McGillivray's Mistress - By Anne McAllister Page 0,45

own shorts off and preparing once more to let her stand there and stare at him. He ground his teeth, caught a glimpse of his wild-eyed countenance in the mirror and drew a quick desperate breath.

Cool it, he told himself and willed his libido into temporary hibernation. Just for now. Just for the moment.

Because this was something he’d agreed to do, he’d do it. He’d see it through as he always saw everything through.

But he was done pretending Fiona could just look her fill with no consequences. This wasn’t the academic exercise she was trying to pretend it was.

She could look. She could touch.

But he wanted her naked, too.

“Are you coming?” an impatient voice called through the bathroom door.

Trying not to, Lachlan thought wryly.

“Be right there,” he replied, and hoped he didn’t sound as ragged as he felt.

When he ambled into the studio a few moments later, Fiona had already set the sculpture on her worktable. It looked a lot different from when he’d left. Much more detailed. She’d done a lot of work on it since he’d been gone. Curious, he went closer to take a look.

“The sooner you get on the stand, the sooner I can get to work,” she said, barely glancing his way, rubbing at something on the sculpture’s hip.

He studied it, impressed. “You missed me,” he said with a grin.

Her gaze jerked up. “What?”

He nodded at the sculpture. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. With me,” he added and was pleased to see her cheeks flush.

“I’ve been working,” she said tightly.

“When you weren’t schmoozing with Grantham?” He hadn’t meant to bring that up. He didn’t need her thinking he was jealous of any bloody earl.

“He’s been very encouraging,” she said and looked from him to the model stand and back again expectantly.

Lachlan took the hint. He padded across the bare floor and got up on the stand. “I’ll bet,” he muttered.

“He’s a nice man,” Fiona said absently as she studied him. “I’ve enjoyed talking with him. I’ve never met a man quite like him before. Thank you for introducing us.”

“I’m a nice man, too,” Lachlan pointed out.

“Mmm.”

Whatever that meant.

She worked in silence for a while, and Lachlan, silent too, simply watched her.

He’d missed watching her work. He’d expected that once she was out of sight, she’d be out of mind. God knew it was what he’d been hoping for. And with Dooley quitting, it should have been true. He’d had plenty of work at the Sandpiper to occupy him.

And yet all the time he’d been there, he’d felt as if something was missing.

A good contractor, he’d told himself. A competent foreman.

And that was true. But once he’d hired Sylvester, he’d been desperate to get away, to come back to Pelican Cay. Because he couldn’t get Fiona Dunbar out of his mind.

And it was nice to see she’d missed him, too. The sculpture was coming right along. Right now, for example, she was adding a chunk of clay to the front of the sculpture below the waist.

Lachlan sucked in his breath. Carefully he swallowed when Fiona looked up and studied him dispassionately for a long moment, then wet her hands and began using the clay slip to blend the addition in, adding fullness to the groin, smoothing, stroking…

Oh God.

Lachlan shut his eyes. No good. He could still almost feel her hands…

He opened his eyes again and then—

“Hey!” he yelped when she lopped off a piece and dropped it back in the bucket. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Fiona looked up, then laughed at his outraged expression. “I used too much.”

“Did not,” he muttered.

Their gazes caught. Held. Good God she was beautiful. And vibrant. And sexy. Her eyes were wide and luminous. Her skin was golden with freckles and a wonderful all-encompassing blush. He could see a tiny pulse beating at the base of her throat. His gaze dropped to her hands. They were still—and touching the clay intimately.

Lachlan shifted, cleared his throat, cracked a grin. “I hear we’re having an affair,” he said.

The blush turned as red as her hair. “We’re not!”

“I know that,” he said drily.

But she didn’t even hear him. She was pacing now, waving her hands, color still brilliant in her cheeks. “It’s ridiculous! It’s because they saw you leaving here in the morning. They think you spent the night!”

“I did.”

“No. I mean they think you slept with me!”

“Not a bad idea,” he murmured, watching as she went from one side of the room to the other, practically

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