Shipwrecked with Mr. Wrong - By Nikki Logan Page 0,14

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 unsnapped 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.’

‘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