Can't Stop the Feeling (Sinclair Sisters 2)

“I’ll stay here and keep an eye on them—I mean, on things. I’ll keep an eye on things.” Agnes had her eyes glued to the men.

“Is this even legal?” Grace asked in bewilderment.

“Oh aye,” Mairi said. “Women and men are equal opportunity perverts these days.”

Donna groaned and headed for the door. If she couldn’t find something in the contract to get her out of this mess, she’d set off the fire alarm and blame it on Joyce, because she would bet the balance in her bank account that the male dancers were her idea.

***

Duncan climbed out of the taxi in front of the mansion to find a group of men in suits playing boules on his lawn. He ran a hand down his face and told himself that at least they weren’t in the building—unlike the rest of Kintyre.

The noise coming from the house was loud enough to wake the dead. He wouldn’t be surprised if the whole of the peninsular was vibrating with it. As he walked up his driveway, a woman carrying a placard with the letter D on it came around the corner of the building, with a crowd in tow.

“This is the northern face of the building. Here you can see the windows to Duncan’s studio, where the masterpieces that reside in New York’s Museum of Modern Art and London’s Tate Modern were created. Unfortunately, we are currently unable to enter the room, due to the two feral teenagers guarding it in return for pizza. If you follow me, we can get a look at the renovated carriage house.”

The group crossed his path on their way to the back of the property.

“Hey,” one of the women said. “Isn’t that Duncan Stewart?”

“Don’t be daft,” her friend chided. “He’s in Glasgow for the weekend.”

Duncan walked past the tour group and up the steps to his wide-open front door. There were people everywhere, but his eyes went to the banner spanning the balcony that read: The Fiona Stewart Memorial Ball. Underneath it, in smaller letters, were the words: Raising Money for Families with Children Fighting Cancer.

Now he knew how Donna had been talked into this fiasco. The bloody Women’s Institute had used his dead wife and sick children against her. She never stood a chance. He walked down the corridor towards the music, passing the dining room where a pop-up casino was making a killing, and then the library where—he stopped in his tracks.

They’d pushed the furniture back to the edge of the room and rolled up the rugs, and in the middle of the floor, sat a mechanical bull. There was a wee woman dressed in a silver ballgown sitting on its back. She looked to be about a hundred and was being cheered on by an elderly man in a top hat and tails. He closed his eyes for a second or two before opening them again. Nope. They were still there.

He backed out of the room, dodged a group taking selfies in the hallway, and continued to the ballroom, his anger growing with every step. She’d told him the room was off limits because the floor was being varnished, while all along, they’d been setting up to have a party in his absence. She’d lied to him about everything—posing and playing pool to get him out of the house, telling him Zoe had invited him to Glasgow when she’d sent the email...the list went on. And the most annoying thing was that he’d known something was up, but he’d ignored the warning signs because he’d been too busy chasing after her to think straight.

He stepped into the ballroom, only to be confronted by six topless men in kilts dancing to a room full of clapping women and bored-looking men. Everything Fiona had hoped to achieve had been reduced to a backdrop for people letting off steam. He wasn’t even sure who he was angrier at—the Women’s Institute for conning Donna, Donna for not coming to him instead of organising things behind his back, or himself for ignoring the signs that something was up. He’s been in Kintyre long enough to know that, where the Sinclair sisters were concerned, you never ignored any warning signs. He’d been slack. He’d left his woman without protection—from con artists and from her sisters.

As he scanned the room, he spotted Agnes, Mairi and Grace standing near the buffet tables. Clearly they were as captivated by the dancers as the rest of the women in the room. He headed straight for them, pushing his way through the crowd.

Mairi spotted him first. “Oh hey, Duncan, how’s it going?” She smiled and it froze on her face. “Duncan!” She elbowed her sister.

Agnes’ eyes shot to him. “It wasn’t her fault,” she said in a rush. “She was conned. The Women’s Institute told her it would be a sedate ceilidh using only the ballroom. Then they upped the numbers and asked to use the orangery too. Donna knew nothing about the guided tours or the bull or the strippers—”

“Or the casino,” Mairi added.

“Aye.” Agnes nodded. “None of us knew what they’d planned until it happened. She’s trying to figure out a way to shut it down earlier. She’s really upset about it, Duncan.”

“Funny, so am I.” He cocked his head towards the corridor. “Out there. Now.”

The three women made their way towards the door without protest. As Grace passed him, she looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t have to say it. I already know I’m fired.”

Damn right she was fired, just as soon as he’d cleared up this mess and dealt with his housekeeper.

***

Donna heard noises from the linen closet as she passed the door. As soon as she opened it, she deeply regretted it. There was a couple, who looked to be on the ripe side of middle-aged, getting it on amongst the bedding. She slammed the door shut, wishing she could take out her eyeballs and roll them in bleach.

She made a quick detour past the studio, only to see the teenage boys standing shoulder to shoulder to keep out the hordes. They spotted her at the back of the crowd and saluted her, grins on their faces. They deserved two weeks’ worth of Grace’s cooking instead of one.

Her office door was slightly ajar as she approached it, and her heart sank. The wildlife that had infected the mansion had even made it into her workspace. With a fortifying breath, she pushed open the door then gasped.

Because Bill, the gardener they’d fired, was helping himself to the painting Duncan had given her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.