In McGillivray's Bed Read Online Free PDF

as they drifted toward the dock. “Not on your life. Uh-uh. No way. Don’t even think it.”
    But obviously she was. “I wouldn’t hurt anything. I’d clean up after myself.” She looked around the boat. “After you,” she amended, wrinkling her nose. “This boat could use a good scrubbing.”
    â€œIt’s a boat, for God’s sake, not a floor,” he protested. They bumped against the rubber-tire-edged dock.
    â€œEven so, a little soap and water wouldn’t hurt it,” she informed him primly.
    â€œNo.” He grabbed the stern line and wrapped it aroundthe cleat on the dock, then jumped out to do the same with the bow.
    The crazy woman followed him, letting Belle out of the quilt and giving Hugh tantalizing glimpses of bare flesh. “Don’t be so negative, McGillivray,” she bargained. “Just one night. Or two. I’ll scrub the decks for you. Slap on some paint. I like being useful.”
    â€œNo. You’d give the fishermen heart attacks.” He jumped back into the boat and brushed past her, reaching for the cooler.
    â€œI could stay hidden until they left.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen how about if I stay with you?”
    â€œMe?” Hugh blanched and jerked around to glare at her. “You don’t want to stay with me.”
    â€œI certainly don’t,” she agreed readily. “But I need somewhere that Roland won’t find me.”
    â€œNot my place. I live in a shack.”
    Which wasn’t quite true. His place was small, granted, but it wasn’t falling down. It overlooked the beach on the windward side of the island. It was old and comfortable. Perfect for him—and far too small for entertaining the likes of Sydney St. John.
    â€œA shack, huh? Why am I not surprised?” she murmured.
    He rose to the bait. “By your standards,” he clarified, “it would be a shack. By mine it’s just right.”
    â€œI’m sure it is. And for me it will be, too—for a short time. Just until I get my head together, McGillivray. Just until I figure out a plan of action. And give Roland pause for thought. I won’t be any trouble,” she promised.
    And if he believed that, next thing you knew she’d be selling him a bridge from Nassau to Miami.
    â€œThere is no room,” Hugh said firmly. “It’s just a little beach house. Not your style.”
    â€œHow do you know my style?”
    â€œI know women.”
    â€œOh, really?”
    The doubt that dripped from her words infuriated him. He did know women. They’d been coming on to him since he was fourteen years old. And generally speaking they liked what they saw. It was only Sydney St. John who looked at him as if she’d found him on the sole of her shoe.
    â€œLike I said,” he told her gruffly, “I’m not your style.”
    â€œI can stand anything for a few days,” she informed him.
    â€œWell, I can’t. And there is nothing you can say that will—” He broke off at the sound of a shrill, happy voice calling his name from the end of the quay. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. “Damn it to hell.”
    Sydney St. John looked at him, startled. “What?”
    â€œNothing.” He finished tossing the last of the gear onto the dock, grabbed his bag with one hand and took Syd’s arm none too gently with the other. Then he turned toward the woman approaching them and managed a casual and determinedly indifferent, “Hey, there, Lisa. How you doing?”
    Lisa flashed him her beautiful, dimpled smile even as she looked curiously at the woman he held firmly at his side. “I’m all right,” she said, her voice a little hesitant for once. “But I was a little lonely. I thought you’d get back sooner than this.”
    â€œI told you I had, um…business,” Hugh said vaguely.
    â€œBusiness?” The smile wavered as Lisa