Shipwrecked with Mr Wrong. Nikki Logan
run aground a century before. As he did, she imagined a shimmer on the horizon where the giant grey behemoth would have rocked dangerously on the edge of the precious atoll.
Oh, the coral, a tiny voice despaired. ‘What happened to the crew?’
‘Most died in the fire-fight with the Sydney. Some in the grounding, some were captured by the Australians, but some.’ he turned and looked at the tropical paradise behind him ‘… some escaped capture and hid on the island, only to die of thirst because of the absence of fresh water. Their skeletons were found a year later, picked clean by the robber crabs.’
Well, that explained something. Honor nodded up the beach. ‘The Malay word for that bend up there means “bosun’s grave”.’
Rob turned and stared at the point where the shore disappeared around a bend. Ghosts of memory fairly flew around them.
Finally Honor broke the silence. ‘And the Emden?’
‘Just beyond the reef.’ He flicked his chin towards the flawless, rich blue ocean—so blue it seemed to become the sky somewhere off in the vast distance. ‘The Cocos people stripped her of anything they could use before she perished.’
‘She rusted away?’
‘She broke up and sank. She’s half reef herself now.’ He turned his eyes back to hers. ‘The coral got its revenge, ultimately.’
She smiled at his poeticism. ‘It always does.’
His eyes dropped to her smile briefly before turning back out to sea. Out to where she’d first seen him bobbing in his boat earlier today. Only a day? Why did it feel so much longer? They stood in silence and Honor let Rob have his thoughts. The sinking sun cast rich golden light over his tanned features, highlighting a straight nose and the symmetrical ridges of his cheekbones. She was suddenly inclined to draw out the experience, but the last place she wanted to be as the fiery sun set on the horizon was standing on a tropical island with this … sea-god. There were just some fates you didn’t tempt. The glib charmer he’d treated her to so far today might not currently be present, but he probably wasn’t far away. He was just lost at sea in the glassy expression of Robert Dalton’s blue eyes.
The thought bred a tiny chill and she curled her arms across her torso. A handful of the Emden crew may have been lucky enough to be plucked alive from the cruel waters of the Cocos Trench but the dark ocean was not always so merciful. Not everyone was given a second chance out there.
Not everyone who got one wanted it. As the men who scrabbled ashore from the Emden discovered.
‘We should get back.’ Honor’s stiff tone brought the more familiar glaze to his features as he turned back to her. She instantly missed the passion she’d briefly seen there but was incapable of chasing off the shadows that suddenly surrounded her.
He cast his eyes back out to the reef one last time and then followed her quietly back into the trees.
Rob tossed and turned in The Player’s comfortable cabin for hours. He told himself it was because he was nervous that his boat would sink out from under him and not because he kept reliving flashes of the curve of Honor’s cheek or the smell of her ocean-washed hair. Or the seductive length of her tanned thigh.
But, last time he checked, certain death didn’t harden his body so he had to assume it was the woman and not the threat of sinking to Davy Jones’s locker that was keeping him awake. Either way, the result was the same.
He was going ashore.
He sat up on the bunk and twisted sideways, well practised at not slamming his head on the low ceiling of The Player’s cabin. He’d spent many a night onboard at sea or in dock but he’d never brought anyone back to this cabin with him—real or otherwise. Honor, albeit in imaginary form, was the first woman to set foot inside this space.
Damn her! His haven felt vaguely violated.
Moonlight trailed a sparkling path over rolling ocean all the way to the horizon. Like the yellow brick road leading to Oz, except straight and sure. It occurred to him that, from the moon’s perspective, the golden pathway led straight to this island and to the golden woman inhabiting it. He turned towards shore and visualised her sleeping beneath her giant sunflower tent. Maybe he’d get to watch her sleep for a while. That wasn’t too creepy.
Was it?
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