Shipwrecked with Mr Wrong

He smiled and slipped into the drop-off, sucking in an agonised breath as the icy swell rushed into his board shorts. He was conscious, too, that sharks were always more active around reefs at night. The two effectively combined to put an end to any pleasurable sensations lingering.

In record time, he launched onto the reef and over into the protected lagoon. Nothing dangerous there, but he swam in swiftly nonetheless and emerged dripping on the sand. He’d done this trip enough times now to be able to spot the break in the trees along the shoreline that led to the campsite, even in the moonlight. It took no time to get closer.

He passed through trees bowing under the weight of roosting birds, moving softly so as not to disturb them, failing once or twice to the grumpy protests of a number of bigger birds.

Then he saw the clearing ahead and eased his steps. If Honor was sleeping, the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. He’d settle down in the camp chair and wait out the couple of hours until dawn.

Her little tent was, technically, big enough for two but he was certain she wouldn’t be in a hurry to share it with someone she’d just met, man or woman. And certainly not uninvited. Thinking about his reclusive mermaid stretched out all warm and sleepy got his imagination whirring.

You’re a pervert, Dalton. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that conversation with himself since arriving on the island.

As he stepped closer to camp, movement drew his attention down to one corner, near the tree line on the far side. He glanced at his watch. Quarter to three. Clearly, Honor couldn’t sleep any more than he could. She crossed the moon-dappled space towards the tent, the golden sheen of her skin unbroken from head to foot. He sucked in a breath. Without thought, he stepped back into the shadows of the trees, averting his eyes.

Naked.

He heard the sounds of her rummaging in her stores and dropping something into a small bowl. Then he heard the sounds of water trickling into the bowl.

He froze where he stood, wanting to leave but conscious that if he could hear her filling a bowl, she could hear him moving away. He swore silently. Why hadn’t he turned straight back? The sound of her wringing water out of a sponge got his complete attention. Her footsteps took her past the tent and off into the edge of the trees where he’d first seen her.

Rob fought with his conscience. He would only need to move inches to breach the gap between them with trees, block her from his view and tiptoe off. Staying made him little better than a voyeur. It would be the second time he’d spied on her in less than twenty-four hours.

Instead, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of her bathing. His values may have been all messed up but there was nothing wrong with his imagination and the bikini she’d been getting around in all day really left little mystery. As the sounds of tinkling water reached him, he pictured her naked and natural in the moonlight, her back to him, sponging herself with suds from the bowl. Her touch was light and all business wherever the sponge travelled, almost a matter-of-fact chore. So matter-of-fact it shouldn’t have been particularly sexy, but Rob swallowed back an instinctive groan. A freshwater bath had to be a rare luxury in a saltwater environment and she would be as careful conserving the precious supplies as she was gentle with her salt-abused skin. Almost ritualistic. She stood, mostly obscured, her shoulders and head visible above the circle of low-growing pandanas bushes between them. Her hands lifted back into view as they drifted to the scars. She slowed and stroked the area with more care, almost lovingly. Then she paused for a moment with one hand resting on the puckered flesh, her head bowed.

Rob stopped breathing. He grew entranced by the way her gentle strokes over the scars resumed. The way she practically worshipped them. It was more intensely personal than any naked part of her body could possibly be. A dull thud started up right through his body.

Right about then he realised his eyes weren’t closed any more, and he wasn’t imagining. Spying on a naked woman came a paltry second to the intrusion he realised he’d made into her inner privacy. Whatever was going on in her heart and head right now, it had less than nothing to do with him. It was for Honor alone.

This ends. Now.

He stepped back out of view. The lateness of the hour and his thickened senses slowed him as he tucked back into the shadows. Before he was more than a few metres down towards the beach, Honor emerged on the little shell-lined path and stood, pale and enormous-eyed, clutching a towel in front of her and violent accusation clear in her voice.

‘Enjoy the show?’

He had a choice—deny it like a coward, or cop to it like a man. Honor knew which she hoped he’d be, even though that also meant he was a jerk.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said simply, holding his hands where she could see them, as though she was a wild creature he didn’t want to rile any further. She refused to acknowledge the sheen of seawater on his skin, the droplets in his hair and thick eyelashes, keeping her eyes planted on his unapologetic face. To his credit, his eyes never strayed from hers, even though she stood near naked before him. ‘I didn’t mean to spy on you.’

‘Yes, you did.’ She was still angry but it was moderated by a swill of hormones that had started running laps in her system. ‘Unless you’re trying to tell me you tripped and fell into the bushes next to where I happened to be taking a bath.’

He acknowledged her point and changed his words. ‘Then I apologise for coming ashore. I didn’t expect you to be bathing, obviously.’

She blushed furiously. ‘You should have been asleep!’

‘So should you.’

Honor barely knew what to do with his entire lack of concern that he’d been busted being a slime-ball. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sorry—he clearly was—but he didn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed. Her anger wasn’t because he’d seen her naked—lots of people had seen her body and not all of them were doctors—it was because he’d breached her just-won trust. ‘How am I going to trust you now? You spied on me.’

His head dipped. When it came back up, his eyes were sincere. He moved towards her but stopped immediately as she stumbled back a step. ‘You bathing was as much a natural part of this island’s life as watching the birds roosting.’

‘Easy for you to say. It wasn’t your butt hanging out for all the world to see.’

Some part of him must have known that smiling now would be fatal. He fought the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

She hugged the towel closer and glared. ‘Out of my camp.’

He turned on the Dalton charm, head tipping, sinking onto one hip, his voice like melted chocolate. ‘Come on, Honor. It was a mistake and I’ve apologised.’

‘Does that dreamy tone work on everyone? Or is it only effective with women?’

He looked at her hard and she had the feeling she’d hurt him. Too bad.

‘Mostly, yes,’ he murmured.

‘Oh, the ego—’

‘Can’t we chalk it up to a normal male reaction to a beautiful naked woman?’

There was the word again, twice in as many minutes. Beautiful. ‘Flattering me is not going to win you any points. I know how I look now. I also know the scars are not me, they haven’t changed me.’ She jabbed her fingers to the towel clutched at her breast. Saying it was as much for herself as for him.

‘They haven’t changed the rest of you either.’

She gasped and pointed back out to sea. ‘Get off my island!’

He laughed. ‘Take it easy, Honor.’

‘You’re trying to tell me the scars don’t bother you?’ she challenged him angrily.

He paused then, looking down at her. When had he moved that close? ‘Honestly? Yes, they do, but not for the reason you imagine. I’m not a complete jerk, regardless of what you think. They bother me because they must have caused you such pain. They bother me because I know they have something to do with why you’re here. They bother me because they bother you.’

‘They do not bother me.’ Honor raised her voice. She’d spent the better part of four years learning to love her scars. ‘They belong to me. And they belong to—’ Her head jerked back, appalled at what she’d been about to say. Her chest heaved beneath the towel.

Not for him.

Not for anyone.

She was starting to become critically aware that he was fully dressed and she … wasn’t. She turned and marched back to the campsite, only realising at the last second that her bottom was swinging in the breeze again. She heard the crunching of his feet as he followed her into camp. Strangely, that didn’t bother her. Somewhere deep down she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. Not physically.

‘You and I are going to keep our distance. Until your boat is repaired—’

He hissed his impatience. ‘That’s not going to be necessary, Honor. I’ve seen you without your clothes on—big deal. I virtually saw as much on the beach this afternoon—your bikini doesn’t leave much to the imagination— and I’ve managed not to drag you off into the dunes, haven’t I?’

She glared at him.

‘Oh, fine!’ He reached down and un-snapped his board shorts. Honor spun away as he dropped them.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I’m evening up the score,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you, so you can see me. I don’t care.’