Getting Over Harry (Harlequin Romance)

by Renee Roszel

  Meg guffawed again. “Underwear? I guess you’d call it that. But nothing serviceable—not unless you have seduction in mind.” Meg waved frantically, admonishing under her breath, “Hurry, he’s turning away.” She was half hanging out over the balcony, one foot off the ground.

  More in fear for her friend’s safety than anything, Emily moved to the railing. “Where?”

  “Oh, darn!” Meg popped back up, pointing. “He went around behind those palm trees, onto the covered courtyard. Rats! Is it so much to ask that I see the man? Is that a sin?” Without waiting for an answer, she bent over the railing, shading her eyes from the late afternoon sun.

  “I guess not, but this is Sin Island,” Emily reminded her, then had another disconcerting thought. “Why is it called—” She stopped herself. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  Meg’s attention remained on the throng below. “It’s not because of Mr. Gallant, if that’s what you’re afraid of. But considering his reputation with women, it could be. It’s called Sin Island because it was a pirate hangout a couple of hundred years ago. Oh.” She pointed frantically. “There’s Margo again.”

  Emily watched as the starlet crawled onto the diving board and curled into a suggestive position. “Those panties can’t be comfortable,” she mused aloud.

  “They’re not for comfort, silly. They’re for sexy.” With a ponderous groan, Meg straightened and faced away from the photo shoot. “Oh, well, I guess he’s gone. Dam! Do you suppose he’ll join us for dinner tonight?”

  “With Margo Tempest on the island?” She passed her pouting friend a doubtful look. “Who’s being naive now?”

  Meg shrugged and walked into the room. “I guess you’re right.” She plopped down on the bed. “But it’s such a bummer to be in the same house with the world’s most infamous playboy millionaire and never get to find out what he looks like. I promised a ton of people I’d get all the scoop.”

  Emily took a seat on the vanity bench. “Maybe it’s better that we don’t see him. I’d hate to have to look him in the eye and try to convince him I’m an interior decorator. I have trouble closing curtains, let alone designing them.”

  Meg made a face. “You worry too much. If he sees us, he’ll probably just nod and be on his way. No problem. I only want to find out if he’s as handsome as he’s rumored to be.”

  Emily ran her hands through her hair again, absently fluffing the wet strands. “He probably looks like a thousand-year-old gnome with warts on his nose.”

  “Ha!” Meg retorted. “The man I saw by the pool was no warty gnome! If that was Lyon Gallant, he’s as hot has...” The sentence died away, and the disgruntled scowl on her face began to alter into what looked like the beginnings of inspiration.

  Emily experienced a tremor of misgiving. Meg had had some wild ideas in her twenty-six years, not all of them wise. As her smile bloomed, Emily had a sinking feeling this was going to be one of the wildest and least wise ideas of her life.

  “I have it!” Meg jumped up. “He’d be perfect. Lyon Gallant could teach you everything you need to know about sex.”

  Emily stared, horror-stricken. Was it something about the sea air? Meg was voicing the exact thing she’d said to the carpenter this morning—the crazy fantasy of having a sexual encounter with Lyon Gallant. She wondered how many women a day got that insane notion, and since it seemed to be such a popular idea, how the secretive tycoon had time to get a lingerie catalogue out every month. “Don’t even think it,” she warned. “He wouldn’t be interested in me.”

  Meg planted her fists on her hips. “Not the right attitude! You’re every bit as pretty as Margo Tempest and a zillion times smarter. All you need is self-confidence.”

  “And maybe some of that painful underwear,” she mumbled wryly.

  “Exactly!”

  Emily had turned away, but spun back. “No. Not if my life depended on it.”

  Meg’s grin grew sly.

  Emily loved the night. She loved walking in the moonlight, something she hadn’t done in a long time. Tonight, she had a twofold reason to do it. First, Meg wouldn’t shut up about the Lyon Gallant seduction foolishness. Second, well, it was basically the same reason. Meg was driving her crazy, forcing her to thumb through a Gallant’s catalogue, oohing and ahing, over racy wisps of lace and silk that she insisted Emily must buy.

  At her wit’s end, she’d insisted she needed to take a walk, sure Meg wouldn’t insist on tagging along. Her favorite show was about to start. As Emily headed outside, she thanked her lucky stars for Meg’s passion for TV. Finally she’d get some peace. It was a beautiful June night. A light breeze teased her loose hair and carried on it the scent of tropical flowers and the salty tang of the sea. Palm trees waved their fronds as she crossed the manicured lawn, and stars winked from between scurrying clouds. Even the three-quarter moon seemed to be smiling at her.

  She felt among friends. No one was lying, no one was cheating and no one was trying to get her to have sex with anybody else. That’s what she loved about the night. Soft, quiet camaraderie. Her mood fell. Why couldn’t she find that same quality in a man? Pushing the gloomy thought aside, she ambled along. It wasn’t until it was too late that she became aware of where she was.

  The cove!

  What had possessed her to come here? She experienced a momentary discomfort but came to her senses. The obnoxious workman wouldn’t be here now. It was too dark to work. He’d be in the employees’ apartment compound on the far end of the island.

  Feeling better, she strolled to the water’s edge. The inky surface dipped and rose quietly, much of it lying in deep shadow. She was wearing tennis shoes and thought about taking them off and wading, but decided against it. One could never tell what lurked under the murky water. Still, it was a warm night, and a wade in the serene inlet seemed like a nice idea.

  She tentatively stepped in with her shoes on, and the first cool sensations against her skin made her gasp. But she determinedly sloshed on until she was knee deep.

  Her spirits lifted as the water caressed her legs. Nearing the halfway point, she noticed the sea had crept above her knees, so she stopped to roll up her walking shorts. She took a few more steps as water stole farther up her thighs, then found herself simply standing there. The vague white bones of the half-built cottage caught her eye. It perched above her, so silent, as though waiting to be turned into something lovely and valued.

  “Like me?” she asked the night.

  “I never said I didn’t like you, sweetheart.”

  She was so startled by the deep, male voice coming from out of nowhere, she staggered. Unaccustomed to standing on sandy sea bottoms, especially encumbered by shoes, she lost her balance, and with a startled cry tumbled backward. She sputtered and flailed, trying to right herself. She knew the cove wasn’t deep, but couldn’t get her footing. She wasn’t a good swimmer, and being startled, she floundered.

  She felt a hand at her back, lifting her. She gagged, choked. The hand became an arm, supporting her shoulders until she could get her knees under her.

  “Are you okay?” He was very near. His thigh brushed hers, so she knew he was either crouching or on his knees, too.

  Coughing into her hand, she peered sideways at him. Her eyes stung and she wiped at them. “You scared me to death!” she rasped.

  “I’m sorry.” He grinned at her, the dim moonlight reflecting white teeth and a dreadful lack of remorse. His wide shoulders and lightly furred chest gleamed. The lower portion of his body was masked at belly level by rippling water. “I thought you saw me, since you were talking to me.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you!” She winced, wishing she hadn’t blurted that. She didn’t want to explain her state of mind to this grinning hyena.

  “Oh? Sorry.” A brow rose. “Can you stand up?” His grin refreshed itself. “It seems like that’s all I say to you.”

  She was affronted. “Are you suggesting I’m clumsy? You’re the one booby-trapping the path and leaping ou
t at me like a bogeyman.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve been busy today, haven’t I?”

  She knew she was overreacting again, but the residue of this morning’s awful meeting still clung to her heart, making her feel defensive. Even in such dim light he was devilishly handsome. She didn’t like to admit it, but he affected her—oddly. “Why are you here, anyway?” she demanded. “Don’t you have a pool or a beach over at the employees’ residence?”

  He removed his arm from around her shoulders and backed away slightly, but didn’t rise. “Both.”

  “Well—well, why are you out here in the dark?”

  “Because I’m naked.”

  She’d opened her mouth to retort, thinking he was going to say something flip, like “I’m a loner,” or “I hate crowds.” But “I’m naked” hadn’t occurred to her. Her lips froze in a horrified oh.

  His eyes twinkled. “Were you going to say something?”

  She swallowed, shaking her head. “No—uh, no.”

  “I thought you might suggest that since I’m already, shall we say, dressed for it, we could have sex.”

  Her chest constricted and her breathing became labored. “Uh—that was the farthest thing from my mind.” That wasn’t completely the truth.

  “The farthest thing from your mind? What a shame,” he said, his grin intact. She was appalled at how his blatant masculine appeal made her pulse race and her blood heat, even in the chilly water, yet when his sexual overture was refused, he didn’t seem concerned—not even a little. She tried to bolt and run, but didn’t seem to be able to stand. Her legs were tingly and unresponsive, especially the one he’d brushed with his thigh. She swallowed hard. At least that’s what she hoped she’d brushed!

  The water around them swelled and dipped. She was nearly breast deep in the water, but he was only covered to his waist. At most. The sea lapped, ebbed and flowed around them. One particular swell made the water dip dangerously low on his torso, and she blanched, tossing her gaze to the heavens where clouds scudded and the moon’s grin had turned lecherous.

  “See something interesting?” he asked.

  She gritted her teeth at his taunting tone. “Don’t you care that sometimes the water drops awfully low?” A salty wave smacked her cheek, splashing her hair, and she gasped at the impact. “Oh—that’s a big one.”

  He chuckled. “Exactly what are we talking about?”

  She swiped her sopping hair out of her eyes, counting to ten. She would not even respond to that! Maybe he was asking a straight question, but her mind wasn’t on straight answers. Darn her mind.

  Suddenly it occurred to her that her clothes were completely soaked, and she hunkered lower in the water to cover her breasts. Even if she did manage to bolt away, he’d be able to see every curve and—well, every curve when she stood up.

  “I gather by now you’ve cut a deal for sex lessons with Mr. Gallant?”

  The frank question stung. She drew her lips between her teeth but found herself nodding. It was the answer that required the least explanation. If she told him the truth—that she hadn’t met Mr. Gallant, didn’t want to meet the man, then Mr. Naked, here, would only tease her further with the idea of their having sex, since—as he’d so romantically put it—he was already dressed for it.

  Unfortunately, there was one thing she’d discovered about being alone in a moonlit cove with a virile hunk. She was too much of a coward to simply have sex for the sake of sex. Darn her conventional hide. But there it was. The ugly truth. Meg would be livid if she found out!

  “That was fast work,” he said, with a scrutinizing quirk of his brow. “I hear Mr. Gallant’s hard to meet. How’d you manage it?”

  She didn’t want to carry on this travesty one second longer. “Excuse me, but—I’m wet.”

  “No kidding.” His brows dipped in mystification at her statement of the obvious.

  She toyed with the top button of her blouse. “I mean, I’m wet,” she repeated with firm emphasis. “This blouse is—is thin.” She eyed him meaningfully. “I’d like to leave.”

  “That’s fascinating.”

  Exasperated, she moaned, “Could you turn around?”

  Dawn broke over his features, and he ran a hand across his lips, not masking his amusement too well. “Look, sweetheart, it’s not like this is breaking new ground for me. I’ve seen women before. Wet and dry.”

  The idea that this naked stud was well-accustomed to the female anatomy made her body grow so warm she expected the water around her to give off steam. “Neverthe—” She stopped, cleared her throat of its shrill quality. “Nevertheless, I’d appreciate it if you’d turn around.”

  He didn’t immediately comply, and his amused regard made her want to scream. Instead, she spat, “Mr. Gallant is expecting me.” She bit the inside of her cheek, hating herself for such an unforgivable lie. It was just that the man tormented her so, it made her crazy!

  His chiseled jaw lifted in a half nod, his gaze growing speculative. “Well, we can’t make you late for class, now, can we?” The swish of water accompanied his turn. “How’s this?”

  “You’re a prince,” she shot, coming up on wobbly legs. “Good night.”

  “How will I know when it’s safe to turn around?”

  He was goading her! Always goading her! Clenching her fists, she shouted, “When you’re a shriveled little thing.”

  He laughed outright, the sound low and sensual in the stillness. “That’s a cruel thing to say to a naked man, sweetheart.”

  His wry comment made her stumble to a halt. Though he’d laughed, there was something about the lack of egotism in his remark that was endearing, and she felt an odd ambivalence spring to life. How ironic that one charming, almost vulnerable, statement could put a healthy crimp in her dislike for him.

  Regaining her wits, she splashed to the far shore and hurried away. He’d probably just been trying to embarrass her. Still, the quivery sensation she’d experienced had nothing to do with the night breeze, and that was a shame.

  How dare he be such a despicably irresistible exhibitionist!

  Nearly a week later, Meg was still lathered up about the affair idea, and that was making Emily a nervous wreck. Mr. Gallant had been in and out the last several days, which hadn’t helped her state of mind. What if he happened to cross their paths and they weren’t in the west wing clambering around on ladders, shouting out measurements and nitpicking over just the right shade of puce for the settee?

  Ivy had promised she’d alert them if that probability seemed imminent, but Emily couldn’t help but feel, even with the housekeeper’s assurance, something had to go wrong. As a matter of fact, she’d sensed a presence several times in the last few days, but when she’d turned she’d seen no one. She decided it was her guilty conscience getting the better of her.

  Luckily, Mr. Gallant was a busy man and away most days and some nights. Regardless, she dutifully carried around her tape measure and her notepad, feeling like a fraud.

  “Open up, Em! Hurry!”

  Meg’s frantic shout and her pounding on the door nearly caused the glass of water Emily had been drinking to slip from her fingers. She placed the stemmed crystal on her dresser and hurried to the bedroom door, expecting to see her friend’s clothes on fire, considering the uproar she was causing. She flung the door wide. “What’s wrong?”

  Meg turned out to be completely intact, her white shorts and halter top not even singed. The only unusual thing about her was that she was waving an envelope. As soon as the door opened, she shoved it in Emily’s face. “Read this!”

  Out of self-defense, she took the beige note from her friend’s quivering hand. “Why? What’s so important?”

  “It was under your door. I got one, too. Read it!” Her expression was so animated Emily was sure the news must be extraordinary. “What’s happened?” She opened the flap of the envelope.

  “Read! Read!” Meg’s face was stained with color, and she looked as though she might burst from excitemen
t.

  “Okay, I’m reading.” She unfolded the sheet of paper, but didn’t have a chance to glance at it before Meg shouted, “Aloud! Read it aloud!”

  Clearing her throat, she did as her friend asked. “Miss Emily Stone is invited to a formal dinner party in the Grand Salon at seven o’clock on Saturday evening. Sincerely, your host, Lyon Ga—” Her voice disappeared, and she blinked, hoping her eyes were playing ticks on her.

  “Right!” Meg danced around like a kid, her voice a singsong of merriment. “Lyon Gallant has invited us to dine with him! Saturday night at seven!” She stopped frolicking and wheeled toward her friend. “Why do you suppose, after nearly two weeks, he’s finally going to show himself to us?”

  Emily was still staring at the note, but she’d heard Meg’s question. Shaking her head, she folded it and unsteadily replaced it in its envelope. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, I don’t care why. I’m just so excited I’ll finally get to see him. Oh, and Aunt Ivy said there’s this huge room around the corner with all kinds of evening gowns. We’ll go pick out ours right after dinner. Now, let’s see. This is Thursday. That means in only two days we’ll see the master of Sin Island, up close and personal.” She grabbed Emily’s shoulders. “And, Em, this is your chance to meet him and—” she winked “—well, you know!”

  “Meg, bite your tongue.” Backing out of her friend’s hold, she walked to her bed, tossing the invitation on it then dropping down heavily. “If you’re my friend, you’ll never mention that again.”

  “Don’t go chicken on me,” Meg cried. “Not with our goal in sight.”

  Emily felt a bouncy jolt indicating that Meg had plopped down beside her. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes and was rubbing them. But this whole subject was giving her a headache. Tiredly, she leaned back on her elbows. “Look, if I tell you something, will you promise to let this scheme of yours rest—for good?”

  “Tell me what? I can’t make a promise like that until I know what you’re going to say.” She crossed her arms, looking put out. “You could tell me something stupid, like the mating habits of fungus. And that wouldn’t be fair.”