Shipwrecked with Mr. Wrong - By Nikki Logan Page 0,12

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