Read In McGillivray's Bed for Free Online Page A

roof.
    â€œWhy am I not surprised?” Syd muttered. “All you need now is a string of hula girls.”
    â€œWrong islands,” he said cheerfully from the doorway. “But I didn’t let that stop me,” he said as he flipped another switch and strings of hula girls lit up each of the porch columns.
    Syd sputtered, but she couldn’t help laughing. “What does your girlfriend think of these?”
    â€œShe’s not my girlfriend!”
    â€œRight.” But if saying so would get a rise of out him, Syd didn’t mind doing it. She was still smiling as she climbed the four shallow steps to the porch, which was as cluttered as the Jeep had been, scattered with swim fins, snorkles and fishing nets, assorted pots and pans, a dog bed, food and water dishes and myriad unidentifiable mechanical objects.
    A net hammock was strung across one end of the porch, and a long slatted-wood porch swing swayed at the other. Behind the latter were tucked a surfboard and a boogie board. Above it a disembodied wet suit swung lazily from a clothes hanger on a plant hook. The plant that it might have displaced was balanced precariously on the porch railing.
    He was right. It wasn’t close to the five-star hotel she had left behind on Nassau. On the other hand, no one was announcing her betrothal as if it were on the dinner menu here.
    And so far she hadn’t seen any snakes.
    â€œHow lovely,” she said brightly, stepping over a pan.
    McGillivray gave her a doubtful look. But Syd met it with a cheerful, determined one of her own. And she must have been convincing because he said gruffly, “C’mon. Don’t just stand there. You’ll want a shower. I’ll find you some clothes.”
    The chaos extended into the kitchen, where newspapers and magazines were scattered amid pots and pans. There were some engine parts on one chair and a pile of laundry on another. Yet another pile was on the floor. The sink, of course, held dirty dishes.
    â€œI thought hurricane season was in the autumn,” Syd remarked.
    â€œBothers you, do something about it.” McGillivray was busy rummaging through one of the clothes heaps. The clean one, Syd hoped when he pulled out a navy T-shirt and a pair of shorts, surveyed the pile, hesitated, then turned and thrust them at her. “You want a pair of boxers?”
    She blinked. “What?”
    â€œI said, do you want a pair of boxers? You’re, er—” he gestured down below her waist but couldn’t seem to say the word “—wet,” he finally managed, scowling.
    Was that a tinge of red creeping up his neck and touching the tips of his ears?
    His face was definitely red. Talking about women’s underwear embarrassed Hugh McGillivray?
    Who’d have thought it? “That would be nice. Thank you,” Syd said politely, smothering a smile.
    He gave her another long, baleful look before reaching back into the pile and snagging a pair of pale-blue boxer shorts to toss in her direction. “You can borrow some clothes from my sister tomorrow if you want. Not that Molhas any girls’ clothes, either,” he added with a grimace. “Or you can go shopping. Shower’s this way.” He turned abruptly and headed toward the back of the house.
    Syd clutched the clothes, hiked up her quilt and followed him. To the left she saw what appeared to be a small living room, but McGillivray went straight back through a bedroom toward a door that led to a tiny bathroom. At least he had indoor plumbing. She’d begun to worry.
    He also had one clean towel. At least she presumed it was, because he got it out of the cupboard. He turned on the shower taps. “Let the water run. It’ll get hot eventually. Don’t use it all up.”
    â€œI won’t,” she assured him.
    But he was already on his way out the door. “Watch out for spiders.”
    â€œSpiders?” She looked around