Lingerie Wars Read online

Rainne slipped out of the back of Betty’s Knicker Emporium. She’d had a belly full of both Lake and his sidekick. War. It made her feel ill thinking about it. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure that no one was there to call her back, she headed in the direction of the loch. The water glimmered in the early morning sun. Ripples of blue, grey and green swayed lazily. Just looking at it made her feel lighter than she had in weeks. She filled her lungs with crisp autumn air. You could almost smell winter it was so close.

  Rainne skirted to the right of the loch, climbed over the wall to the narrow beach and ducked out of sight of the town. Apart from the occasional car passing on the road nearby, all she could hear was the lapping water. Bliss. She wandered along the thin strip of beach, tripping over rocks and tree branches. Behind the thick bushes at the edge of town was a spot that was usually neglected. There wasn’t much demand in Invertary, after summer, for space by the water. Rainne found a good place and plopped down on a water-worn tree stump. Before she could stop herself, the tears began to fall. Better at the loch than in the shop. She knew Lake thought tears were a sign of weakness. But then, that’s what she was—weak.

  “This place is far too pretty to sob in.” A voice startled her.

  Rainne jumped to her feet. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her velvet jacket.

  “And you’re far to pretty to be the one sobbing,” Alastair said as he came into view from behind the clump of bushes.

  “Are you following me?” Rainne said.

  “Yes,” he said solemnly before holding up a fishing rod and tackle box. “Practice. Trying out some new weights and flies before they go on sale.”

  “Does it have to be here?” She waved around her. “I was hoping for some alone time.”

  He put his box down beside her.

  “That’s fine, you can have your alone time with me.”

  “That isn’t how alone time works.”

  “I’ll be quiet. In fact, you’re the one making all the noise. You’re going to scare the fish away. Sit down and enjoy the view.”

  Rainne did as she was told, only to have Alastair stand right in front of her at the water’s edge.

  “How am I supposed to enjoy the view when you’re in the way?”

  He looked over his shoulder and grinned that cheeky grin of his as his brown eyes crinkled with mischief.

  “There’s all sorts of views to enjoy here, Rainne.”

  And he didn’t move. Rainne blew her nose on a tissue she found in her pocket and wondered how she was supposed to focus on the rippling waters of the loch with his backside in the way. Although, it was a nice backside—cupped in butter-soft jeans that had faded close to grey. Her eyes narrowed. He was doing it again.

  “You’re trying to make me flirt with you, aren’t you?” she said.

  Alastair didn’t say a word. He just flicked back the fishing rod and let the weight sail through the air into the water. His shoulder muscles flexed as he guided the rod through the air. Rainne found her eyes following the ripples of the muscles across his shoulders, down his back and straight to that fantastic behind. She shook her head.

  “I’m not doing it. You’re too young for me.”

  “You really need to get over that age prejudice thing you’ve got going, Rainbow. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Stop calling me Rainbow. Only my parents call me that.”

  He looked over his shoulder and grinned. For a minute she would have sworn that his teeth actually sparkled.

  “It suits you,” he said.

  Rainne wedged her hands between her knees. There was something about that soft cotton shirt he was wearing that made her want to touch it.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “You’re too young. Get a girlfriend your own age.”

  “I’m twenty. It’s not like I’m still in school.”

  Twenty! Rainne cringed at the thought. And not long twenty at that. She’d been invited to his party at the Scottie Dog a couple of months earlier. She hadn’t gone, but she’d peeked round the curtain and watched Alastair and his friends as they’d walked down the high street to the pub. They were all so young. She would have looked like a fool hanging out with them for the evening. It was the right decision to stay home.

  “You grew up in a commune, Rainbow. Didn’t they teach you to look past age? You’re only six years older than me. It’s not a big deal. Aren’t you supposed to focus on the inner man?”

  As far as Rainne could see there was a lot she was supposed to be doing. Everyone had an opinion on how she should live. There were so many opinions that her head was becoming too crowded for her brain.

  Alastair set up a stand on the beach, put his rod in it and came to sit beside her on the log.

  “I thought you needed to cast all your new flies,” she said as she moved as far away from him as the log would allow.

  “I’ve got better things to do right now,” he said.

  The two of them sat in silence looking out over the water. As far as Rainne could see Alastair was completely relaxed. Rainne, on the other hand, was growing more tense by the minute. It was impossible to be at peace with him sitting there, saying nothing.

  “Look, I really want to be alone,” she said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

  “What am I going to do with you, Rainbow?” he said softly.

  That was all it took for the tears to start falling again. Alastair shook his head slowly and reached for her. To her shame, Rainne let him pull her into his arms. She let him wrap himself around her while she sobbed as though her heart was breaking. All the while he whispered things she couldn’t quite hear and rocked her in rhythm with the loch. Slowly, Rainne began to feel the peace she’d come to the loch to find.

  “He’s started classes for women,” Magenta told Kirsty a few days later. “Self-defence. They’re free.”

  Kirsty stopped sewing the bra she was working on long enough to glare at Magenta.

  “Why would I care?”

  “He’s winning them over.” Magenta tapped the book on war that Caroline had taken from the library. “It’s all in here, he’s waging a ‘hearts and minds’ campaign. His plan is to make them trust him so that they’ll buy his underwear.”

  “Fine. Let him wage his campaign. I have better things to do.”

  Like hide.

  “This isn’t the way to wage war. You need to strike back.”

  “I am striking back. I’m developing a website and I’ve bought advertising to tell people all about it.”

  “Does the advertising say that it’s owned by Kirsty Campbell, famous lingerie model?”

  Kirsty’s eyes narrowed. Her little goth friend was walking a fine line.

  “No. It says it’s the website of the shop Eye Candy.”

  Magenta threw up her hands in exasperation.

  “In that case, no one is going to look at it. The only thing we have that makes us stand out from the other shops is you. You need to get out there again and promote the shop yourself.”

  Kirsty bristled.

  “I did the story in the paper.”

  “The Invertary Standard. Everyone in Invertary knows what’s going on anyway, you don’t need a paper for that. The website is supposed to reach other customers, right? Not just the folk in town. You need to put your name on it.”

  “Don’t push me,” Kirsty said tightly. “I’ve had enough of the media to last a lifetime. I’m not promoting myself any more. My modelling days are over.”

  “Okay, then you may as well say goodbye to the shop. Because Lake is attracting more women to his store than you are to yours and his stock hasn’t even arrived yet!”

  “Isn’t there something you should be doing in the shop?” Kirsty snapped.

  “Fine, be stubborn. Don’t listen.”

  Magenta stormed out of the office. Kirsty threw down her work in disgust. Now she couldn’t concentrate. She
let herself into the stairwell and up to her flat. Against her better judgment she peeked out of the living room curtains to the shop over the road. In the middle of the blacked-out windows was a large poster. It said: Don’t just be sexy, be strong. Self-defence for women, here tonight 7.30pm.

  It was a brilliant idea. Kirsty kicked the stool in front of the couch and hurt her toes. She took off her shoes to rub them. The damn man was going to win and she didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t know how to fight him. She could feel it all slipping away.

  She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Maybe she should advertise herself. She stepped towards the mirror and pulled down the neck of her jumper. The same rough pattern of scars made its way down the right side of her neck and into her sweater. They weren’t red and angry any more. Now they were the silver and white that the surgeon in Spain had promised they’d become. But they were still ugly. She was ugly. She yanked up her jumper in disgust. There was no way she could fight with this. This body wouldn’t sell anything. She looked towards Lake’s shop. There was no way she could let anyone see this body. She had to find another way to fight.

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this, boy—because I’m at a loss here.”

  Lake flicked the lights on in the storeroom. It was a large, neutral white space, windows high on the walls, a small cloakroom in the far corner and a door to the alleyway behind the row of houses. At some point someone had added the room as an extension to the old, crooked building. Design wise it was completely out of place. Practically, it was brilliant. Especially tonight.

  “We’re advertising,” he told Betty.

  She humphed and mumbled something he couldn’t quite catch, but he got the drift—Betty did not approve. Somehow that made the whole thing so much better.

  “How exactly is teaching women how to punch going to make them buy underwear?”

  She walked around the walls, turning at each corner. He got the distinct impression that she was looking for an armchair that clearly wasn’t there. Either that, or she was marking her territory.

  “You give people what they want. You make them trust you and they’ll come back for more.”

  She stopped mid-stride, tottered backwards, steadied herself then glared at him.

  “This is how you wage a war? It’s a miracle the English ever won anything. I’ve got to tell you, son, I’m getting past bored.”

  Lake squashed a grin.

  “I know what I’m doing,” he told her.

  “Rubbish.” She resumed her walk. “This is the worst war I’ve ever been in. There’s no violence, no bombs, not even any bloody fireworks. It’s BORING.”

  Lake threw yoga mats on the floor before stashing some sparring gloves and body protection pads in the corner. More money slipping through his fingers. Still, it was only a few days until the shop fittings and merchandise arrived, then he could start making some for a change.

  “Where’s Rainne?” he said.

  “Do I look like your sister’s keeper?”

  Betty flapped her arms in disgust. It was possible she was trying to take off and fly somewhere more interesting. Lake ignored her. He’d been hoping that Rainne would be around to help. It seemed that these days she was always somewhere else.

  “Are you staying to help?”

  “You’re off your head. I’m going to the pub.”

  She stormed past him and back into the shop, all flying tartan and hairnet.

  “Don’t get drunk,” he called after her.

  Two shandies and they’d be phoning him to pick her up. Lake shook his head and wondered who’d taken care of Betty before he’d arrived in town.

  At twenty past seven women started to arrive. They were all dressed in gym clothes and had the same nervous look. He suspected that half of them thought he was going to rid them of their underwear during the class.

  “Welcome, ladies,” he said, and they giggled. “Tonight I’m going to teach you how to take care of yourself.”

  “I’m always taking care of myself,” someone called out. “Nothing new there.”

  More giggles.

  “Yeah, I’d rather you took care of me instead,” someone else said.

  The bawdy laughter grew.

  “Okay,” he said with an indulgent smile. “How about we start with some defensive moves and see where we go from there?”

  There were whoops.

  “Who wants to volunteer?”

  Every hand in the room shot up.

  Kirsty was torturing herself. It wasn’t pleasant. She’d been peeking out from behind her living room curtain for half an hour, watching the women in Invertary turn up for Lake’s stupid class. She kept telling herself it was none of her business. She’d drop the curtain and return to the couch, where her laptop and unfinished website waited. Five seconds later she was back peeking out the window. She wanted to know what he was doing to get some idea of what she had to compete against. Goodness knows everything she did to fight the man seemed to backfire. She didn’t have any more business now than she had a month ago. Yet he—she glared at Betty’s shop—had women flocking to his door. It drove her mad. By nine o’clock she couldn’t take it any longer. She put on her black trench coat, grabbed a black wool hat from the back of her hall closet and went to snoop.

  It was dark in the alley behind Lake’s shop. She tripped over a rubbish bin and lunged to grab it before it hit the concrete paving. In Betty’s backyard, light spilled through windows high on the wall, making it easier to see. Quietly, Kirsty picked up one of the metal-framed patio chairs and put it against the wall. She stepped up onto it, went up on tiptoes and held on to the window ledge. She tried to think thoughts that would make her invisible as she peered into the room.

  It was packed with smiling women. They’d been put into pairs and were practising throwing each other around. There was lots of shouting and angry faces, interspersed with the odd giggle. They seemed to be having fun. Kirsty was jealous. How was she supposed to compete with this? What could she offer? Nothing. That’s what. She was stuffed.

  Lake was easy to spot. He wove in and out of the group adjusting their positions and giving advice. Without exception every woman he touched, or spoke to, blushed. Kirsty frowned. The man was a tart and he’d obviously dressed to tease. He wore black track trousers and a grey vest with some sort of army logo thing on it. His shoulders and upper arms were bare. Big, bare, bulging. It made her sick. Most of the women in there had only seen muscle like that on TV. No wonder their minds were mush. He was playing dirty. She scowled at him.

  As though feeling her animosity, he turned towards her. His eyes went straight to the window. Straight to Kirsty. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. Kirsty’s eyes went wide. She jerked backwards and fell from the chair onto her backside on the ground. She scrambled to her feet and turned to sprint out of the yard, but tripped over a pile of wood. By the time she’d righted herself, the back door slammed. Kirsty squealed as she flung herself at the back gate. Her hand reached the latch as an arm wound around her waist.

  “Uh-uh,” Lake said in her ear. “You don’t get off that easy.”

  “Let me go,” Kirsty demanded.

  Instead he turned and carted her back into his building.

  “Kirsty has agreed to be the volunteer in the next demonstration,” Lake told the group when he entered the room.

  “I did not,” Kirsty snapped as she wriggled out from his grip.

  To her disgust, she was the focus of everyone’s attention and no doubt the main fodder for morning gossip. She smiled at everyone then turned towards the door. Lake took a step to block her exit.

  “Get out of my way,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “No.” He smiled for the women watching as he folded his arms. He was flashing those muscles again. “I caught you spying,” he said. “You’re now a prisoner of war. If you pay your penance and take part in one demonstration, you can leave. Otherwise...” He shrugged like it pained him. “Otherwise, there’
s going to be a scene.”

  Kirsty chewed her lip. She didn’t want to be the laughing stock of Invertary. No one would take her shop seriously if that were the case. And the people in Invertary had a long memory. She was still trying to live down the episode with a pot of glue and her teacher’s chair—and that was twenty years earlier.

  “You can’t force me to stay,” she said.

  “Yes, I can.”

  She’d amused him again.

  “One demonstration in return for freedom,” he said. “Come on, Kirsty—I’ll show you something cool.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Your etchings?”

  He smiled.

  “That’s funny, but I’ve got something far more impressive than that.”

  “Hey, Lake,” someone shouted. “Are we having a class or not?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at Kirsty.

  “One demo, or one scene. Your choice—either way, there’s a punishment for spying.”

  The way he said those words made her breath hitch. Her lips itched to ask what alternative punishments were available. Her brain was scared of the answer. She tore away from his gaze and turned to the women in the room. She smiled over brightly.

  “I guess one little demonstration couldn’t hurt,” she said to the group.

  Lake grabbed her hand and dragged her to the middle of the room.

  “Okay,” he told everyone. “I’m going to show you what to do if someone attacks you from behind.”

  Half the women started to giggle. Kirsty rolled her eyes. Really, this was the high-class event he was hosting?

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been approached from behind,” someone said.

  More giggles. Kirsty waited patiently for the women to get their minds back out of the gutter.

  “As interesting as that is,” Lake said drolly, “this is serious.”

  “Yes, sir,” the woman said and saluted, which made him chuckle.

  “Kirsty, come here and stand in front of me.”

  As heads turned towards her, Kirsty stuck her nose in the air and did as she was told. She glared at Lake. His eyes sparkled in return. Kirsty shrugged out of her coat and hat and put them on the chair at the side of the room.

  “Right here,” Lake said, pointing at the spot in front of him.

  Kirsty stood where she was told and folded her arms. A wave of whispers, nudges and winks went round the room.

  “What would you do,” Lake said loudly behind her, “if someone grabbed you like this?”

  He put an arm around Kirsty’s shoulder and pulled her back, flush against him. Kirsty sucked in a breath as his other arm snaked around her waist. She was wedged against him. She felt the full power of his physique running along the back of her body. Her cheeks began to burn. She fought the overwhelming urge to wiggle her hips against him. To distract her senses, Kirsty prodded his bicep with her fingernail.

  “Steroids, right?” she said, and the women laughed, which made her feel slightly more in control.

  Lake’s thumb gently caressed her stomach and Kirsty stood rock still.

  “Answers, anyone?” he said, his voice a warm breath on her ear. “What would you do if I attacked you like this?”

  “Bend over,” someone called.

  More raucous laughter. Kirsty was distracted by the circling thumb on her stomach. It took all of her self-control not to relax into his hold and close her eyes.

  “Having fun yet?” he whispered against her ear.

  Her eyes narrowed as she cursed him loudly in her head.

  “She could give him a Glasgow kiss,” someone shouted.

  “That’s for when you’re facing people,” her friend told her. “Not when you have your back to them. You can’t header someone from the back.”

  “Yes, you can,” Lake said, back in teacher mode. “If you’re as tall as Kirsty here it might work. If you’re the size of Jean, all that will happen is your head will bounce off their chest.”

  More laughter. Excellent idea, Kirsty thought. She lowered her head then jerked it back fast. There was no connection. Lake had obviously seen it coming. He planted a tiny kiss on her burning cheek.

  “Good try,” he told her.

  Kirsty fumed, as she was—yet again—the entertainment of the night.

  “I can’t wait until you leave town,” she said in a voice just soft enough for him to hear.