There was a party atmosphere in Invertary’s high street. The place was packed with people browsing through the stalls, eating snacks from the street vendors and listening to the assorted entertainment dotted along the street. Outside Kirsty’s shop the church choir were dressed like characters from a Dickens novel. They held sheet music and little glasses with candles in them. For a moment Kirsty listened to a beautiful rendition of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, then turned her attention to the girls manning the church stall. The Donaldson twins lost their smiles when they spotted Kirsty.
“You really screwed up this time,” she said.
“We know,” Megan said.
They both hung their heads.
“Is this part of your brother’s punishment?” Kirsty gestured to the table in front of them.
“If we can raise five thousand pounds for the church roof, he’ll stop our home detention,” Claire said glumly. “Five thousand pounds! And he isn’t even including the money the carol singers rake in. We spent hours preparing the dough and now we have to stand here getting smelly from the oil. Surely, that should be punishment enough?”
“Be careful with that hot oil,” Kirsty told them.
She wasn’t sure she would have left the twins in charge of something flammable.
“Don’t worry Kirsty,” Megan said. “We have it under control. We even borrowed Mum’s juice cooler to keep the dirty oil in.”
Kirsty eyed the large white plastic barrel beside the table.
“And how will you clean the oil out so that your mum can use it for drinks again?”
The twins exchanged a look. They hadn’t thought of that.
Kirsty tried not to smile.
“It’s not fair.” Megan said. “Everyone else gets to have fun and we have to make doughnuts. We’ll never get that greasy smell out of our hair.”
“I hope that isn’t your sales pitch,” Kirsty said.
They stared at her blankly.
“It really sucks, Kirsty,” Claire said. “We apologised to Mrs Baxter and everything. We are awfully sorry about the sheep.”
They shared a look where they tried not to grin.
“They were pretty, though,” Claire said. “Sheep should be pink.”
Kirsty rolled her eyes and wondered what it would take for these two to learn a lesson. Kirsty left them to it. She waved goodbye to the carol singers, who, for some reason, were now singing a Michael Bublé song. She shook her head. If the vicar heard that, he’d whack them with his stick. When she pushed through the shop door, she found Magenta looking even paler than usual.
“I’m so nervous,” Magenta told her. “I might pee myself.”
“Delightful,” Kirsty said.
She picked up the last few items that she needed to take with her to the fashion show. Apart from Magenta, everyone else was already in their designated caravan getting ready. Kirsty and Magenta had popped back to pick up some things, but she’d been calling her mum every ten minutes to check on everyone. Her mum sounded fit to burst with excitement and had announced during their last call that Helena was teaching all the amateur girls how to walk better on the runway.
“Are you nervous?” Magenta asked as they locked the door behind them.
“Well, I don’t need to pee, if that’s what you mean.”
They fought their way through the crowded market and down to the loch. The place was buzzing and every second person wanted to wish her well.
“Have some tablet,” said Mrs Kirk as they passed her stall. “A little sugar will keep you going.”
Kirsty took the bag gratefully; she’d never needed a reason to eat her favourite sweetie.
“We’re all rooting for you,” Mrs Kirk said. She eyed Kirsty speculatively. “I’m sure you’re going to kick that man’s behind. Although, he said if we voted for him we’d get an extra ten percent off after the show.”
Kirsty’s eyes narrowed.
“Did he, now?”
“You wouldn’t be doing anything like that, would you?” Mrs Kirk said hopefully.
“You mean like bribing the voting public?” Kirsty said.
Mrs Kirk flushed.
“No, I don’t suppose I would,” Kirsty told her.
They carried on towards the marquee.
“The gall of the man,” Kirsty told Magenta. “Bribing people to vote for him.”
“You wish you’d thought of it, don’t you?” Magenta said with a cheeky grin.
Kirsty didn’t answer her. Dougal waved them over as they passed the marquee on their way to the caravans at the back of it. He had on a green tartan waistcoat, a green tartan bow tie, black trousers and a gold lamé shirt.
“I hope you girls are on top of things,” he said. “There’s going to be standing room only. Your mum is doing a rare trade in renting out blankets.”
“We’re all set,” Kirsty told him. “Everything is under control.”
He fidgeted with his bow tie.
“How do I look?” he said.
Kirsty wasn’t sure how to answer that.
“Exactly like the leader of a three-ring circus,” Magenta said.
Kirsty gave her a look that told her she was being rude, but Dougal seemed to think it was a compliment. They left him to boss people around and pretend he was in charge, although in reality everyone knew that Caroline was behind the event and they would only take orders from her. Kirsty’s caravan was fit to bursting. She hugged Helena again when she stepped inside. There were only so many times she could say thank you.
“Lake’s arrived,” Magenta told her as she unpacked her makeup bag.
Kirsty felt a zing of anticipation shoot through her body.
“I better go see what he’s up to,” Kirsty said.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to miss anything he’s doing,” Magenta said.
“Are you going to give him a big smooch?” one of the younger girls teased.
There were whoops and catcalls as she left the caravan. Kirsty rolled her eyes at their immaturity, but it still made her smile. Before she could knock on Lake’s caravan door it opened and he stepped out. Kirsty felt a pull deep inside her body. How was it possible that the man got more attractive every time she saw him?
“Come to spy?” he said with a lazy smile.
“You really should look up the definition of spying,” she told him. “There’s nothing covert going on here.”
He grinned at her as his words came back at him and Kirsty’s mouth watered. He had on a cream cable knit jumper over his jeans and it was begging to be touched. So she did. She ran her hand down the soft wool on his bicep and his eyes flashed with lust.
“I like that dress,” he told her. His voice was low and intimate.
Kirsty looked down at her red wrap-around dress. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t worn before.
“I like this bit.” He touched her neck at the collar of her dress and slowly trailed a finger down towards her cleavage, sending little electrical pulses across her skin.
“I really like that you don’t hide your neck any more. It’s a very cool dress.” He took a step towards her as her body hummed with awareness. “Although I do have fantasies about you in that black ribbed jumper wearing the thigh-high boots you have on now.”
Kirsty cleared her throat.
“We’ll talk about that later,” she told him, and his eyes sparkled with promises she knew he was more than capable of keeping.
He leaned in towards her ear and whispered, “do you know what I want?”
Kirsty’s fingers dug into the soft wool of his sweater. She was bewitched. Lake came near her and instead of thinking all she did was feel.
“No,” she said weakly.
“I really, really want…” his voice was a warm, tantalising breath on her skin. “I really want to win.”
She could hear the amusement in his words. With difficulty, she pushed him away and suddenly felt cold.
“Not going to happen, soldier boy,” she told him as she folded her arms.
&nb
sp; “How confident are you about that?” He folded his arms too and his shoulder muscles bulged. Kirsty swallowed a groan. “Want to place a bet?” he said.
It took effort to focus on his words and not on the images in her head. Images from their morning booty call. Delicious images of Lake’s shoulders as he tensed above her. He grinned like he knew what she was thinking. Infuriating man. Infuriating, sexy, man.
“Well,” he said. “Do you want to place a bet?”
He looked far too cocky for a man who knew nothing about fashion or runway shows. Kirsty was instantly suspicious. He was up to something that was for sure. But Kirsty had a secret weapon—four professional models and a lifetime of experience.
“What kind of bet?”
“One you’ll like.”
She scoffed at him.
“Time is money here,” she said. “So spit it out.”
Lake laughed that deep rumble that made her insides turn to mush.
“Fine,” he said. “If you win, I’ll hand over the lease to my shop and you’ll be the unchallenged queen of lingerie.”
He was grinning widely. The bet was so ludicrous that he obviously thought there was no way he’d lose. Idiot. He didn’t know about the models she had stashed in the van.
“What would I do with another lingerie shop?”
“Anything you like,” Lake said, his eyes were laughing at her. “That’s the point.”
“And why would you make such an outrageous bet with me when there is every chance you’ll lose?”
“Because my side of the deal has to be as big as your side.”
Her confidence faltered.
“Which is?”
“If you lose...” He licked his lips and her heart raced. “You put on a private striptease show just for me—in daylight.”
She gulped.
“Until I’m naked?” she said.
“That’s the idea.”
Kirsty thought about the fashion show she’d planned. There was no way he could beat her. No way that the audience would vote for him over her.
“You’re right. A shop for a striptease is about even,” she said at last, and she meant every word.
“So are you brave enough, Kirsty?” Lake said.
Kirsty chewed her lip. It was a stupid bet.
“There’s no way you’ll hand over the shop if I win,” she said.
“There’s no way you’ll win.”
“Fine.” Kirsty stuck out her hand. “It’s a bet, you arrogant son of a pork pie.”
They shook hands. Lake gripped her hand tight and pulled her flat against him.
“Son of a pork pie?”
“It popped into my head,” Kirsty said with a flush. Unfortunately, it had also popped out of her mouth.
“I’m looking forward to seeing your show,” he said as he bent towards her lips.
It took Kirsty a minute to realise he wasn’t talking about the fashion show. His kiss was hungry and possessive, and Kirsty found herself sighing into it. When he was through, he stroked her cheek softly and something within Kirsty stilled. This was different. This touch, this kiss. There was something else going on. She held her breath. With a tiny smile, he gave her one last short kiss goodbye and went back inside his caravan.
Kirsty stood rooted to the spot. Her mind was in turmoil. Because, for a second—just a split second—she thought the emotion she saw in his eyes was love.
Kirsty was more excited than a kid on Christmas Eve. She flitted around behind the curtain at the end of the runway, making sure everyone looked exactly how they should. The marquee was packed. Every seat was taken and most of the space in between the chairs was filled with people standing. Caroline had almost suffered a meltdown over fire safety and the lack of exits. Eventually the women of Knit Or Die stepped in. Armed with craft knives, they stood at different positions around the tent ready to cut the canvas and let the stampede escape, should there be one. That seemed to calm Caroline down. In the meantime, nothing could calm Kirsty down. She was about to put herself in front of the world again. Only this time it wasn’t her body on show but her mind. Somehow that seemed worse.
“Welcome, everyone,” Dougal boomed over the crowd.
There was an excited roar. Helena squeezed Kirsty’s hand to reassure her and Kirsty smiled back gratefully.
“Welcome to the first annual InverTARTY Battle Of The Bras!”
There was another roar. Annual? That was the first Kirsty had heard of it.
“You all have two pieces of paper and there are boxes outside. If you think our Kirsty’s show is the best, put the pink paper in the box. If you think Lake’s show is the best, put the blue paper in the box. I don’t think I need to remind anyone that Kirsty was born in town and Lake, well, Lake is English.”
There was a round of good-natured booing that made Kirsty laugh.
“The local dance school will perform at the end of the fashion shows,” Dougal said over the noise. “That will give us enough time to tally the votes. So stay in your seat until we announce the winner. There are snacks and drinks outside the entrance and blankets in case anyone is too cold. One more point of business before we begin. I’ve heard that Lake is promising a reduction in prices to anyone who votes for him. This is not allowed. It was a good try, but it isn’t going to happen. For a start, he won’t know who voted and you can’t prove it. For another thing, it’s cheating. So don’t even think about it. There will be no discount.”
There was a loud groan.
“Before you all get your knickers in a twist...” There was another groan. “Remember that your votes count. At the end of the night, one of the contestants will be the winner and one of them will be out! Now, let’s welcome onto the runway our very own fashion queen and lingerie expert—Kirsty Campbell.”
“I think he’s been watching too much Project Runway,” Helena said in Kirsty’s ear. “If he starts speaking German, I’m going back to Edinburgh.”
Kirsty grinned at her friend as she pulled back the curtain and stepped out onto the runway. There were shouts and whistles as the crowd applauded. Dougal handed the microphone to Kirsty, whose hand shook when she took it.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said, and they cheered at that too.
As her eyes scanned the packed marquee, she saw her mother giddy with excitement standing on a stool by the main entrance. In the front row, looking relaxed and amused, Lake sat watching her. Kirsty had to resist the urge to stick out her tongue at him. She cleared her throat.
“The theme of my show,” she said, “is Scotland in the winter.”
More cheers.
“And to help me put it on tonight, some of my friends from my modelling days are pitching in. Please make sure you give them a warm welcome.”
Lake’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head slowly in mock disgust. Kirsty couldn’t help but feel smug.
“Here we go,” she said.
She handed the mic back to Dougal and signalled to the guy on audio-visuals. The room went dark, apart from the twinkling fairy lights above them and the spotlights on the runway. The data projector beamed pictures of Scottish tartan on the back wall and The Proclaimers blasted out over the speakers in their thick Glaswegian accents. As the curtain slid back, Kirsty stood at the side of the stage beside the crowd and held her breath. This was it.
Helena appeared, wrapped head to toe in Kirsty’s fur coat. She stepped confidently onto the runway and let the coat fall open to reveal the red tartan lingerie underneath. The crowd went wild. As Helena strode down the runway she shed the coat, until it hung from her hand and trailed on the ground. Kirsty’s eyes filled with tears. It was perfect. Her lingerie didn’t look out of place at all. In fact, it looked amazing. Helena winked at the camera, cocked her hip and turned to stride back up the runway, dragging the coat behind her.
Kirsty flicked a look at Lake. He smiled sweetly at her, his eyes full of pride, and then he saluted. Kirsty wanted to run at him and kiss him hard. But she didn’t. Instead
she watched the rest of her models follow in Helena’s footsteps. And even though you could tell the amateurs, it was still a fantastic show. Kirsty felt quite overwhelmed.
“How about that, folks?” Dougal roared at the end.
The crowd hollered their approval.
“Let’s hear it for our Kirsty.” Dougal led her onto the stage, where she took a bow. “I don’t know about you lot, but even I want to put in an order for some tartan knickers after seeing that.”
At the back of the crowd she could see her mother jumping up and down with excitement. Kirsty beamed at her before she left to congratulate her models. During the brief break between shows, when the pub stall made a killing in hot chips and warm mugs of drinking chocolate, Kirsty joined everyone back in the caravan. The level of excitement, and relief, was almost overwhelming. There were hugs all around.
“That was as good as any show I’ve been in,” Helena told her.
Although Kirsty didn’t believe her for a second, she appreciated the sentiment.
“Your designs are wonderful,” Helena said. “I’m going to send the pictures to some of my contacts. You deserve a lot more exposure than a show in your hometown. I don’t know why you haven’t used your own contacts. People would have loved to have heard from you.”
“In Scotland,” Kirsty told her Norwegian friend, “we don’t blow our own trumpets.”
Helena started to laugh. With a smile, Kirsty hugged her tight as she blinked back happy tears.
“Kirsty,” Magenta called to her. “Lake’s at the door. I think he wants to surrender.”
That made the women fan themselves. Kirsty told them off with a look while she went to see what he wanted. But their words make her blush. They had no idea how good that man was at the game of surrender.
“Well done,” he said when she opened the door. “Great show. Sneaky. But great.”
Kirsty jumped from the top step of the caravan to throw her arms around his neck. He kissed her automatically.
“Don’t get too smug,” he told her when her feet were back on the ground. “I’m still going to win. Better start practising your strip show and don’t forget to include those boots of yours.”
She licked her bottom lip. His eyes darkened appreciatively.
“Bring it on,” Kirsty said at last.
“I intend to.”
With a cheeky grin, he headed back to his caravan.
As soon as Betty set foot on the runway, Kirsty knew she’d lost the bet. Lake grinned over at her from his position beside the runway.
“Unlike our competitor,” he said into the microphone, “we believe that every woman is beautiful and deserves great underwear.”
The noise in the tent was ear-splitting as Betty strutted down the catwalk. Behind her photos of Lake’s shop, before and after the makeover, appeared on the wall. The sound system blasted out the old Right Said Fred song I’m Too Sexy and Betty did her best to appear sexy. She pouted, she posed, she blew kisses to the audience and waggled her backside like a duck. Kirsty laughed in spite of herself. It was a stroke of genius to put her up there. She wore a red silk nightgown and robe set, complete with fluffy pink slippers. And, for once, she had her teeth in.
From Kirsty’s position, beside her mother at the entrance to the marquee, she got a great view of the crowd. She had to admit that Lake’s choices for his show were smarter than hers. She’d tried to put on a sophisticated runway show, whereas Lake had anticipated his audience. All they wanted was to be entertained, and that’s exactly what he was doing.
Before the last model made an appearance, Lake handed the microphone to Dougal and disappeared behind the curtain. Then, as the last model turned to go up the runway and people started to clap, Dougal cleared his throat.
“There’s one more model,” he said.
There was silence as people leaned forward in their seats to see what would happen next. The photos projected on the wall suddenly changed. Instead of the shop, the screen was full of the pictures Kirsty had encouraged Magenta to spread on Facebook. The doctored photos of Lake with balding hair and a beer belly had the crowd in hysterics. Kirsty hung her head. She knew what was coming next. The man was a born exhibitionist. He had no shame at all.
“Lake Benson would like to remind everyone that his shop—For Your Eyes Only—also sells men’s underwear. He would also like to set the record straight about some images that have been circulating. Some false images. Please put your hands together and give Lake a big thank you for tonight’s show.”
And out he came, dressed only in a pair of red Calvin Klein underpants.
Kirsty’s jaw dropped. His eyes sought her out over the crowd and gave her that sexy little half-smile that rocked her world. The women in the marquee went nuts. They were jumping up and down in the aisles. Some of them were throwing things onto the runway. To her disgust, Kirsty saw a pair of knickers. Lake kept smiling confidently. He walked to the end of the runway, folded his arms and grinned at the crowd. Then he looked at Kirsty and raised one eyebrow. Surrender? She shook her head. Never. He laughed.
As Lake strode back up the runway, someone outside of the tent tugged at Kirsty’s arm. With a grin on her face, she turned to see who it was and froze.
“It’s good to see you again too, Kirsty,” her ex-fiancé said.
For a minute she couldn’t speak. The music blared loudly around her. The women were screaming. It’d turned into a raucous night at a male strip club instead of a sophisticated runway show. But Kirsty couldn’t think about any of that. The man she’d once trusted, the man she’d once loved, was standing in front of her.
“What are you doing here?” She stumbled over her words.
Her head was reeling. It didn’t seem possible. Brandon? In Invertary?
“I came to see you.”
He looked down at his shoes—the image of a penitent man. Kirsty didn’t buy it for a minute. He peered up at her through those long lashes that she’d once thought were lovely.
“I couldn’t get the photos of you out of my mind. I know I screwed up, that I don’t deserve a chance to explain, but I had to see you. I had to see if there was some way we could fix things.”
Kirsty’s mouth hung open.
“You left me unconscious in hospital and never even came to visit,” she said. “Not to mention you stole all my money.”
He took a step backwards out of the tent door, motioning for her to follow and, like an idiot, she did. The icy wind bit her skin as she left the warmth of the tent. Kirsty folded her arms against the cold, and Brandon.
“I made mistakes,” he said. “I owed too much money to guys who wanted to break my legs. I felt cornered. I reacted badly and caused you harm. I’m sorry,”
His eyes were pleading with her, begging her to forgive him. He seemed genuine, but Kirsty also remembered a time when it’d seemed like he’d loved her. She no longer took anything he did, or said, at face value.
He ran a hand over his brown hair and Kirsty noticed that it wasn’t as perfectly groomed as it used to be. Now that she thought about it, there were a lot of details about him that were different. He had a kind of panicked look and his clothes weren’t as expensive, or polished, as they’d once been.
“Look,” he said. “I know it isn’t the best time, but why don’t we go somewhere and have a coffee? We can talk through things. I owe you that.” He sighed heavily. “It’s the very least I owe you.”
Kirsty hesitated. She had questions. There were answers that she wanted. She bit her lip as she thought about it. For some reason, going anywhere alone with her ex-fiancé did not appeal at all.
“Just one cup of coffee,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “We can talk about old times. We did have fun, didn’t we?”
“I don’t want to talk about old times,” Kirsty told him.
“Give me half an hour,” he said, but his tone was a little intense.
The hair on Kirsty’s arms stood on end.
“You came all thi
s way to have half an hour with me?” she said as people bustled around them.
“It’s more than I deserve after what I did,” he said. “I’m a different man now, you have to believe me. All I want is half an hour to explain.” He paused. “Let’s go to your flat. We can talk there.” He looked around and smiled. “We definitely won’t get any privacy here.”
He turned and motioned for her to walk in front of him. Kirsty took a tiny step. And then she saw it. The look in his eye. The smirk clawing at his lips. Her palms began to tingle and everything within her screamed that she shouldn’t go anywhere with this man and definitely not alone.
“How about we meet tomorrow?” she said. In daylight. With a chaperone.
“I don’t have that much time. I have to leave in the morning. Now is best for me.”
Her eyebrows arched.
“You can’t give me tomorrow?”
His eyes hardened briefly. Kirsty flinched slightly.
“I need to talk now,” he said tightly. “You can escape for half an hour, can’t you?”
Kirsty took a step backwards and shook her head.
“I’m really busy. Tomorrow works better. If you can’t make it, that’s your problem.”
He let out a long sigh and shook his head.
“In all the years I knew you and you weren’t suspicious about anything, and now you’re suddenly cautious,” he said pleasantly.
Kirsty was confused. She wasn’t sure what was going on. She took another step back towards the marquee door. She could see her mother standing on the stool beside the entrance. Her focus on the stage.
“I’m going now,” she told Brandon. “If you want to talk to me, come back tomorrow.”
His smile was cold.
“That isn’t going to work for me.”
He took two steps towards her and grabbed her arm. The demure Brandon was gone. The guy in his place was a little terrifying.
“I thought we could do this the easy way,” he said. “I guess not. We’re going to your flat. And we’re going now.”
Kirsty pulled from his grip, but his fingers dug into her making her yelp.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. And I don’t want to talk tomorrow either.”
He laughed at her.
“Talk? Yeah, like I’d really want to talk to you. Hash over our past. No,” he shook his head. “I really don’t give a crap about that. But I do want to go to your flat. I want you to give me the necklace.”
“The necklace? That ugly papier-mâché thing? You came here for that?”
Her heart was pounding so fast that she felt light headed. Nothing made sense.
He smirked at her.
“You models, so beautiful and yet so damn thick. Yes. I came all this way for the necklace. You honestly didn’t think I’d come back for you? Why the hell would I do that? You’re no use to me now. Let’s face it, you’re not even the woman you once were. You’re damaged goods. But the necklace, that I can use. It isn’t papier-mâché. It’s diamonds. And I need it.”
Kirsty felt so nauseous that she bent over. She heard Brandon laugh.
“Let’s go. The sooner I get what I want, the sooner I can get out of this hell hole and you can get back to the bargain basement version of your old life.”
Kirsty shook her head vehemently.
“No. No, I’m not giving you the necklace,” Kirsty told him. “You want it? Hand back my savings.”
He tugged her arm and she struggled to get away from him. The noise, and the bustle of people, meant that no one paid any attention to them. Kirsty looked back into the tent. Her mother was laughing as she clapped for whatever was going on. Lake was nowhere in sight.
“Your savings are long gone, darling. And, yes,” he said. “you are going to give me what I want. You always gave me exactly what I wanted and that isn’t going to stop now.”
“No!” Kirsty pulled back from him and felt something sharp at her side.
“That’s a knife,” Brandon sneered at her. “Want to add to those famous scars of yours? Or maybe you can afford to lose another kidney?”
He pulled her towards the main street.
“Mum!” Kirsty shouted. Her mother’s smile disappeared as soon as she turned. The colour leeched from her skin. “Get Lake,” Kirsty called.
Kirsty looked desperately towards the spot where she’d seen Lake last. There was a wild group of shrieking women. No Lake.
“Kirsty?” her mother called.
“Stop screwing around,” Brandon said. He pressed the sharp tip into her side. “Get going.”
Brandon yanked her into the crowd and away from the tent.
CHAPTER TWENTY