McGillivray's Mistress Page 15

  “You’re killing me,” he muttered, his desperate fingers learning her slickness, her secrets.

  Fiona gasped, then shuddered, her body straining for his. “Now, Lachlan! Now!”

  She reached for him, grabbing his hips as he slid hard and full inside her. “Yes,” she said, reveling in it, at the same time sensing that it wasn’t enough.

  And then he began to move.

  They were too hot, too hungry, too desperate. It couldn’t last.

  Didn’t.

  It built and built and built. And then it exploded, a fire-ball, Fiona thought. As much as she could muster any thoughts at all.

  And yet after, with Lachlan spent and trembling in her arms, she didn’t feel shattered at all. She felt like a piece of her sculpture that had been through the fire of the kiln. Tested. Fired. Finished.

  Made whole.

  She smiled into his shoulder. She pressed light kisses along the line of his jaw. With her fingers she drew lazy circles on his sun-warmed back, walked them down his spine, over his buttocks. Hard buttocks, she thought, squeezing experimentally.

  “You’re asking for trouble,” Lachlan mumbled against her cheek.

  “Am I?” Fiona said hopefully, fingers moving.

  He rolled off her and laughed, looking younger and happier than she had ever seen him. “Give me a few minutes,” he vowed, “and you’ll find out.”

  A few minutes later she found out he was right.

  This time when they made love it was with slow, leisurely thoroughness that left them both sated and satisfied—for the moment.

  And when they sailed home that evening, with the net and float tucked securely away, Fiona stood at the wheel with Lachlan’s arms around her and marveled at the fact that, sometimes, dreams really did come true.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS WELL AFTER DARK by the time they got back to the harbor.

  Fiona, hugging the net to her chest, watched as Lachlan secured the boat. Then, when he scrambled up on the dock and held out a hand to her, she let him pull her up beside him.

  Fingers laced together, they walked up the dock and along the quay. Half a dozen teenagers were hanging out under the streetlamps, laughing and talking, and as Fiona and Lachlan passed, they turned and watched.

  So much for shutting down the island telegraph. Fiona had no doubt but that the island telegraph would be working overtime tonight. She didn’t care.

  They reached her door and Lachlan said quietly, “Can I come in?” and she knew it was reality time, not fantasy time any longer.

  She’d never actually dared dream of having Lachlan in her own bed. But the net in her arms told her he understood her, the day on the island said she mattered, and the look in his eyes was impossible to resist.

  She kissed his cheek, took his hand and drew him in.

  SHE WAS AS FIERY AS HER HAIR.

  He’d known she would be and relished every minute as, defenses battered down at last, she came to him as wild and strong as the sea.

  He’d worried that once he brought her home the idyll would end and the walls would go up again. He rejoiced when instead she kissed him, when she opened her door to him, when she brought him upstairs to her bedroom, when they undressed each other slowly, stopping to touch, to kiss, to stroke, and when they lay together on her narrow bed and loved each other once more.

  He loved the way she met him every step of the way, move for move, touch for touch, kiss for kiss. He loved the way he could make her writhe and arch and lock her heels against the backs of his thighs and sob his name. He loved the way she could make him bite his lip with longing, could make him quiver with need, and could satisfy both in the warmth of her embrace.

  He loved her once, twice. They fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke twice more to love again.

  And when at dawn Lachlan woke to find Fiona in the curve of his arm, her legs tangled with his, her lips pressed against his chest, more than anything, he wanted her again.

  But she didn’t wake this time as he shifted and eased his leg from between hers. She sighed and slept on when he levered himself up on an elbow to look down at her.

  Her hair was fire against the pillow, strands glowing red and copper in the streaky dawn. Her lips were full and slightly parted, asking to be kissed yet again.

  And he kissed them lightly, willing her to wake, but he had worn her out, and so she slept. He stroked her hair, touched her cheek. Still she slept. And so he kissed her again gently, then reluctantly got out of bed.

  He had to go back to the Sandpiper this morning. He had to see what Sylvester had done. Then there was a lunch meeting in Nassau with his banker, and then more meetings with more investors to go over a proposal for his next acquisition. He didn’t want to do any of them. He wanted to stay in bed with Fiona.

  But he couldn’t. And he knew she couldn’t either.

  She worked at the bakery at lunch. She’d be at Carin’s this afternoon. But she would be home this evening. And if he got moving now, so would he. He dressed quickly, then wrote her a note.

  He wasn’t good with words, had always wished he could be better. He simply told it like it was. “Fiona,” he wrote, “it was the best day—and night—of my life. Back tonight. Love, Lachlan.”

  He propped it on the nightstand, touched her cheek for just a moment, then scratched Sparks behind the ears, went down the stairs. The net and the float were lying on the sofa where Fiona had left them before they’d come upstairs.

  Lachlan spared them a grateful glance, then let himself out the door and hurried up the road.

  FIONA SANG HER WAY through the morning.

  She could have wished to wake up with Lachlan still there. But he had been there; she hadn’t dreamed it.

  She had the note to prove it, had found it the moment she awoke, alone and oddly lonely in her bed. Then she had remembered and rolled over, feeling bereft, to find the paper leaning against her reading lamp. She picked it up and smiled at Lachlan’s spiky writing, gloried at his words.

  It had been the best day and night of her life, too.

  And “Love, Lachlan,” he had written.

  Love.

  Fiona grinned and hugged herself. He might not have said it yet, but he had written the word.

  Then she sighed and stretched and felt her body protest, aching as it did in mysterious intimate ways in which her body was not accustomed to aching. She ran her hands over her nakedness. Then sat up, energized, excited, and bounded out of bed. She laughed as she dressed, picked up Sparks and danced around the room with him.

  He muttered a very offended feline protest.

  But Fiona just smiled and danced on.

  She didn’t exactly dance and sing as she waited on her lunchtime customers. But she was obviously a little ray of sunshine because Tony said, “You should smile like that more often,” and she got extraordinarily big tips.

  She charmed all the tourists who came into Carin’s shop that afternoon, too. She sold several sand castles, two cutout metal surfers and one fisherman, several wooden fish mobiles, a children’s puzzle, a watercolor seascape of Carin’s and several of Nathan’s books.

  By the time Carin and Nathan stopped in at the end of the day, the shelves were looking a little bare.

  Carin raised her brows. “Were we ransacked?”

  Fiona shook her head, still smiling broadly. “We just had a bunch of tourists with lots of discretionary income today.”

  “It be on account of her smilin’ so much,” Miss Saffron said. She had brought over some straw hats she’d made, and now she regarded Fiona with a satisfied smile of her own. “My Letitia, she say she see this one walking hip to hip with that McGillivray boy las’ night.”

  Carin’s brows went even higher. “Ah. So you did have a good time then?” she said to Fiona.

  Miss Saffron snickered. “Oh my, did she!”

  Fiona flushed. “We had a good time.”

  “And got the net?” Carin said.

  “And got
the net,” Fiona affirmed. “I’m putting it up as soon as I get finished here.”

  “Well, don’t let us keep you,” Carin said, making shooing motions with her hands. “You’ll want to have it up by the time Lachlan gets back.”

  The soccer team was out practicing on the field when Fiona arrived. She could see her nephews, Peter and Tom, passing a ball back and forth, dribbling down the field. Lacey Wolfe was practicing with them, too. And Lorenzo Sawyer was crouched, Lachlan-like, in goal.

  Lachlan, of course, wasn’t there. But she could certainly see his influence. The kids worked purposefully, kicking and passing, heading and blocking, encouraging each other. They were so much better at the game now, so much more skillful than they ever used to be.

  Hitching the net and float over her shoulder, she clambered up The King. Then, straddling one of the spars, she attached the float to a fish line and hung it, then began to arrange the net.

  “Hey, lookin’ good,” came a voice from below.

  And Fiona glanced down to see Hugh grinning her way. He wore flip-flops and shorts and a disreputable T-shirt, and his dark hair, so like his brother’s, lifted in the breeze.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were with Lachlan.”

  “I had to use the chopper to take Wilson to Governor’s Harbour for a meeting. Molly took Lachlan in the plane. They ought to be back before dusk. She radioed in an hour or so ago.” He winked. “Bet you can hardly wait.”

  Fiona flushed, but didn’t deny it.

  “Glad you and Lachlan are working things out,” Hugh went on.

  “Me, too,” she agreed, and continued to hang the net. “Isn’t this perfect?”

  “Yep. Looks great.” Hugh shaded his eyes and watched her work. “Trust Lachlan to find a use for his old net.”

  Fiona went suddenly still. Her fingers tightened in the mesh and slowly she turned to look down at Hugh. “What did you say? What do you mean, his old net?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t his originally, but he caught it the first year we came here. Maurice took us fishing off Lubbock Point. Lachlan didn’t want to go. Too busy sulking. But Dad insisted. It was part of his ‘getting to love the island’ scheme. Dad caught a shark, I caught a barracuda, and Lachlan caught that old net.” Hugh laughed at the memory. “He was furious. Said it figured. That it was just an example of what a dead-end place this was.” He shook his head. “Reckon he doesn’t think so anymore.” He grinned and looked up at Fiona for agreement.

  Fiona couldn’t manage a word.

  “Wondered why he stopped by the other night lookin’ for it,” Hugh went on cheerfully. “Good idea, really, giving it to you. No sense in keepin’ it in the bottom of the closet forever. You can’t catch anything with a net like that.”

  On the contrary, Fiona thought grimly, he had caught her.

  THE SUN WAS JUST SETTING as they landed.

  “Happy now?” Molly asked as the plane bobbed in the water and she shut things down.

  “Yeah,” Lachlan said, scanning the dock for Fiona. He’d been distracted and twitchy all day, preoccupied with thoughts of her. He’d have called her while he was at the Sandpiper, but by the time he’d had a spare minute, he knew she would have already headed off to the bakery.

  When he had another chance just before Molly had taken him to Nassau for a meeting at the bank, he knew she’d still be serving lunches. And the entire afternoon, when he might have caught her at Carin’s, he was tied up with examining a property that had just come on the market. He’d ground his teeth and cracked his knuckles and tried to look attentive and interested. He just wanted to get home to her.

  He’d met Molly at the airport, eager to leave, and was annoyed when his sister suggested staying in Nassau for the night to watch a tennis tournament, then maybe catch a movie.

  “No reason to hurry back, is there?”

  “Yes,” Lachlan had said through his teeth. “Let’s go.”

  “Got a hot date, bro?” she’d teased.

  He’d considered telling her to mind her own business, then changed his mind. What happened between him and Fiona was Molly’s business because it was real. It was serious. It was going to last.

  And so he nodded. “That’s right.”

  Molly’s eyes had widened and she’d stared at him, as if unsure whether or not he was kidding.

  He stared her down.

  “Whoa,” she said happily after a long moment. Then she’d hustled him to the plane. “Gotta get you home.”

  And now they were home. And as he climbed into the raft he could see there were half a dozen people on the dock. But no Fiona.

  Of course, he thought, lips twitching, she could be at home waiting for him in bed. He could handle that.

  But before he could get off the raft, Suzette came purposefully toward him.

  “Good. You’re back,” she said and started in with a list as long as his arm of things he needed to do at once.

  “It can’t wait?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if it could.”

  Better to get them done now, so she wasn’t bothering him later. No one was going to bother him and Fiona later.

  Sparing a lingering wishful glance across the water at Fiona’s house, he allowed Suzette to whisk him off to the Moonstone.

  He tried calling Fiona on the way, but she didn’t answer.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he said to Suzette, his mind still on Fiona. Maybe she was at one of her brothers’ places. Or maybe she’d gone to the Grouper with Carin and Nathan. He tried calling again. There was no reply.

  It was almost eleven by the time he had all the letters signed, all the questions answered, all the issues resolved.

  “That it?” he asked the minute Suzette showed any signs of slowing down.

  “I think so.” She stifled a yawn. “Good night. See you in the morning.”

  Lachlan was already heading for the door. It was late, he knew. Fiona might already have gone to bed. Maybe he should stay home, go see her in the morning. But even as he thought it, he knew he wasn’t going to. He’d spent the day thinking of Fiona and missing her. He wasn’t spending the night that way, too.

  He wanted her to know he’d been thinking of her. In the ten minutes he’d had free today he’d dropped into a book shop and bought her a book on sculpture. He wanted to take it to her now.

  He held it out eagerly when she finally opened the door. She didn’t smile. She looked as if she’d been crying.

  Lachlan’s own smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  Fiona stared at him, then took the book and flung it in his face.

  Instinctively he dodged. It hit him in the shoulder and thudded on to the porch. “What the hell—? What’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m a damn fool, obviously!” She started to slam the door, but he caught it before she could and pushed inside as she whirled away from him.

  “Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t here this morning. I had meetings. I—”

  “I’m sorry you were here last night! I’d say what kind of fool do you take me for—but you were obviously right! Are you collecting blue swimsuits now?”

  He shook his head, baffled. “What?”

  “Just get out. Take your stupid net—the one you found at Eden Cove—and shove it—”

  Oh, hell.

  He should have known.

  Damn Hugh anyway. Because she had to have talked to Hugh. Why the hell hadn’t he told his brother to keep his mouth shut? But then, it wasn’t really Hugh’s fault, either.

  It was his own.

  He should have straightened that out last night. He should have told her.

  Now Lachlan raked a hand through his hair. “Look,” he said with all the reason he could manage. “I know you’re upset—”

  “Upset?” Fiona shouted. “I’m not upset! I’m bloody furious! How dare you pretend to have found that net—”

  “I did find the net!”

  “You snagged the net twenty years ago! Off
Lubbock Point! Which is not near Eden Cove!”

  “It’s all the same ocean! For heaven’s sake, Fiona, I found it in the ocean! The same ocean all the other trash came out of. I didn’t buy it or steal it or make it. What difference does it make whether I found it now or twenty years ago?”

  “It makes all the difference in the world!” she told him flatly. “And you know it does—or you wouldn’t have lied about it.”

  Which was unfortunately true.

  Her back was ramrod straight as she stalked to the end of the living room, then spun around to confront him. “And then there’s the little matter of where. Why Eden Cove, Lachlan? If it was only to get me to use a net you knew I wouldn’t use unless it washed up on the beach, why not say you saw it on our beach. Why go all the way to Eden Cove?”

  Well, they both knew why.

  Because ultimately this wasn’t about the net.

  It had been about the two of them.

  Nothing that had happened yesterday would have been possible if he’d “found” the net on the beach outside the Moonstone. There was no privacy on the beach outside the Moonstone. There was no fantasy there. There would have been no romantic idyll. No chance to make love to her. No chance that she would have fallen in love with him.

  “It gave us a chance,” Lachlan tried to tell her.

  “It gave you a chance to take advantage of me,” she spat.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Go to hell,” she snapped. “You got what you wanted. Get out of here. Get out of my life.”

  “Fiona! Listen to me!”

  “No! Go! Damn you!” She was blinking furiously, close to tears.

  He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her. But when he moved closer, she kicked him.

  “Get out! Now!” And she snatched up a large towel-wrapped object and thrust it into his arms. “And take your naked self with you before I smash it to smithereens!”

  HE TOOK IT.

  He went. He stalked home across the island, as furious as she was, not caring who’d heard them shouting, not caring who’d seen him leave. He was angry, damn it all.