Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books) (5 page)

"Hello," she said to the person she'd dialled. "I need to cancel my insurance."

It wouldn't give her a lot of spare cash, but it would be a start. As she went through the inane questions from her insurance company, she worked out the sums on her notepad. With the money she would save on insurance for the shop, she could get her website up and running. That would generate more sales. It had to.

"No, it's only for a few months," she told the guy at the other end of the line.

With a tight smile, she hoped that Lake Benson would be long gone from Invertary by the

time she renewed her policy.

CHAPTER THREE

It took a lot to make Lake Benson feel stir crazy, but days on end stuck in the shop with Betty and Rainne had done the job. Not to mention the steady parade of women gawking at him through the shop window. It'd been a week since Kirsty's article and there was still no let-up in the number of women pointing and giggling. He was beginning to feel like one of those guys in the Diet Coke commercials. His breaking point was when Betty started calling him a "wee hot totty"—whatever the hell that meant. After that, he covered the windows with newspaper and ran from the shop.

Lake turned right towards the black waters of Invertary loch. It was barely October but the chill of the Scottish Highlands managed to work its way through his denim jacket and his woollen sweater—in fact, right through to his bones. The cold didn't bother him so much as the mood it brought with it. He wasn't one for introspection, but on nights like these when the wind was sharp and darkness was black like coal, his mind turned inward. He'd made exactly two spontaneous decisions in his life—join the army, leave the army. He didn't regret the first, but the second was proving to be a huge pain in his backside. Especially after almost a month in Invertary with little to show for it.

The old pub sat huge and imposing on the corner of the high street opposite the loch. Its walls, like the rest of the buildings in the centre of town, were whitewashed. The smooth surface reflected the warm light from the street lamps and made the place glow. As usual, the hanging shingle made him smile. The pub was called The Scottie Dog. Not a name meant for smugglers and Highland bandits. The leaden windows let flickers of light from inside seep out, and as someone pushed open the heavy wooden door the din of chat, and laughter, wafted into the street. It was busy. Crowded. For a minute, he wondered if he wouldn't rather be alone.

He pushed the door open before he could chicken out and spend his evening feeling sorry for himself in his '70s throwback flat. The door swung inwards quickly, hitting the person on the other side. Lake stepped inside and tripped over Kirsty Campbell. Words of apology fell out of his mouth before he realised who he'd trodden on. For some reason, the fact that he'd stumbled over Kirsty lifted his spirits no end.

"Seriously," she grumbled. "You're here too? You're everywhere. I can't get away from you."

"It's been almost a week since we talked," Lake pointed out.

Not a week since he'd seen her. He'd had that pleasure every day. Kirsty bent over to rub the ankle he'd trodden on. Lake smiled at the sight of Kirsty's rear wrapped in a wine-coloured skirt. His fingers tingled. They wanted to reach out and curl around her hips. Someone jostled him as they exited the pub—it broke his concentration, but not before Kirsty spotted where he'd been staring. Her perfect eyes narrowed.

"You're a snake, Lake Benson," she told him.

Lake cocked his head to the side in agreement.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she said.

"It's a pub," he said by way of explanation.

She pulled on the green coat he'd seen her wear before. Yet again she was covered from chin to ankle, and although it was cold, he was certain she must have been sweltering in the heat of the pub. She frowned at him.

"I know it's a pub, dimwit. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be renovating? Painting something? Planning world domination?"

"The world domination plan is in the bag. My evening is free."

He stepped to the side of the door. Now her way was clear if she wanted to go. She made no attempt to run. Instead she dug her fists into the pockets of her coat, making it pull on her shoulders.

"Why don't you go back to the army and leave us all in peace?" she asked. "Wouldn't that be easier? You can't possibly want to run a lingerie shop. Sell the thing and be done with it."

"Oh, would that I could," he said.

Unfortunately, no one would buy a business that hadn't made a profit in ten years. Well, no one except his clueless sister.

She rolled her eyes.

"Betty the troll and that loony contract of hers," Kirsty said.

Lake didn't correct her. If she wanted to think it was the contract that stopped him and not the state of the business, then that was fine with him. The fewer people who knew it was a mess, the better. That way it would be easier to sell once he got it back in the black.

"I'd love to get my hands on her nephew." Kirsty's voice broke into his thoughts. "That man needs a good hiding."

It took a minute for Lake to catch up with the conversation, and when he did a flush of heat worked up from his stomach to his head.

"If you want to get your hands on a man," he told her, "I'm available."

Her eyes widened.

"That's not going to happen," she said tightly.

Lake shrugged.

"I'm not even suggesting that I get you out of that underwear you're so attached to. I'm just saying that I'm here. If you want me. To do with as you will."

Her mouth opened and closed like a hooked fish. Lake smiled confidently, aware that every time she saw him she'd replay his words. He'd wear her down by default.

"It's no big deal," he said as he took a step closer to her, lowering his voice under the din of the bar. "Lovers by night. Enemies by day. It's in all the best spy movies."

"I don't want to be your lover." It would have been slightly more convincing if she hadn't stumbled over the word and flushed bright pink at the same time.

Lake cocked an eyebrow, feeling pretty pleased with himself. Kirsty frowned.

"Don't think you can wear me down, either. Guys with a lot more finesse than you've shown have chased after me. If I can resist them, I sure as heck can resist you."

"I don't plan to mention it again. I'm just going to wait. I'll be right in front of you. Watching you think about me. Watching you think about what we could do together. How we could be together. I won't need to say anything. It's all going to happen in your head."

She threw up her hands in exasperation.

"I'll tell you something. All of this"—she waved her hand in front of him to signal that she meant him, not her—"is happening in your head, not mine. My head is empty, thank you very much."

Lake grinned widely.

"Auch, I mean..." She poked him in the chest. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. You want me."

"In your dreams."

"Yep, there too."

"You are the most annoying man I've ever met and I don't have time to deal with your many psychological problems. I'm going home."

With that, she was gone. Lake found himself grinning at the door as it swung shut behind her.

After a large plate of fish and chips and a cold beer, Lake was in fine spirits. The cheery bustle around him improved his mood no end. He sat at a table near the bar flicking through images on his iPad. He had intended to relax while he caught up on news and sport. Instead, his time with Kirsty made him curious and reminded him that he'd yet to run a background check on his enemy. Around him the buzz of the busy pub acted like white noise to block out his day. It helped soothe him, which was good because Kirsty's story made for grim reading.

Lake traced his index finger over the image of Kirsty on a runway in Italy. Her tall, lean body curved in all the right places, accentuated by silver mirrored underwear the likes of which he'd never seen before. She was smiling into the camera, with a naughty look in her eye that made you want to tease her, just to see her laugh. Long, red, wavy hair flowed over her shoulder. He wanted to run his hands through it, but the pixie cut she sported now made that impossible.

"Why are you looking at our Kirsty?" Dougal said as he picked up the empty plates.

As owner of the pub, Dougal behaved like it was his right to poke his nose into everyone's business. Lake wasn't surprised. There was no such thing as privacy in Invertary. Lake let Dougal clear the table in front of him. As usual, the self-appointed town mayor's ample belly was barely covered by a green tartan waistcoat. This time it was worn over a pink shirt. Lake made a note to bring sunglasses next time he visited the pub.

"Well, son, why are you reading about Kirsty?" Dougal's loud voice boomed, making heads turn his way. "Is this because of that story in the paper? The war thing you're playing at? What is it you lads say—know your enemy?"

Lake was surprised at how close Dougal had come to his motivation, but he didn't let it show.

"Just curious," Lake said, keeping his voice low and soft.

"Why are you whispering, son? Everybody knows the story anyway. It was in all the papers."

Lake looked around as those who could hear over the din nodded.

"You're English, so you might not know," Dougal said, although it was clear Lake did know as he'd just been reading about it.

There was obviously no stopping the man, so Lake sat back in his chair. Dougal smoothed his perfectly groomed—and snow white—beard and moustache. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the room to make sure people were paying attention to him.

"Kirsty," Dougal said with an air of importance, "was a lingerie model, very successful. Not one of those angel girls, but close."

Dougal took a breath and a guy behind Lake said, "He means Victoria's Secret."

Dougal frowned at the man for interrupting.

"She was always gallivanting off to some shoot or other, all over the world." Dougal continued, pleased that people were turning to listen. "She got engaged to her manager, all teeth whitener and limp handshake. They were in a car in Spain, on the high roads."

"'Round Seville," someone behind him said. "Treacherous roads. You drive on a cliff edge."

More nodding.

"Anyway," Dougal said in a tone that made it clear he was the one telling the story, not them. "He lost control of his flash car and it plummeted down a gully."

"Cliff."

"Ravine."

Dougal stared at the crowd until they shut up.

"He walked away," he said with disgust. "Bruises and a broken arm, that was all. At least he called for help. They had to cut our Kirsty out. She lost a kidney—"

"Head injury, too, poor dear," said a woman to his left.

"They had to cut off her lovely hair," said the woman's friend.

"The worst part," said an old guy behind him, "was the scars."

"Yes," said his wife. "They go from her neck right down her body. Terrible, it is."

"Have you ever seen them?" boomed Dougal.

"No." The woman was flustered. "But I've heard."

"If you haven't seen them, then you don't know how bad they are, do you?" Dougal told her.

After a few seconds of giving her the evil eye, he turned back to Lake.

"That wasn't the end of it. While Kirsty was in hospital, that devil fiancé of hers ran away with all her money. They think he's in Brazil."

"Probably living with that guy who robbed the train," someone called.

Dougal gave up pretending to collect the dishes. He was holding court now. Lake quietly sipped his drink. In his experience, if you were silent long enough, people always told you everything you wanted to know and often more—as he was learning the hard way with Betty.

"So," Dougal said with a flourish, "poor Kirsty had no choice but to come home here and start again. Her mum lent her the money to buy her shop and now she's working hard to get ahead again."

As one the group nodded solemnly. Suddenly, Dougal realised who he was talking to.

"You're not going to use this information to harm our Kirsty, are you?" Dougal shouted.

Lake could feel the mood of the pub shift against him. They were talking about a treasured child of Invertary and he was the outsider. The English outsider, lest he should forget.

"Why would I do that?" he said calmly.

"To make her shut her shop," Dougal said, as though Lake was the idiot.

"Dougal," Lake said in a conciliatory tone. "What happened to Kirsty has nothing to do with this competition between our shops. They are two different things. I'm not going to use this to shut her down."

There was silence in the pub for a second before Dougal spoke.

"Good, because we'll have none of that around here," he declared.

The noise resumed. As Dougal bustled away with Lake's empty plate, Lake reread the information on Kirsty. Nope, it wasn't any use for winning the war, but it might come in handy for charming her out of her underwear.