Cracking the Dating Code

His feet dangled over the edge of the bed, and his shoulders seemed almost too wide for it. His jeans clung lovingly to superbly muscled thighs and his butt was taut and round and altogether perfect. And then there was his back.

Sun-bronzed and magnificently proportioned to fit the rest of him, it was a study in the play of skin over musculature and the hills and valleys that came of it. Painters and sculptors would love Sebastian Reyne’s back. They’d commit it to memory and drive themselves insane trying to capture every last nuance of its power and beauty.

It seemed only wise that Poppy too should commit such a study in masculine perfection to memory.

Just in case she ever decided to take up sculpting or painting.

Or something.

His chest moved and from what little Poppy could see of his face beneath all that shaggy black hair, his colour seemed good.

An almost empty Scotch bottle lay on its side beside the bed.

Not dead, then.

Just dead drunk.

‘Miss West, meet your host,’ said comedian Mal as he reached down and gave the sleeping giant a nudge. ‘Seb.’

Seb groaned. Muttered something about Mal going away and the words he used were not from the book of manners.

Nothing Poppy hadn’t heard before.

‘Oy! Seb!’ bellowed Mal, and shoved him in the shoulder. ‘Package for you.’

‘Leave it on the floor,’ murmured Seb and his voice rippled over her, darkly delicious and heavy with sleep.

‘Yeah, about that,’ said Mal, and turned to Poppy. ‘Comprehension could take a few minutes. Maybe you should wait in the office.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Poppy mildly. ‘I have brothers.’

‘Brothers who go on benders?’

‘Brothers who do what they want,’ she countered quietly, and put her hands to her knees and bent low so as to see Seb Reyne’s face. It was quite a face, stubble aside. It put her in mind of fallen angels and very bad boys.

Wouldn’t hurt to commit his face to memory too.

‘Mr Reyne? I’m Ophelia West. We’ve spoken on the phone. I’m Tomas’s business partner. I’m here to do some work.’

Long, dark lashes lifted a millimetre or two before closing again, giving Poppy a brief glimpse of forest green.

‘Am I dead?’ he murmured.

‘Not quite.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ Poppy straightened and turned to Mal. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s going to say “Welcome to the island” next.’

Another curse. More of a whimper.

‘Give me five minutes with him,’ said Mal, and hauled a protesting Seb upright and headed for the door, and then the cove, and then the ocean, dragging the altogether larger Seb along with him.

Poppy stayed on the pier and watched as the pair headed across the sand and into the water until they were both waist deep in it, at which point Commander Mal unceremoniously let the other man go.

Doubtless that would’ve been her older brother’s solution too.

Poppy leaned against the railing as Mal dunked Seb again, maybe to wash his mouth out this time, but eventually Mal waded back towards the beach and Seb waded into deeper water, scrubbing at his hair and disappearing beneath the surface with the sleekness of a seal.

Definitely not afraid of open water, that one.

‘He won’t be long,’ said Mal when he reached her. ‘Seb’s had a rough time of it these past couple of months. He lost one of his business partners in an offshore rig explosion. Another one of his crew went deaf in the same accident. Seb blames himself. Did Tom not tell you any of this?’

‘Not a word.’ And there would be words between her and Tom about his reticence on the subject. Lots and lots of noisy, robust words.

‘You sure you don’t want to come back with me?’ asked Mal. ‘Find some nice little house on the mainland to hole up in?’

‘Believe me, I would if I could.’ Poppy cut her gaze towards her host, who was in the process of emerging from the ocean, torso bare and body beautiful. She could feel the pull of him from here, the sleekness and the sensuality, and it thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. ‘Will I be okay here with him?’

‘I can’t see him physically harming you, if that’s what you mean. Can’t see him being overly polite either…’

‘What about the drinking?’

‘It looks worse than it is,’ said Mal flatly. ‘He’s not drunk. Just tired.’

‘From doing what?’

Watching the fish swim by?

Poppy was used to indecision. Not knowing how to respond to a social situation. Not knowing which instinct to trust—the one that said go back to the mainland with Mal or the one that assured her she’d be safe with this man if she stayed.

Seb was Tomas’s brother and Tomas was a friend. Tomas knew when to tease and he knew when to offer up support. He could be a touch protective of her at times. Surely he wouldn’t have sent her here if he thought it unsafe? Surely his brother wouldn’t be all that different?

Seb strode towards them as if he owned the place—which he did—and with a scowl on his face guaranteed to frighten small children.

The scowl didn’t frighten her. What frightened her was her response to his nearness. The way she kept taking an invisible tape measure to those broad shoulders, made all the broader by the trimness of his waist. The way she automatically wanted to move closer to him rather than further away, never mind the kick in her pulse and the hitch of her breath. It was the bane of her social interactions, the amount of space she needed to put between herself and others. An arm’s length at least. Preferably a table’s length. Even with Tomas, whom she’d worked with for over two years now, she kept her distance.

Sebastian Reyne took one last step towards her; Poppy’s instinctive step back should have been well and truly activated by now.

But it didn’t come.

Poppy took a deep breath, restricted her gaze to anything from the neck up and held out her hand for him to shake.

‘Mr Reyne, shall we try again?’ she said as quietly and evenly as she could. ‘I’m Poppy West. I believe you’re expecting me.’

Beside her, Mal snorted.

Before her, Seb Reyne looked down at her hand and then back at her, his gaze faintly incredulous. ‘I’m wet,’ he said.