In McGillivray's Bed Read Online Free Page A

I’ll be on deck waiting for my bride.”
    He’d had a long wait.
    Syd had changed into the party dress so she could give the impression of cooperating if anyone saw her, then she’d gone back out and along the passage to the stern. She’d climbed the ladder to the deck, then stayed out of sight until no one was looking.
    And she’d jumped.
    â€œI’m a strong swimmer,” she told her sceptical rescuer firmly now. “I knew I could make it. And it was better than causing a fuss.”
    â€œGetting eaten by a shark wouldn’t have caused a fuss?” He sounded furious. She didn’t understand why. He wasn’t the one who would have been fish food. But he was cracking his knuckles furiously and giving a sharp shake of his head.
    â€œI didn’t think there were any fish around,” she said lamely.
    His eyes flashed. “This is the ocean, sweetheart! Why the hell wouldn’t there be any fish?”
    â€œYou weren’t catching any,” she pointed out.
    He made a strangled sound, yanked off his ugly faded baseball cap and shoved his hand through shaggy dark hair that could have used cutting. “How could I catch any damn fish,” he demanded, “with you kicking and floundering around out there? You were scaring them all away!”
    â€œEven the sharks,” she added.
    The glower was mutual this time. And who knew how long it would have lasted if his dog hadn’t nudged her way between them. Obviously a peacemaker. The dog—a border collie, Syd thought—grinned at her, looking much more reputable and a good deal friendlier than the fisherman.
    Venturing a hand out to scratch the dog’s ears, Syd asked, “What’s her name?”
    For a minute she didn’t think he was going to tell her. He pressed his lips together, then shrugged. “Belle.”
    The dog wagged her tail at the sound of her name.
    â€œHello, Belle,” Syd crooned, rubbing the soft ears and getting rewarded with a lick of her hands. “You’re beautiful. I’m Syd.”
    â€œSid?” Belle’s owner echoed in disbelief.
    â€œSyd with a Y. Sydney.” She hesitated, too, then told him her full name, “Margaret Sydney St. John,” and waited for the jolt of recognition.
    He looked at her with no recognition at all. No awareness that he was talking to the woman whose father had invented one of the most important telecommunications networks in the world, a woman whose name had been all over the Bahamian papers in recent days as she and Roland Carruthers had been negotiating a buyout of a high-profile Bahamian firm. No clue that, according to people in the know, he was talking to one of the most eligible women in America.
    He just looked blank, then reluctantly stuck out a fishy-smelling hand and said, “Hugh McGillivray.”
    McGillivray. It figured.
    He had that raw Scottish warrior look to him. Syd could imagine him with his face painted blue. She wondered how he’d look in a kilt and was surprised at the direction of her thoughts.
    Abruptly she jerked them back to the moment and, reluctantly, took his offered hand. It was every bit as unnerving as she’d imagined it would be.
    Used to shaking the soft hands of boardroom execs, she felt the difference immediately. Hugh McGillivray’s palm was hard and rough. There was a ragged bloody scratch on the back of his hand.
    â€œShark bite?” she asked.
    His gaze narrowed. A corner of his mouth twitched. But then he shook his head solemnly. “Barracuda.”
    She jerked and blinked in surprise, then swallowed hastily. “Really?”
    Hugh McGillivray gave her an unholy grin. “Gotcha.”
    Â 
    H E DIDN’T believe a word of it.
    Nobody jumped overboard to avoid getting married. It was preposterous. Ridiculous. Out of the question.
    But it was her story and she’d stuck to it. Or at least she had so far.
    Crazy woman.
    Hugh shot her a