‘Yeah, I’ve seen you, honey,’ he murmured, discomfited at being caught staring but more than accustomed to the excitement of pretty females. He waved back casually.
She mirrored him, both arms this time, bouncing those yellow triangles around a treat.
Rob frowned again. ‘What?’
A sickening crunch accompanied a lurch that sent him staggering as The Player‘s stern hit the reef. It rocked again as the swell nudged his pride and joy against the protective coral surrounding Pulu Keeling.
‘Son of a …’
He shoved the throttle forward, yanking the wheel and powering the boat a safe distance from the barely exposed reef. As he swung her around, he noticed another silver buoyancy sack sitting on the reef in the distance, on the far side of the atoll where the swell did look less powerful. Had that just been delivered? He motored over using the sack as his marker and dropped anchor to arrest his drift. Moving to the injured side of the boat, he dropped his cap and sunglasses to the deck, slid his diving mask on and slipped into the deep water at the reef’s drop-off. His T-shirt ballooned as he sank into thick, icy silence.
Damn it.
Below his boat, he ran his hand over The Player‘s damaged hull where the hard coral had bitten into it. He’d need to dry-dock for at least three days to repair the steel properly. Not time he could afford with his schedule. But he wouldn’t sink, not if he could manage some basic repairs here. If he just went ashore …
He surged to the surface and filled his aching lungs with air, swimming round to the rear corner of the boat where The Player‘s chrome half-ladder dipped in and out of the sea with the motion of the swell. He hauled himself up into the boat.
‘I hope you’re planning on checking out the coral too?’ an angry voice snapped from behind.
Blinking in the glare, he reached for his sunglasses and turned in time to see his mermaid haul herself onto the smoothest part of the exposed reef. She stood, chest heaving from her swim, near-naked and dripping wet: his three favourite attributes in a woman.
Usually, his mind would have bubbled up a dozen witty comebacks, all tried-and-tested and proven to charm. But not one leapt to mind as Rob stared at the angry woman balancing on the reef nearby.
More specifically, at the brutal scars that stretched from her ear down to her right shoulder.
‘Well?’
Honor Brier was in no mood to be stared at, and certainly not by him. The man had just rammed the outer rim of the atoll—living reef that had formed, unmolested, over centuries. It thrived, ignored by most of mankind and free to grow abundantly, under the rubber booties that saved her feet from being grated like Cheddar on the reef. ‘That coral will still be repairing itself two decades after your boat has rusted away to iron-ash.’
He stared at her, trying very hard not to look at her shoulder, which only made it more obvious. She set her hands on her hips, fighting the urge to raise a self-conscious hand to her neck. ‘Do you speak or are you purely ornamental? ‘
That got his attention. The smile he flashed her then must have won dozens of hearts in its time—softer, less calloused hearts than hers. She turned official. ‘This is a protected area. You can’t be here without a permit and a guide.’
‘You’re here.’
The hairs on her neck prickled at his deep, silken voice. It was a crime that it should match the rest of him. ‘I have a permit.’
‘And a guide?’
Her tongue clucked in frustration. ‘I don’t need a guide; I work here.’
‘It wasn’t my intention to stop here. As you can see, I’ve encountered a bit of a setback.’
Honor cast her eye over the pile of equipment on the deck of his vessel. God knew how much more he had below. It explained what he was doing lurking around her island. ‘Are you out here diving?’
‘Why? Is the sea floor protected too?’
He probably thought he was being charming. ‘Parts of it are, yes. Inside Pulu Keeling waters. Why were you so close to the reef?’
‘I came in to see if I could spot the SMS Emden memorial. Then I was distracted by … uh … a bird.’
She shifted her weight. He was into birds? She hosted birding groups about twice a year. She glanced at his expensive field binoculars. It gave her pause. ‘A booby?’
He flashed those pearly whites again. ‘I believe it was—possibly a pair.’
Believe? Pulu Keeling was famous for its booby colonies. Three species. But surely he would know that if he was into …?
Oh.
Imbecile. Honor sighed and concentrated on not crossing her arms. Displeasure and impatience stained her voice. ‘Do you need a hand launching off? You must be eager to see the memorial. You’ll be able to spot it with binoculars from outside the reef.’
Time to go now.
‘Actually, I need to come ashore.’
‘Not going to happen. Not without a permit.’
‘The Player’s compromised. It wouldn’t be safe to set out without patching the breach.’
The Player—how very apt. The way he stroked the bright blue gunnel of his boat told her how important the vessel was to him. She knew all about men and their boats. ‘Then you’d better head back to Cocos—’
‘I’m coming in. If you want to stop me, knock yourself out. I’m not going to sea until I’ve made repairs.’ He crossed his arms, causing his sea-soaked T-shirt to mould to his broad chest. Honor retreated one pace. She couldn’t stop him, not if it truly wasn’t safe, but she’d never had cause to bring someone unauthorised onto the island in her many seasons on Pulu Keeling. She wasn’t certain what the procedure was.
‘So, are you sending me back out to drown or can I come ashore?’
She sucked in a breath at his choice of phrase and grabbed at the buoyancy sack to steady herself. He couldn’t know …
Her voice cracked slightly. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘Where can I enter the lagoon?’
‘You can’t.’ She fought to sound normal. ‘You’ll have to moor where you are.’
He scanned the lagoon. ‘Are you serious? What about the south side of the island?’
‘Everyone swims into Pulu Keeling. It’s an atoll, completely surrounded by coral reef. Why else would I be hauling all this stuff in by hand?’
Piles of technical equipment mounded in every spare inch of his boat. Honor wouldn’t risk leaving it all in a vessel with a damaged hull in the unpredictable weather of the Keeling Islands, and she knew he’d feel no different.
‘It’s not too late to change your mind, head for Cocos.’ Her tone was hopelessly optimistic.
‘No. I’ll come ashore. I have no choice.’
Neither do I, apparently.
They hardly spoke as they stripped The Player and Honor knew from his grumpy movements that she wasn’t the only one less than pleased with the circumstances they’d found themselves in. Then the sheer hard work of towing load after load of expensive equipment across the lagoon literally took her breath away, making conversation impossible.
He passed items to her one by one and she stacked each one along with her buoyancy sack into The Player‘s inflatable dinghy, which bobbed in the