as he swam back to shore, and he rushed his first attempt at boosting onto the reef. Sharp coral shards lacerated his exposed belly in several places. He fell back into the deep water of the drop-off, waited for the swell and used nature’s hoist to push himself onto the reef. The mix of saltwater and fresh air stung like crazy in the welts already forming on his stomach but he’d endured worse.
Not as bad as Honor, his mind reminded him as he dived into the calmer lagoon and stroked carefully across, tugging on the fresh wounds with each muscle flex. Her scars. He was no expert, but the damage didn’t look like burn marks. The skin wasn’t puckered enough. It was more like … patchwork. As if someone had done some kind of Frankenstein number on her.
He frowned. That wasn’t a kind comparison. There was nothing monster-like about Honor. Something very nasty had happened to his little mermaid and not too long ago. The scars still bore the red-edged look of a new injury. How much of her brittleness was caused by her damaged flesh? Maybe they still caused her pain.
His chest tightened. How much pain?
She may be hard work but she was still a human being. And though their lives took place in fast-forward by continental drift standards, they still had to live them. And living with pain was not something he’d wish on anyone.
No matter how ornery they were.
Back in camp, with his T-shirt back on, he spotted the radio immediately. Honor had been in such a flurry to get out of his presence she hadn’t taken it with her. Lucky for him. He grabbed it up and checked the frequency. It was preset to the emergency channel. Not that bumping into a tropical island full of supplies qualified as an emergency, but it was a notifiable event.
‘AMSA Base Broome, this is primary vessel VKB290. Over.’
He waited, then repeated his call to the maritime safety authority in Australia’s far north-west. Indonesia’s capital city, Jakarta, was technically closer but it was Australia who had the last word on who went where in these particular waters.
If they said go, he’d go. If they said stay.
Rob’s eyes trailed around the tiny camp. If they said stay, he’d argue with them.
A lot.
Broome answered and they both switched to a free channel, leaving the emergency frequency uncluttered. With the practice of years and in as few words as possible, Rob communicated his location, damage and condition.
Base were straight back. ‘Are you aware that’s a restricted area, VKB? Over.’
Thanks to Honor. ‘I didn’t have much alternative.’
There was a pause and Rob waited for instructions. ‘Our log shows there’s a researcher from Parks Australia based at Pulu Keeling currently with full supplies, VKB. Recommend you make contact over.’
Rob had a sudden flash of Honor standing on the reef, all dripping and fired up, those self-righteous fists planted firmly on her curvy hips.
He smiled. ‘Roger, Base. Contact established.’
‘Standby, VKB …’
More silence. Rob held his breath.
The radio crackled back to life. ‘VKB, we have a Priority One oil rig situation about eight hundred clicks to your north. All available services will be tied up on that for a few days. Suggest you stay put. Over.’
Rob closed his eyes and cursed, his finger hovering over the transmit button. This was where Robert Dalton Senior would play the son, do you know who I am? card. Make a scene. Have some kind of evac chopper sent out for him, especially. He wouldn’t think twice to throw his weight or his wallet around, even with guys with the security of Australia’s massive coastline on their shoulders.
Moments like this were prime opportunities for Rob to prove how not like his father he was.
But then he looked around again at the tiny camp and imagined himself and Honor trying to avoid each other for days on end. She’d made it pretty clear what she thought of him and his job. If he wanted that kind of judgement, he could have stayed home.
He swore again, pressed ‘transmit’ and played the only card he had. Academia. ‘That’s a negative, Base. I have a museum posting to be at and an important paper to deliver—’ he cringed at how much of a poser he sounded ‘—people who’ll miss me. Request alternative.
Over.’
He let the button go and shook his head. He sounded exactly like his father …
Not surprisingly, the operator’s friendly voice was decidedly chilly when it finally returned. ‘VKB, that suggestion just got upgraded to an instruction. Remain in your present location and await further instruction. We’ll make the necessary advice to your family. Repeat, do not move off that island until instructed. Over.’
And that was what you got for being a moron.
Rob’s gut tightened. These guys held his boating and salvage licences in their hands. Neither things he wanted to mess with. ‘Estimated time for assistance, Base?’
The log shows regular deliveries to your Parks Australia contact,’ the voice said. ‘Find a nice patch of beach to study, Professor. Looks like you’re on vacation. Over and out.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘TELL me you’re kidding.’
Honor stood, notebook in hand, by the edge of the camp clearing staring in open-mouthed horror at him.
Rob struggled not to smile. ‘When’s the next supply drop?’ he asked calmly.
‘It came this morning! Can’t they come for you any sooner?’ Her voice had a slightly hysterical note to it and his smile broke loose.
‘What’s funny?’
‘You are. You’d think I was Jack the Ripper the way you’re carrying on. When’s the supply boat due back?’
‘Ten days. More than a week!’
‘But less than a month.’ Hi, I’m Rob Dalton and I’m an eternal optimist. He took a deep breath and sobered. Ten days. That meant two things. One—he was going to have to find a way to live with this woman for ten long days until the supply boat could bring him the equipment he needed to weld-repair his hull. And two—he was going to miss Tuesday’s meeting at Dalton family headquarters. Robert Senior was not going to be happy.
Honor didn’t look much happier. What she did look, he realised, was completely gorgeous. Her wheat-blonde hair had almost dried and hung in loose segments around her face, showing off fantastic bone structure he’d not seen since an unexpected detour on a European holiday had dumped him in Iceland. Escaped from its ponytail, her locks draped over her damaged shoulder in a way that almost made him forget the patchwork damage beneath it.
Almost.
Women at home would pay hundreds of dollars to achieve that just-bedded look, but she stood there in her yellow bikini, a sheer blue shirt tossed casually over it, entirely clean-skinned and with laceless tennis shoes, looking as if she’d stepped straight off the pages of a magazine.
A much classier one than he was used to looking at.
She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d seen—Lord knew he’d met some absolute stunners in his time and dated half of them— but she easily took the award for the most naturally attractive. Healthy, toned and tanned with bright, clear eyes and perfect teeth. He had to guess at that last one. It saddened him to realise he had yet to see her smile, but she must because he could see life lines etched into the corners of eyes that somehow reflected the green of the trees above them and the blue of the ocean at the same time. Right next to the lingering sadness that permanently shadowed her gaze.
His usual type was younger and leaner and a good deal more manicured than the curvy, windswept