One minute she'd be touching a man's fedora, and the next she would find herself dashing over sloping, golden sand dunes pursued by a white-robed man on an Arabian horse. The desert prince's laugh rang out, teasing and delicious, and then he reached her, sweeping her up against him. His heart thundered, heavier than horse's hooves, against her back. His blue eyes burned, hot, hot, hot, everywhere their gaze touched her, and then his lips moved, warm against her ear. "Let me take you to the casbah."
She sighed. What really worried her about that recurring fantasy was the "dashing" over the sand dunes that she was doing in it. Because it truly wasn't dashing at all. As a matter of fact, if she were honest, instead of a hurry, it was much more of a hurry-up-and-get-me.
Her ears picked up another thump in the hall. Oh, no, she thought. The prince—I mean Rory. But then a light patter followed the thump and the clothes in the rack nearest the door started swaying. Unless he'd shrunk to munchkin size, Jilly didn't think the person who'd just crept into the room was the man she wanted to avoid.
Jilly cleared her throat. "Is someone there? Iris?"
Instead of an answer, the clothes swung more wildly and hangers creaked. Maybe the little girl was shy because she didn't remember Jilly from yesterday. After all, she'd been woken from a nap and drowsy.
Smiling to herself, Jilly finished cataloging the suit, though from the corner of her eye she saw a little figure creep closer. She pretended not to notice that Iris was edging up on her. Jilly didn't know much about kids—her grandmother had never let her be one—but she knew about being lonely.
Lonely little girls liked to observe. Lonely little girls watched people first and participated later.
Jilly reached for a shallow-crowned, widebrimmed lady's hat that was clipped to a nearby hanger. Of black velvet, it was trimmed with gold ostrich feathers. As bait for a four-year-old girl-child, it didn't get much better. With a sweeping movement of her arm, Jilly "accidentally" let go of the hat, and it sailed miraculously close to Iris's hiding place. "Oops!"
Jilly walked toward the hat, but when she bent to retrieve it, she found herself nose to nose with Iris. The black velvet drooping over her eyes, Iris sat cross-legged on the plush carpet. Holding onto her smile, Jilly gently lifted the soft brim and met the Rory-blue of Iris's gaze. "We meet again."
Iris scrambled to her feet, pushing back the hat as she stood. One of the gold feathers wagged back and forth like a dog's tail. "You're the lady who gave me water."
Jilly stared in surprise at the child's outfit. It wasn't the hat. It was that the hat actually went with the dress Iris was wearing. On a weekday noon, the girl was dressed in a floor-length, black velvet gown. It was long-sleeved and high-necked, and rows of gold lace banded the skirt from the Empire waistline to the hem.
"So you're, uh, playing dress-up?"
Iris looked down. "No. Rory handed this to me."
"Gee. Well. It's certainly fancy." And though Jilly liked to dress up herself, Iris's outfit was completely inappropriate for a four-year-old on any occasion short of an audience with the queen. Apparently Rory knew less about kids than she did. She smiled. "What have you been doing this morning?"
"Helping Mrs. Mack."
Mrs. Mack was the housekeeper. She'd introduced herself to Jilly shortly after Rory had left her alone this morning. Jilly looked at the dusty smudge along one of Iris's velvet sleeves. "I'll bet Mrs. Mack was cleaning."
Iris nodded, her thumb seeping up toward her mouth; then she snatched it back down.
Jilly silently admired the little girl's self-control. That was something else they had in common—thumb-sucking. Jilly had comforted herself the same way until she was five years old. Then her grandmother had the dentist make Jilly a device she wore at night. If she forgot her grandmother's edict against the habit while sleeping, sharp metal teeth stabbed the pad of Jilly's thumb. She could still remember waking up from the sting.
"Well." Jilly worried her lower lip. The little girl continued to solemnly regard her and Jilly didn't know what to say next.
Iris's stomach growled and she giggled.
Jilly smiled, too. Hunger was a transgenerational language. "It sounds like you're ready for lunch."
Iris nodded.
"Me, too." She plucked the velvet hat off Iris's head. "Shall we go find something to eat? Mrs. Mack took my lunchbox earlier. She said it would be in the refrigerator in the kitchen. Would you show me where that is?"
Iris nodded. "You have a lunchbox?"
Unsure how the day would play out, Jilly had brought her meal with her. "I certainly do. How about yourself?"
Iris shook her head. "I always eat my lunch in the kitchen."
"Of course you do." Jilly followed the little girl down the hallway. "Who makes your lunch? Mrs. Mack?"
"Rory. He says Mrs. Mack has enough to do."
Jilly's eyebrows rose. He helped the child dress and he made her lunch? "You don't have a nanny? Someone whose job it is to care for you?"
"Nina got a new job taking care of a baby."
Jilly's heart twisted. The little girl had lost her father and her nanny, only to gain a man who overdressed her in black velvet and gold lace.
Iris led the way down a short flight of steps, then pushed through a swinging door to reveal a kitchen as large as Jilly's store. Bright fluorescent lighting bounced off white floors, granite countertops, and stainless-steel appliances, dazzling her for an instant. She blinked, then noticed, miles away at the far end of the room, a dark-haired man shutting one of two side-by-side Sub-Zero refrigerators.
Rory glanced toward them. "Iris—Auntie. I was just coming to look for you. Your lunch is almost ready." He opened the refrigerator again and reached inside. "And I'll hazard a guess that this"—he turned toward Jilly and held out her vintage Lost in Space lunchpail, "is yours."
Oh, darn. As much as she'd been hoping to avoid Rory, the only choice she had now was to cross that shiny floor and take it from him. He didn't turn back to the lunch he was preparing, but instead watched her, his gaze steady.
She hesitated. Even from this distance she could feel something tugging at her. He was tugging at her, even without a movement of his tall, lean body. As if they had a will of their own, her feet moved forward. Rory kept watching.
As she crossed the floor, Jilly became aware of herself in a strange, new, maddening way. She noticed the rhythm of her steps. Her body moved fluidly, sensually. With each stride, the cotton of her peasant top rubbed her navel with small, soft strokes, but it was enough to tickle goose bumps to the surface. And as quickly as her body temperature was rising, the little prickles ran down her legs, across her arms, and over her chest. Her nipples tightened.
Oh, my.
Without thinking, she licked her lips and Rory's gaze sharpened. Jilly stumbled, appalled by her own actions. One minute it was lustful fantasies starring the maddening man, the next it was a wet-mouthed vamp stroll in his direction. She'd never done things like this in her life. What was her problem?
And then it hit her, her understanding sudden and even more appalling. She stumbled again.
Rory brought out the bad in her.
Maybe her grandmother was right about Jilly after all.
But even that disturbing thought didn't turn off the supersensitivity. Every time her legs moved, she could feel the rub of denim against the flesh at the backs of her knees, and the rough strokes sent prickles up her thighs this time. Her beaded nipples pushed at the cups of her bra.
Oh, please. Don't let him notice.
Luck was on her side. When she reached him, he held out the lunchbox, his face expressionless, his eyes focused in the vicinity of her nose. Neutral enough. But when Jilly grasped the handle, Rory didn't let go. Her glance jumped from the box's metallic likenesses of Robot and little Will Robinson to Rory's white knuckles, to Rory's eyes, staring, it seemed reluctantly, in the direction of her breasts.
Jilly's mouth dried, her appetite disappeared, and her goose bumps got g
oose bumps. Oh, no. She shut her eyes.
Maybe she brought out the bad in him, too.
"I want my lunch."
Rory blinked, then looked away. Iris's voice returned Jilly to normality as well. Her skin was just her skin, her walk just a way to move, Rory just a man who … continued to make her skin tingle.
As for him, though, he appeared completely cool and calm. She'd probably imagined the entire holding-the-lunchbox-handle episode.
Whew. From the beginning, she had hoped they might come to a sort of friendship, but nothing more than that was safe—not safe or smart at all.
Jilly glanced at the countertop and the plate Rory had prepared for Iris. She did a double take. As big as a platter, the white ceramic was covered with a wide variety of food, from slices of roast beef to miniature marshmallows.
Iris was inspecting the plate, too. She'd climbed up on a stepstool beside Rory that Jilly guessed was there for expressly that purpose. A small finger pointed at the roast beef. "No."
Rory whisked the meat off the plate.
"No," Iris said again, this time pointing to several celery sticks.
Jilly looked at Rory. He swallowed, then nudged the offending celery onto the counter.
"No, no, no." Half a peanut butter sandwich, two pieces of apple, and a wedge of cheese were summarily dismissed.
Rory had paled. Jilly's brows came together as she watched him studying Iris's face. He looked intent, no, nervous, as he waited for her verdict.
Her gaze roamed the plate. "Okay," she finally said.
Rory slowly released a pent-up breath and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck as the little girl stepped off the stool. He handed her the plate and she made a careful path toward a small table set under a window.
Aghast, Jilly looked from Rory to Iris's lunch to Rory again. "There wasn't any food on that plate."
He turned his back on her. "Nonsense," he said. "There was plenty."
She couldn't believe what she'd heard. "What? Marshmallows, pretzels, vanilla wafers, and a red licorice vine? You call that food?"
The refrigerator door shut with a slam. "Haven't you heard of the four C's?"
"The four C's?"
"Calcium, carbohydrates, cookies, and candy." He opened a cold bottle of Pellegrino and poured two glasses of the sparkling water.
Jilly rubbed her forehead. Licorice was the candy, the wafers the cookies, and pretzels the carbos. Her brain slipped into gear. "Tell me you don't consider marshmallows calcium?"
He slid one glass of Pellegrino in her direction and lifted the other. "They're white, aren't they? Like milk."
He couldn't be serious. She opened her mouth. "But—"
"Something to drink," Iris commanded from her place at the table.
Rory quickly poured another glass of Pellegrino.
Iris just as quickly refused it.
A thought wiggled to life in the back of Jilly's mind as Rory presented his little aunt with three beverages in succession: lemonade, orange juice, and, at her request, Coke.
Wrong. Iris wanted a Diet Coke.
Rory didn't bat an eyelash.
With Iris eventually satisfied, he came back to his glass on the countertop. He took a long swallow, as if the beverage effort had dehydrated him.
Jilly sipped her own water. "What happened to Iris's nanny?"
He cleared his throat. "She found a new position. I'm moving Iris out of here in a few weeks and I decided to wing it until we get settled."
"And is the 'winging it' going well?" He had to know that velvet dresses and marshmallow lunches weren't standard kid caretaking.
Rory shrugged. "We're getting accustomed to one another," he said, his voice neutral.
"It must be difficult, though," Jilly pointed out. Maybe reuniting Kim with Iris could be as simple as appealing to Rory's inconvenience. "A bachelor suddenly taking on a child."
"The difficulty isn't the point," he answered firmly. "She's my responsibility and I plan on raising her well."
Jilly took another sip of water to cover her surprise. Perhaps he really cared about the little girl.
Then his gaze slid back to Iris and he cleared his throat again. "After you finish lunch, it will be time for a rest," he said to her, a forced note of authority in his voice.
"No."
Jilly's lips twitched as Rory hooked a finger under his collar and pulled it forward. Perhaps he couldn't breathe. And though he might plan on raising his four-year-old aunt "well," at the moment, he wasn't exactly aces in the child management department. The thought from before wiggled around some more in her mind.
"Iris," he began. "I mean, Auntie…"
"I want to go outside and play." Her voice was spawn-of-the-devil demanding and the look she sent him was barbed. "And I want you to play with me."
Rory pulled on his shirt collar again, then sighed. "Fine."
But Iris wasn't quite through. "I want you to take me on a canoe ride."
"Canoe ride?" Rory shook his head. "No. I have a meeting this afternoon. There's not enough time."
At Rory's denial, the little girl's eyes narrowed. She picked up a marshmallow and squeezed, marshmallow guts oozing from between her thumb and forefinger. "Greg always takes me on the canoe," she said, as if daring Rory to disagree again. Then her gaze locked onto Jilly and she smiled sweetly, a normal, nice, four-year-old's smile. "And you. You'll come, too, won't you please?"
Rory didn't seem to notice that the little girl had spoken to Jilly in a tone different from the one to him. His gaze stayed on Iris as he answered for Jilly. "She can't," he said flatly. "She has work to do."
Jilly frowned. No one told her what she could and couldn't do. Not anymore.
"I want her," Iris said, her eyes narrowing again. "Greg's not here and I want someone else besides you to play with."
Rory's voice softened. "Give me a break, Auntie. She can't."
Jilly knew she shouldn't. Not only was there the cataloging to do, but there was Rory himself. The man made her prickle, for goodness sake. Until she devised a way around that and also devised a way to plead Kim's case successfully, she should stay clear of him. Still…
"Can't," Rory repeated.
There was that word again. Jilly hated it. Can't, don't, shouldn't. She'd heard them so often, they'd become the theme of her lonely childhood. And they all smacked of control. Of trying to control her.
"Of course I can play, Iris," she said impulsively. This was Kim's daughter, after all. "I don't know much about canoes, so you'll have to teach me."
Reluctant to check Rory's reaction to her rebellion, Jilly kept speaking to Iris. "But you'll need to eat something else first. I have a Swiss-and-sprouts sandwich in my lunchbox. You can have half."
Iris hesitated for a moment. Jilly didn't waver. "Okay," the little girl agreed. "Half."
"And you'll change into some playclothes," Jilly added. "Something like shorts and a T-shirt."
After a moment, Iris nodded. "Okay."
"Thank God," Rory said under his breath.
Jilly still didn't look at him, but turned and set her lunchbox on the counter. The top popped open and she rummaged for her sandwich. "So you didn't pick that dress for her to wear this morning?"
"Lord, no! She commands, I get it off the hanger."
Commands. Now Jilly knew her earlier thought was right, and she almost felt sorry for Rory. Almost. It wasn't as if he weren't trying with Iris. But still, this was an opportunity for Jilly to make a small point in Kim's favor. Maybe if he saw he wasn't the perfect guardian for the little girl now, he would compromise on the issue later.
Jilly glanced up at Rory. "Has it occurred to you that you're terrified of her?"
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Terrified of Iris? Rory managed not to dignify that question of Jilly's with an answer, even while they waited in silence for Iris to eat her sandwich and change her clothes. Once those tasks were accomplished, the three of them se
t off toward the canoe pond in one of the estate's golf carts.
As the two females chatted, he didn't try to join the conversation. It irritated the hell out of him that Jilly was along on this outing. She could have picked up on his not-so-subtle hint and stayed at the house. But no.
He grimaced. Not that he found it so easy to deny Iris either. He had a duty—a duty he took very seriously—to her and he had enough kid-smarts to realize she wasn't exactly thrilled with him. Apparently Roderick had nearly ignored the little girl and Iris looked toward his brother, Greg, for caring and parenting. With Greg out of town on a short press junket for his newest film, the little girl's animosity had grown from bad to worse.
Thinking of his brother gave him a little jab of guilt. Greg had been making noises about wanting to take responsibility for Iris, but Rory couldn't take him seriously. Roderick's instructions were clear, and Rory figured the old man had finally wised up and realized that acting and parenting were a poisonous mix. For once, a Kincaid had considered the welfare of a child in his life. Far be it from Rory to counter the single less-than-selfish decision anyone in his family had ever made.
Laughter broke into his thoughts. Behind him, in the backseat of the golf cart, Jilly was playing knock-knock-who's-there with Iris. Her "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" punch line delighted the little girl. Rory almost automatically smiled at the giggling, but then turned it to a frown.
Jilly. Not one of his most intelligent decisions, he must admit.
Though this morning's run-in with her had reinforced his first impression that she was just another wacky L.A. flake, it was also more reason to keep up his guard. A woman aiming for no-holds-barred living was trouble.
Put that together with the first Blue Party campaign meeting scheduled for this afternoon, and the ever-hovering disaster he sensed gained the weight of a two-ton anvil. He rubbed at the tension damping the back of his neck.
Dammit! Flaky woman and important meeting or no, he couldn't—wouldn't—let that anvil fall. No way. Ten years in the cutting-edge e-world had taught him control. It had taught him to analyze problems rather than let them overwhelm him. One weirdly dressed woman wasn't going to undo all that.
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