then he heard a creak and the door behind him opened. Reluctantly Lachlan turned.
Fiona stood in the doorway, blinking raccoonishly. There were dark circles under her eyes. “You’re here.”
Was that disappointment in her tone? All she had to have done was tell him she’d changed her mind!
Or had she expected he’d wimp out?
Like hell.
“Six o’clock Thursday,” he said gruffly. “Where else would I be?”
She shook her head. Managed a few more sleepy blinks. Damn, but he wished she would stop looking so beddable! That was the last thing he needed to think about bedding Fiona Dunbar right now.
Finally she’d blinked enough, and instead frowned accusingly at him. “You’re early. It’s not six.”
“I could hardly wait,” he said drily.
She looked momentarily nonplussed. Then she gave a jerky nod and pushed open the screen door. “Come in.”
He followed her in. She was barefoot, wearing an oversize T-shirt and a pair of shorts, her long fiery hair hung loosely down her back. His fingers itched to reach out and touch it. He shoved them into the pockets of his trousers.
“So,” he said, determinedly businesslike, “you got the clay?”
He knew she had. His brother Hugh had said so last night.
“What the hell does Fiona Dunbar need with a hundred pounds of clay?” Hugh had demanded when they’d been drinking beers at the Grouper.
Lachlan had nearly spat his own beer across the room. “A hundred pounds?” Good God.
Hugh had nodded, then shaken his head. “Wouldn’t tell me what it was for. Our little Fiona is getting mysterious in her old age.”
Thank God she hadn’t, was all Lachlan had been able to think. “Maybe she’s going to make pots.”
“Maybe.” But Hugh hadn’t looked convinced. “What would you do with a hundred pounds of clay?” he’d asked Lily, the barmaid.
Lily grinned. “Make me a man.”
Then Lachlan had choked on his beer.
“Why not?” Lily had said with a shrug. “Better than the real ones be livin’ ’round here.”
“I’ve got the clay,” Fiona told him now. “It’s upstairs in my studio.” She turned and briskly led the way.
Lachlan had been up these stairs as a teenager when he’d come home with Paul and Mike. They’d shared the bedroom at the back of the house under the eaves. Fiona’s, he remembered, had been the tiny one across from the bathroom. And their parents’ had been the wide room that sat above the living room and overlooked the harbor.
Lachlan imagined that Fiona would have moved in there and that she’d have turned her bedroom or the boys’ into the studio. So he was surprised when she went straight to the large room that had been her parents’.
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