McGillivray's Mistress Page 8

  He frowned at that, undecided if she was joking. He’d never thought Fiona Dunbar would be impressed by a title. But then he’d never thought Fiona Dunbar would own a dress like that either.

  “Maybe you can sculpt him,” Lachlan said.

  Fiona smiled. “Now there’s a thought.”

  “You’d better not suggest it,” he said quickly in case she thought he was serious. “We want him to come here. For that matter I’d just as soon you didn’t mention our, um…your, um, sculpting to anyone.”

  “Really? Why?” Fiona said guilelessly. Then, before he could reply, she burst out laughing. “I won’t be telling anyone, believe me. It’s our secret.” She glanced up toward the top of the hill. “Look. There’re Nathan and Carin. Is that Lord Grantham with them?”

  Lachlan saw three people turning into Pineapple Street. “Yes.”

  “Ah.” It sounded like a sigh of appreciation.

  Lachlan gave her a narrow look. “What’s that mean?”

  “He’s very nice.” Fiona grinned. “Very nice indeed. Julie will be pleased.”

  “Huh?”

  But Fiona just shook her head. “Nothing.”

  What was it with women, anyway? Couldn’t they just say what they meant?

  What it meant, he began to discover, was that Fiona liked David Grantham. And the feeling seemed to be mutual.

  Lachlan had barely introduced them—“Fiona, David, Lord Grantham. Dave, this is Fiona”—and they were talking like old friends.

  “Fantastic piece of art on the beach,” Grantham enthused, taking Fiona’s hand as if he had a right to it. “Don’t you think so?” he said to Lachlan.

  “Memorable,” Lachlan said, refusing to look into Fiona’s laughing eyes.

  “Absolutely,” Grantham went on, taking her by the arm and drawing her with him as he followed Carin and Nathan up the steps toward the restaurant. “It’s incredible the way you’ve used just whatever came to hand. Everything that came in on the tide, is that right?”

  “Almost everything,” Lachlan heard her reply. “Although there was a bit of censorship at one point.”

  “Censorship?” Grantham looked askance.

  “What censorship?” Nathan demanded.

  “You never told me about that,” Carin said to Fiona.

  “Well, I—”

  Lachlan intervened, pushing past them to grab the door, pulling it open and holding it for them all to go in. “There are some things that float in on the tide,” he said firmly, “that are best not displayed in a public forum.”

  “Oh,” Carin said. Her cheeks colored. “Of course. I never thought…” She gave him an embarrassed smile and hurried past him into the restaurant. Nathan followed, and Grantham with Fiona.

  “And there are other things which could be and aren’t,” Fiona murmured for his ears alone as she sashayed past.

  “Well, I say it’s marvelous,” Grantham said heartily. “Eye-catching. We’ll feature it on the tour brochure.”

  “Feature it?” Fiona stared.

  Lachlan’s teeth came together.

  “Why not? It’s perfect,” Grantham went on. “A set piece. Completely unique—exactly like a Grantham tour.” He grinned at them both. “Come,” he said to Fiona, “let’s have a drink and you can tell me all about your work.”

  And she did.

  At least Lachlan hoped that’s what she was doing over the clatter of glasses and the soft calypso beat of the island version of Muzak.

  He knew damned well what Grantham was doing. He was coming on to Fiona!

  Lachlan caught a part of the questions Grantham asked about her inspiration while they had drinks. Far from being reticent in the presence of titled aristocracy, Fiona chatted easily with him. When Lachlan would have steered him away to talk to Skip and Nadine Sellers, he’d got brushed off.

  “Later,” Grantham promised. “I want to know more about what Fiona thinks of American Indian artists.”

  “American Indian artists?” Lachlan muttered into his beer. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “They’re getting to know each other. And she’s charming him.” Suzette answered his rhetorical question with more honesty than he needed. “You didn’t need me here after all.”

  He’d asked her to partner Grantham. He’d expected to put Fiona next to him at the table, to make her feel comfortable, less out of her depth.

  Instead he got to watch as Grantham brushed a strand of hair from her cheek as they talked over the conch chowder. And he got to see her blush over the box fish stuffed with sea grapes and rice when Grantham waxed eloquent about the brilliance of her sculpture—not just the monstrosity on the sand, but all the other pieces in Carin’s shop.

  “I don’t know why you’re staying here.” Grantham’s voice carried the length of their table even though he was speaking to Fiona. “Your work is wonderful. Universal. You could take it anywhere. The metal pieces have such movement. Such energy. And the pelicans and sand castles. They’re pure unadulterated folk art,” he claimed. “Innocent. Unspoiled.”

  “Like Grandma Moses,” Lachlan said through his teeth.

  Everyone’s gaze turned to him. Nathan opened his mouth…and closed it again. Carin blinked. The Sellerses exchanged glances. Suzette stared. With a hard look Lachlan defied them to disagree.

  “What a lovely compliment,” Fiona said brightly after a moment of dead silence. “Thank you.”

  And then she went back to flirting with the earl.

  Lachlan stabbed his bread roll and crumbled it into little pieces. The courses came and went. The chatter went on. Nathan and Skip talked about Nathan shooting some film of the steel band. Nadine and Carin compared notes about toddlers. Suzette even offered an opinion as she had a niece that age. At the far end of the table Fiona and Grantham went on talking to each other.

  You’d have thought they were at a table for two!

  Lachlan glared at them.

  “Isn’t it great?” Carin said cheerfully. She was sitting next to him, but she, too, was looking down the table at Fiona who was simpering at Lord Bloody Grantham.

  Obviously he’d missed something. “Isn’t what great?” he growled.

  “Fiona. Flirting.”

  He turned his head and stared at Carin.

  “We were worried she wouldn’t remember how.” Carin grinned. “It’s been a lot of years. It’s lovely to see that she is getting out, socializing, practicing her wiles…”

  Now he turned back to look at Fiona. She tipped her head back and laughed delightedly at something Grantham was saying.

  Was that what she was doing? Practicing her wiles on Grantham?

  Like hell.

  FLIRTING, FIONA DISCOVERED, was like riding a bicycle. She might be a little rusty, she might wobble at first, but she hadn’t forgotten how to do it.

  And with a handsome, cooperative male like David Grantham encouraging her—doing a fair bit of flirting on his own—it wasn’t long before she was pedaling right along, laughing and talking, batting her lashes and doing a bit of gentle teasing.

  And thank God for that.

  It kept her from staring down the table at Lachlan McGillivray.

  She needed a distraction. Every time she did glance his way, his clothes seemed to fall off and she would see him as she had seen him that morning—in all his powerful naked male splendor. It made her dry-mouthed and damp-palmed just to think about it.

  So she didn’t. Or tried not to.

  Instead she threw herself eagerly into conversation with David Grantham. She’d imagined that he would be a pompous, old, self-important stuffed shirt. To her surprise and pleasure he was affable, young, easygoing and capable of charming the socks off any female between the ages of nine and ninety—in this case, her.

  Fortunately David had managed the seating arrangement so that she was next to him at the end of the table. She’d thought that Lachlan would be at one end of the table and Suzette, his assistant, would be at the other.
But somehow David had contrived to have her at the end so that she could stare straight down the table at Lachlan. Turning to her right and smiling at David was a far less stressful prospect.

  Besides, Lord Grantham—“Dave,” he corrected her the first time she used his title—was as charming and easygoing as Lachlan was not.

  Tall and lean, with blond floppy hair, Viking good looks and a muscular build, David Grantham would have made an excellent nude model himself. But the thought of David’s no doubt glorious naked body didn’t make Fiona’s heart skip a beat at all.

  Still, his jokes made her laugh, his flirtatious teasing made her feel like an attractive woman but not simply a sex object, and his genuine interest in The King of the Beach and her other sculptures made her feel as if she hadn’t been just cranking out holiday souvenirs, but had actually accomplished something worthwhile.

  Even Lachlan’s throwaway comment about Grandma Moses couldn’t diminish her pleasure.

  But David’s request over their last cup of coffee that she consider giving some talks to his tour groups flabbergasted her. They had moved from casual flirtation to earnest discussion of art, and she’d found herself espousing theories that sounded right but which surprised even her. His request surprised her even more.

  “Me?” Fiona thought perhaps that Silas the bartender had put a little too much Irish in her Irish coffee. “But…I’m not a teacher. I’m not even a professional sculptor.”

  “Of course you are. You sell your work. That makes you a professional.”

  “I have no training.”

  “Neither did Grandma Moses.” David grinned.

  “I don’t know…” Fiona said, glancing down the table toward where Lachlan seemed to be listening to Nathan, all the while glaring at her. “He might think I’m interloping.”

  David followed her gaze. “He has nothing to do with this. Or does he?” The question was quiet, but there was something intent in the way he turned his gaze on her. “Does he have a claim on you?”

  “No,” Fiona said hastily. “Of course not. I just—he’s the one who invited me to come to dinner.”

  “I invited you to come to dinner,” David said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh. So it hadn’t been Lachlan’s idea, after all. Of course. She should have realized that. Everyone here was someone David had wanted to talk to. Lachlan had just made the invitation.

  “Of course,” Fiona said, still smiling, but at the same time she felt oddly hollow and bereft.

  “So we’ll talk further,” David said briskly. “How about if I get you a few tapes of other artists and artisans who have worked with my tours. Then you’ll see how well you’d fit in.”

  She could tell he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Not yet anyway. And if privately she thought he was a little too optimistic, she couldn’t argue unless she knew more, could she? “All right.”

  “Brilliant!” David leaned over impulsively and kissed her cheek.

  “Check!” Lachlan’s harsh voice as he called the waiter made Fiona jump.

  And David pulled back, surprised. “But—”

  But Lachlan was already halfway to his feet, snapping his fingers and beckoning their waiter.

  “Time we got moving,” he said briskly, glancing at his watch. “Skip and Nadine have to head over to the Grouper for the first set. Nine-thirty, you said?” He looked at Skip.

  “Well, it’s not cut in stone,” Skip said. “We can—”

  “We’ll go now. No sense in keeping the crowd waiting,” Lachlan said. “You said you wanted to hear them, right, Dave?”

  “That’s right.” David was getting slowly to his feet now, too, and held out a hand to Fiona. “Fancy a little music before we head home?” he invited her.

  Fiona smiled. “That would be lovely. I—”

  “—don’t think so,” Lachlan said firmly. “Fiona’s got some work to do.”

  She stared at him. Work? What work?

  But Lachlan didn’t spare her a glance. He went right on speaking to David as if she weren’t even there. “Just follow Skip and Nadine—” who were already heading out the door “—Suzette will go with you. She’s very knowledgeable about music on the island. She’ll be able to give you an overview. Afterward the two of you can talk more with Skip and Nadine if you want to.”

  “Great idea,” Suzette said right on cue. “And I can help you find your way back to the Moonstone in the dark,” she offered with a light laugh. “It’s sometimes a little tricky.”

  David looked like he might have other ideas, but apparently years of being polite had taken their toll. He gave Fiona an apologetic smile, then turned to Suzette. “Thanks very much,” he said. “That would be brilliant.”

  He bade farewell to everyone else, then turned to Fiona. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, lingering as Lachlan herded them out of the restaurant and down the steps.

  “I’ll be around,” Fiona assured him. “I’ll be working at home in the morning and in Carin’s shop in the afternoon.”

  “If you want her, I can spare her for an hour or two,” Carin offered helpfully.

  “I’m sure David won’t need anywhere near that much of her time,” Lachlan said briskly, coming back for them, holding the door and looking impatient. “He’s a busy man. Go on now,” he urged David and Suzette. “Must be almost time for the first set.” Sounds of tuning and a bit of percussion were already coming from the Grouper. “You won’t want to miss anything.”

  “Are you coming?” David asked Carin and Nathan politely.

  Carin shook her head. “We’ll be heading home,” Carin said. “Wouldn’t do to leave Lacey on her own with Josh too long.”

  Nathan shuddered. “Heaven only knows what he will have got into.” Josh was one—and a force to be reckoned with.

  Fiona, who had baby-sat him herself a time or two, grinned. “He’s just like Mike’s boys were at that age.” Over the years she’d baby-sat Tom and Peter a fair amount and had enjoyed it. She’d always intended to have children of her own. But that was back when she’d thought life was something she could plan.

  And now?

  Now she had Sparks. At least Sparks, even if he did say so himself, was a spectacular cat.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to Carin and Nathan. “You, too,” she said to David. “It was lovely to meet you. Enjoy the steel band. Nice to see you again,” she said to Suzette.

  And then she turned to Lachlan who was looking decidedly irritable for no reason at all. “Thank you very much for dinner,” she said in a proper, well-brought-up fashion. Her mother would have been proud. “It was kind of you to invite me.”

  Even though she knew now that he hadn’t.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” he said smoothly. And to her amazement, instead of following David and Suzette or heading back to the Moonstone, he took her firmly by the arm and started down the hill with her.

  She tried wriggling out of his grasp, but he only slid his hand down until his fingers laced with hers.

  “What,” she demanded through her teeth, “are you doing?”

  “Walking you home.”

  “I don’t need you to walk me home!”

  “Too bad. I brought you. I’m taking you home.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  But apparently she wasn’t convincing. Lachlan didn’t answer. He didn’t let go of her hand either. His fingers were warm and rough against hers. Fiona felt a frisson of definite sexual awareness skitter up her spine.

  “What was that business about me having to work?” she demanded.

  He didn’t answer that either.

  “Lachlan?”

  But he just strode on, and Fiona, if she didn’t want to be dragged, had to practically run to keep up with him. Good thing she’d forgone Julie’s dressy heels for her own sandals.

  They went past Carin’s old house, where Lachlan’s sister, Molly, was now living. She was sitting on her front porch talking
to Miss Saffron, the old lady who lived next door. Molly’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of them together.

  Miss Saffron waved gaily.

  Fiona waved back and tried to look as if she wasn’t being abducted, which was what it felt like. “What are you so mad about?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “You just naturally steam from the ears?”

  He shot her a hard look. But not until they reached Fiona’s porch did he ease his grip on her hand. She wiggled her fingers experimentally. They might get feeling in them again sometime next week.

  “Well, that was nice,” she said brightly because she certainly didn’t know what else to say. “A lovely evening. A wonderful dinner. And now I’ve met an earl—”

  “And flirted with him,” Lachlan said harshly.

  Fiona blinked as much at the tone as the words. She could hardly deny them. And why should she?

  “I’m allowed,” she said mildly. “And he didn’t seem to mind. Actually,” she reflected, “I think he quite enjoyed it. Now, I think I’ll go in and get a good night’s sleep since I have to be up early. Thank you for seeing me home,” she added with a certain amount of irony.

  But he didn’t leave. He just stood there staring at her.

  Fiona’s brows lifted. “What? Do you want a tip?”

  Even in the dim glow from the porch light, she saw a muscle in his temple twitch. “No, I do not want a tip. I want…this!”

  And suddenly, astonishingly, he was kissing her.

  His lips came down hard on hers, demanding, insistent, hungry. His arms wrapped around her, his chest pressed against hers.

  It was what her brother Mike used to call a “full-body kiss.” Very like the one Lachlan had given her when he’d taken her to his boat.

  And just as she’d given in to it then, Fiona’s resistance was no proof against it now. As perverse, annoying and irritating as it was, her determination melted, her defenses crumbled.

  She was putty in his hands. Again. But unlike last time, there was no water to topple them into!

  She moaned. Her lips parted under his, welcoming his urgency, inviting his invasion. All her childhood dreams were reawakened. All her longings surged within.