McGillivray's Mistress - By Anne McAllister Page 0,51

and shook his head, his dark hair lifting in the breeze. “You don’t look like bad luck to me.”

And just for an instant, when Lachlan’s eyes—as deep and blue as the sea—met hers, Fiona’s heart kicked over. Quickly she looked away, started to get up to move. But he blocked her in.

“Stay put. Go ahead and sail her.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” He moved behind her and put his hands over hers, and Fiona’s breath caught in her chest, but she didn’t object.

They sailed up the coast and past the point. Then he taught her how to come about, turning through the eye of the wind while he brought the jib around and retrimmed the sails.

When they reached the cove he had her steer again while he lowered the sails and started the engine. The noise seemed almost deafening, and Fiona was glad when he cut the engine again and lowered the anchor, then backed off the boat to set it about fifty yards from the shore.

Eden Cove with its narrow sandy beach, crystal clear water and ring of coconut palms was every bit as beautiful as she remembered. It looked like the cover illustration for a romance.

“It certainly captures the mood,” Julie had once said with a smile after she’d been there with Paul.

“The blue lagoon,” Claire had agreed. “For real.”

Fiona knew plenty of guys who had brought girls to Eden Cove. And she wondered again if there really was a net—or if Lachlan had designs of his own. She shot a quick look at him to see if she could read his mind.

He was scanning the shoreline. “We can take the dinghy in from here or swim. What’s your pleasure?” He sounded perfectly matter-of-fact and Fiona knew it was her own heated imagination that was creating the problems here, not Lachlan’s.

“Swim,” Fiona said. A cool dunk in the ocean seemed a smart idea.

Before she could feel self-conscious about stripping off her shirt and shorts, Lachlan said, “Race you,” pulled his own T-shirt over his head, kicked his flip-flops off, and dove over the side.

Seconds later Fiona had stripped down to her navy-blue swimsuit and dove in after him.

Lachlan swam like he played soccer and sailed and swung a hammer and tore down buildings, with easy grace and competence. Doing a leisurely breast stroke so she could watch him, Fiona wondered if there was anything physical he didn’t do well.

She wondered how he made love.

Oh God. She sank beneath the surface and didn’t come up until she’d controlled her wayward brain again.

And when she got to a depth where she could stand, the first thing she said was, “Where’s the net?”

“Here,” Lachlan said, and moved a few feet up the beach, then crouched down and began digging at something with his hands.

By the time Fiona waded ashore, she could see he was dragging an old fisherman’s net out from where most of it had been buried beneath the sand.

“Oh, wow!” She grinned with delight as she ran through the water and up the sand to help him dig. “Is that a float, too?”

It was, indeed. A pale-green glass float was still attached. Carefully, Fiona dug around it, then lifted it and cradled it in her palm. “Oh, it’s lovely!”

“Your brothers probably have a slew of them.”

“But this one washed up on the beach,” Fiona said, giving him a brilliant smile. “This one is special.”

He looked amused, but he didn’t argue and he helped her dig the rest of the net out.

It had been ripped badly and the ends of the strands were frayed and torn. Not even the most dedicated old fisherman would mend it now, but as she ran her fingers over the mesh she could almost imagine the man who had used it day in and day out—a man like her father, a man of the sea.

Holding the net in her lap, she lifted her gaze to meet Lachlan’s. “It’s perfect,” she told him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He looked almost embarrassed at her sincerity. He shrugged awkwardly and looked away, then got to his feet and brushed the sand off his legs. “No problem. I just figured you might be able to use it.”

“I can use it,” she said softly, smiling up at him.

“Yeah, well, good.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m getting hungry. I’ll swim out to the boat and put in the raft and bring back lunch.”

“Lunch?” she said, surprised.

But Lachlan had already sprinted into the water and was swimming toward the boat. While he