Lingerie Wars (The Invertary books) (35 page)

“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.

"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.