Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books)

by henderson, janet elizabeth

  Rainne had heard a few of her father's lectures over the years. They were heavy with science and intellectual reasoning. It was easy to forget that her taciturn father had two doctorates and could be articulate when the need took him.

  "What about you?" she asked her mum. "What are you working on right now?"

  "The national debt," her mother said while she stirred the pot. "We need to stop the capitalist attitude that's ruining this country. Greed is killing people, not just the economy. Which reminds me, your brother has a big event planned for London at the same time as the next budget is being read. He could use some help with that."

  It took Rainne a moment to follow her mother's point.

  "But I'll be here, busy with the shop," she said.

  She saw her mother frown before Rainne spotted a figure walking towards the bus. Her heart fluttered.

  "I hope you don't mind," she said. "I invited someone for dinner."

  Joyce was less than pleased.

  "Lake?" she said tightly.

  "No. Remember, he said he was busy. This is Alastair. A...friend of mine."

  "That's lovely," her mother said a little tightly. "It's always nice to meet your friends."

  Rainne went to open the door of the bus before Alastair could knock.

  "Hey, gorgeous," he said as he looked up at her.

  Before she could stop him, he put his hands on her waist, pulled her to him and kissed her hello.

  "You must be Alastair," her mother said behind them.

  Rainne flushed as she untangled herself from Alastair.

  "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Benson." He held out his hand.

  "Call me Joyce," she said.

  Rainne took his coat as her mother led him into the bus. Most people were disorientated by the lack of space when they came to visit for the first time, but Alastair seemed to take the experience in his stride. He sat at the little bar table against the wall of the bus.

  "That smells great," he told Joyce.

  "I hope you like bean stew," she said.

  "I like anything," he said with a grin.

  Rainne poured him a glass of apple cider. She hadn't felt this nervous since she'd brought her first boyfriend home as a teenager.

  "You live in town, then?" Joyce said.

  "All my life," Alastair said. He looked at Rainne pointedly. "Can't imagine being anywhere else."

  Her mother wiped her hands on the cloth beside the stove, pulled some plates from the rack over the cooker and started dishing up food. The small bells sewn into the bottom of her Indian cotton skirt tinkled as she moved. Rainne smiled nervously at Alastair who winked back. Once the plates were on the table Rainne went to tap her father's shoulder and tell him dinner was ready. There was no point in shouting, he wouldn't hear her if he was concentrating. He could block out the world when he was focused on his work. When Eric spotted Alastair at the dinner table he looked at his wife.

  "Boyfriend, I think," she said.

  Her father grunted hello and sat to eat.

  There was enough space for all of them, but it was tight. Especially with two tall men at the table. Rainne remembered how often they ate outside in the tent as a child. There was more space for a family of six around a table in the tent.

  "What do you do?" her mother asked Alastair.

  "I work in a fishing shop," he said.

  "He teaches fly fishing too," Rainne said.

  Alastair smiled at her as she fidgeted with her food.

  "That's nice," her mother said. "But what do you do for the planet?"

  Alastair looked at little confused.

  "We're at war, son," Eric said.

  A little snort of laughter popped out of Rainne's mouth.

  "Sorry," she said. "You sound exactly like Lake."

  They both frowned at her, while Alastair looked a little confused.

  "Lake has chosen his own path," said her mother tightly.

  The message was loud and clear—it was the wrong path.

  "He was our brightest child," her father said. "I thought he'd be an academic. Lobby the government."

  "Guess you were half right," Alastair said amicably. "He worked for the government instead."

  There was silence around the table. Slowly, Alastair became aware that he'd said something wrong.

  "We weren't very pleased when Lake ran off and joined the army," Joyce said. She put a hand on Eric's arm—to console him or communicate with him, Rainne wasn't sure. "He sold out to the very establishment we're working hard to change."

  Rainne could see plainly that Alastair was more than a little confused, but he kept his mouth shut.

  "Your brother needs help in London," her father said, turning away from Alastair.

  Rainne doubted he'd talk to Alastair again for the duration of the meal. She'd seen her father do this before. He'd decided that he had nothing to gain from a conversation with Alastair, therefore he wasn't worth wasting time or attention on. Rainne felt herself burn with embarrassment.

  "Did you hear me?" Eric asked.

  "Joyce mentioned it," she said.

  "Are you going to help him, then?"

  She stared at her food. Normally nothing could get between her and her favourite bean stew.

  "I have a shop here," she said.

  "Yes, but this is important work. We need to get a message out at the next budget and River has been working hard on this. It's a good idea. You need to get behind it and support him. Do something for the cause instead of something for yourself."

  Rainne heard the message loud and clear. She was being selfish with her life in Scotland.

  "There must be more people who can help your brother?" Alastair said.

  Before Rainne could answer, her mum spoke up.

  "We work together in this family." Her mother ran her hand over Rainne's hair to smooth it. "We support each other. No one understands what we're trying to achieve like Rainne does. She's always supported family. Family is important to her. To all of us."

  Rainne bit her tongue. She wanted to remind them that Lake was family too.

  "What would Rainbow do that's so important down in London?" Alastair said.

  His eyes had narrowed. It was obvious that he didn't like her parents any more than they liked him.

  "Help her brother," Joyce said as though he was an idiot. "He needs a right-hand person for the campaign. Someone he trusts. Someone who knows everyone already and has a good eye for making sure that nothing is missed."

  "Basically, you want her to give up everything she has here and go down there to run around after her brother. Why can't you guys do it?"

  Joyce snapped back in her seat.

  "We'll be in Holland."

  Alastair forked at his food.

  "Do you want to go to London, Rainbow?" he said softly.

  "She can stay here if she wants," her father said. "We don't pressure people into doing things. But she has to ask herself what's more important—selling underwear, or stopping an international catastrophe?"

  "That's no question." Alastair looked her father in the eye. "That's manipulation."

  He turned back to Rainne.

  "Don't be bullied," he said in a gentle voice. He could have been talking about the weather.

  "I resent that," Joyce said. "We don't bully our children. We brought them up to think for themselves and not to be brainwashed by society."

  "Seems to me that you might have stopped them from being influenced by society, but you haven't stopped trying to influence them yourselves," Alastair said with a smile.

  He pushed his plate away.

  "Thanks for dinner. It was lovely," he said. "I'm going for a walk. Are you coming, Rainne?"

  Rainne looked at her gorgeous boy, then looked at her parents.

  "I said I'd help Joyce with some things," she said at last.

  Alastair pulled on his coat.

  "You know where to find me," he told her.

  The door shut quietly behind him. There was silence for a m
inute as Rainne watched him walk down the road beside the loch, heading towards home.

  "He's very young," said her mother.

  And Rainne felt her shoulders slump.

  The walk to Kirsty's flat was torturous. Lake spent his army life going for twenty-mile hikes at the drop of a hat, and the ten minutes it took to get to the high street felt longer than any hike he'd ever been on. Kirsty didn't talk at all on the way back. But then, what was there to say? She fumbled with the key to her front door.

  "Cold fingers," she said.

  Nerves, he thought.

  Kirsty turned on the light in the stairway. He followed her up to her flat. She took off her poncho and hung it in the closet, motioning for Lake to hand over his jacket. He gave it willingly as he tried to monitor every gesture she made to make sure they were still on the same page.

  "Do you want a drink?" she said.

  She was chewing her bottom lip again.

  "No."

  "A warm drink?" She took a step towards the kitchen instead of the bedroom. "It'll warm us up."

  "I'll warm you up, Kirsty," he said.

  Her cheeks flushed to prove his point, but she didn't move. They were rooted to the spot in her small hallway. The bedroom might as well have been two continents away rather than three tiny steps. She looked in the direction of the bedroom and fear flickered in her eyes. Lake hung his head. This wasn't what he wanted. Not like this. Kirsty might have instigated this, but if they were ever going to see the evening through, he was going to have to take charge. Plus, he couldn't wait the length of time it would obviously take for her to get her act together.

  "Come here," he told her as he held out his arms.

  She walked right into him, which made him relax. She put her cheek against his chest.

  "This is harder than I thought it would be," she confessed.

  "It's going to be okay," he told her, and held her tight.

  "Actually, I'm hoping it will be better than okay." He felt her smile against him. "I hear you're called Double Oh—orgasm. "

  She was making jokes. Lake felt his chest swell with pride.

  "Only two?" he said as he took her hand in his. "We'll need to do something about that nickname."

  He held her tightly as he headed for her bedroom. Once inside, he kicked the door shut behind him and felt her shiver. It wasn't the cold. A soft light from the street lamps seeped through the lightweight curtains. You could see everything in the room.

  "It's too light," Kirsty whispered.

  Lake grabbed a throw from the back of the armchair and tucked it around the curtain rail, giving an extra layer against the light.

  "Better?"

  "Better."

  He could hear the tremble in her voice. Now all he could make out were general shapes in the darkness. He negotiated his way back to Kirsty and pulled her back into his arms. She hid there gratefully.

  "I don't know what to do," she said. There was a pause. "Well, I know what to do. Just not what to do next. You know. To get from here to there."

  She cocked her head in the direction of the bed. Lake grinned against her hair.

  "I do," he told her as his lips found hers.

  His kiss was slow and deliberate. He didn't want to miss a moment of their time together. And he didn't want Kirsty's fears to get in the way of it either. He knew the second she stopped worrying about what they were doing and started to feel it instead. Her body curved into his, her breathing said passion instead of panic and her fingers sought out the shoulder muscles she loved so much.

  Slowly, Lake backed them towards the bed, making sure that the kissing didn't stop. He felt his way over her hip to the bottom of the black ribbed sweater that made him drool. Slipping his hand under it, he ran his fingers over the smooth skin in the small of her back. Kirsty pressed in towards him. His hand splayed to cover her back, his fingertips brushing scar tissue over her kidney. She stiffened.

  "I...I can't," she said as she pulled away from his mouth.

  He held her tight.

  "You can. Scars don't mean anything to me. You're beautiful, Kirsty. The kind of beautiful that lures ships to destruction. Nothing will change that. Not for me."

  Even in the darkness he could see her eyes widen with insecurity. She wanted to believe him. She just didn't know how to take the next step.

  "We're going about this all wrong," he told her. "You know when you have a Band-Aid on and you tease at the corner to get it off? You feel every tiny hair pull and think you'll die from the pain."

  "Big baby," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

  "We need to rip this sucker off," he told her.

  He heard her sharp intake of breath.

  "Rip what off exactly?"

  "It's time to get naked, Kirsty Campbell," he said with a grin of his own.

  "I don't think I can."

  "It's easy. I've been doing it all my life. Let me show you."

  Before she could object, he reached for the bottom of her jumper and yanked it up over her head.

  She gasped as her arms dropped from around him and flew to cover herself.

  "I can't see you, remember?" He stripped off his own top. "Kick off your shoes," he said.

  "I can't, I need to think, I—"

  Lake reached for her and kissed the words out of her mouth. She could do it. He knew she could. When he felt her skin against him, he desperately needed for her to know it too. She relaxed again, her hands straying to his arms and clinging to his biceps.

  "Shoes," he said against her mouth.

  She nodded and he gave her another little kiss of encouragement. They kicked off their shoes and tugged off their socks. Lake flattened her against his chest while his hand sought out the zipper on her skirt. She didn't stop him—instead her hand spread over his heart. She would feel it race under her fingertips and know how much he wanted her. He slid the zip down and pushed the skirt over her hips. She ducked her head against him, but wiggled her hips to let it fall. At last, Lake had Kirsty nearly naked in his arms.

  One of his hands kept her tight against him, while the other slid low to curl over her fabulous backside.

  "La Perla?" he said when he felt the lace beneath his fingers. "Autumn range?"

  Kirsty giggled.

  "If I couldn't feel the evidence, Lake Benson, that statement would seriously make me question your love of women."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  "Don't screw this up," she said, deadly serious.

  "I won't."

  She nodded and kissed him hard. Lake groaned deep in his chest. His hands curved under her rear as he lifted her and lowered her onto the bed. Kirsty wrapped her legs around him and pulled him down on top of her.

  Kirsty felt schizophrenic. There was one Kirsty who wanted to pour herself into Lake, feel everything there was to feel and never let go. Then there was the other Kirsty who wanted to put on her most matronly clothes and hide away from Lake, in fact all men, forever. With each kiss, with each touch, the two Kirstys battled it out inside of her until she felt like she was losing her mind.

  "I want to do this, I do," she said.

  "Good to know."

  He propped himself up on his elbow and lay along the right side of her body. The scarred side. His right hand trailed down the left of her body, over unbroken skin. His caress was part exploration, part tease. Kirsty found herself breathless and arching up into his touch. He leaned forward and kissed his way down her neck to her shoulder, over her collarbone to her breast. His hand met his lips there, and together they made her groan.

  "Definitely La Perla," he said. "I'd know that taste anywhere."

  Her giggle turned to a gasp as he sucked her through the lace.

  "There's something wrong here," she said. It was an effort to get the words out.

  "I'm doing something wrong?" he said with the confidence of a man who didn't believe it was possible.

  "You're still wearing your jeans."

  He lo
oked up at her. She could barely see him in the darkness, but she could make out the grin.

  "Say please and I'll take them off."

  Kirsty grinned back.

  "How about I say 'you don't get anything else out of me until you do'?"

  "Is that right?"

  To prove her wrong he slid his hand low on her body and ran a finger along the lace of her underpants to the heat between her legs. Kirsty's eyes closed all by themselves as her hips rose off the bed to meet his touch.

  "You were saying?"

  She could hear the laughter and the lust in his voice.

  "Get the damn jeans off," she barked.

  Lake laughed that deep, throaty laugh of his that drove her crazy and climbed off the bed. Kirsty propped herself up on her elbows to watch him. She could just about make out the sight of him rooting around in his pocket. Something landed on the bed beside her. She counted at least ten condoms.

  "You carry that many condoms around with you?" she said.

  "Only since I met you."

  "That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think?"

  "I like to think of it as optimistic."

  As his jeans hit the floor and she saw his thumbs disappear into the waistband of his briefs, Kirsty felt sweat break out on her brow.

  "Please tell me that you didn't buy the condoms from the chemist here in town?"

  "Where else would I get them?"

  He stepped out of his underwear and Kirsty could see enough of him in the darkness to make her mouth go dry. He was perfect. Complete and utter male perfection. She tried to focus on the conversation instead of the sight of him coming towards her.

  "We'll be the talk of the town," she complained as Lake sat on the bed beside her.

  "What makes you think people will assume I bought them for you?"

  "Well, duh, the fact you were hanging out of my window practically naked."

  "Yeah, there is that."

  He lay down beside her.

  "This is what I want," he said with a rumble.

  His mouth clamped on hers as his hand ran down her body. She couldn't help flinching when his touch hit her scars.

  "This isn't going to work if you jump every time I get near a scar," he said.

  "I know."