gone?”
“There’s always new material.”
“So use it somewhere else.”
Fiona shook her head. “It’s a challenge to use it there, to make it part of the whole.”
“Find a new challenge.”
“Like what?”
“How the hell should I know? You’re the one who wants to sculpt!”
“Yes, but I need subjects. I need material. I need to do things I haven’t done before. To broaden my horizons!”
God knew it was the truth. She’d never been anywhere or done anything compared to most people. She’d spent her whole life, except for a handful of trips to Nassau and Miami, right here on Pelican Cay. “If I’m going to grow as an artist, I need to tackle new projects, explore different media.”
Lachlan’s fingers flexed and relaxed. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet. He looked the way he always had in goal when a striker was heading his way.
“So,” he said, “if you had something else you wanted to sculpt, something that would challenge you, you’d do that?”
“I—”
“And you’d get rid of that monstrosity on my beach?”
“It’s not—”
“Call it what you want. I want it gone. But if you really mean what you said…if you really want to sculpt and not just play games…if you really want a challenge, I have a deal for you.”
Fiona eyed him suspiciously. “What deal?”
“You want to be a sculptor, fine. You want new challenges, great. Go for it. Whatever you want to sculpt, I’ll provide it. We can add a little ‘culture’ to the island. And in return, you take down the monstros—The King of the Beach.” He looked at her expectantly.
Fiona hesitated. Possibilities reeled through her mind. Hopes. Dreams. Fears.
Lachlan grinned at her, challenging her, like the goalkeeper he was. “Or maybe it’s all bull, Fiona. Maybe you’re just a prankster, and not really a sculptor at all.”
Her spine stiffened. She met his gaze defiantly. “Anything?” she asked. “I can sculpt anything I want?”
He shrugged, still grinning that satisfied grin. “Anything.”
“Then I want to sculpt you. Nude.”
CHAPTER TWO
“OR MAYBE you’re not up to the challenge?” she suggested, the faint smile on her face now turning into an unholy grin.
Lachlan felt as if he’d been blindsided, as if he’d dived to stop the ball—and it had gone zinging past his feet as he’d lunged the other way.
Nude? Had she said she wanted to sculpt him nude?
Yes, she had.
But she didn’t mean it. Couldn’t mean it. She had to be kidding.
But she didn’t look like she was kidding.
She looked like she was daring him. There was a sparkle of mischief in Fiona Dunbar’s wide green eyes, a blatant challenge in the look she gave him.
Lachlan felt his teeth come together with a snap.
She hadn’t wanted him nude once before, damn it. She’d very nearly drowned them both to prevent any such occurrence!
And now—?
“Right. Very funny,” Lachlan said tersely and spun away.
Soft but distinct gobbling chicken sounds followed him.
He jerked back around and glared at her.
Fiona stood in guileless silence and stared back. He looked at her closely. There was determination in her gaze—and defiance. And just a hint of something else.
Vulnerability?
No way. Impossible. Fiona Dunbar was about as vulnerable as an asp.
So what was she playing at?
A charcoal gray cat jumped past him suddenly and walked along the table behind Fiona. It came up to her and nudged her with its head. Without breaking eye contact with him, Fiona reached around and scooped the cat into her arms—like a witch with her familiar.
The cat stared at him with watchful green eyes. So did the woman.
Lachlan felt a muscle in his temple tick.
“So you want me nude?” he said at last with all the casual curiosity he could muster. He was gratified to see the color rise in her cheeks.
“I don’t want you nude,” Fiona denied swiftly. “I want to sculpt—”
“Sure. Of course you do,” he said sarcastically.
She hugged the cat tighter, as if it were a shield. “You’re the one who offered,” she pointed out. “Anything you want to sculpt, you said.”
“I meant—”
“Of course I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind,” she added archly as she focused on scratching the cat under the chin. “You might not want to bare all. I understand that men who aren’t particularly well, er…” She flicked a glance below his belt.
Enough was enough. “You want to see how well-endowed I am?” he asked softly with more than a hint of menace.
“I want to sculpt—”
“Fine,” he snapped. “When do you want to do it? Now?” He reached for his belt. She wasn’t the only one who could throw down a challenge. She might have scored first with her little “I want to sculpt you nude” line, but the game wasn’t over yet.
“No!” she yelped. “I mean, no,” she said in more moderate tones. “Not…now. I can’t…now. I…I have to get some…some clay first.”
“Some clay?” he mocked her.
“Clay,” she repeated with a quick jerky nod. “I’ve never done terra-cotta. I don’t have it on hand.”
“Right.” He didn’t believe it for a minute. Oh, he believed she didn’t have any on hand. But he didn’t believe she really wanted to sculpt him. She was scoring a point. Making him squirm. Wishing him gone.
But he wasn’t going anywhere and it was time she realized that.
“Get plenty,” he instructed her.
“What?” She blinked and half a dozen expressions flickered across her face.
“If
