“You were with him the other night. Syd said he went with you to Nassau yesterday.”
“He went with the group,” Molly corrected, which was technically true even though actually Hugh was the more accurate.
Her brother grunted, unconvinced. “Well, just be careful. He’s not the settling-down kind. And he makes women forget their common sense.”
“What?”
“I’m only warning you. You don’t want to get dumped by some Spanish playboy, Mol’.”
“Excuuuuuuse me?”
Her indignation seemed to finally get through to him because he shuffled awkwardly. “I just meant, he’s out of your league. He eats little girls like you for breakfast.”
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” Molly said hotly and hoped it was the truth. “And anyway, you seem to have forgotten Carson.”
“Carson?” The blank look on Hugh’s face told her that he had indeed forgotten Carson.
“I am engaged to Carson,” Molly reminded him. “I’ve been engaged to Carson for years. Just because we haven’t set a date doesn’t mean we aren’t getting married.”
“Oh, right.” Hugh looked almost comically relieved.
Molly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, especially when later that afternoon she had a virtually identical conversation with Lachlan.
He came to the field every day for soccer practice. But today he stopped by the shop first. “Got a minute?”
She was working on one of the mokes they rented to tourists, but she stopped and looked up. “Sure.”
He studied her for a moment. “Nice haircut.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, relieved he wasn’t going to lecture her the way Hugh had.
“It’s nice to see you looking like a, um…girl for a change.” He cracked his knuckles loudly.
Molly weighed the wrench in her hand.
“You clean up good,” he went on. “But I…I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.”
“What,” Molly said slowly, “are you talking about?”
“Santiago.” Lachlan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts and rocked back on his heels. “He’s a great guy,” he went on rapidly. “A good friend. One of the best. But he’s not going to look twice—”
“Stop,” Molly said. “Right there.” She stood up.
“I just—”
“Stop.” She came around the moke and stood nose-to-nose with him. “What I do and who I see—and who I have a drink with or go to dinner with or go to bed with—”
“You went to bed with him?” Lachlan was apoplectic.
“I did not go to bed with him! But it wouldn’t be your business if I had. I’m an adult, Lachlan. I can do what I like with whomever I like. I do have certain standards, however,” she said, as much to remind herself of the fact as to remind him. “And I do not dally with other men when I am engaged to be married.”
It took more seconds than Molly would have liked for the penny to drop.
When it did, Lachlan blinked rapidly then grinned widely. “Son of a gun,” he said. “I forgot about Carson.”
So for a few brief moments had she. Thank God her brain had reengaged last night before her body did something she would forever regret.
“Well, don’t forget Carson,” she said firmly, then gave her brother a smile of saccharine sweetness. “Now, is there anything else?”
“Guess not.” He grinned crookedly, then reached out and ruffled her hair. “Heck of a haircut, Mol’. Carson’s gonna love it.”
She hoped so. She wished—dear God, she wished!—that he would come home and love it—love her!—right now!
Two days ago the ten days until his arrival had seemed far too short a time for all the things she needed to learn. Now the eight days still to go seemed like forever.
And how was she going to keep her mind on Carson when a certain black-haired devil was—just as Hugh had predicted—robbing her of her common sense?
PART OF WINNING was strategy.
It was having a plan. Knowing who the other side was. Sizing up the competition.
“Lachlan in?” Joaquin gave Suzette, Lachlan’s assistant, his best charming smile.
She smiled back. “He just got in from soccer practice. He’s on the phone but he won’t be long. Go on in.”
Ordinarily Joaquin would have come back later. He steered clear of Lachlan during soccer practice so he didn’t have to deal with his friend’s well-meaning but misguided attempts to get him involved. But today he had his own agenda, and that was more important.
Lachlan, still wearing the shorts and T-shirt he coached in, looked sweaty and disheveled as he beckoned Joaquin in, finished his conversation, then hung up, leaned back in his chair and grinned at his friend.
“Come to sign up?” he asked. “I could still use an offensive coach.”
“No, thanks. Not interested,” Joaquin said firmly. He cast around for a way to lead into what he wanted to ask, a casual indifferent way to get answers. There wasn’t one. Finally he just asked straight-out.
“Who’s this guy Molly’s engaged to?”
Lachlan blinked. “Carson? What about him?”
“Just curious. I didn’t know she was engaged. Never heard her mention him. And then we were talking the other day and his name came up. She said he was some big shot who’d grown up here. I just wondered why—Pelican Cay being a pretty small place—I’d never met him.” There. That sounded avuncular enough.
“Because Carson’s never here,” Lachlan said. “He’s on his way to running the world.”
Joaquin was surprised to hear that. The wife of a world ruler didn’t sound like the sort of thing Molly would aspire to become. He flung himself down in one of the armchairs in Lachlan’s office. “Go on.”
Lachlan leaned back and steepled his fingers on his chest. “I guess you could call him a big shot now. But he sure as hell wasn’t when we were growing up. He was a fisherman’s son. Skip Sawyer drowned when Carson was fifteen. He’d just started fishing full-time with his dad—and then he was on his own. Some of the others offered to buy him out, take over the boat. His mother tried to talk him into it. But Carson wouldn’t do it. Said he was going to do what his old man had done—and then some.” A smile touched Lachlan’s mouth as he remembered. “And he did just that. He worked his tail off. Saved his money. Couple of the old men crewed for him in the early days. By the time he was eighteen he had enough to buy another boat and hire another crew. But he never forgot the old men who helped him out. He takes care of them now.”
So, Carson Sawyer was energetic, determined, hardworking, frugal and loyal. A regular paragon.
“He owns a fleet now,” Lachlan said. “And real estate in the islands and partnerships in a couple of businesses in the States. Last time I saw him he was talking to me about diversification and taking some of his business to Europe and the South Pacific. No end to his ambition. But he’s never forgotten his roots. He’s a helluva guy. The sort of man you want to ride out a storm with.”
No weaknesses at all, then. Carson Flaming Sawyer was well nigh perfect. Except for needing to wake up where Molly was concerned.
“I hear you had a drink with Molly the other night,” Lachlan said. He wasn’t lounging back in his chair anymore. He was sitting up straight, leaning forward, looking intently at Joaquin.
Joaquin sat up straighter, too. “That’s right. I did.”
There was a long silence. Their gazes met. Lachlan’s eyes were a different color—brilliant blue to Molly’s deep green. But the intensity was the same. The challenge.
“I like your sister,” Joaquin said evenly. “She’s terrific.”
“She is. But she’s not a woman of the world.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means don’t mess with her.”
Joaquin’s jaw locked. “Seems to me it’s Carson Sawyer who’s messing with her.”
Lachlan frowned. “How so?”
“If he�
��s engaged to her, why isn’t he here? Why hasn’t he been here? Why isn’t he setting a date for their wedding?”
“I don’t think that’s for me to say,” Lachlan replied. “And if you were to ask either him or Molly you might get a bloody nose for your trouble.” His gaze narrowed. “Or have you asked her?”
“No.” Which was true. He hadn’t asked. Molly had told him. “I just wondered.”
“I imagine they’ll set a date when they’re ready,” Lachlan said. His mouth quirked into a grin. “Maybe the new haircut will inspire him.”
Joaquin’s fingers clenched. “Maybe. There ought to be more to it than that, though.”
Lachlan’s brows lifted. “Since when did you become patron saint of the perennially engaged?”
Joaquin stood up and flexed his shoulders. “We talked. I wondered. That’s all.”
“As long as that’s all it stays.” Lachlan’s words were mild, but the warning was clear enough. He stood up and grabbed the towel he’d dried off with after soccer practice. “I need a shower. You want to come back to the house with me? Fiona will feed you.”
“No.” He paused. “Thanks.”
As they went out the door, Lachlan clapped him on the shoulder. “Molly’s a good kid. Carson’s a good guy. They’ll make a good match of it. And probably soon. They just need to wait until the time is right. Don’t worry about it.” He slanted a grin in Joaquin’s direction as they stood in the inn’s foyer. “If you’re in a matchmaking frame of mind, maybe it’s time you found a woman of your own.”
“I’ve got my mother to do that for me,” Joaquin said.
Lachlan laughed. “Well, ring her and tell her to get busy.”
“She already is. Why do you think I’m hiding out here?”
“Rough life,” Lachlan said cheerfully. Then his grin vanished and he looked quite serious. “Are you doing okay?” he asked. “I mean we haven’t talked much. I figured you’d sort things out on your own, but if you need anything—”
“I’m fine.” Joaquin cut him off. “Go get your shower. I’ll see you around.”
Lachlan hesitated, then shrugged and punched Joaquin lightly in the abs.
“Don’t do anything I didn’t do,” he said and, with a wave of farewell in Suzette’s direction, he loped out the door and headed home.
Joaquin watched him go, aware that he’d already done something Lachlan hadn’t done—and certainly wouldn’t approve of him doing. He’d kissed Molly. And he’d have happily done a damn sight more than that.
He rubbed his hands down his face, feeling suddenly weary. Then slowly he climbed the stairs to his room.
SHE DIDN’T SEE JOAQUIN all day, which was fine.
Or all the day after that either, which was still okay, but distracting because she wondered if he was avoiding her. Or if she was avoiding him.
And try as she might, she couldn’t come up with any answers. It was probably one of those approach-avoidance things she’d studied about in psychology. Or maybe it was an approach-approach thing. Or maybe—
Maybe, Molly thought irritably, she was just losing her mind.
She paced her living room trying to decide whether to call him or not. It wasn’t as if she expected to be the focus of his every waking moment. She definitely didn’t want to be the focus of his every waking moment.
But when a man kissed a woman like Joaquin had kissed her—as if he’d wanted to do a lot more than kiss her—then the woman was just sort of, well, curious about where things might go from there.
Might being the operative word. In fact, Molly knew, they weren’t going anywhere. She didn’t want them to. She was engaged to Carson. And even if she weren’t, things still wouldn’t go anywhere because Joaquin Santiago was not a man for marrying.
Still, she thought as she paced, she wanted to see him, to talk to him. To kiss him.
Oh, God, where had that come from?
She needed to stop thinking about him. Or else, she thought quite suddenly, she needed to do more than think about him. She needed to see him, to desensitize herself to him. To spend more time with him.
Kiss him.
She groaned and closed her eyes. But the memories that plagued her as soon as she did that were vivid and all too realistic. She could, with very little effort, remember every single detail of the time his mouth had been on hers. The kiss was imprinted on her brain. It couldn’t possibly have been as hungry and demanding as she remembered it.
Could it?
Maybe she needed to find out.
“DINNER? AT YOUR PLACE?” Joaquin repeated her invitation cautiously, still surprised that it had been Molly’s voice he’d heard when he’d picked up his ringing phone.
“I just thought it would be a good way to say thank you,” she said breezily. “For all you did for me the other day, you know?”
He wasn’t sure what “all you did” encompassed. The haircut? The shopping spree? The lunch? The kiss?
And depending on which, then what?
Like getting the ball and taking his shot, in a single instant his brain raced through a hundred possibilities.
And went, as usual, with his gut instinct. “I’d like that, yes.”
It sounded as if she let out her breath quickly before she answered. “Great. I’ll see you about seven, then.”
“I’ll be there.”
DON’T DO ANYTHING I didn’t do.
Joaquin repeated Lachlan’s words over and over in his mind as he chose a bottle of wine, bought some flowers and headed toward Molly’s house.
At least, he assured himself, he went with the best of intentions. He was helping a woman in need. Tutoring her in the fine art of making a man aware of her. Imparting age-old knowledge about the flirtatious give-and-take between the sexes that she had somehow missed out on.
And if he just happened to make her aware that there were other fish in the sea than Carson Sawyer, well then, she didn’t love Sawyer very much, did she?
It wasn’t as if he was intending to have his wicked way with her.
He wasn’t. He was just helping her discover her Inner Woman, and pointing out—only if she was interested—that there were other options. It was a good deed on his part. Not self-interest.
It wasn’t as if he wanted her for himself.
She was fun to be with. Exhilarating. And kissing her made his toes curl and his body want to do far more than that.
But Molly was not his sort of woman. She wanted marriage. Permanence. A home. A family. Babies, for heaven’s sake!
Not to mention another man.
Well, they’d see about that last, he thought as he bounded up the steps and knocked on the screen door.
“Come on in.” Her voice floated back from the kitchen.
Marvelous spicy smells wafted toward him, making his stomach growl appreciatively. He pushed open the screen and followed his nose into the kitchen…and forgot all about the hunger in his stomach as another very basic hunger—for her, regardless of all his previous pious denial—shoved it out of the way.
Molly was standing barefoot at the stove scooping rice from a pot into a blue crockery bowl. She was wearing one of the sundresses she’d bought yesterday. It was a riot of reds and oranges, what there was of it, and by rights it should have clashed with her hair. But in fact the dress complemented it as well as bringing out the golden tan on her bare back. He swallowed hard.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps, and her face was flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and the color it added to her cheeks made her lovelier than ever.
“You look…fantastic,” he told her.
She grinned. “Because you have good taste. It is sort of cool, isn’t it?” She twirled around, making the skirt flare out, giving him a glimpse of long, tanned legs as well.
“Very cool,” he managed. “Here.” He thrust a bouquet at her.
“Flowers?” A smile of both surprise and delight lit her face. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”
Take
that, Sawyer, Joaquin thought grimly.
He hadn’t intended to bring them, either, but as he’d passed the Pineapple Shop, a riot of blossoms had caught his eye and he’d stopped and bought them for her.
She sniffed them, then smiled appreciatively. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said gruffly.
He handed her the wine and discovered no one had ever brought her wine before either. She asked him to open it and pour it while she dished up the meal. It was all very civilized, very proper. She didn’t need lessons in this department, that was for sure.
“Sit down,” she invited him.
He sat at the kitchen table, which she had set very nicely with colorful mats and bright island stoneware. She took a seat opposite him and smiled. “I’m so glad you could come.”
It was another one of those defining moments, but he was damned if he could figure out what had been defined. He nodded and took a careful breath. “Me, too.”
Molly McGillivray didn’t need cooking lessons either. The food was wonderful. The wine, by sheer good luck, complemented it perfectly, dry and cold and smooth. They enjoyed both. The conversation was casual and enjoyable, too.
She told him about the banner she had agreed to make for the homecoming festival. She raved about the number of charters Hugh had lined up bringing groups in for the various events and activities. It was a big boost for the business, she said. For all the island businesses. There were no rooms available anywhere.
Joaquin let her talk, simply enjoying the meal and the moment and, most of all, the woman. It was all very straightforward. Not flirtatious at all.
Which meant what? That the kiss they’d shared, which had pretty nearly taken the top of his head off, had been simply academically interesting to her?
No. Not possible. He’d felt her heart hammering against his chest. He’d tasted her passion. He’d felt the heat of her mouth on his.
“Fiona says he’s obsessing about it,” Molly was saying.
He jerked back to the moment. “Obsessing?” he echoed, not sure who or what she was talking about. He was the one who was obsessing—about that kiss!
Lessons from a Latin Lover Page 8
