McGillivray's Mistress - By Anne McAllister Page 0,25
the sound of elephants climbing the stairs.
Ordinarily Julie bore no resemblance to an elephant at all. But now, seven months pregnant with twins and—forget the elephant—big as a cruise ship, she finally gasped into view.
“Brought you some grouper,” she said between gasps. “Fresh off the boat. I put it in the fridge so Himself—” a look based on prior experience passed between her and Sparks “—doesn’t think it’s for him. What’s wrong? Are you sick? Why are you standing here in your underwear?”
“I’m supposed to be going out to dinner,” Fiona waved a helpless hand toward her closet. “But I’ve got nothing to wear.”
Julie’s eyes got wide as it was a Rare Event for Fiona to go out at all. “Dinner? With who?”
“Lots of people. It’s business.”
“Paul didn’t say anything about dinner out.” As far as Julie was concerned, there was only one business—the fishing business. And Fiona did own a share of their boat as her legacy from her father.
“Not fishing,” Fiona said. “Sculpting. The stuff I do for Carin and the, um…King of the Beach.”
“The big trash thing?” Julie looked enormously impressed. “The one you were having a go at Lachlan McGillivray with?”
Fiona didn’t answer that. But it didn’t matter because Julie had already moved on.
“How’d that happen?” There was nothing Julie enjoyed more than news. She plumped herself down on Fiona’s bed and looked expectantly at her sister-in-law.
Dutifully Fiona mumbled something about the earl and his tour company and Carin and Nathan and, because she knew it would get out anyway since Pelican Cay had no secrets at all, Lachlan McGillivray.
Julie’s eyes bugged. She hooted. “You and Lachlan! He’ll roast you!”
“He’s the one who asked me.”
“Lachlan did? You’re joking. You tried to drown him!”
God, was she never going to live that down? “I did not try to drown him! We fell in the harbor.”
“Oh, right. Of course,” Julie murmured. “How could I forget?” She smirked, then sobered. “You’re probably the only girl who ever said no to him.”
If she had managed to say no to him, they wouldn’t have ended up in the water, Fiona thought ruefully. But she didn’t tell Julie that. She just plucked at the clothes in her closet once more. Time was running out and her fairy godmother was nowhere to be seen.
“I should just call and cancel.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Julie was adamant. “You have to go.”
“I don’t have to,” Fiona said.
“Yes you do. You need to get out. You hardly ever went out anywhere while you were taking care of Tom. It’s time you had a social life. You need to meet people. How old is this earl?”
“What? Stop that!” Fiona exclaimed, realizing where her sister-in-law’s thoughts were headed. “It’s business, Julie!”
“Whatever.” Julie didn’t care. She was going full-speed now. “I have the perfect dress for you.”
“You do?” Fiona stared at her, nonplussed.
“I wasn’t always as big as a minivan,” Julie reminded her. “Once I wore a size eight, too. And I bought a fabulous dress when Paul and I were in Nassau on our anniversary last year. It will be perfect. I’ll call him and he can bring it over.”
Fiona opened her mouth to object, but Julie was already reaching for the phone.
“You’ll love it. It’s elegant,” Julie said. “Understated. One of those less-is-more dresses. Cost the earth. You’ll be gorgeous in it.”
Fiona hesitated—but only for a moment. She had no choice, really. There was no way she could call Lachlan and beg off. I’m sorry. I can’t come. I don’t have anything suitable to wear.
How could she say that to a man who had dared to let her sculpt him naked?
“Call Paul,” she said and sighed fatalistically.
Julie called. “He’ll be right over. One thing,” she said when she hung up. “This dress is dry clean only. Try not to fall in the water.”
LACHLAN DIDN’T PUT ON ARMOR before he went to pick up Fiona, but he gave it some thought.
Inasmuch as his navy blazer had literally “gone to the dogs,” he put on his best khaki trousers, a blue oxford cloth shirt, then stopped by Suzette’s quarters to tell her to meet them at Beaches at 7:30. Then he put on mental armor and set off to Fiona’s.
He expected they’d have a battle.
She hadn’t looked all that keen on the dinner invitation. If he hadn’t had the morning sculpture session to play as a trump card, she’d probably have refused.
He fully expected she would be elbow deep in clay or some other messy substance when he arrived, in the hope