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as a husband had taken some getting used to. During his years as a professional soccer player, Lachlan had been known in the tabloids as “the gorgeous goalie,” and he’d certainly taken advantage of his reputation. Women had followed him in droves. Probably still would follow him if he showed any interest.
But Lachlan was only interested in Fiona. These days the gorgeous goalie was as domesticated as a cat.
Hugh wasn’t.
Ever since Carin Campbell had married Nathan Wolfe two years ago, Hugh had decided that confirmed bachelor-hood had a lot to recommend it. At the time he’d been seriously miffed that Carin had chosen another man—not that he’d shown it. He’d never ever worn his heart on his sleeve where Carin was concerned.
No one knew how much he’d cared.
Privately, though, Hugh had made up his mind that since the only woman worth marrying was taken, from here on out he’d simply play the field.
It wasn’t a bad deal. He could still admire Carin—love Carin, he admitted to himself—and enjoy her friendship. But he could also sidle up to any interesting female who turned up on Pelican Cay and flirt a little bit.
Or a lot. Whatever the situation required.
Hugh enjoyed flirting almost as much as he enjoyed fishing. It was fun. It sometimes led to bed which was also fun. And as long as no one took it seriously, no one got hurt.
He wished Lisa Milligan didn’t take it so seriously.
The flirting bit. Not the bed bit. They’d got to the flirting. They hadn’t got to bed—and they weren’t going to.
It was against his principles. Hugh was quite happy to go to bed with willing women who knew they were having fun and nothing more. He wasn’t about to sleep with any woman who thought she was going to haul him to the altar.
And he didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that’s exactly what Lisa had in mind.
Lisa Milligan was a sweet naive young girl. Girl being the operative word. She was nineteen, for God’s sake! A child! Well, perhaps slightly more than that. But not much.
She was Tony at the bakery’s niece, taking a break from college and working on the front desk at the Mirabelle, Lachlan’s extremely upscale, ultradiscreet, very fashionable Pelican Cay inn. She’d been there since spring.
Finding herself, she told him.
Mostly, Hugh thought grimly, finding him.
In the beginning he’d teased and flirted with her a bit because it was what he did. That didn’t mean he wanted to marry her.
Lisa just thought it did. In fact she expected he would marry her. Like it was a foregone conclusion. She’d told Miss Saffron, the island’s biggest gossip, exactly that.
“She say it only be a matter of time,” Miss Saffron had told him a while back as she’d rocked on the swing of her shady front porch.
Not in this lifetime, Hugh had thought, shaken. He’d been doing his best to steer clear of Lisa ever since.
But it hadn’t helped. Nothing had helped. Not even when he’d told her flat out that he wasn’t the marrying kind.
She’d just laughed and shown him her incredible dimples, then flashed her gorgeous grin. “Then I’ll just have to change your mind.”
She’d been doing her best for the past month. Everywhere Hugh had gone, there she’d been. In his shop, at the landing pad, on the dock, in the hammock on his porch this morning, for heaven’s sake!
“I wondered if you wanted to go for a swim?” she’d said hopefully.
“Can’t.” He’d been polite but brisk. It was a small island. People had to get along. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He just wanted her to understand she wasn’t for him.
“Oh.” She’d looked crestfallen. “I’ll see you later, then?”
He’d grunted. “Gonna be gone all day.”
“I could come along. It’s my day off.”
He’d shaken his head. “Sorry. It’s business.”
Stretching the truth, perhaps. Molly would have called him a liar. But he wasn’t. He needed to know where the good fishing was, didn’t he? That way he could direct his clients who wanted to know where to drop their lines.
He’d been taking care of business all day, enjoying every moment with only Belle, his dog, for company. He especially enjoyed the fact that the entire landscape was Lisa-free.
Now Hugh stretched expansively, lounged back and, one last time before he headed home, jiggled his line.
It jiggled back.
“Whoa.” He sat up straight and grinned, patience rewarded. He played the line out a little, then drew it in, testing to be sure he hadn’t simply snagged a piece of driftwood.
He got a responding twitch. The twitch became a tug. A strong tug.
Hugh laughed delightedly. No driftwood this! Whistling through his teeth, he began hauling it in.
“Look at that!” he said happily to Belle when it jerked hard against his hand. “We’ve got a live one.”
The dog opened one eye and looked mildly interested, then started to close it again when the rod behind Hugh began to jerk and rattle as well.
Startled, Hugh swiveled around to see it bending and rocking like mad in the twilight as Belle jumped up and barked at it. “Hang on.” He reached to grab it, too, just as he caught sight of a thrashing movement off the side of the boat.
One hell of a big thrashing movement. The line he held jerked hard and he wrapped it quickly and tightly around his hand.
What in God’s name had he caught? A bloody whale?
He braced his feet and began to haul it in again when all of a sudden his catch broke the surface.
A woman—an absolutely furious woman—sputtered up. “For heaven’s sake, stop yanking on that line! You’re going to rip my dress right off!”
Hugh goggled.
A woman?
He’d caught a woman?
No. Not possible. He gave his heat-baked brain a quick hard shake.
But even as he doubted and wondered if he’d had too much sun and too many beers, the line jerked in his hand, the rod bobbed madly and Belle leaned eagerly over the edge and wagged her tail and barked.
So she was real.
He wasn’t seeing things.
It was a woman. Or a…mermaid?
His mind wouldn’t even go there.
“Shut up, you stupid dog,” he muttered. Then, “Stop thrashing around,” he snapped at the woman.
“I’m not thrashing,” she retorted furiously. “I’m trying to get this damn hook out!” And abruptly she disappeared underwater leaving Hugh to stare at the empty ocean in the sudden silence and doubt his sanity once more.
Belle whined and leaned precariously over the edge. Hugh grabbed her collar and hauled her back just as the woman bobbed up again and the line jerked furiously in his hand, meaning she hadn’t got the hook out.
“Damned beaded dresses,” she said with annoyance.
Beaded dresses?
Hugh’s jaw sagged. But he could see that she did appear to be wearing something with sparkly silver straps over her shoulders. A beaded dress? Who the hell went swimming in a beaded dress?
She gave one more futile yank, then stopped fighting with the hook and took a couple of overhand strokes, which brought her closer to the boat but tangled