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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.
