Shipwrecked with Mr Wrong

‘I don’t want to see you!’ Liar, liar … This was ridiculous. She was not going to turn around. ‘What are we—twelve?’

‘Okay—’ his voice was muffled as he pulled his T-shirt over his head ‘—I’m naked. Take a look. Go ahead.’

She struggled not to scream. The man had a cast iron ego. Exasperation made her boil. ‘Put your clothes on, Rob.’ She listened for the sound of him restoring his clothes and, not hearing any, turned her head a quarter back towards his silence, her eyes still averted.

‘What?’

‘You called me Rob.’ His voice was rich with smile. ‘So what?’

‘My friends call me Rob.’

‘Will you put your clothes back on, please?’

‘I will if you will.’

‘Fine. Watch out for the sand-ticks; they’re a nightmare to get out of your skin folds.’ She twisted the towel huffily around behind her and ducked into her tent before closing it up with a none-too-subtle ziiiip. It was the island equivalent of a do not disturb sign.

It took long minutes after she heard Rob move away, but controlled breathing finally got Honor’s erratic heartbeat back down to a regular rate. But it would be a long time before sleep came in her cosy tent haven.

She should have been spitting mad. After what he’d done, no one would judge her for tossing his firm butt off this island. But there’d been something so credible about his explanation. Ludicrous that he’d come ashore at three a.m. but, who knew, maybe he was as much of a night owl as she was. He probably was only warming up at this time back on the mainland. And could she honestly say—hand on heart—that she wouldn’t have looked if it had been him sponging that body down in the moonlight?

Her imagination bubbled with what she hadn’t allowed herself to look at when he’d stripped down behind her. The worst of it was, no matter what she imagined, chances were the reality wasn’t too far off. Rob Dalton was young and fit and good looking and … God … so alive.

Honor frowned at the word her subconscious threw up. She guessed Rob was a man who squeezed every bit of juice out of life. He loved his shipwrecks, clearly loved his women and had such a striking sense of vitality and excitement about him even when he was relaxed—the sort of qualities she hadn’t experienced in years. Not since …

She frowned and tried to think about the last time she’d felt vital and realised she was going back a lot longer than four years. She hadn’t realised she missed it until tonight. Rob’s presence was a living reminder that comfortable and predictable was not all roses and perfume.

It meant she missed out on feelings like this. Like when she visualised Rob’s nipple-piercing and for one hot split second imagined closing her lips around it

God above. She shifted in her sleeping bag to disrupt the tingle of anticipation deep down inside. It had been a long time since she’d felt that too. Those feelings had dulled along with her enjoyment of life years ago. It was almost frightening to discover they’d been lying dormant all this time.

Waiting.

She flipped over angrily. She never let herself go there any more, back into those painful thoughts and memories. She was normally more cautious. It hurt too much.

It was easier to think about the man outside on the beach and his infuriating self-confidence and to speculate, secretly, what it might be like to press her mouth to his perfect smile and taste him. Just for a moment. To be held by those powerful arms, or lie beneath all that rock-hard strength. To feel all that life