—Christian stalked back to the bar.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KEZIA WATCHED HIM go, a scowl on his face. And they call women moody and unpredictable. She knew her confession had made Christian loathe her all over again—the punishing kiss had proved that—yet he still seemed prepared to give her the hotel. And she no longer believed it was some sort of revenge.

  That was his real gift to her. Her dignity.

  He hadn’t chosen to know why she’d stayed and she was very glad of that because it meant she could return a gift of equal value. Blissful ignorance.

  “Get over here!” Marion called across the garden, and thrust a glass of champagne at Kezia when she joined her. “I hear you’ve accepted the hotel, that’s fantastic.”

  So Christian wasn’t wasting any time making it impossible for her to change her mind. Well, two could play at that game. “Yes.” She chinked glasses. “And he’s agreed to accept repayments. They’ll be modest, but it’s something.”

  “I know,” said Marion. “He told me.”

  Kezia stared. “He did?”

  “He said he doesn’t need the money so he wants it put into a community fund with me as treasurer.”

  “He did?” Kezia knew she looked as stupid as she sounded, but Marion didn’t notice.

  “Apparently all recipients are to be decided by—” her fingers drew speech marks in the air “—Kezia’s bleeding heart.” She turned and beamed toward the bar, gesturing for Christian to join them, and Kezia realized he’d been watching her reaction from the shadowy interior.

  Dumbstruck would about cover it, quickly followed by a rush of love she was afraid she couldn’t hide. She fumbled for her sunglasses and jammed them on. Christian stepped reluctantly into the sunlight, pausing to put on his own.

  “Why, Christian Kelly—” Kezia kept her tone light “—are you warming to your old hometown?”

  “No,” he said bluntly, “I’m trying to stop it from falling down around my investment. But I’d appreciate it if you made the first project a tree house for John Jason.”

  Marion hooted and spilled champagne on Christian’s jacket as she threw her arms around him. Christian said in a bored voice, “Let’s not make a big deal about this, shall we?”

  “I propose a toast.” Kezia’s voice was husky as she raised her glass. “To Waterview’s reluctant philanthropist.”

  “Don’t malign me.” She could see nothing behind the sunglasses. “You’re the only bleeding heart in this town.”

  “Then let’s drink to that,” suggested Marion.

  Kezia raised her glass. “To my bleeding heart.”

  IT WAS JOHN JASON WHO STOPPED Christian drinking a fourth Scotch, tugging on Christian’s jacket and asking politely if Christian wouldn’t mind ordering him and his two friends some Cokes, seeing how it was a special occasion and seeing how he couldn’t see over the top of the bar to ask.

  “Can’t you climb on the stool?” inquired Christian. He wasn’t in the mood for cute.

  John Jason informed him that he was too shy. “I don’t get out much,” he confided in a tone exactly like his mother’s, and Christian weakened.

  “Three Cokes, please, bartender.” While they waited, he held his glass on his lap, strangely reluctant to take a sip in front of a child, and eyed the satin vest and bow tie. “So where’s the Batman outfit tonight?”

  John Jason scowled. “Mummy wouldn’t let me wear it.” He lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. “That stuff smells like what my daddy used to drink.”

  Christian sat transfixed. I’d watch that if I was you. “Mine, too.” Slowly he put the full glass back on the bar.

  People were being ushered to tables, and Kezia approached, looking as wary as he felt.

  Glancing at John Jason noisily sucking Coke through a straw, he couldn’t regret the impulse to start a community fund. Waterview needed the money; he didn’t. Sentimentality had nothing to do with it. Very clearly he remembered Joe Bryant’s face, raw with emotion, and was inexplicably angry. Neither, damn it, did guilt.

  “Hi, John Jason, you look smart.” Kezia playfully tweaked the child’s bow tie. “Your mom wants you back at the table for dinner, honey. I’ll help you carry those glasses.” She glanced at Christian with the bright impersonal smile he hated. “We’re at table ten. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Humor the beast, it will be gone tomorrow,” he said, and watched her blush. Annoyed at himself, he headed for their table.

  Their deal had freed him to leave, but the realization that he still had unresolved feelings for Kezia—not love—was no freedom at all. It was fitting, he supposed, nodding to his table companions as he pulled out his chair, that a player like himself had been brought down by a woman whose attraction to him had only ever been physical. And she can resist even that.

  “Old fogies and old lovers are at the back where we can’t do any harm,” Bernice May told him as he sat, and he had to smile. She patted his hand and did the introductions—an old boyfriend of Suzie’s and his very pregnant wife, an elderly, deaf relative of William J.’s and Don, dapper as always.

  “Leaving tomorrow I hear?” Christian detected disappointment in Don’s voice that was difficult to interpret.

  “There’s nothing to keep me here.”

  “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get back to civilization,” Kezia said behind him.

  “It does have its attractions.” He stood to pull out her chair, feeling anything but civilized where she was concerned. “A decent shower, a decent bed—”

  “—and an indecent woman,” she finished sharply. For a moment there was stunned silence. “I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, “that was an awful thing to say.”

  “But funny,” approved Bernice May, and everyone laughed.

  Not to mention enlightening, thought Christian. “Jealous?” he murmured, pushing in her chair. A stiff back was his only answer as Kezia turned to engage Don in conversation.

  The MC called for silence and William J. stood, clutching a sheaf of pages that made the Gettysburg Address look like a Post-it note. A groan rippled around the room that was just short of audible.

  The groom cleared his throat, took a sip of water and fixed his eyes on the audience over the top of his reading glasses. “Matrimony,” said William J. Rankin the Third, “is not an institution to be entered into lightly….”

  “Oh, my sweet potatoes,” said Bernice May. “Pass the wine.”

  Christian thought, This would be the day I give up serious drinking.

  By page three the guests’ eyes were as glazed as the ham and even the bride looked bored. On page four, William J.’s mother got the hiccups and everyone else the giggles. The groom galloped through page five and finally conceded defeat on page six when John Jason’s loud suggestion that Mrs. Rankin senior stand on her head and drink a glass of water sent the room into gales of laughter.

  Yet he toasted his new wife with touching humility. “Thank you for making me the happiest man in the world. I’ll do my best to deserve you. To my bride.”

  “To the bride!” chorused the guests with relief.

  “You may escort me to the buffet before the rabble get there,” Bernice May told Christian. “I want the pork crackling.”

  Kezia declined to join them. Unconsciously her gaze followed him as he led the old lady to the carvery. Bernice May was half Christian’s height and he measured his steps to match hers.

  “Muriel would have been very disappointed it didn’t work out,” Don said beside her, and Kezia explained the deal she and Christian had settled on. He gave her an enigmatic look and said he was going outside for a cigar before dinner.

  “I’ll keep you company, there’s somethin
g I’ve been meaning to ask you privately.”

  They made their way down the wide brick steps into the garden, where they perched on a half wall that edged a flower bed of creamy azaleas. Don patted his breast pocket, found a cigar and lit it with the silver monogrammed lighter Muriel had given him last birthday. He saw Kezia looking at it. “We miss her.”

  “We do.”

  For a moment more they sat quietly, letting memories rise with the pungent smell of fine tobacco.

  Kezia broke the silence. “Bernice May suggested Christian’s father might have been violent.”

  Don looked at her, startled. “But you knew that.”

  Horrified by the implicit admission, Kezia immediately replied. “Why would I?”

  He turned the cigar over in his fingers. “The night he left town, after the…episode.”

  “What episode?”

  “He said he was going to see you and sort things out.” Don frowned. “I always assumed…good God. What did he tell you?”

  “That he’d had enough of the place. That he was too restless to hang around until his university scholarship kicked in. That he was leaving to find work in Auckland until it did. We’d already talked about me going with him but I thought I still had two months to decide. Instead he gave me an ultimatum—go with him then or forget it. I said no.”

  Kezia’s breath caught in her throat. “In the morning when I went to the farm, his father yelled through the door that he’d gone for good.” Her gaze pinned his. “What didn’t Christian tell me, Don?”

  The tip of old man’s cigar glowed red as he dragged deeply on it, exhaling on a sigh. “The only reason I found out about the beatings—” Kezia gasped “—was because I nearly ran him over.”

  “It was a miserable night,” he said, “raining hard, poor visibility. He was running down the middle of the road in a terrible state. Told me he’d killed his old man.”

  He paused to relight his cigar, took two quick puffs. “We drove back to the farm together and on the way he blurted it all out. Said Paul had been beating him on and off for years, that he’d managed to minimize it by sleeping in the barn whenever he saw him hit the bottle.”