Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books) (15 page)

Taking a deep and shaky breath, she headed for the stairs before she could stop herself, or before she passed out from thinking about what she was going to do. As her hand rested on the doorknob, a thought hit her. She turned and walked through to her office. She took the long strand of papier-mâché beads from the bowl on her desk and slipped them over her head. They didn't exactly go with the outfit, but they felt right. For some reason the fact she'd worn them on her last professional photo shoot, before the accident, made them seem like the perfect thing to wear now. Her hand trembled as she stroked the beads. She was literally half the woman she'd been the last time she wore them.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered out loud.

Her stomach lurched. She knew that it was a lie. She probably wasn't going to be okay. She was probably going to make a fool of herself in front of the town and the national press. Her scars would be revealed, the coat would slip or the wind would blow—
something
would happen. She was sure of it. And then all anyone would talk about would be the scars. Not the fact she was healthy and alive. Not the fact her shop needed the business. Not even the fact she was fighting again.

"It hasn't happened yet," she said aloud. "Nothing is set in stone. You don't know what will happen. You don't."

Now she was really beginning to feel like she'd lost her mind.

With a shuddering deep breath, she opened the door to her shop and stepped out into the crowded high street. For a second, everything was surreal. She was dressed like a cheap hooker on a Saturday afternoon in Invertary. Her steps faltered. Then someone shouted above the crowd.

"Isn't that Kirsty?"

Slowly everyone turned towards her. Kirsty forgot how to breathe. With great effort she smiled at everyone and took a step. The ground did not open up beneath her. She took another step and another; her hips began to sway as they remembered the walk she'd perfected as a model. And before she knew it, she was halfway across the road.

There was no going back now.

Lake felt the atmosphere change before he became aware that people were moving towards the front of her shop. The excitement in the chatter went up a notch.

"Holy smoke," Betty called from where she was posing "for her fans" next to his tuxedoed cut-out. "It's Kirsty."

Everything within him went on high alert. He pushed his way through the crowd. He made it to the door as things grew eerily quiet. They parted for him, like the Red Sea for Moses. Next thing he knew, he was standing on the pavement watching Kirsty sway towards him in an ankle-length fur coat.

"Shut your trap," Betty said beside him. "The drool is ruining your fancy suit."

His mouth snapped shut.

Kirsty walked straight at him as cameras clicked and flashed. Her eyes never left his. Those deep, smoky eyes. She stopped in front of him, both hands fisted in the fur, holding the coat shut at her neck.

"You can't have a Bond-themed launch without a Bond girl," she told him.

He wondered if he was the only person that noticed her bottom lip trembled as she spoke.

"No, you can't," he said.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. Had she been wondering if he would turn her away? Silly woman. He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear.

"I hope you're naked under there."

Her genuine smile surprised them both.

"Better," she teased.

Lake wasn't sure what could be better than naked. He put a hand on her shoulder so that all the other drooling men would back off.

"What now?" he said.

"Now, I fight back," she said, but her voice shook on the words.

He squeezed her shoulder.

"Boys," she called to the newspaper reporters, "Lake was missing a Bond girl, and I'm only too happy to help him out."

"No way," one of them gaped. "Is that Kirsty Campbell?"

The photographers stepped in closer.

Lake felt her take a deep, shuddering breath as she turned towards the cameras. Slowly and seductively, she opened her coat to bare the whole left side of her body. She arched her back slightly, bent her knee and pointed her toe. Then she lowered her chin and pouted at the camera. Each movement was subtle. It could have been crass and over the top, but it wasn't. It was amazing. Lake stepped towards her, moving around to her right side so that the cameras could get a better shot of her left. She held her coat tight at her neck with her right hand. Lake put his arm around her shoulder and leaned into her.

"You're stealing my publicity," he said in admiration.

"Yeah," she sounded surprised. "I guess I am."

"How about a shot from a different angle?" one of the reporters shouted.

He felt her stiffen, but her smile seemed relaxed.

"This is all you're getting, boys. It's been years and I'm old and rusty."

There was laughter from the crowd and calls of "you tell them, Kirsty girl" and "you don't look old to me", plus one guy shouted "if you're rusty I'll oil you", which made Lake look for him in the crowd.

"Come on," said the camera guy, "give us one more shot and we'll fight for a double-page spread."

Kirsty hesitated. She cast a glance, with barely concealed panic, towards Lake. His eyes narrowed. Kirsty had run out of ideas. With more of a smirk than a smile, Lake turned towards the photographers.

"I've got the perfect shot for you," he told the guy.

He snaked his arm around Kirsty's waist and heard her yelp with surprise. He tipped her back, just like they did in all those dumb old movies, and then he kissed the living daylights out of her. As proud as he was to see her fight properly for a change, he felt a whole lot better being the one in control. The crowd went wild. Kirsty wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed her body up into his and with a deep, sensual growl, she kissed him back. Well and truly kissed him back. It took his breath away.

At last they separated. As Lake put Kirsty back on her feet, he felt breathless and a little dazed. To his disgust, apart from swollen lips and a flush in her cheeks, Kirsty looked very much in control.

"You're not the only one who can kiss, soldier boy," she said with a sultry wink.

Lake was struck dumb. This Kirsty, the one he'd thought was lurking under the scared one, was better than he'd ever hoped possible. He gave her a long, slow smile full of promise. He wasn't going to let her hide behind that wimpy exterior again. Not now he knew what she was capable of. Kirsty's eyes flared wide before she pulled her coat tight around her and turned her back on him.

"Now, would anyone like to see what's on sale in Eye Candy?" she called.

There was a roar, and just like that the townsfolk left his shop and followed her.

Lake watched her go while his feet twitched with the need to follow her. He wanted to get his hands on her before she remembered that they were at war, and that it wasn't over yet. And he definitely wanted to get her alone before she talked herself out of kissing him again. He took a step towards Kirsty's shop when he felt a sharp pain in his left ankle.

"What was that for?" he demanded of his evil little helper.

The crowd disappeared into Kirsty's shop. He'd missed his window of opportunity. He scowled at Betty.

"That's for selling out to the enemy," Betty said. "I don't know what they're teaching you lot in the English army these days, but this isn't how you run a war, laddie. Which side do you want to win this thing? Well?"

"Ours. Mine. What do you think?"

"I think you're acting like a lovestruck boy on his first crush. Buck up or I'll have to fight on my own again."

With that she stormed down the hill towards her wee cottage—with the cardboard cut-out of him in a tux under her arm. Lake shook his head slightly. He wasn't even going to ask what she planned to do with his picture. And he definitely didn't want it back when she was done. With a frustrated grunt, he turned his back on the party over the road—his party, the one he'd paid for—and strode into his shop. He'd have to deal with Kirsty later, and he wasn't sure he could wait that long.

Once inside the shop, Lake was surprised to find that Rainne was tallying up the day's takings. He thought she'd be long gone. Or hiding in some corner, lamenting the fact he'd ridden into town.

"We made a lot of money," she told him with a grin. "People loved the place." She paused for a minute. "You did a great job. You were right about everything. You're better at this than I am."

The wind went out of him. All he'd ever really wanted was to see her happy and settled. In his mind she was still the five-year-old who'd cried and held him tight when he'd told her he was leaving for the army. And he was going to make her cry again. Because when he left, her dreams went with him. A pang of guilt made his stomach clench. He forced himself to swallow it as he affectionately ruffled his sister's mad hair.

"We make a good team," he told her.

He knew he was overcompensating for his plans. His statement was generous, especially considering her part in the team mainly consisted of crying and whining.

"Maybe tomorrow we can go over some of my plans—you know, for more environmentally friendly underwear?"

"Does that mean you recycle it? Because that sounds seriously wrong."

"No, stupid. Sustainable materials. I think it could be big. We could be the only shop in Scotland that specialises in fair-trade lingerie."

She looked so happy that Lake didn't want to burst her bubble. At some point he had to tell her he was selling the shop. He looked at her hopeful face—it wouldn't be today.

"Sure," he said. "We can talk tomorrow."

"Great!" She threw her arms around him and hugged tight.

"You coming, Rainne?" Alastair said from the back of the shop.

Rainne beamed at him.

"Be right with you," she said.

"Alastair?" Lake said.

"He's nice." Rainne blushed and looked away.

A few seconds later they were gone, leaving Lake with an empty shop. He looked out the window to find the party was still going strong at Kirsty's place. She'd stolen his advertising and his launch day. Lake pulled at his bow tie as he went up the stairs to his flat. He couldn't help grinning. Kirsty Campbell knew how to fight after all. He couldn't wait to see what she did next.

"That was a bit mad," Alastair said as he reached for Rainne's hand.

Rainne smiled at him. He had a way of making her feel light, like she was a schoolgirl again.

"A bit," she said. "And slightly gross. It's not every day you watch your big brother play tonsil hockey for the cameras."

"Aye, I can see where you would find it a bit disconcerting."

"A bit!" she scoffed as they headed to the loch. "Kirsty was practically naked and he was in a tux. That image was burned into my retinas. I may never get over it."

"Mmm," he said with a wicked smile. "I may never get over it either."

Rainne stopped walking.

"Oh my goodness, you thought it was sexy."

"I'm a man, Rainbow, and I'm not dead."

"You're a boy."

He lowered his head and looked up through those thick lashes of his.

"Are you challenging my manhood, Rainbow Benson?"

She stifled a giggle.

"I wouldn't dare."

"Good." He turned back towards the water as he grabbed her hand and pulled her along. "With that sorted, we can fish."

They crossed the road, jumped the low wall and headed to the spot where he'd found her crying a few weeks earlier. She'd come to think of it as "their spot", which she knew was beyond corny, but couldn't help herself. He brought out her inner teenager.

"Why are we fishing again? Why can't we do something else?"

He squeezed her hand while he placed his free hand over his heart.

"You wound me. First I'm not a man, now you don't want to learn to cast a line. Seriously, why don't you insult the size of my..." He grinned mischievously at her. "...Feet, while you're at it."

"Because I haven't seen the size of your, ahem,
feet
, so I can't pass judgment."

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him.

"I'm not ashamed to tell you that I have great feet. Big, useful, sexy feet."

Rainne felt colour pop on her cheeks.

"Good to know," she mumbled.

Alastair chuckled before hugging her close. He always seemed to smell like a Christmas candle. She took a deep breath and swooned. The best smell in the world.

"Why is it you can grow up surrounded by so many free-talking people and blush when I even hint at sex?"

"Genetic failure?" she mumbled against his green Arran jumper.

His laughter vibrated right through her body.

"The fish are waiting, Rainbow. I have it on good authority that they want to be caught by a beautiful amateur today."

"So now you talk to fish." He smiled as he set up the rods he'd left on the beach earlier. "Why are we doing this now, Alastair? It's going to be dark soon, and cold."