Lessons From A Latin Lover

Here she was, plotting to seduce her own fiancé, and at the same time allowing another man to move into her house.

And not just any man, either.

A stud. A heartthrob. The Casanova of the pitch. A man who could take his pick of almost all the women in the western world. And quite frequently did.

Her fiancé would be appalled—that’s if he even noticed.

Harlequin Presents^>® is proud to bring you a brand-new trilogy from international bestselling author

ANNE MCALLISTER

Welcome to

The McGillivrays of Pelican Cay

Meet:

Lachlan McGillivray—he’s ready to take his pretend mistress to bed!

Hugh McGillivray—he’s about to claim a bride…

Molly McGillivray—she’s ready to surrender to her Spanish lover!

Visit:

The stunning tropical island of Pelican Cay—

full of sun-drenched beaches, it’s the perfect place for passion!

The McGillivrays of Pelican Cay:

McGillivray’s Mistress—November 2003 #2357

In McGillivray’s Bed—July 2004 #2406 And Molly’s story in Lessons from a Latin Lover

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE TROUBLE with blinding flashes of inspiration, Molly McGillivray decided as she scowled into the innards of the ancient Jeep she was removing the carburetor from, was that they were never in one’s comfort zone.

If they were, of course, they wouldn’t be blinding flashes of brilliance. They would be “ho hum, yes, of course” notions that one would have thought of long ago.

The other trouble with blinding flashes of inspiration was that, once you thought of them, they wouldn’t go away.

They were so outrageous, so perverse, so downright awful that you couldn’t forget them!

They nagged and pestered and generally haunted you all the livelong day.

Like today.

Ever since her longtime fiancé, Carson Sawyer had come home last month, Molly had been wracking her brain for some subtle way to make him wake up and remember that they were, in fact, engaged.

Well, not exactly remember. She knew Carson remembered. It was handy to remember. Having a fiancée allowed him to keep his attention on business and kept the fortune hunters at bay. It was “useful” to be engaged, he’d once told her cheerfully. And back then she’d been quite happy to agree.

It had been useful to her, too.

But that was then. Enough was enough. They’d been engaged for years. It was time to do something about it—like get married.

Try telling Carson that.

Actually she had tried. But Carson’s mobile phone had rung the first time she’d broached the subject. And he’d had an emergency appointment another time. And the last time he’d been home, well, he certainly hadn’t noticed what she wanted him to notice—that they weren’t getting any younger, that everyone else was married and having kids and it was time they did, too.

She didn’t suppose things like starting a family were high on his list of priorities. She remembered well enough what her brother Hugh had said when she’d asked him what had attracted him to Syd, his wife.

“Sex,” he’d said.

Syd had punched him.

“She’s a great housekeeper, too,” he’d added with a grin, dodging a second blow and then circling around to catch her in an embrace. “But I think it was mostly how unbelievably sexy she was.” He’d nuzzled her ear. “Still is,” he’d added with a wink, reaching down to pat her four-month-pregnant belly. Syd had rolled her eyes, but the light of love had been in them, and Molly knew the feeling was mutual.

It was true, Molly realized. Sex did play a part. A big part. And her sister-in-law had sex appeal in spades. Sydney had probably been born with a come-hither look in her eyes. Molly figured she’d been born with safety lenses over hers so she wouldn’t get grit in them when she worked on engines which she did every day as the mechanic at Fly Guy Island Charters, the business she owned with Hugh.

Molly loved the business. She loved the engines. But men didn’t notice women who worked on engines. Not as women, anyway.

And they certainly didn’t have sexual fantasies about a woman who could take apart a carburetor and put it back together with no pieces left over. They didn’t want to take her to bed and make hot sweet love to her. They didn’t want to set a wedding date.

It didn’t even occur to them. To him. To Carson.

So she needed help. She needed to get his attention. To appeal to him on the same basic elemental level that Syd had appealed to Hugh. She needed to become a sexy, alluring woman.

Something of a stretch, she thought grimly, when she was generally covered in motor oil and wearing her brother Hugh’s T-shirts and steel-toed boots.

But she was willing to work. She just didn’t know where to start.

Or she hadn’t.

Until last night.

Last night she’d gone to the Grouper, the island’s most “happening” watering hole and had sat at one of the tables by the wall, watching the “happenings”—all the flirting and teasing and male-female innuendo stuff—trying to get an idea of how to do it. From a distance she didn’t have a clue.