He started walking again, pulling her along with him, though whether he’d forgotten he wasn’t supposed to be holding her hand or whether he intended to keep a grip on her so she wouldn’t run away, she didn’t know.
“Shopping where?” Molly said warily.
“Wherever you want. The boutique at the Mirabelle. Erica’s in town.”
Syd bought her clothes at Erica’s. It had lovely expensive stuff. The boutique was even pricier. Molly almost never set foot in either of them. “I don’t shop there.”
“You don’t shop.”
She lifted a defiant chin and jerked her hand out of his. “I haven’t needed to. I can. I will,” she vowed.
“And I’ll come with you.”
“Not to Erica’s!”
“Why not?”
“Because people would talk!”
He rolled his eyes. “So we’ll go to another island. We’ll go to Nassau. Or Miami.”
“Miami?”
“Why not? Surely they won’t talk in Miami.”
“No, but—”
“Stop arguing, querida,” he said and reached out and snagged her hand, this time lacing his fingers firmly through hers.
She jerked to a stop. “What are you doing?”
“Little things. Connecting things.” He met her gaze with a heavy-lidded one of his own. My God, he had beautiful eyes.
Molly swallowed. “Why?” she demanded and hated that her voice sounded shaky.
“So you can do them with Carter.”
“Carson!”
He shrugged. His eyes never left hers. They were mesmerizing. Molly tried to remember if Carson had ever linked his fingers with hers. She couldn’t. She tried to remember if she had ever tried it with him. She couldn’t.
But Joaquin was right—it certainly emphasized the connection!
“Right,” she said. “Got it.” She tried to unlace her fingers, but he didn’t let go. They were stopped in the middle of the street, staring into each other’s eyes as his thumb slid lightly over her fingers making them tingle.
How did he do that?
It made her so aware of him. She dropped her gaze—and found herself looking at his mouth. Would he kiss her? Molly ran her tongue over her lips.
Suddenly her hand was dropped. Joaquin stepped back, jamming his into his pockets and clearing his throat. “So,” he said brusquely. “You’ve got the point then, sí? Very well. Come on. Let’s go.”
THE WOMAN WAS A MENACE.
Molly McGillivray’s big green eyes could make a man forget his best intentions right in the middle of a public road!
He was crazy to be doing this. Insane. He should have told her it was a stupid stupid stupid idea—this business of “seduction lessons.” He should have his head examined for agreeing. In fact he’d turned up on her doorstep this afternoon to do exactly that.
It had been boredom that had made him say yes. And his perennial need to take on a hopeless challenge. And perhaps, he admitted, the memory of her at Lachlan’s wedding. But sanity had prevailed when she’d left.
He was no Henry Higgins. And she was sure as hell no Eliza Doolittle! And there were some things even he couldn’t manage. He’d gone to her house to tell her so.
And then she’d come downstairs in that towel.
All thoughts of telling her no went right out of his head.
Every time he shut his eyes, he could still see her as she’d been when she’d come down the stairs, lots of bare creamy skin with a bright yellow towel tucked just above her breasts and stopping well above her knees. Used to seeing Molly McGillivray in her brothers’ hand-me-downs, the sight of her on the hoof, so to speak, had very nearly welded his tongue to the roof of his mouth. It had certainly scrambled his brain.
He’d been mesmerized. Tantalized. Maybe, he’d thought, there was more Eliza Doolittle in her than he’d thought. Heaven knew there was certainly some raw material to work with.
But raw was definitely what it was.
Molly didn’t have a clue how enticing she was. She had no idea of her own ability to arouse a man. That little thing she’d done with her tongue, licking her lips when they were standing there just now was a case in point.
His whole body had gone on alert. In fact it responded so quickly and vehemently he’d taken a quick step back.
Of course Molly—gracias a Dios—hadn’t noticed.
But he’d have to watch his step. He was supposed to be teaching her how to be seductive, not allowing himself to be seduced by her.
Seduced by Molly McGillivray?
The thought wasn’t as bizarre as he might have wished. Another time—and another woman—he wouldn’t mind a little fooling around. But she was his best friend’s sister. Therefore she was like his own sister.
But he wasn’t thinking about her as his sister as he hurried to catch up with her. She was already inside the Grouper and about to sit at the bar when he grabbed her hand again.
“It is customary,” he told her, “not to share one’s date with everyone at the bar.”
“What?” Molly looked at him blankly, waggling her fingers at the bartender in greeting.
Joaquin turned her so she faced him. “A couple,” he instructed her, “must focus on each other.”
“But—”
He wasn’t listening. With her wrist manacled by his fingers, he towed her to a table in the back of the room. “Here. We will sit here.”
“But the music—”
“Is not the issue. The issue is to get to know each other.” He let go long enough to pull out a chair for her. “Sit.”
She gave him a mutinous look. “Carson and I already know each other,” she said. “And I like being where I can hear.”
“You can hear if you stay home,” Joaquin said which was only the truth. “Sit.”
He thought she might argue further, but finally, reluctantly, she sat. He had barely sat down opposite her, when she bounced to her feet again.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the beer. I think a pitcher—”
He caught her hand. “No.”
