Going Overboard by Christina Skye

Author:Christina Skye [Skye, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780307485519
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2001-01-21T20:00:00+00:00

Carly placed three tense calls to Nigel Brandon through the afternoon, only to learn that he was off island in back-to-back meetings. To her frustration, Daphne was also unavailable, courting potential sponsors for her foundation. On a hunch, Carly tried Inspector St. John, only to find that he was accompanying Daphne.

Carly sensed there was danger growing, and it infuriated her that no one respected her intelligence enough to discuss it with her openly and honestly. As soon as she snagged Daphne or Nigel, she meant to remedy that situation.

She spent the rest of her day in a blur of sketches, location planning, and general research on beach settings for future shoots. Narrowing the list of possible locations would help her plan visual themes.

Assuming that the whole project hadn't already been turned over to another creative team by then.

She drove the thought from her mind, working right through the afternoon, much to Archer's unhappiness. She managed to avoid McKay for a total of nearly four hours, though she heard his voice often enough to know he was never far away. In the late afternoon, Nigel Brandon's secretary phoned with his apologies, saying that he was still detained in meetings off island and would contact her as soon as he returned.

At sunset Archer knocked on her door and cast a disapproving eye over her open books, folded maps, and scattered paperwork. “Dinner will be served on the terrace in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Archer, but I'll just have some fruit here in my room.”

“That you will not do. I will not have Mr. Brandon accusing me of negligence in my duties.”

“But—”

“Seven-fifteen,” the majordomo said imperiously. “Since your Mr. McKay has been equally recalcitrant, he was given the same ultimatum.”

Carly wanted to snap that McKay wasn't her anything, but Archer had already gone back to the kitchen. Fuming, she closed her books and rummaged in her bags for well-worn blue jeans and an old tank top, refusing to primp before dinner. She ran a comb quickly through her hair, then strode outside, not bothering with shoes. By the time she reached the terrace, her nerves were raw and she was primed for a fight.

She came to an abrupt halt when she saw McKay's lean silhouette on the terrace, where he paced with equal aggravation. Tonight he wore nothing but black, his only ornament a narrow silver buckle at his belt.

Carly took a sharp breath and tried not to like what she saw. Even now she found it hard to resist the power of the man prowling at the edge of the candlelight. With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and sauntered with cool arrogance over the flagstones.

The effect was spoiled when she slammed her bare foot against a wrought-iron candelabrum, staggered then caught her heel with a shrill yelp.

He was at her side in an instant. “Where does it hurt? Your stitches? Your leg?”

“My foot,” she rasped. “Just give me a minute here.”

He held her steady while he checked her foot. “No blood. No cuts.

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