Read Online In McGillivray's Bed by Anne McAllister - Free Book Online Page B

didn’t have to spend the night in it. It was great for lazy afternoon naps.It was fine for wiling away a summer evening drinking a beer and reading a book.
    But nights—whole nights—got long. Very long. Especially if a guy couldn’t sleep.
    Hugh couldn’t sleep.
    Ordinarily he slept like the proverbial baby. “It’s all that innocence and virtue,” he always claimed.
    â€œAll that beer more like,” his sister, Molly, always countered.
    But neither beer nor virtue nor a good long swim had taken him to dreamland tonight.
    Maybe, Hugh reasoned as he tried for the hundredth time to find a comfortable spot, it was just too damn hot. Or maybe there wasn’t enough support for his back. Or maybe it was not being in his own bed that was keeping him awake.
    More likely, he decided grimly, it was who was in his bed instead of him that was making him turn over and over like a chicken revolving on a spit. It was well past three in the morning and he’d barely shut his eyes.
    Every time he did, visions of Sydney St. John lying between his sheets popped into his brain. He ground his teeth and shifted again. And again. And again. The swim should have tired him out. It certainly should have taken the edge off his desire.
    He wasn’t a teenager anymore, for heaven’s sake! He was an adult—a man in control of his urges.
    Finally, in a fit of irritation, he flipped over with enormous force—and flung himself right out onto the porch floor.
    â€œDamn it!”
    Belle, who had leaped off her blanket by his feet, whined and looked at him warily. Then she took hold of the corner of her blanket and pulled it away from the hammock. He’d get away from him, too, if he could.
    â€œHell,” he muttered, rubbing the shoulder on which he’d landed, then hauling himself to his feet. He eyed the still-swaying hammock with distaste. No point trying it again. It wouldn’t work.
    He might as well head over to the shop. There was a couch there. But even more likely to put him to sleep was the pile of paperwork he had been avoiding for the past couple of weeks. If anything could knock him out, he knew from boring experience, it would be that.
    Hugh bent down to scratch Belle’s ears. “Go back to sleep. I won’t bother you anymore.” Then, yawning, he padded across the porch and opened the screen door to the kitchen.
    He flipped on the light—and stared in amazement. The place was spotless. There wasn’t a dirty dish in sight.
    He grinned. So snooty Miss Sydney could turn to, when she was challenged. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. Any woman who had the guts to jump overboard in the middle of the damn ocean—
    Hugh shook his head, reminding himself that she was seriously wacko. She had to be to have done that. And she was even crazier to think that she was going to get a managing director’s job on Pelican Cay.
    She’d just been babbling over dinner, annoyed—and rightly so, he admitted—that she’d been wasting her time in a job where she was obviously capable but not appreciated. He didn’t blame her for wanting to prove herself.
    He just didn’t want her proving herself here.
    Well, he didn’t have to worry about that. Only his brother Lachlan’s inn-and-resort business was extensive and complex enough to require a managing director. And Lachlan did that himself. All the rest of the islanders ran their own smaller operations by themselves, too. Multinational corporations were not thick on Pelican Cay’s sandy beaches as Sydney St. John would discover damn quick.
    And then she’d be on her way.
    The thought cheered him enough that he took down the sugar bowl where he kept a stash of dollars and coins, dumped it all on the table and scrawled a quick note: “Usethis to get yourself some clothes. If you need more money, give them this note. I’ll cover for you. H.”
    Neither place would be what she