Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books)

by henderson, janet elizabeth

  He bumped his shoulder against hers.

  "Get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?" he said. "I know what your problem is—you're in the wrong bed. You should be in mine."

  Kirsty sighed as she tugged at the heavy wooden door. Lake took it from her and motioned for her to go inside.

  "Are you ever going to give up?" she said.

  "Are you?"

  He took a step towards her in the dark vestibule. Kirsty stepped backwards, bumping into the leaflet-covered, wood-panelled wall. He put a hand on the wall beside her head and leaned into her.

  "Come on, Kirsty, you know you want to give in," he said softly. "I'm not usually one for advocating surrender, but in this case, I would recommend it. In this case, surrender would be a very good option."

  Kirsty licked her lips at the thought of it. Surrender. To Lake.

  The door to the church hall opened. Lake stepped back smoothly and smiled at Caroline—who, as usual, was blissfully unaware of the undercurrent in the room.

  "Good," she said in her crisp business tone. "You're here on time."

  "As if we would dare to be anything else," Kirsty teased.

  Caroline smiled at her, well aware of how uptight she was about timekeeping.

  "Here are the rules," Caroline said, handing them a pile of paperwork. "I printed them out for you."

  "Of course you did," Kirsty said with a smile.

  Lake read them as though they were a mission brief for an overseas operation. She'd read Suzanne Brockman's books; she knew how the army worked.

  "You'll sit at the red table," Caroline told Kirsty. "That means you're at the blue, Lake. The women who're auditioning will walk down the centre of the hall, and you make a mark on your sheet if you want them."

  Lake cleared his throat. Caroline looked at him blankly while he suppressed a smile.

  "She means want them for models, not want them in bed," Kirsty told him.

  Caroline's jaw dropped.

  "I know that," Lake said, but his mouth did that wanting-to-smile twitch thing that made Kirsty want to put a finger on the spot to stop it.

  "Okay," Caroline said. "You mark the women you want." Kirsty watched Lake struggle not to laugh. "And then once it's over, you hand the sheets to me and I'll decide who gets whom in a fair and unbiased manner."

  "What if we want the same woman? Do we share?"

  Kirsty narrowed her eyes at him.

  "No. We don't share."

  "I'll sort it all out," Caroline said, completely oblivious to any double meaning that was floating around.

  When Caroline walked ahead of them, Kirsty kicked Lake on the back of the leg.

  "Hey, what was that for?"

  "You know fine well," she told him. "Stop with the double entendres. You'll embarrass Caroline."

  "Seriously? It goes over her head."

  "She'll get it eventually. So stop it."

  "Fine."

  He held up his hands in mock surrender and sauntered to his appointed blue desk.

  There had been an ad in the local paper announcing that anyone interested in auditioning for the fashion show should turn up ready to walk in a straight line wearing their swimwear. It had been Kirsty's idea to get people to wear swimwear. Women were more used to being seen in public in their swimsuit then they were in their underwear. Plus, after two years of running her shop, she knew how ugly some of the underwear in Invertary was and she didn't want to spend an hour looking at it.

  "Should we have music?" Lake asked.

  "This isn't a beauty contest. No one is going to twirl a baton. It's an audition. Like an interview. Do you have music during your interviews?" she told him.

  "I've never had an interview," he said.

  "Never?"

  He shook his head.

  "You are so weird, Lake Benson."

  He smiled like he knew better.

  Caroline had set up the tables at one end of the hall. Hers in the middle and the other two at an angle to hers. The three of them together made a semi-circle. It was less intimidating for the models than walking towards a row of desks, but it also meant that Kirsty had a good view of Lake as well as the women auditioning for the show. He wore a grey crewneck sweater over worn jeans and tan leather boots. As he stretched his legs out in front of him and relaxed back into his chair, he made her mouth water. Lake caught her looking at him and winked. Kirsty frowned before studying the list on the desk in front of her.

  She knew most of the names on it and could tell without even seeing the women walk that there were some who wouldn't be any good for the show. There were also a lot of names she didn't recognise. They'd obviously pulled in some applicants from the surrounding towns and villages too. She bit her lip as she tried to guess who she'd pick to model for her shop. Sure, she wanted to represent "everywoman"—but she also wanted her lingerie to sell, and that meant some of the candidates weren't up to scratch, as much as it pained her to think like that. Her shop had been built on the belief that every woman could look great in the right underwear. But this wasn't her shop. It was a runway show, in front of the national press.

  "Okay, girls," Caroline called. "It's time to start."

  Kirsty looked at her list. It was the Donaldson twins. She smiled and ticked their names even before they appeared. The two blond girls came in together, giggling and holding hands. They wore matching red bikinis. Kirsty glanced over at Lake, half expecting to find him drooling over the twins, which would have been beyond disgusting as they were still in their teens. Instead she found she was the focus of his pale blue eyes. She shifted in her chair as he barely gave the girls a passing glance. Through the next five models, he did the same thing. Instead of looking at the models, he stared at Kirsty. With each passing moment, the heat in that stare intensified. Kirsty tugged at the neck of her mint-green jumper.

  "Is it awful hot in here?" she asked Caroline.

  "I cranked up the heat," Caroline said. "It is winter and the women are wearing very little. I didn't want anyone getting sick."

  "Good idea. So it is hot in here, it isn't just me," she said with relief.

  Lake smiled knowingly. Kirsty ignored him.

  "You're right," he said. "It is hot."

  He yanked his jumper up and over his head. Kirsty peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. He had on an old T-shirt with a faded Muddy Waters print. It briefly rode up his belly, along with his jumper. Kirsty's eyes popped at the sight of a rippling stomach. She'd seen it once before when he'd been clad only in a towel, but then she'd been too angry to fully appreciate it. She hadn't seen anything like it since her days modelling. And even then, she knew there was a difference. Those men wanted the muscles for pretty; Lake wanted to use them. She licked her lips, then realised she was staring. Her eyes quickly shot to Lake's, who cocked his head in acknowledgement that he'd caught her gawking at him. She snapped her head away, only to realise someone had walked across the room and was now leaving and she had no idea who it was. She skimmed her list, recognised the name with relief and put a tick beside it.

  "I hope you're paying careful attention," Lake said with clear amusement. "I hear it's important to get the right models."

  Kirsty ground her teeth together.

  There was a commotion outside the room before Betty burst through the doors. There was an audible gasp from everyone at the sight of her in a bathing suit.

  "I want to be in the show," she said as she stomped towards them.

  "It's not going to happen," Lake said.

  He folded his arms across his chest, making his shoulders bulge, and for a second Kirsty lost her place. Then Betty was in front of them—in a swimsuit—and Kirsty was snapped out of her confusion.

  "It better happen, or you'll regret it," she told Lake.

  "You can't threaten me. You're Hobbit sized. Go away, and put some clothes on while you're at it."

  "There's nothing wrong with this figure, son." Betty put her hand on her hip and
sashayed in front of them.

  Kirsty's jaw fell at the sight. Just as she realised that Betty still wore her hairnet, Caroline cleared her throat.

  "You aren't on the list, Betty. You can't audition."

  "Piffle. This is age discrimination. I can sue you. I'm going to talk to my nephew. I'll send him an message on the computer and he'll be up here in no time."

  "While you're at it," Lake drawled, unbothered by Betty's threats, "send him a picture of you in that, so he can see he has no grounds to sue anyone."

  Betty stomped over to stand in front of Lake's table. For some reason she took a minute to adjust her boobs in her swimsuit before she spoke.

  "I've had enough of you," she told Lake. "You're the worst soldier I've ever met. You're soft. It's pathetic. I've seen girls who can fight better than you. If you weren't so busy swooning over her"—she cocked a thumb over her shoulder at Kirsty—"then we'd have won the war already."

  Lake's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

  "I don't swoon. I pursue," Lake said, and Caroline gasped. Kirsty made a big deal out of feigning a yawn. "Doggedly," Lake said.

  "I don't care," Betty told him. "Do I look interested? I want to be in the show. I want to strut my stuff for Betty's Knicker Emporium."

  "There is no Betty's Knicker Emporium, and there won't be any Betty either unless you get your backside back into some clothes and go home."

  Betty leaned over the table and pointed at Lake.

  "You're making me really grumpy, son," she said before turning on her heels and stomping back out of the church hall.

  Lake sighed at the back of her.

  "I don't know," Kirsty said with fake innocence. "I think she would really add something to your show. You should pick her."

  He didn't say anything.

  Two more models later and Kirsty was ready to strip too. The heat in the room was overwhelming. She understood the need for it, but seriously wished she hadn't worn a cashmere sweater to the auditions.

  "I need to go out for a minute and get some air and a glass of water," she told Caroline.

  "I'll come too," Lake said.

  Kirsty couldn't stop him. He followed her through to the huge church kitchen, which was now icy cold compared to the hall. She reached into the cupboard with the glasses, got one for herself and handed one to Lake. Without a word she stood at the sink, filled the glass and drank it as though she was dying of thirst. She expected Lake to wait his turn. Instead he put his glass down on the counter and stood behind her, one hand on the sink at each side of her. Kirsty stopped drinking, her glass stilled against her lips. Every nerve ending down the back of her body was aware of him. The heat he generated was more ferocious than the heat in the hall.

  "Let's get out of here," he murmured against her ear. "Caroline can pick the models. She's going to anyway."

  Kirsty didn't trust herself to speak. Slowly, she put her glass down on the counter. Lake's left hand traced a line up her arm to her shoulder.

  "What do you say?" he said in that low, sultry voice of his. "I can think of better things to do."

  He hooked a finger into the neck of her sweater and tugged it down. Kirsty held her breath as Lake's kisses started from behind her left ear and worked their way towards her shoulder. Her head rolled back to give him greater access.

  "I'm not interested in these women," he told her. "I'm interested in you."

  His touch, his voice, his words—they were all conspiring to make her lose her mind. She felt herself go liquid and lean back against him. A solid wall of muscle behind her. His hands moved to her hips and slid down the outside of her skirt to her thighs. He grasped the material and started to inch it upwards. Kirsty's eyes fluttered shut as she gripped the sink.

  "What do you say?" he whispered against her ear, making her shiver with anticipation. "Want to leave with me, Kirsty?"

  She groaned.

  "Are you two ready to get going?" called Caroline.

  Lake rested his forehead on Kirsty's shoulder.

  "She has no idea how ready I am," he muttered.

  Kirsty moved away from him and pushed her skirt back into place. Lake leaned over the sink and every fibre of her being wanted to touch him.

  "Come to dinner tonight," she told him.

  Her heart was beating so loudly at the thought of it, she knew he had to hear it too.

  "You know what you're asking, right?" he said. His tone had steel in it.

  She nodded. She couldn't speak.

  "I told you before, you have to be certain what kind of invitation you're issuing." He turned towards her. "I want to be clear. I don't want to play any games. I'm not coming over for the food. I want you."

  Her skin flushed at the thought.

  "But you'll eat, right? Otherwise why cook?" She smiled, trying to keep it light.

  "I'll do whatever it takes. Even eat."

  His lips twitched again and Kirsty felt herself relax.

  "For goodness' sake, Lake—smile or don't smile, but stop it with the twitching face. Everyone knows what you're doing. No one is fooled. You may as well smile."

  And he grinned. Widely.

  "Lake is coming over for dinner tonight," Kirsty told the women of Knit Or Die.

  She watched them smile conspiratorially at each other. They might as well say what they were thinking; it was written all over their faces anyway.

  "It's not what you're thinking," she told them. "It's a ruse to get him out of the flat so you lot can get in there and mess with his computers."

  Liar, liar, pants on fire, the voice in her head told her.

  "I've written everything down for your grandson," she told Jean. "I'm not sure he was listening to me the other day. But basically all he has to do is make sure all the photos are attached to everything Lake sends out and that the email he thinks he's sending for the competition isn't the one the women get."

  "What did you write in the new competition email?" said Heather.

  Kirsty's eyes narrowed wickedly.

  "I wrote that he was looking forward to spending the weekend with them and that they didn't have to worry because by then he would have seen the doctor and he was pretty sure that he'd be given the all clear that his chlamydia was gone."

  There were whoops of raucous laughter.

  "You didn't," Shona said.

  "I also said that he had a great weekend planned for them. They were going deer shooting and afterwards a friend of his was going to give them a demo on how to skin their kill."

  The women were wiping their eyes and slapping the table in approval.

  "You are wicked, Kirsty Campbell," Jean said, but not without admiration.

  "She gets it from me," her mother said with pride.

  "Okay," Kirsty said. She stood up and reached for her coat on the pegs beside her mum's back door. "Make sure your grandson does his job, Jean, or there will be no date with Magenta."

  "How on earth did you get her to agree to that?" Jean said.

  Kirsty smiled. It'd been pretty easy. She'd explained to Magenta that Gordon was an arrogant wee jerk who needed to be taught a lesson about respect for women. After that Magenta jumped at the opportunity to help the boy out. Kirsty hadn't asked what she had planned. All she had done was make Magenta promise that there wouldn't be bloodshed. Or anything that would ensure a lifetime of therapy.

  "Don't forget," Kirsty told them, "Lake's coming over at eight."

  "What time will he be leaving?" her mother said.

  Shona started giggling.

  "After dinner. A couple of hours. That's all the time you've got. Surely that's enough time to do this."

  "Oh, I'm sure it's enough time for us," said Shona, "but I'm not sure it's enough for Lake."

  They all fell about laughing. Kirsty shook her head and left them to it. She had other things to think about, like what to make for dinner and how far she could let Lake take things before she freaked out completely.

  Rainne was wearing waders that came up to her armpi
ts, standing in the loch. Although she had on several layers, she was pretty sure that her toes were turning black from frostbite and were about to fall off.

  "Is this the right time of year to do this?" she asked Alastair, who didn't seem bothered by the cold or the fact he couldn't see where his feet were standing.

  "It's always the right time of year to learn to fish." He gave her his megawatt smile. "Might not be the right time of year to catch anything, but we don't really care about that, do we? Especially since you screamed so loud last time you caught something that people came running."

  "I'm a vegetarian," Rainne grumbled.

  Alastair busied himself with the hook at the end of the fishing line. Weeks he'd been teaching her to fish and she honestly couldn't tell you one thing she'd learnt. Every time he got close all she heard was that lilting voice of his and all she felt was the heat coming off his body. The words were pointless.

  "Do we have to do this now?" she grumbled.

  "As opposed to when?"

  "Spring?" she said hopefully.

  Alastair stilled.

  "Are you planning to be here in spring, Rainbow?" His voice was casual, but she could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he was anything but.

  She felt the weight of the question hang between them. Man, but he was pretty. Even in the dreich wet weather that you only found in Scotland, with rain that wasn't heavy enough to fall properly but was wet enough to soak you to the bone.

  "Where else would I go?" she said. "Once Lake gets fed up playing shop and is satisfied that I'm not flushing his money down the toilet, then I'll have a business to run. I can't very well leave with that to do, can I?"

  Alastair smiled softly, but kept his eye on whatever he was doing to the hook.

  "No, you can't leave with a shop to run," he said. Then he looked up at her and she felt her world tilt. "But I'm hoping it isn't the only reason you want to stay in Invertary, Rainbow."

  Rainne blinked hard, then pulled her rain hat tighter on her head for something to do. Alastair came up behind her, as he usually did when he was showing her how to cast. They'd done this about a million times now and they both knew Rainne could cast, but they both wanted to be close, so they went through the pretence of a beginner's lesson at the start of each fishing session.