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Cracking the Dating Code
Kelly Hunter
A Crash Course in Flirtation… Poppy West – genius and legendary code-cracker – needs a hideaway. Her borrowed desert island seems perfect – until she discovers the owner is the most dangerously sexy man she has ever laid eyes on… Now she’s out of her depth!Sebastian Reyne never intended to teach Poppy all the delightful, enticing mysteries of flirtation. Poppy needs a nice man, not a rogue. A patient man, not one who can’t be controlled.But her clueless attempts at cracking the dating code bring out the rescuer in him, the teacher in him, even the gentleman in him. For a while. Until Poppy’s skills start to exceed his own…




Praise for Kelly Hunter
‘Hunter’s emotionally rich tale will make readers laugh and cry along with the characters. A truly fantastic read.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Revealed: A Prince and a Pregnancy
‘This is a dynamite story of a once-forbidden relationship, featuring two terrific characters who have to deal with the past before they can finally be together.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Exposed: Misbehaving with the Magnate
‘This story starts out on a light, fun and flirty note and spins into an emotional and heartfelt tale about coming to terms with the past and embracing the future.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Playboy Boss, Live-In Mistress

Also by Kelly Hunter
The Man She Loves To Hate
With This Fling…
Red-Hot Renegade
Untameable Rogue
Revealed: A Prince and a Pregnancy
Exposed: Misbehaving with the Magnate
Playboy Boss, Live-In Mistress
The Maverick’s Greek Island Mistress
Sleeping Partner

About the Author
Accidentally educated in the sciences, KELLY HUNTER has always had a weakness for fairytales, fantasy worlds and losing herself in a good book. Husband…yes. Children…two boys. Cooking and cleaning…sigh. Sports… no, not really—in spite of the best efforts of her family. Gardening…yes. Roses, of course. Kelly was born in Australia and has travelled extensively. Although she enjoys living and working in different parts of the world, she still calls Australia home.
Kelly’s novels Sleeping Partner and Revealed: A Prince and a Pregnancy were both finalists for the Romance Writers of America RITA
Award, in the Best Contemporary Series Romance category!
Visit Kelly online at www.kellyhunter.net
Cracking the Dating Code
Kelly Hunter








www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE
TIMIDITY was not an absolute measurement but a relative one. And therein lay the problem. Second youngest of the four West siblings, Poppy had never measured up to any of her nearest and dearest when it came to confidence and the conquering of fear. Didn’t mean she was a mouse. Didn’t mean she wasn’t perfectly functional—just that she preferred book-reading to skydiving and murmured agreement to heated argument. Nothing wrong with that.
Some might even call it sane.
Of course, there were also those who believed she was too shy for her own good and that she needed to step away from her work and get out more and make new friends. As if her admittedly small circle of friends wasn’t enough. As if new friends just happened by on a daily basis.
Tomas was a friend. Cryptology mathematician and co-project manager, Tomas brimmed with confidence enough for both of them and he understood the language Poppy spoke best. Namely, code.
Tomas had also offered her the use of his private island on which to do some code breaking, with very few questions asked and only one small favour required in return.
Which had been good of him, she told herself over and over as she stepped aboard the Marlin III fishing cruiser and politely asked the skipper for a life jacket.
Very, very good of him.
So here she was, back in Australia, her country of birth, with only a boat ride across the open waters of the Pacific separating Poppy from her destination.
Poppy’s spray jacket came off and the life jacket went on and then her jacket went back on over the top of that, never mind the skipper’s silent amusement. The ocean was not her friend. They were about to travel across it. Nothing wrong with taking a few precautions.
Sunshine. Blue sky. Calm sea. Shiny big boat, manned by the best skipper the bustling Cairns marina had to offer. A boat fully outfitted with GPS and radar and whose skipper had filled out a travel plan sheet in his tiny office, right there in front of her eyes, and handed it to the office manager, who’d pinned it to a board behind her desk. A careful man who took precautions—nothing less would do.
So the journey had started out well, but the clouds moved in fast and so did the wind, and it was against them, making the trip longer, rougher and altogether more unpleasant as the minutes crashed on.
Not that skipper Mal seemed to mind. The lanky, blue-eyed sports-fishing operator proclaimed it an excellent day for a boat ride, and he should know, seeing as he’d worked the Marlin-fishing arm of the family’s charter-boat business for the past twenty years. The only issue to concern Captain Mal was their destination.
‘Seb knows you’re coming, right?’ he asked for the umpteenth time.
‘Yes,’ said Poppy for the umpteenth time. ‘He knows.’
‘Because I can’t get him on the radio.’
‘I know.’ Mal had been trying to contact Sebastian Reyne every ten minutes for the past hour. Way to lessen anxiety there, Mal.
Fisherman Mal had also wanted to put a couple of Marlin lines out and strap Poppy into the fighting-fish chair on the way across, seeing as Poppy was already paying him top dollar for the run, but Poppy had disabused him of that notion fast.
‘No, thank you,’ she’d told him politely. ‘I’m not big on game fishing.’ Or any other fishing that required one to actually be on the water. ‘I’ve read The Old Man and the Sea. I know how it goes.’
Mal had laughed and told her that the fishing process had moved on somewhat since then, but he hadn’t pushed her, and around half an hour into their journey he’d finally twigged that Poppy had a quiet case of rapidly escalating terror on her hands.
‘Problems with Seb?’ he’d asked, eyeing her sharply as she stood behind him, as close as she could get to the man without assaulting her personal space limits or his.
‘Not yet,’ she’d said. ‘Not that I know of. You know how some people have a fear of heights? I have one of open water. I look at the ocean and it’s bottomless and the only way is down. I don’t usually travel by boat if I can help it. Unfortunately, it’s the only way to get to the island.’
‘Couldn’t Seb have come to you?’ the skipper had asked, and Poppy had smiled at the man through her fear and edged a little closer.
‘I’m not going there to see Seb. I don’t even know the man.’
Poppy had lapsed into uncertain silence after that, and skipper Mal had ordered her up into the seat next to him and made her pour him a mug of coffee from a thermos, and one for her, too. He had sugar cubes on hand, the old-fashioned kind that horses loved, and he hadn’t waited to see if she’d wanted any, just plopped three in her mug and told her to drink up.
He tried conversation, but she didn’t have any to spare.
He tried putting music on, but his taste ran to heavy metal, the kind used to rev up the troops right before they opened fire or, conversely, went down in a blaze of glory.
‘So what do you do for a living?’ he asked. Casual conversation attempt number thirty-eight.
‘I write mathematical code,’ said Poppy. ‘It comes in handy for securing online interactions and the like.’
‘You mean cryptology,’ said Mal and grinned when Poppy blinked. ‘Same as what Tom does.’
‘Yes.’ Poppy nodded. ‘Tomas and I work together—we’re in business together. Hence the loan of the island.’
‘You’re sure Seb knows you’re coming,’ said Mal again.
‘I’m sure.’ But given that Mal wasn’t sure, it probably wouldn’t hurt to know a little more about Tomas’s reclusive brother. ‘Is there something you know about Tomas’s brother that I should know?’
‘Hard to say,’ murmured Mal. ‘What do you know about him so far?’
‘I know he’s wealthy,’ offered Poppy. ‘I know he and Tomas bought the island together and that Sebastian designed and built the house on it. But what does he do?’
‘Whatever the hell he wants,’ said Mal. ‘As a rule.’
‘I don’t suppose you could be a little more specific?’
‘Seb’s a marine engineer. Heads up a company that runs maintenance on offshore oil rigs. Runs capping and clean-up operations as well. Whether he’s running projects from the island is anyone’s guess.’ Mal turned those wise blue eyes of his in her direction. ‘You do realise that no one but Seb lives on this island?’
‘I do. But apparently there’s a guest house as well as the main house. I’m to have the guest house. Tom’s arranged with Seb for it to be fully provisioned. I don’t see a problem.’
‘In that case, you try getting Seb to answer.’
Poppy had no aversion to taking control of radio communications—it helped keep her mind off the seemingly endless blue water all around them. But by the time they reached the island and docked the Marlin III at the sweetest little floating pier, nestled within the shelter of a picturesque horseshoe bay, they still hadn’t raised a soul and Poppy’s nerves had stretched spider-web thin.
‘Seb’s quad’s here,’ said Mal as he tossed her carryall onto the pier and leapt nimbly up beside it before turning back and holding out his hand to haul her up—only Poppy was busy taking the life jacket off and then putting her coat back on. She hesitated before taking skipper Mal’s outstretched hand, only the tiniest of hesitations, but it was there and the man noticed it. Nothing personal, wariness was just her way, but she offered up a small, rueful smile of apology and brought out her manners and said, ‘Thank you,’ as he hauled her up beside him.
Land was Poppy’s first thought. Solid, stable land, just a short walk away.
Her second thought concerned Mal’s earlier remark. ‘You said Seb’s quad is here?’
‘Over there behind the boatshed.’
‘That’s a boatshed?’ she said of the long, narrow building that began on the beach and stretched a good fifty metres out over the water. ‘Looks a little overdesigned.’
‘Yeah, well, I’d keep that opinion to myself if I were you,’ said Captain Mal dryly. ‘It doubles as a warehouse and sometimes an emergency shelter. There’s cot space in the loft, a decent-sized cruiser up on rails. I’ve sheltered there a time or two when the weather’s run foul.’
Which the weather looked to be doing rather rapidly, thought Poppy with an anxious glance skywards. ‘You’re booked to collect me two weeks from today, right? Or earlier if I call you and we can arrange a time that suits. You’re booked. I’ve paid.’
‘You’re booked, you’ve paid, and pickup’s weather-dependent. Having said that, the forecast isn’t showing any big bad.’
‘Those clouds don’t look big and bad to you?’ she asked.
‘Nah. They’re nothing.’ Skipper Mal reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone. Turned it on and showed her his screen saver. ‘This is a cloud.’
No, Poppy was pretty sure that was a cyclone front. ‘I’m glad you kept that picture to yourself on the way over. Were you out on the boat when you took it?’
‘Yep.’
Poppy shuddered. ‘Better you than me.’
‘You really don’t like the ocean, do you?’
‘No. Even inland rivers and lakes don’t really work for me. But I’m very fond of baths.’
‘You mean six inches of lukewarm water in a tub?’
‘That’s not a bath.’ Poppy reached inside her coat pocket for her phone and scrolled through her photos for the rose be-petalled white stone glory of a bathhouse she’d visited in Turkey last year. ‘This is a bath.’
Mal snorted. Poppy grinned. Captain Mal was okay. Captain Mal had got her here in one piece.
They reached the side door to the warehouse, a studded metal door with an oversized door handle and an equally impressive-looking lock. Mal greeted it with a loud fist.
No answer from behind the door. Mal reached for the door handle next. It wasn’t locked.
‘He’s very trusting,’ said Poppy.
‘That he’s not,’ said Mal. ‘Oy, Seb!’
No answer.
They checked the warehouse area. They checked the space where a gleaming white cruiser sat up on rails. He wasn’t in the tiny, untidy office.
They found him in the loft.
Sprawled out, face down on one of the cots as if dead to the world.
Mal sighed. Poppy just stared.
And it wasn’t just because he had no shirt on.
Sebastian Reyne was not a small man.
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.
She’d noticed. And she’d been right about his eyes being green. A deep, forest green ringed with grey. ‘So you are.’
She made sure there was no judgement in her voice. She wanted that handshake. Reassurance of their business footing, perhaps. A gentle reminder that a man was only as good as his word and that she was here because he’d agreed she could come.
Plus, she had a powerful urge to experience his touch.
His skin was wet. His hand was warm and big, and calloused. One shake and they were done, except for the heat that had travelled like lightning up her arm and through her body and just didn’t seem to want to go away.
‘How long’s this going to take?’ he muttered.
‘I don’t know,’ she offered truthfully. ‘Anywhere between a couple of days and a couple of weeks. Any longer than that and I’m liable to go bonkers.’
‘Aren’t we all.’ Seb’s gaze cut to Mal. ‘You’re not staying?’
‘Can’t. Got a charter booked in for tomorrow.’
‘Cancel it.’
‘Can’t. She’s all yours, pal.’
‘Not quite the wording I’d have used,’ offered Poppy mildly. ‘However, I am aware that I’ll be impinging on you for the duration and that Tomas may not have been fully aware of certain…developments when he offered his hospitality, and yours. Is my staying here going to be a problem for you, Mr Reyne? I was under the impression that it wouldn’t be, but if it is…’ Poppy shrugged and tried hard not to telegraph dismay. ‘Well, it’s your island. I can head back to the mainland with Mal.’
Sebastian Reyne ran his hand through his hair and stared out to sea as if in search of a lifeline. Poppy could have told him that lifelines were few and far between out there but she held her tongue and waited for his reply and tried not to let anxiousness overwhelm her.
Mal eyed him steadily—some silent judgement going on there. Poppy tried not to eye Seb at all, which was easier said than done given how much room he seemed to take up.
‘I really won’t be any trouble,’ she said when the silence threatened to snap her nerves completely. ‘I just need to work. You’ll hardly even see me. That’s a promise.’
‘If Tom said you can stay, you can stay,’ said Seb Reyne finally. ‘That all the luggage you’ve got?’ He nodded towards her carryall.
‘That’s it.’
‘Can you drive a quad?’
‘I can drive a beach trike.’
‘Can you pilot a boat?’
‘No. Frankly, Mr Reyne, if it floats you can rest assured I’ll hate it.’
‘Can you swim?’
‘After a fashion,’ she offered and glanced towards the ocean horizon. ‘But how far and for how long is always the real question, isn’t it?’
‘She likes baths,’ offered Mal laconically, and Poppy smiled, and Seb stared, first at Mal, then at her—as if she’d somehow managed to seduce Mal in the Jacuzzi on the way over in the boat.
No need for Seb to know that no one had ever bestowed a femme fatale badge on her before. Or how much she enjoyed the wearing of it, however briefly.
‘I need food,’ he said.
‘Yeah, and I’m on the turnaround,’ said Mal. ‘You want anything brought back from the mainland when I come to pick her up?’
Seb and Mal headed off down the pier towards Mal’s boat. Poppy stayed right where she was. It seemed only polite to afford them a bit of privacy—they were obviously friends. She didn’t need to be privy to their every word.
Besides, a little distance might give her time to shake off the aftereffects of his touch and the way that fleeting moment of skin on skin had made her feel. Namely hot and bothered and altogether unsettled.
The wet one was making his way back towards her, his jeans clinging to those long, muscled thighs she’d noticed before.
She hadn’t noticed the weight in his crotch before, which given he’d been lying face down wasn’t surprising, but she noticed it now and she swallowed hard and looked away.
Probably best not to commit that bit of him to memory. It could quite conceivably spoil her for all other men.
Mal’s boat roared to life and reversed away from the pier. Poppy waved and tried to remain calm as her host drew nearer.
‘So how do you want to do this?’ he asked gruffly when he reached her. ‘It’s your show.’
‘Well…’ said Poppy, mindful that his head might well be pounding and his temper short. ‘You could always drop me where the computers are, earn my eternal gratitude with a cup of industrial-strength coffee and then leave me to get started on the work I came here to do. Does that sound all right?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, and shot her a glance she couldn’t fathom. ‘That sounds fine.’

CHAPTER TWO
SHE wasn’t what he’d expected. Tomas had called Poppy a little grey mouse with an IQ several sizes too big for her, but Seb didn’t see a mouse when he looked at Ophelia West.
He saw quietness, yes. Adaptability. A certain tolerance for the foibles of others. Calm blue eyes, he saw those too, along with flawless, creamy coloured skin, hair the colour of toffee streaked with sunshine and a lithe, willowy body he had no business noticing.
As for her lips…they’d been the first thing he’d noticed when he’d opened his eyes and he’d known instantly exactly where he wanted them.
He should have taken it as a warning.
Hell, he had taken it as a warning.
He’d been all set to send her back with Mal, only somewhere along the way she’d treated him as a man of his word and the next thing he knew Ophelia West was staying and Mal was going and everyone was expecting Seb to conjure up a badge of honour out of nowhere and be a better man.
Just like that.
Damned if she didn’t make him at least want to try.
He headed for the office, found his sunglasses, put them on and sighed as the light dialled down a notch or four. He tried looking at Poppy West again, mighty relieved when she blended into the surroundings a whole lot better than she had before.
Maybe he’d just been imagining the calamity of her touch and the way her eyes had widened and those angel’s lips had parted when his thumb had practically encircled her wrist.
Bacon and coffee. Caffeine and fat. Get those into him, shut her in Tom’s office and, if she was anything like his brother, she might not emerge for days.
It sounded like a plan.
He picked up her bag and headed for the quad. Slung his leg over the seat and started it up, wincing at the noisy rumble that played right along with the pounding in his head.
Lots and lots of caffeine and fat.
‘You coming?’ he said, and without a word she slid into place behind him with her bag in between them like a wall. No hands at his waist, no cheerful flirty quip. Just a colleague of Tomas’s who’d come here to work.
It took them fifteen minutes to reach the house.
A fifteen-minute ride along a rough dirt track up the side of a steep hill and along a plateau that today boasted a view of endless ocean blending seamlessly into the hazy blue of an unsettled sky. Wind whipped at Seb’s hair and hers and a wayward caramel tendril cut across his cheek before sliding around his neck like a slender hangman’s rope.
He gritted his teeth, cursed his wet jeans and asked for all the speed the bike beneath him had.
The roughest patch of track curled around a rock ridge, just before the house came into view. The back wheels always skidded on slick rock and this time Ophelia West’s hands clutched at his shoulders.
An involuntary shudder rippled through him, not a prelude to desire but full-blown, roaring lust. Too long without a woman, he decided grimly. Far too long on this island alone, with only bleak thoughts for company.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured and withdrew her hands the moment the quad found traction again.
‘Leave them,’ he rasped. ‘It only gets rougher from hereon in.’
This time she set her hands to the waistband of his jeans, probably under the misguided impression that it was the better alternative to skin on skin.
It wasn’t.
Seb’s body took her hands at his waistband as a signal that his jeans would soon be coming off.
Fifteen minutes all up, until they stood inside the house and out of the wind, with Ophelia West looking around curiously but not saying a word.
Seb should have found her actions reassuring; the fact that she felt no need to befriend him or force him into inane conversation.
He didn’t.
All Poppy West’s silence did was make him want to know what she thought of the island and of the house. A house made of concrete and glass and metal. One that cut into the rock face at its back and enjoyed expansive ocean views from every room. He’d designed it himself. Built a fair chunk of it himself too. Took pride in its rugged beauty and the challenges that had gone into its design.
Whatever the mouse thought of the place, she wasn’t letting on.
‘May I use a bathroom?’ she asked and he told her where one was and headed for the kitchen.
Coffee would help. Had to help, and then he’d show her the office, fry up some bacon and then disappear for the day while she did whatever it was she’d come to do and he worked off his hangover, his foul mood, and his awareness of a little grey mouse who was trying hard to be no trouble, no trouble at all, and by doing nothing whatsoever to engage him had captured his attention more thoroughly than anyone had captured it in years.
Seb dumped a wagonload of ground coffee into the shiny stainless steel machine, leaned into the counter and rested his head against a cupboard door.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember what else his brother had said about Poppy West. Tried to remember if Tom had been interested in her, and if so, whether he’d ever acted on that interest.
Probably.
She was exactly his brother’s type. Classy. Smart. Kinda sweet, whereas Seb… Seb far preferred his women assured, adventurous and heading towards sinful.
‘Coffee smells good,’ said a quiet, measured voice, and he straightened and opened his eyes to find her standing uncertainly in the doorway.
‘It is.’ Was that his voice? That raspy, ill-used croak? ‘There’s sugar around here somewhere. Long-life milk too. Somewhere.’ Probably in a box down at the warehouse. He’d bring some up later.
‘I’ll take black with one.’
Easy to please, this woman with perfect lips and a planet for a brain.
She’d taken her jacket off and stood there in designer cut jeans and a dove-grey T-shirt that emphasised fine bones and slenderness. Small, high breasts. Plenty of leg.
A man who wanted a piece of her would have to be gentle; he’d have to take care….
‘You want something to eat?’ he asked the mouse. Mousemousemouse. His brother’s little grey mouse. Business partner. Whatever. He’d find out soon enough.
‘No, thanks. I had a big breakfast.’
Birdseed and yoghurt, what was the bet? ‘I’ll fill up an Esky for you to take down to the guest house,’ he told her. ‘There’s a fridge there. You’ll have to turn it on. Not sure if the bed’s made up. I’ll get you some linen too.’
He probably should have checked the guest house for spiders. Lizards. Snakes. Gracious hospitality wasn’t exactly his forte.
‘Change of plan,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll sort the guest house. You just do whatever you’ve come here to do on the computers. Tom wasn’t very specific.’
Ophelia West shrugged. ‘It’s not very interesting to a layman. But I’d really like to see the computer set-up. Tomas promised me big things.’
‘C’mon, then, geek girl. Let’s show you what he’s got.’
He still hadn’t put a shirt on.
Poppy tried to pay attention to her surroundings rather than the man who strode down the hallway in front of her, but it took concerted effort. The house had been built into the cliff face, it seemed, for the rear side wall consisted solely of cool to the touch smooth grey rock. The white ceiling disappeared into it and so did the grey slate floor.
At the end of the hall he opened a door and Poppy followed him into an office.
Generously proportioned, it boasted floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides and a perfect 180-degree view of the ocean. Photos of floating oil rigs and pipelines lined the walls—Sebastian’s achievements, one would assume. A framed mathematical proof, written in Tomas’s scrawling black hand, stood out amongst them. There was a large draughtsman’s table. Two high-end brand–name computers sat on nearby desks.
It was a very nice office, by any standard except the one that mattered most. Poppy stared at the computers, aghast.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked and she looked up to find Sebastian Reyne studying her intently.
‘I hope not,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s a beautiful workspace, don’t get me wrong, and the view is magnificent if you like that kind of thing, but those computers are not what Tomas promised me.’
‘What did he promise you?’
‘Grunt,’ she said. ‘And lots of it.’
The corner of Sebastian’s eyes crinkled, and Poppy paused, mid panic. Gorgeous eyes. Smiley hell-raiser eyes, enjoying a private joke.
‘You’d be after the bat cave, then,’ he murmured, and crossed the room and opened a door she hadn’t noticed earlier. He slipped his hand just inside the doorway, flipped on a light and stepped aside. ‘Behold, the promised land.’
Poppy approached the door cautiously, peered inside the room and promptly uttered a favoured phrase she’d picked up from her brothers. And it wasn’t Well, glory be.
Cooling panels warred with monitors for space. Cable had been built into the walls during the original build, which meant no stepping over it, and memory banks took up almost half of one wall.
Tomas Reyne had built himself a supercomputer.
‘This enough grunt for you, Miss West?’
‘Poppy,’ she muttered distractedly. ‘You may as well call me Poppy. I’m going to be here a lot.’ She started turning on units, she couldn’t help herself. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for letting me stay.’ She stood on the spot and turned a slow circle, taking everything in.
‘I take it you have everything you need?’ he asked dryly.
Poppy smiled at him, really smiled at the man, and wondered why he blinked. ‘Oh, mama,’ she said with utter reverence. ‘Yes, indeed.’
‘Are you a gamer too?’ asked Seb from the doorway as Poppy began lighting up the various screens. In true geek style, she seemed to have forgotten his presence the second she’d spotted Tom’s computer rig. He didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted. Eventually he settled on being a bit of both.
‘Sometimes I game,’ she murmured as she examined one piece of hardware after another. ‘You?’
‘Sometimes. You ever play with Tom?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
More lights came on, accompanied by the whirring of fans.
‘With him or against him?’ he asked next.
‘Both.’
‘Ever beat him?’
‘Once or twice.’
‘Ever sleep with him?’
Poppy blinked and turned back to stare at him. Cornflower-blue eyes and a world of incomprehension. ‘What?’
‘My brother. Do you sleep with him?’
‘I, ah…no.’
The no sounded solid without being vehement. ‘Ever want to?’
‘What?’
That wasn’t vehemence either. That was pure and utter incomprehension.
‘Don’t mind me,’ he murmured silkily. ‘I’m just trying to figure out what the deal is between you and Tom. Maybe he’s got plans for you. It’d help if I knew.’
‘Help how?’
‘I’d play nice and leave my brother’s toys the hell alone.’
He watched her eyes widen and her lips part as the intent behind his words sank in. He watched her gaze skitter over his chest, and then the rest of him, lingering just a little too long over areas that bulged beneath clinging wet jeans and, just like that, all thoughts of playing nice fled.
Warm colour crept into her cheeks and did nothing whatsoever to stem Seb’s need.
‘I, ah…’ She cleared her throat and started again. ‘Yes, your brother has plans for me,’ she said. ‘Big plans. Huge.’ Her gaze had dropped below his waist again. Seb allowed himself a tiny smile.
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes.’
She couldn’t lie for squat. Seb cocked his eyebrow and shot her a smile and Miss Ophelia West met his gaze and blushed.
‘Your brother’s waiting for me to become self-assured, playful, sexy and somewhat on the curvy side,’ she murmured. ‘That’s how he likes them, you know? And as soon as I become all of those things I fully expect him to fall at my feet and worship. He’s going to let me know just as soon as I meet his requirements.’
‘So you’ll be having bacon and eggs, then?’
‘What?’
‘For the curves.’ Seb swept his hands through the air, outlining imaginary curves with his hands. They were very buxom curves.
‘Oh.’ She seemed mesmerised by his hands.
‘You want extra bacon?’ he said, and smiled a crooked smile.
She shook her head, her smile fey and fleeting. ‘No, thank you.’
‘I don’t think you have any intention of moulding yourself to meet my brother’s requirements,’ he murmured. ‘I think you’re waiting for slender, geeky and socially awkward to become the new sexy.’
‘It’s going to be a long wait.’
‘Maybe.’ And maybe not. ‘Coffee’ll be in a pot in the kitchen,’ he added. And because he was a gentleman and a good brother and the situation he found himself in required far more consideration than he’d given it so far, ‘Get it whenever you want.’
He left her alone after that. Poppy heard the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen and soon enough she smelled bacon frying, but Sebastian Reyne didn’t come near her again, and eventually she heard the quad rumble to life. A glance through the window confirmed that Sebastian was indeed heading back down the rough dirt track on the quad, his destination unknown.
He’d changed into cut-off canvas trousers in beige and he’d added a black T-shirt, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of difference to her reaction to him. She still looked, and she sure as hell still wanted. She tried to count how many other men she’d wanted with the intensity that she wanted this one. The counting didn’t take long.
None.
Poppy retrieved her carryall from the living room and hauled it to the computer room. She dug out her hard drives and plugged them in and then settled down to see what security measures Tomas had put in place. No internet signal was the biggest gift that kept on giving, but there were other safeguards in place and Poppy approved of them all. No way for anyone outside this room to know what went on in here, and as for leaving a mess behind for Tomas to clean up, that wouldn’t be happening either. Before she left she’d strip this computer back to this time today, with no record whatsoever of her use of it.
It took a while, but eventually Poppy stopped thinking about her host and let herself sink into the work. No looking over her shoulder required. For the first time in weeks she could truly concentrate on the task at hand. It was time to find out where her older brother was—as in what the hell he was doing and for whom.
‘Okay, Jared,’ she murmured coaxingly. ‘I’m here, I’m fearless and failure is not an option. Where are you?’
The afternoon stretched into evening before Poppy managed to break free of the code in her head and go to the kitchen in search of that coffee. The unpredictable Sebastian still hadn’t returned from wherever it was he’d been going and for that Poppy was surprisingly grateful.
She needed the caffeine and she needed some time alone to think about what she was going to do about her interest in him, and, more to the point, what to do should he continue to display a decided interest in her.
The man was grieving, and probably bored. Looking for a distraction, any distraction would do. A bottle. A woman. Something to take his mind off an explosion that had cost him one friend and injured another. Poppy didn’t know what to do with the information Mal had given her. Didn’t know what kind of guilt Seb was dealing with or what it was doing to him.
Didn’t know whether to act on her instant attraction or leave the poor man alone.
Guilt had been Jared’s constant companion too, as they’d sat in plastic chairs in the hospital, waiting for their sister to come out of surgery. Jared’s anguish over Lena’s injuries had been wordless and all powerful. He’d waited for word that Lena would survive. He’d seen her and spoken to her and told her everything would be all right. He’d sworn vengeance on those who’d betrayed them and then he’d left.
Seven months and twenty-eight days ago.
That was the sum of Poppy’s experience of a man consumed by guilt, and if she hadn’t been able to help her brother deal with his pain how the hell was she supposed to help Sebastian Reyne shoulder his?
Unless he wanted to use her as a distraction?
Flirt with her, get naked with her.
Humour her.
No real emotional connection beyond blind desire for sexual satisfaction. Would that really be so bad?
Because she had the blind desire part of the equation well and truly covered.
Time to raid the kitchen cupboards and nab a couple of biscuits from the biscuit tin. Not making herself at home in Sebastian’s home, just ensuring she didn’t crash from a mixture of hunger and nerves.
And then came the rumble of the quad bike outside, followed by unhurried footsteps, and Sebastian strode through the door, dominating the space and making it his own.
Which it was.
‘I made more coffee,’ she said, barely resisting the urge to tuck her hands behind her back, guilty-villain style. ‘Stole some biscuits.’
She tried not to get lost in those eyes and that face. Tried very hard to ignore that hard, muscled body so carelessly showcased in castaway clothes.
Tried very hard to play it cool, never mind that her core temperature had just soared.
‘You finished for the day?’ he asked.
‘I can be.’
He came closer, bringing the scent of the sea with him. ‘The guest house is ready for you.’
‘Thank you. But you’re going to have to give me directions.’
‘Why don’t I just show you where it is? Where’s your bag?’
‘By the door.’ She gulped down her coffee, refilled the cup with water and set it in the sink. ‘Can you give me five minutes with the computers?’
‘Are we talking a regular five minutes or the five minutes that magically turns into five hours the minute a computer tragic gets in that room?’
‘I’m talking five regular, round-the-clock minutes,’ she said. ‘Ten at the most.’
‘We’ll see.’ Sebastian headed for the coffee pot and the assessing glance he shot her did absolutely nothing to cool her down.
Resisting the urge to run, Poppy headed for the cave.
She found him ten minutes later, in the garage beneath the house, and followed him back to the quad.
‘How far away is the guest house?’ Colour her ignorant, but she’d assumed that guest house and main house would be within shouting distance of each other as opposed to, say, opposite ends of the island.
‘It’s a twenty-minute walk back down the hill. Half that by quad. The guest house sits halfway between here and the boatshed if it’s orientation you’re after. There’s another quad there that you can use to get around the island. It’s fuelled up and the same as this one. Get on.’
Poppy got on. Left room for him up front, and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
‘You’re driving. Move up.’
She moved up, tentatively tucking her coat between her legs. Ladylike not.
But he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Key,’ he said, his forearm brushing her shoulder as he showed her where it was and she turned it as instructed. ‘Foot on the brake.’ She did that too, no brushing against him required. ‘Kill switch on.’ He showed her where it was. ‘Now press the start button.’
The engine roared to life and Sebastian slid onto the quad behind her, no carryall in between them this time, for it was slung over his shoulder and, from the looks of it, that was where it would stay. Poppy glanced at him, glanced down at the seat and Seb’s strong, long thighs, and swallowed hard. She scooted forward to give him more space. He wasn’t a small man, he needed more space.
She needed more space.
She took it slowly down that first rocky, steep bit of track, and she tried to pretend, when his thighs brushed her buttocks, that she’d felt such thighs before and that her heart wasn’t about to burst through her ribcage every time a bump in the track slid her into him just that little bit more.
Five minutes down the track he leaned forward, put his lips to her ear and told her to take the fork to the right.
The guest house they came upon a couple of minutes later was a far friendlier version of the big steel-and-glass house. There was still steel, and there was plenty of glass, but the dimensions were smaller and more inviting, and the steepled roof and the generous front deck filled with an assortment of mesh chairs and a hammock had a simple island charm to it that the sophisticated, sparsely furnished main house lacked.
If Poppy’s legs wobbled ever so slightly as she got off the quad it was his fault not hers, and if she took one look at his back and stumbled and bit her lip as she followed him up the steps, that was undoubtedly his fault too.
The interior of the guest house was dust free and fully furnished. A king-sized bed dressed in delicate white linens. A white gauze mosquito net hanging from a ring screwed into the ceiling. The netting tucked in behind the pillows for now, ready for sorting out later.
It could be whatever you wanted it to be, a bed like that. A pirate ship or a kingdom ruled by a benevolent princess. A kid would have a ball in that bed, and as for an adult, well…
‘What happened to your lip?’ asked Seb abruptly and Poppy stopped staring at the bed and touched her fingers to her bottom lip and then stared at them instead.
‘Nothing,’ she said, for her fingers had come away clean, but his narrowed green gaze seemed fixated on something so she gave her upper lip a once over with her fingers too. ‘Biscuit crumbs?’
‘You’ve bitten it,’ he said gruffly. ‘On the way down.’
‘Oh.’ Well, yes. ‘Only a little.’
Time to cut the tension that whipped through her, and turn away and study the rest of her surroundings rather than him. Poppy didn’t know how to play this game of hyper-awareness between man and woman. She had absolutely no idea what to do next.
There were no curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows and every window was currently open. Fortunately, the windows were screened. A sucker-footed gecko watched her from his place on the whitewashed wall.
‘They’re harmless,’ said Seb, noting the direction of her gaze. ‘Bathroom and kitchenette are to the rear, your quad’s in the shed out the back and the key’s in it.’ He set her bag down beside the bed. ‘There’s fish curry in the fridge and a microwave to heat it up in. Other food too. Hopefully you’ll find something you like.’
‘Thank you.’ Thank-yous she knew how to do. Polite smiles too. Nervousness—she had that one well and truly covered.
‘There’s no phone in here,’ he said next. ‘But there is a two-way that’ll get you through to the boatshed or the house. If you need to call home, you’ll have to come up to the house and use the sat phone. It works most of the time, but not all of the time.’
‘You really are quite isolated here, aren’t you?’
‘Tom didn’t tell you?’
‘Tom did tell me,’ she murmured wryly. ‘The reality of isolation just didn’t quite sink in.’
‘You get used to it,’ he said. ‘Come up to the house whenever you’re ready in the morning. Just go in. Make yourself at home. I probably won’t be there.’
‘Where will you be?’
‘Fishing. Swimming. Rock climbing. Something.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Man with an almighty need to conquer something. She knew the type. ‘Ah, Mr Reyne?’
‘Seb.’ He waited until he was out of the door before turning back.
Right. Seb. She wasn’t sure she trusted herself to say his name right now without layering it full of lust. ‘There, ah, don’t seem to be any keys to this place.’
‘Yeah, we lost them.’
‘So how do you lock up?’
‘You don’t.’
‘I what?’
‘Let me guess,’ he murmured. ‘You live in an inner-city apartment block surrounded by a million people and you know none of them.’
‘You’re very perceptive,’ she countered lightly. ‘I divide my time between Oxford and Sydney. My father’s based in Hong Kong. I’m very fond of Hong Kong. Plenty of people. Locks too. Keys.’ Not that she wanted to labour the point.
‘Relax, city girl. The doors still lock from the inside. Just make sure they’re not set to lock when you shut them in the morning.
Your stuff will be perfectly safe here, I guarantee it. There’s no one else here.’
No one he knew of.
‘What about pirates? Shipwrecked fishermen? Critters? Blackbeard?’
This earned her a grin, free and clear, and her body responded accordingly. ‘If Blackbeard happens by you give me a yell.’
‘You are too kind.’
‘I know. You got any messages for my brother?’
‘You’re calling Tomas tonight?’
Sebastian’s gaze skittered over her face once more and lingered on her lips. ‘Yes.’
‘Any particular reason why?’
‘Courtesy call.’
‘Oh.’ Poppy eyed him uncertainly. ‘Well, tell him I said thank you for the lend of the island.’
‘Anything else?’
Nothing she could think of.
‘Miss you… Wish you were here…’ he prompted silkily.
‘Oh. That kind of message.’ A message from one lovelorn suitor to another. She had no idea what one would say. ‘Yes.’ She paused, struck by Sebastian’s sudden coiled stillness. ‘Tell him I said hello.’

CHAPTER THREE
SEB ate his seafood curry hot and took his bedtime shower lukewarm and stinging. Give it a few days, a week at the most, two weeks at the outside and mousy, brainy little Poppy West would be off his island and so would he.
Head for the mainland. Take care of some business. He found the shampoo—squirted it straight from the bottle onto his hair. Maybe he’d touch base with his crew and then go and lose himself in a woman for a while.
A savvy, experienced, blue-eyed blonde who knew how the game was played and wouldn’t expect a damn thing of him other than satisfaction at the time.
Not Poppy West, she of the golden-toffee tresses, cornflower-blue eyes and decidedly enigmatic ways.
Not her.
Seb closed his eyes and scrubbed at his hair, willing his body not to stir, but the more he willed it, the more contrary his body got.
He soaped his chest, took a scratchy sea sponge to his arms.
She’d be pliant in bed; maybe even a little inexperienced.
Deeply, openly responsive.
Seb cursed, a word that had been on his mind all day.
Even if she didn’t have a thing for Tomas, even if Tom had no interest in her, it would be very poor form to mess around with his brother’s business partner.
Tomas, who’d excelled at everything, including being a big brother. Pulled Seb out of the pit when his first girlfriend had dumped him for a blue-blooded golden boy. Talked Seb off an oil platform and into an engineering degree. Encouraged Seb’s idiot idea of putting together some sort of crack rigging crew. Troubleshoot anything that gushed or burned and cap it, bring it back under control—those were the jobs Seb and his crew took on. Proving his worth, over and over, until finally he’d believed in himself and the things he could deliver. Not as clever as Tomas. Not as polished or urbane, but worth something nonetheless.
Until one crucial split-second decision had cost one man his life and another his hearing.
Seb’s crew. Seb’s responsibility.
He wanted a drink.
He wanted his friend back.
And in true self-destructive, must-compete style, he wanted his brother’s girl.
Seb rinsed off, cut the water and walked naked through to his bedroom. He found a towel, then a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms.
He headed for the office and did his best to ignore the faint floral scent that hung in the air there. And then he picked up the phone and called Tom.
‘I got your parcel,’ he said when Tom answered. ‘What the hell is she doing here?’ Besides torturing him with her nearness.
‘Working,’ said Tom. ‘At least, that’s the assumption. Why? What is she doing there?’
‘Working,’ said Seb grudgingly. ‘That is not the issue. What I want to know is why you sent her here in the first place. You into her? You setting something up? Like a lightning visit?’
‘What?’ said Tomas.
‘God, you even sound like her,’ muttered Seb. ‘Are. You. Into. Her? It’s not a difficult question. A simple yes or no will do.’
‘What if I am?’ asked Tom warily.
‘Then you’d better come and get her before I forget you exist. Now do you understand?’
His brother swore, loud and long. Smart man, only, ‘I’m not involved with Poppy,’ he said at some point during the tirade. ‘I have no intention of ever getting involved with Poppy,’ he said a short time later, and the stranglehold on Seb’s chest relaxed. ‘But if you think I sent her there for you to get into, you couldn’t be more wrong,’ his brother continued. ‘You want to party, get off the island.’
‘And leave Her Citified Slenderness here by herself? How do you think that’s going to work out? She’s already nervous about staying in the guest house by herself.’
Silence from Tom.
‘Can’t she go and work somewhere else?’ It wasn’t quite a plea for mercy but it was the closest Seb had ever come to one. ‘Because if you want me to stay away from her, she’s going to have to go.’
‘She can’t go,’ said Tom. ‘Trust me on this one. She needs the privacy, the bat cave, and she needs a bit of time. Give her two weeks, Seb. Please. Hell, give her two days. Surely you can manage two days without trying to get her on her back?’
‘Crème caramel,’ murmured Seb. ‘I haven’t had a crème caramel in ages.’
‘Resist.’ Panic in Tom’s voice now, but it was too late. Tom didn’t want her. Seb most certainly did. ‘I mean it, Seb. You treat her like a sister.’
‘We don’t have a sister.’
‘Point taken,’ said Tom. ‘Then, for God’s sake, treat her like my boss.’
Dawn came too early for Poppy, but once the sky began to brighten on the horizon there was nothing else to do but pull the mosquito net aside, turn on her side in the glorious, king-sized bed, find a few pillows to prop beneath her head and give the dawn show the attention it deserved.
Sleep had taken its time coming to her last night. Sunrise took its time too as it stole across the rippling water and then crept across the edge of her bed.
Poppy stretched her hand out to caress it; no bite in the sun’s rays yet, but the dust motes in the air glowed silver and they kept her entertained as vivid dreams of making love with Sebastian had kept her entertained throughout last night.
In her dreams, Poppy hadn’t been standoffish or in need of personal space. She hadn’t been wary of him or of the things he might do.
It hadn’t been awkward. She hadn’t been clueless or desperately out of her depth, the way she had been with others.
She hadn’t been seventeen going on fourteen and Sebastian hadn’t been twenty-two and impatient. Sebastian hadn’t been baffled by her awkwardness or horrified by her age and inexperience when finally she’d confessed it.
He hadn’t muttered stumbling apologies interspersed with curses, while scooping up her clothes and directing her to put them on, put them on, before hurriedly showing her the door, saying, ‘Sorry, sorry, dear God, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’
Sebastian hadn’t said sorry at all.
Fine things, dreams.
Poppy threw her covers back and stretched out and waited until the sun bathed every inch of her in its glow.
Dreams were what wishes were made of.
Sebastian wasn’t at the house when Poppy arrived there just on 8:00 a.m. Easy, then, to make herself at home in the cave and find Tom’s cache of music and crank up the juice and get down to business.
She almost didn’t hear the outer office phone, but the repetitive ring seeped through to her brain eventually and with it came a new dilemma. Answer it or not? Surely the man had an answering machine?
But a quick look confirmed the phone for some sort of satellite affair and whether it had an answering service function was open to speculation. She reached for the phone and picked it up gingerly.
‘Finally,’ said an exasperated female voice. ‘I didn’t think you were ever going to pick up. You done brooding yet? Because there’s a few things here in need of your attention. Like a potential blowout in the Timor Sea. Do we want after it or not?’
‘Hello?’ said Poppy. ‘You’ll be after Seb.’
‘Who’s this?’ asked the voice suspiciously.
‘Are you after Seb?’ countered Poppy politely. ‘Because I’m quite happy to take a message. I’m quite happy to go and find him and deliver a message if it’s important.’
‘Who are you, exactly?’
‘A friend of Tom’s.’
‘Seb’s brother.’ The voice grew friendlier by the second.
‘Yes. Seb’s not in the house right now. I’m not sure where he is, to be honest.’
‘In that case, I’d love you to give him a message. Tell him there’s a jackup leaking oil and gas in the Montara field. It’s been evacuated and I’m pulling in more details from the parent company now. It’s a mess. Tell him to call Wendy asap.’
‘Tell him or ask him?
‘Ask him,’ said Wendy. ‘But if you can make it sound like it’s non-negotiable, all the better.’
‘All righty,’ said Poppy. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
She hung up and, with a wistful glance towards the computer room, headed for the quad and set it chugging sedately down the track towards the boatshed in search of her host.
But he wasn’t in the boatshed, so she tried to remember where he’d said he might be as she took the track that ran around behind it and worked the quad slowly around the edge of the island. Fishing, climbing, swimming or something. That was where he’d be.
Poppy kept motoring, with the smell of the bush closing in on one side of her and the smell of the sea on the other, and the colours spread out before her were forest green and azure blue, sometimes butting up against each other and sometimes separated by a strip of sand. Wind in her hair, the sun on her face and the throb of the quad beneath her. Poppy’s senses were sharper here. Her enjoyment of sensual things more pronounced.
Maybe that might explain her fascination with one Sebastian Reyne.
He wasn’t on the first stretch of beach that she came to but she did find his quad parked in the shade of some trees on the second. Poppy scanned the beach and the bushland behind her but there was no sign of the man on either.
Sighing, she turned her attention to the sea. Picture perfect, this little blue bay. A semicircle full of shallows and coral clusters and then an abrupt drop off into water of an infinitely deeper blue.
A slight commotion in the water. Darting fins, black tipped and plenty of them. A snorkelling Sebastian, rising from the shallows with a spear gun in hand and a pearly orange fish on the end of it. Spear fishing in the company of half a dozen or so curious sharks.
Man with a death wish, as far as she was concerned, but then, given the day job, what else could she expect?
Poppy cupped her hands and called to him. Waited until he turned around and then stood up and waved him in. Die he would, if that was truly his desire, but please, Lord, not on her watch and not in the water.
He waded back towards the shore and a cohort of black-tipped fins wove in and out around him, but he still had his catch when he reached the sand and stripped off his snorkelling gear, and a grin on his face that spoke of enjoyment, not terror.
‘Morning,’ he said mildly when he reached her, but Poppy was somewhat beyond a mild-mannered reply.
‘You irresponsible, self-absorbed d—’ Poppy stopped herself just in time. Settled for glaring at him instead. He wasn’t one of her brothers. None of her business if he’d decided that death-by-misadventure was his preferred way to go. Besides, she was only here to deliver a message. And get him off the island. An action that, given the nature of the message, could prove remarkably easy. ‘Hi.’
‘What was that?’ he enquired smoothly. ‘I didn’t quite catch the last D word and now I’m all curious as to what you didn’t say. D for daredevil? D for drunk? Although I’m not, you’ll be pleased to know.’
He stood before her and dared her to pass comment. Man, his mouth, his fish and a lazy, teasing glint in his eye.
‘D for dog? Dirty dog? Because I’d argue that I’m probably quite clean right now. Briny fresh. Or is it the spear fishing you object to?’
‘I don’t object to you catching lunch. Watching you become lunch, on the other hand, is a little too out there for me.’
‘You mean the reef sharks?’ He glanced behind him and there they were. ‘Honestly, Poppy, they’re harmless. Puppies of the sea.’ He’d called her Poppy. Somewhere along the way that bit registered. Puppies and Poppies. Too many P’s.
‘They like sea urchins best,’ he said next and offered up a crooked smile. ‘You want to feed them?’
‘Feed them?’ She knew she was looking at him as if he was mental. That was because he was. ‘Feed them?’ He was dragging her attention away from her point. Points in the plural, actually, for she had several of them to make.
Poppy pointed to where the coral beds met deeper water and waited for the shadow and the fin to reappear and sure enough it did. No darting about for this dorsal fin, or the tail fin that followed some distance behind it—just the slow, smooth glide of a very accomplished predator. ‘You planning on feeding that one too?’
Seb’s eyes narrowed. The black-tipped reef sharks decided it was time to depart.
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘Not that one. That one’s just passing through. Thanks for the call out though. Appreciated.’ He pondered the mysteries of the unknown shark for a little bit longer. ‘D for dead in the water?’
‘Maybe,’ she murmured as the just-passing-through shark ventured into the shallows. Close enough to make out the shape of him, and the dark stripes across his back. A four-metre-long tiger shark, give or take a little refraction error on account of the water. She could be calm now that Seb was out of the sea. Calmer, at any rate. ‘Big, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘Ever thought about stretching a nice little shark net across the mouth of the cove?’
‘Not ‘til now.’
The shark was moving slowly away, cruising the far shallows and finding nothing of interest. Sharks were very distracting. Time to get back to the point. The other point. ‘Wendy rang. She wants you to ring her back. She said, and I quote: “There’s a jackup leaking oil and gas in the Montara field.” It’s been evacuated and she’s getting more details from the parent company. Is it just me or is that shark looking for something?’

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