In McGillivray's Bed Read Free

off the yacht,” she told him flatly, lifting a chin not unlike Captain Ahab’s chin. “I jumped.”
    Hugh’s jaw dropped. “You what!”
    â€œI jumped,” she repeated calmly, which was exactly what he couldn’t believe she’d said the first time.
    â€œAre you crazy? You jumped? In the middle of the bloody ocean? What the hell did you do a stupid thing like that for?”
    The crazy woman drew herself up as tall as she could manage, which meant she was almost as tall as he was, and looked down her definitely Captain Ahab nose. “It was,” she informed him, “the proactive thing to do.”
    Hugh sputtered. “Proactive?”
    How like a ditsy female to use business babble to justify temporary insanity. At least he hoped it was temporary. Hejerked his baseball cap off, ran a hand through his hair, jammed it back on again and shook his head.
    â€œYou don’t have to be embarrassed just because you drank a bit too much,” he told her. “Lots of people get a little wasted when they have a day’s holiday.”
    But her chin just went higher. “It wasn’t a holiday. And I did not touch a drop. I never drink on business occasions.”
    â€œYou jump often?” Hugh inquired. “On business occasions?” His mouth twitched.
    She gave him a fulminating glare, then wrapped her arms around her dripping dress and scowled. “Fine. Don’t believe me. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me whether you believe me or not.” Pause. “But I would appreciate a towel.”
    He didn’t move.
    The scowl grew deeper, the glare more intense. Their eyes dueled. Then Miss Captain Ahab pressed her lips together tightly. There was a long pause. Finally she gave an irritable huff and added with bad grace, “Please.”
    Hugh grinned. “Coming right up!”
    He fished a not-very-clean towel out from beneath the bow of the boat where he always stowed his sleeping bag and cooler and other sundry gear and tossed it back to her. “It’s all yours.”
    She caught it, wiped her face, then met his gaze over the top of it. “Thank you,” she said with exaggerated politeness.
    Still grinning, he dipped his head. “Anytime.”
    She looked away then and began drying off. Hugh stood there watching, fascinated, as she rubbed her arms and legs to dry them, then tried to sop up as much water from the beaded dress as she possibly could. It was a losing battle.
    â€œYou could take it off,” he offered helpfully.
    â€œYes, I could,” she reflected aloud.
    And damned if she didn’t!
    Right then. Right there.
    Well, actually it took a few moments for her to get the dress off. Palm-dampening, mouth-parching, body-hardening moments as far as Hugh was concerned. Soaking-wet and clingy beaded dresses were obviously not easy to shed.
    But as he stood there gaping, the crazy woman peeled the silvery straps of her beaded dress right down her arms and wriggled and shimmied and squirmed until the dress pooled at her feet and she was wearing a strapless bra and a pair of itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny bikini panties and nothing more.
    Hugh’s mouth went dry. His body got hot. He gaped, then tried to speak, but all he could manage was a croak like a frog’s. Abruptly he shut his mouth.
    The woman didn’t seem to notice. She gave a huge sigh as she stepped neatly out of the pool of dress. “Thank God. You have no idea how heavy a wet beaded dress is.”
    No, he didn’t. And if he tried to think about it, his mind whirled. All the blood that ordinarily made his brain function was far too busy elsewhere.
    Without thinking, he sat down. Belle came and put her head on his knee, but her gaze was still on the crazy woman.
    So was Hugh’s.
    â€œIf we’re going to be polite,” the woman told him firmly, “you shouldn’t stare. My father always told me it wasn’t polite to