Molly McGillivray? Vulnerable?
“Your sister wears army boots?” he’d said incredulously to Lachlan the first time he’d met her.
And Lachlan had agreed with a wince as he’d rubbed his shin. “And she knows how to use them.”
That was the Molly McGillivray he knew. Not this one.
Now he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think. The very notion of him helping some girl with marriage on her mind boggled his. Marriage wasn’t even a word in his active vocabulary, despite his mother’s recent not-so-subtle hints.
When it came to staying power, his romances—if indeed anyone beyond tabloid journalists dared call them that—rarely lasted longer than the half life of a loaf of bread. Which was the way he liked it.
In the past three weeks, he’d flirted with dozens of women and been delighted to have them flirt with him. Someday he would doubtless marry and do his duty by the family name.
But he was in no hurry. None at all.
Besides, what did seduction have to do with marriage? Unless Molly was planning to seduce some man, then kidnap him and haul him to the altar. He gave her a narrow assessing look.
“You want me to teach you how to nab some unsuspecting tourist?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, then—”
“He’s not an unsuspecting tourist!”
“You’ve got someone in mind?”
“Of course.”
“You do?” He couldn’t keep the astonishment out of his voice. His mind darted to all the eligible men on the island. “Um…anyone I know?”
“I don’t think you’ve met him. We grew up together. He lives in Savannah now—and elsewhere. His name is Carson Sawyer.”
No, Joaquin hadn’t met him. But he’d heard the name. Carson Sawyer was the “local boy who made good.”
“You think we’re driven to succeed?” Lachlan had once said to him when they were working their butts off. “You should meet Carson.”
Carson Sawyer, last Joaquin had heard, was worth about as much as a small Mediterranean country.
And this was the man Molly had set her sights on?
Talk about aiming for the moon!
“I don’t think—”
“We’re engaged.”
“You and Carson Sawyer?” Joaquin couldn’t have disguised his shock if his life had depended on it. Tomboy Molly with all her rough edges and a hotshot, fast-track business tycoon like Carson Sawyer?
But Molly was nodding seriously. “Since I was fourteen and he was fifteen. Since he went to sea.”
“That’s—” Joaquin did the math in his head “—seventeen years ago!”
Molly shrugged. “We weren’t in any hurry. It was right. We knew it. And we both had other things to do.”
“But—”
“We were both happy,” she insisted. “It worked. For both of us. We both did what we wanted to do. But now—” she lifted her shoulders “—now it’s time.”
“To seduce him?” His mind still wasn’t that flexible.
“Haven’t you been listening to anything I said?” she demanded.
“Yes, of course. It just seems a little, um…bloodless? Cut-and-dried?” Joaquin was bilingual, but he would have had trouble with this in any language at all.
“Exactly,” Molly agreed, surprising him. Then she went on. “That’s the point. It shouldn’t be ‘bloodless.’ It should be wonderful, moving, passionate.” Molly’s voice became animated, the color rose in her cheeks again. She looked eager and alive and hopeful. And then, as quickly as it had come, her eagerness vanished and her shoulders slumped. “Only it isn’t happening.”
“It?”
“The passion. The…sex stuff.”
She didn’t want him to teach her about sex, did she? God almighty!
“He treats me like his pal. Which I am, of course,” Molly said hastily. “But he needs to see me in a new light. So I—thought maybe you could help me.”
He opened his mouth. Stood there. Stunned. Then closed it again.
“You are good at it,” Molly said firmly. “I’ve seen you. Lots of times.”
“Seen me what?” he demanded, visions of her spying on his bedroom activities making him decidedly uncomfortable.
“Pick up women. Get picked up by them. Flirt with them. You know,” she said a little desperately. “I’m not good at that stuff. But I can learn,” she added.
He looked at her doubtfully. “You want me to teach you how to seduce your boyfriend?”
“Fiancé. Why not? It’s how I learned to repair engines. It’s how I learned to fly. I went to an expert.”
“I thought Hugh taught you to fly.”
“I’m not asking Hugh to teach me how to seduce Carson! And I’m not asking Lachlan, either, so don’t even suggest it!” Abruptly Molly headed for the wall to climb over it and leave. “Never mind. Forget it. I shouldn’t have bothered. I should have known you’d think it was stupid.” She turned on him. “If you say one word—”
“I’m not saying anything.” He caught her arm again and swung her around so that she landed on the chaise and stared up at him. He stood over her, breathing hard, aware of a sudden new energy pumping through him. “Don’t be so damn quick to jump to conclusions. What do you need to know?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” Molly folded her arms across her chest. “I just want to make him look at me differently when he comes for the island homecoming. I want him to see me as a woman. He never has.”
“Never?”
“Well, not never. But not for a while. We had things to do. We didn’t want to just get married and have babies. So we got engaged. It took the pressure off.”
“It did?” Joaquin shook his head, dazed at the logic. “How?”
“I didn’t have to worry about finding a boyfriend, and he didn’t have to worry about finding a girlfriend. We had each other, but we could go ahead and do our own things. Then someday, when the time was right, we’d get married. But he’s so busy, he doesn’t remember.”
“So why haven’t you reminded him?”
“I’m not begging Carson to marry me! He’s got to want to. And he will,” she said stoutly. “I just need to make him sit up and take notice. But I don’t quite know where to start. That’s where you come in. I can pay you.”
“I don’t want your damn money!”
“Well, too bad. I’m not a charity case!”
“No. You’re a nutcase! How much time do you have to turn into a femme fatale?”
“Ten days.”
“Ten days? That’s all?”
Molly’s chin lifted. “If you’re any good, that should be long enough!”
“Or if you are,” he countered.
She didn’t flinch. Much.
They glared at each other. All he could see were her deep-green eyes, her face