McGillivray's Mistress Page 11

  “I see,” Julie said at last. “Well, that explains it. I understand perfectly why he was leaving your place this morning. Makes complete sense.”

  Fiona smiled. “Good.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell Trina and Miss Saffron and anyone else who asks.”

  “Thank you.” Disaster averted, Fiona heaved a huge sigh of relief.

  Long pause.

  “So why did they see him leaving yesterday morning as well?” Julie asked.

  THE THING ABOUT LIVING on an island, which Lachlan had forgotten somewhere along the way, was that wherever you went, there you were—and so was the person you were trying to avoid.

  Not that he was trying to avoid Fiona Dunbar exactly.

  It was just that he needed some space. He needed to think!

  And he couldn’t seem to do it when he was around her. Fiona had a way of getting under his skin, pushing his buttons, making him nuts without even realizing it.

  Or maybe she did.

  Maybe this King-of-the-Beach-building, naked-male-terra-cotta-sculpting, sleeping-in-the-nude business was all a concerted effort to make him so crazy with unbridled, unsatisfied desire that he would say the hell with it, throw in the towel, sell the inn, leave the island and head to the other ends of the earth, putting as much of it between himself and Fiona Dunbar as he possibly could!

  In the heat of the moment, he could believe that. And just recently he was having a lot of very heated moments.

  So he did what any sane man would do when he looked out his window that afternoon and saw that the object of every one of his thoughts since he’d left her house that morning was shinnying up what was left of a ten-foot-high sculpture, her long tanned bare legs wrapped intimately around its midsection.

  He bolted.

  “Dooley needs me at the Sandpiper,” he told Suzette as he headed out the door. “I’ll be gone a few days. A week. I don’t know!”

  Suzette looked up from her computer and frowned. “Dooley called? I thought you had that sorted.”

  “Nope. Not yet. Emergency,” Lachlan said. Well, how else would you describe it? If he shut his eyes all he could see was Fiona’s bare midriff and her honey-tan legs.

  “But—”

  “Gotta go. Call Hugh and tell him I need him to fly me over. Now!”

  Suzette blinked, then picked up the phone. But as she did she studied him. “You look a little flushed, Lachlan. Are you all right?”

  THERE HAD TO BE a handful of people on Pelican Cay—other than children and tourists—who did not believe Fiona and Lachlan were having an affair.

  Had to be, Fiona assured herself. But damned if she knew who they were.

  Not that anyone was being judgmental about it.

  On the contrary, Tony, her boss at the bakery, started to ask if she would work the morning shift on the weekend, then stopped himself abruptly, grinned and said, “Never mind. You’ll be needing your sleep now more than ever, won’t you?”

  “I will?” Fiona said, determinedly guileless. “Why?”

  It was almost gratifying to watch Tony’s face turn red. It would have been more gratifying if he’d backtracked and admitted he might be mistaken. He didn’t.

  Neither did Nikki, the other waitress, who said, “Lucky you. I think he’s really hot.”

  Fiona didn’t have to ask who she meant. And what was she supposed to say? I wouldn’t know. Well, actually she tried saying that.

  But Nikki just giggled and said, “I’d be discreet, too.”

  Even Carin seemed to think she and Lachlan were actually having an affair. She didn’t say anything directly when Fiona stopped into the shop, because Carin was the most discreet person Fiona knew. But she gave Fiona a knowing look above the heads of a couple of customers.

  And before Fiona left, Carin gave her shoulders a squeeze and said, “Good for you.”

  Short of taking out an ad in the local weekly paper denying that she and Lachlan were sleeping together, Fiona didn’t know what to do.

  Besides, even if she had, who would believe her?

  Because, as her other sister-in-law, Claire, said cheerfully that evening, when she stopped by on her way home from visiting Miss Saffron, “It’s not like we all wouldn’t like to sleep with Lachlan McGillivray!”

  “I’m not—” Fiona began.

  But Claire just shook her head. She sat in the rocker in the living room, scratching Sparks under the chin and smiling. “I’m just so happy for you,” she said. “We’re all happy for you, Fee. Well, actually Mike has threatened to punch his lights out if he hurts you, but we’re really glad you’ve found someone. We were getting worried…”

  “Worried?”

  Claire shrugged. “You know, after Dad died, you seemed so lost and alone. You gave him so much time, so much of yourself, your life…and then he was gone.” She sighed. “And, let’s face it, Mike and Paul still feel guilty.”

  “Guilty? Why on earth?” Fiona had never heard this before. She stared at her sister-in-law in amazement.

  Claire, encouraged and warming to a topic that had apparently been discussed by the entire family—sans Fiona—went on firmly. “They thought they should have done more for Dad. For you. To take the burden off you. They were afraid that you weren’t ever going to have a life and they should have been more aware all along.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “That’s the way they felt. And then Dad died and they thought, now she’ll do something. And you didn’t.”

  “I did!”

  “Not really,” Claire said frankly. “You kept doing what you had been doing. And I have to admit, I got a little worried too when months went by and you didn’t go anywhere or do anything.”

  “I was working,” Fiona defended herself. “I didn’t go into a shell, you know. I just went on. I didn’t know I was supposed to just jump up and run out and change everything.”

  “Of course you weren’t. It was just them feeling guilty about the past. And hoping you’d do something—find someone—so they wouldn’t feel that way. Julie and I both said you would, but it would take time.” She looked at Fiona and suddenly beamed. “But now you have.”

  Er.

  “Well, I—”

  “And thank God for that,” Claire said fervently. “And what a man. Lachlan McGillivray. We’ll have to buy you some red panties!” she giggled. “You will not!”

  “Of course, Mike and Paul won’t be happy until he’s put a ring on your finger, but—”

  “Claire, stop it! Don’t let’s rush things,” Fiona said hastily.

  “No, of course not.” Claire sobered at once. “And I wouldn’t rush things either, if I were you. But you’re out of your rut now. Living again.” She set Sparks on the floor and got up to give her sister-in-law a hug. “We’re so glad, Fee. Just enjoy.”

  ENJOY?

  How on earth did you enjoy an affair you weren’t having?

  Fiona prowled the house after Claire left.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked Sparks.

  Sparks had one answer to every question: feed me. He butted his head against her calves and wove between her ankles. He looked hopefully at his food dish for signs of filling, then at Fiona reproachfully when it did not.

  “Oh, dear,” she said finally, realizing she’d been prowling so much she’d missed his dinnertime. “Sorry.” She fetched the fish scraps that Claire had brought for him and put them in his bowl.

  All right with his world now, Sparks fell to eating.

  If only a couple of fish heads would sort hers out, Fiona thought wearily. An affair with Lachlan? It would be laughable if it weren’t so painfully tempting.

  She needed to call Lachlan and tell him not to come in the morning. A third sighting and the island telegraph would have them on their way to the altar!

  But she didn’t have his mobile number and calling the inn would mean talking to Josie at the front desk. As soon as Josie spread the word that Fiona was calling Lachlan, things would go from
bad to worse.

  But no worse than him showing up here again tomorrow for the third day in a row.

  What a mess.

  The phone rang as she was pacing the floor trying to decide whether to call Lachlan or not. She snatched it up. “Hello?”

  “Hey.” The rough baritone was unmistakable.

  She took a quick steadying breath. “Lachlan,” she said and braced herself for his fury.

  “I can’t come in the morning,” he said.

  It was so not what she expected him to say that she didn’t think she’d heard him right. “I— What?”

  “I can’t come,” he repeated. “I’m at the Sandpiper. In the Abacos. Hugh flew me up this afternoon. My contractor quit and I’ve got half a dozen things need sorting out. Place is going to hell in a handbasket. Don’t know how long I’ll be away.”

  “Oh,” she said numbly. Then, “Oh!” as a great surge of relief hit her.

  “So I hope it won’t cause you too many problems.”

  “No, no! It’s fine,” she said cheerfully. “No problem at all.”

  “No?” He sounded surprised.

  “Absolutely not,” she assured him. “I was thinking of giving you a call and telling you I could manage on my own for a while.” Yes! she thought, dancing a happy little twirl around Sparks who looked askance at her. Yes! Yes! Yes!

  “Is that right?” Lachlan said slowly.

  “Yes, of course. I didn’t expect you to come every day.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” she thought he said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Well, fine. I’ll, er, just see you when I get back, then.”

  “Right. Fine. Don’t hurry on my account.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” Lachlan said drily.

  AND WHAT, HE’D LIKE to know, was that all about?

  Lachlan dropped the phone on the bed, jammed his hands into his back pockets and scowled out the window of the Sandpiper into the darkness.

  He’d been prepared for Fiona to pitch a fit, to tell him he was a chicken, to make her ghastly gobbling sounds when he’d said he wasn’t going to show up in the morning. He’d looked forward to arguing with her.

  And she hadn’t minded at all.

  Minded, hell? She’d sounded pleased!

  He scuffed at the bare boards underfoot, annoyed, and worse, annoyed that he was annoyed, when he knew he should be pleased.

  He didn’t want to pose nude, did he?

  No, he definitely didn’t want to do that.

  If he was going to be naked and there was a woman in the room—particularly if she was Fiona Dunbar—then he wanted her to be naked, too.

  He’d spent a lot of time recently thinking about being naked with Fiona Dunbar. Even here and now, fourteen hours after that early-morning fiasco, his body could still grow taut with desire at the thought of the two of them naked together.

  “So stop thinking about it,” he told himself.

  It was, after all, what he’d intended to do by coming here. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.

  But before he could forget her, he’d had to call and tell her he wasn’t going to show up in the morning. He didn’t want her thinking he’d stood her up for no reason.

  He had a good reason. He was a responsible businessman with responsibilities and obligations and, apparently, a sense of prescience—because when he’d arrived at the Sandpiper this afternoon it was to have Sybil, his go-to girl come running up to tell him that Dooley the contractor had just quit.

  The “emergency” he’d manufactured for Suzette’s benefit had come to pass. And he had a ton of things to do as a result—dealings with electricians and plumbers and a temperamental woodworker, not to mention the roof that had caused Dooley to throw up his hands and quit—which would make it easy to forget Fiona Dunbar. And he fully intended to take his time doing them.

  He’d get the Sandpiper on track again and head back to Pelican Cay only when he was damned good and ready.

  But he wanted to know why the hell she was glad he wasn’t coming tomorrow morning first!

  IT DIDN’T MATTER that Lachlan wasn’t here, Fiona thought. It didn’t slow things down at all. At least that was what she tried telling herself in the morning when she worked on the terra-cotta sculpture.

  But it wasn’t the same working by herself. She didn’t have that immediate point of reference for one thing. She couldn’t simply look up and study what she was working on.

  Besides that, there was a sense of vitality that was missing when her model wasn’t here. There was always an energy wherever Lachlan was. Even when he wasn’t moving, you could sense it, you could feel it.

  She tried to capture it in her work, tried to imbue the clay with the tension that emanated from the man. Her hands shaped and formed, molded and stroked.

  Made her want. Made her ache.

  She’d hoped the experience would be therapeutic or at the very least a learning experience.

  She supposed it was. She learned that she wasn’t going to get Lachlan out of her system that easily.

  Finally she gave up and went to work at the bakery. Tony winked at her and gave her a commiserating grin. “He’ll be back soon.”

  There was no use pretending she didn’t know who he was talking about.

  “Next time maybe he’ll take you with him,” Tony suggested.

  Which was the same thing Miss Saffron said when Fiona was passing her house on her way from the bakery to Carin’s. And the same thing Elaine, who was working at Carin’s that afternoon, said when Fiona stopped in there.

  She finally took refuge from all this commiseration by going to the cricket field, where she set up the driftwood spars, anchored them securely, then climbed to the top of The King of the Beach. No one was going to offer solace to her up there.

  But even there she couldn’t get away from him—because while she worked she looked out over the cricket field which was usually no more than the pasture for a couple of local goats and horses. But this summer it had become a soccer pitch.

  For the past two months it had been mowed and tended by a group of island boys. Goals had been put up at either end, and the island kids played soccer games and practiced soccer drills diligently and determinedly every afternoon because their coach told them to.

  Their coach—Lachlan.

  “He’s a great coach,” her nephew Tom, Mike’s oldest boy, had said just last week. His eyes had shone as he’d told Fiona about the goal he’d scored when they’d played the kids from Coral Harbour.

  “You should come watch sometime,” his younger brother Peter urged, because while most of the island turned out for the kids’ soccer games these days Fiona never had.

  “Since they owe it all to you,” her brother Mike had added with a grin when the boys had run back to play.

  “Nonsense.” Fiona had denied it vehemently.

  “You wrote the letter to the editor,” Paul reminded her. “What was it you said about giving back to the community?”

  “I didn’t mean just Lachlan,” Fiona muttered, though that had certainly been, she recalled now, the implication.

  “Shamed him into it.” Julie had grinned. But last night she had speculated that perhaps Lachlan had taken on coaching the kids’ soccer team for an entirely different reason. “I’ll bet he did it because he was already sweet on you.”

  “He was not!” Fiona had really blushed then. “He wasn’t,” she insisted. “Isn’t.”

  For all the good it had done.

  But watching now, she knew that why ever he had done it, it had been good for the island children. They didn’t just kick the ball around listlessly the way Fiona remembered.

  These days they had purpose. They had drills, focus, energy, commitment. They knew what they were doing. And even without Lachlan there to supervise, they kept going.

  “Most impressive,” a cheerful masculine voice said from below.

  Fiona jerked and looked down to see David Grantham squint
ing up at her.

  “Yes, they’re great. Lachlan’s taught them a lot.”

  He glanced at the game going on in front of them, then back at Fiona. “So I hear. But I didn’t mean the kids. I meant this.” He patted the largest driftwood spar. “And you.” His eyes traced the line of her long bare legs before meeting her eyes again. He grinned appreciatively.

  Fiona felt suddenly self-conscious. “I’m trying to get him right,” she said quickly. “Maybe you could make some suggestions?”

  “I suggest you have dinner with me this evening.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. She was so used to saying no. But why not?

  She no longer had to be home all the time. No one was waiting for her but Sparks. It would cause the Lachlan rumor to die a quicker death if she was seen out dining with someone else. She smiled. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  He walked her home when she’d finished working on the King so he could learn where she lived. He admired her home, talking easily and knowledgeably about indigenous island architecture.

  “Something else we might want to study on our tour,” he said. “We can discuss it tonight. Shall I pick you up at seven-thirty?”

  “Fine.” Fiona smiled.

  “We aren’t only going to talk shop,” David promised.

  “But—” Fiona began quickly.

  He cut her off with a smile. “Don’t panic. We’re just going to get to know each other. Okay?”

  Fiona took a deep and, she hoped, steadying breath. “Yes,” she said. “I’d like that.”

  SHE WASN’T HOME.

  He’d been calling her all evening and she bloody wasn’t home!

  Where the hell was she? And what if it were an emergency, for crying out loud? Why didn’t she have a mobile phone?

  Lachlan punched in Fiona’s number for the hundredth time that evening, scowling as he listened to it ring and ring and ring.

  Damned woman didn’t even have an answering machine!

  “Hello?” Her answer—at last—startled him. So did the breathless tone.

  “What’s wrong?” he barked.

  “Wrong?” He heard her gulp. “Not a thing. Why? What’s wrong with you? Why are you calling?”