not going there to see Seb. I don’t even know the man.’
Poppy had lapsed into uncertain silence after that, and skipper Mal had ordered her up into the seat next to him and made her pour him a mug of coffee from a thermos, and one for her, too. He had sugar cubes on hand, the old-fashioned kind that horses loved, and he hadn’t waited to see if she’d wanted any, just plopped three in her mug and told her to drink up.
He tried conversation, but she didn’t have any to spare.
He tried putting music on, but his taste ran to heavy metal, the kind used to rev up the troops right before they opened fire or, conversely, went down in a blaze of glory.
‘So what do you do for a living?’ he asked. Casual conversation attempt number thirty-eight.
‘I write mathematical code,’ said Poppy. ‘It comes in handy for securing online interactions and the like.’
‘You mean cryptology,’ said Mal and grinned when Poppy blinked. ‘Same as what Tom does.’
‘Yes.’ Poppy nodded. ‘Tomas and I work together—we’re in business together. Hence the loan of the island.’
‘You’re sure Seb knows you’re coming,’ said Mal again.
‘I’m sure.’ But given that Mal wasn’t sure, it probably wouldn’t hurt to know a little more about Tomas’s reclusive brother. ‘Is there something you know about Tomas’s brother that I should know?’
‘Hard to say,’ murmured Mal. ‘What do you know about him so far?’
‘I know he’s wealthy,’ offered Poppy. ‘I know he and Tomas bought the island together and that Sebastian designed and built the house on it. But what does he do?’
‘Whatever the hell he wants,’ said Mal. ‘As a rule.’
‘I don’t suppose you could be a little more specific?’
‘Seb’s a marine engineer. Heads up a company that runs maintenance on offshore oil rigs. Runs capping and clean-up operations as well. Whether he’s running projects from the island is anyone’s guess.’ Mal turned those wise blue eyes of his in her direction. ‘You do realise that no one but Seb lives on this island?’
‘I do. But apparently there’s a guest house as well as the main house. I’m to have the guest house. Tom’s arranged with Seb for it to be fully provisioned. I don’t see a problem.’
‘In that case, you try getting Seb to answer.’
Poppy had no aversion to taking control of radio communications—it helped keep her mind off the seemingly endless blue water all around them. But by the time they reached the island and docked the Marlin III at the sweetest little floating pier, nestled within the shelter of a picturesque horseshoe bay, they still hadn’t raised a soul and Poppy’s nerves had stretched spider-web thin.
‘Seb’s quad’s here,’ said Mal as he tossed her carryall onto the pier and leapt nimbly up beside it before turning back and holding out his hand to haul her up—only Poppy was busy taking the life jacket off and then putting her coat back on. She hesitated before taking skipper Mal’s outstretched hand, only the tiniest of hesitations, but it was there and the man noticed it. Nothing personal, wariness was just her way, but she offered up a small, rueful smile of apology and brought out her manners and said, ‘Thank you,’ as he hauled her up beside him.
Land was Poppy’s first thought. Solid, stable land, just a short walk away.
Her second thought concerned Mal’s earlier remark. ‘You said Seb’s quad is here?’
‘Over there behind the boatshed.’
‘That’s a boatshed?’ she said of the long, narrow building that began on the beach and stretched a good fifty metres out over the water. ‘Looks a little overdesigned.’
‘Yeah, well, I’d keep that opinion to myself if I were you,’ said Captain Mal dryly. ‘It doubles as a warehouse and sometimes an emergency shelter. There’s cot space in the loft, a decent-sized cruiser up on rails. I’ve sheltered there a time or two when the weather’s run foul.’
Which the weather looked to be doing rather rapidly, thought Poppy with an anxious glance skywards. ‘You’re booked to collect me two weeks from today, right? Or earlier if I call you and we can arrange a time that suits. You’re booked. I’ve paid.’
‘You’re booked, you’ve paid, and pickup’s weather-dependent. Having said that, the forecast isn’t showing any big bad.’
‘Those clouds don’t look big and bad to you?’ she asked.
‘Nah. They’re nothing.’ Skipper Mal reached for his pocket and pulled out his phone. Turned it on and showed her his screen saver. ‘This is a cloud.’
No, Poppy was pretty sure that was a cyclone front. ‘I’m glad you kept that picture to yourself on the way over. Were you out on the boat when you took it?’
‘Yep.’
Poppy shuddered. ‘Better you than me.’
‘You really don’t like the ocean, do you?’
‘No. Even inland rivers and lakes don’t really work for me. But I’m very fond of baths.’
‘You mean six inches of lukewarm water in a tub?’
‘That’s not a bath.’ Poppy reached inside her coat pocket for her phone and scrolled through her photos for the rose be-petalled white stone glory of a bathhouse she’d visited in Turkey last year. ‘This is a bath.’
Mal snorted. Poppy grinned. Captain Mal was okay. Captain Mal had got her here in one piece.
They reached the side door to the warehouse, a studded metal door with an oversized door handle and an equally impressive-looking lock. Mal greeted it with a loud fist.
No answer from behind the door. Mal reached for the door handle next. It wasn’t locked.
‘He’s very trusting,’ said Poppy.
‘That he’s not,’ said Mal. ‘Oy, Seb!’
No answer.
They checked the warehouse area. They checked the space where a gleaming white cruiser sat up on rails. He wasn’t in the tiny, untidy office.
They found him in the loft.
Sprawled out, face down on one of the cots as if dead to the world.
Mal sighed. Poppy just stared.
And it wasn’t just because he had no shirt on.
Sebastian Reyne was not a small man.
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
