Cracking the Dating Code (2 page)

‘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.’

S
HE
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.

‘You coming?’ he said, and without a word she slid into place behind him with her bag
in between them like a wall. No hands at his waist, no cheerful flirty quip. Just a colleague of Tomas’s who’d come here to work.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the house.

A fifteen-minute ride along a rough dirt track up the side of a steep hill and along a plateau that today boasted a view of endless ocean blending seamlessly into the hazy blue of an unsettled sky. Wind whipped at Seb’s hair and hers and a wayward caramel tendril cut across his cheek before sliding around his neck like a slender hangman’s rope.

He gritted his teeth, cursed his wet jeans and asked for all the speed the bike beneath him had.

The roughest patch of track curled around a rock ridge, just before the house came into view. The back wheels always skidded on slick rock and this time Ophelia West’s hands clutched at his shoulders.

An involuntary shudder rippled through him, not a prelude to desire but full-blown, roaring lust. Too long without a woman, he decided grimly. Far too long on this island alone, with only bleak thoughts for company.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured and withdrew her hands the moment the quad found traction again.

‘Leave them,’ he rasped. ‘It only gets rougher from hereon in.’

This time she set her hands to the waistband of his jeans, probably under the misguided impression that it was the better alternative to skin on skin.

It wasn’t.

Seb’s body took her hands at his waistband as a signal that his jeans would soon be coming
off.

Fifteen minutes all up, until they stood inside the house and out of the wind, with Ophelia West looking around curiously but not saying a word.

Seb should have found her actions reassuring; the fact that she felt no need to befriend him or force him into inane conversation.

He didn’t.

All Poppy West’s silence did was make him want to know what she thought of the island and of the house. A house made of concrete and glass and metal. One that cut into the rock face at its back and enjoyed expansive ocean views from every room. He’d designed it himself. Built a fair chunk of it himself too. Took pride in its rugged beauty and the challenges that had gone into its design.

Whatever the mouse thought of the place, she wasn’t letting on.

‘May I use a bathroom?’ she asked and he told her where one was and headed for the kitchen.

Coffee would help. Had to help, and then he’d show her the office, fry up some bacon and then disappear for the day while she did whatever it was she’d come to do and he worked off his hangover, his foul mood, and his awareness of a little grey mouse who was trying hard to be no trouble, no trouble at all, and by doing nothing whatsoever to engage him had captured his attention more thoroughly than anyone had captured it in years.

Seb dumped a wagonload of ground coffee into the shiny stainless steel machine, leaned into the counter and rested his head against a cupboard door.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what else his brother had said about Poppy West. Tried to remember if Tom had been interested in her, and if so, whether he’d ever acted on that interest.

Probably.

She was exactly his brother’s type. Classy. Smart. Kinda sweet, whereas Seb… Seb far preferred his women assured, adventurous and heading towards sinful.

‘Coffee smells good,’ said a quiet, measured voice, and he straightened and opened his eyes to find her standing uncertainly in the doorway.

‘It is.’ Was that his voice? That raspy, ill-used croak? ‘There’s sugar around here somewhere. Long-life milk too. Somewhere.’ Probably in a box down at the warehouse. He’d bring some up later.

‘I’ll take black with one.’

Easy to please, this woman with perfect lips and a planet for a brain.

She’d taken her jacket off and stood there in designer cut jeans and a dove-grey T-shirt that emphasised fine bones and slenderness. Small, high breasts. Plenty of leg.

A man who wanted a piece of her would have to be gentle; he’d have to take care….

‘You want something to eat?’ he asked the mouse.
Mousemousemouse.
His
brother’s
little grey mouse. Business partner. Whatever. He’d find out soon enough.

‘No, thanks. I had a big breakfast.’

Birdseed and yoghurt, what was the bet? ‘I’ll fill up an Esky for you to take down to the guest house,’ he told her. ‘There’s a fridge there. You’ll have to turn it on. Not sure if the bed’s made up. I’ll get you some linen too.’

He probably should have checked the guest
house for spiders. Lizards. Snakes. Gracious hospitality wasn’t exactly his forte.

‘Change of plan,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll sort the guest house. You just do whatever you’ve come here to do on the computers. Tom wasn’t very specific.’

Ophelia West shrugged. ‘It’s not very interesting to a layman. But I’d really like to see the computer set-up. Tomas promised me big things.’

‘C’mon, then, geek girl. Let’s show you what he’s got.’

He still hadn’t put a shirt on.

Poppy tried to pay attention to her surroundings rather than the man who strode down the hallway in front of her, but it took concerted effort. The house had been built into the cliff face, it seemed, for the rear side wall consisted solely of cool to the touch smooth grey rock. The white ceiling disappeared into it and so did the grey slate floor.

At the end of the hall he opened a door and Poppy followed him into an office.

Generously proportioned, it boasted floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides and a perfect 180-degree view of the ocean. Photos of floating oil rigs and pipelines lined the walls—Sebastian’s achievements, one
would assume. A framed mathematical proof, written in Tomas’s scrawling black hand, stood out amongst them. There was a large draughtsman’s table. Two high-end brand–name computers sat on nearby desks.

It was a very nice office, by any standard except the one that mattered most. Poppy stared at the computers, aghast.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked and she looked up to find Sebastian Reyne studying her intently.

‘I hope not,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s a beautiful workspace, don’t get me wrong, and the view is magnificent if you like that kind of thing, but those computers are not what Tomas promised me.’

‘What
did
he promise you?’

‘Grunt,’ she said. ‘And lots of it.’

The corner of Sebastian’s eyes crinkled, and Poppy paused, mid panic. Gorgeous eyes. Smiley hell-raiser eyes, enjoying a private joke.

‘You’d be after the bat cave, then,’ he murmured, and crossed the room and opened a door she hadn’t noticed earlier. He slipped his hand just inside the doorway, flipped on a light and stepped aside. ‘Behold, the promised land.’

Poppy approached the door cautiously,
peered inside the room and promptly uttered a favoured phrase she’d picked up from her brothers. And it wasn’t
Well, glory be.

Cooling panels warred with monitors for space. Cable had been built into the walls during the original build, which meant no stepping over it, and memory banks took up almost half of one wall.

Tomas Reyne had built himself a supercomputer.

‘This enough grunt for you, Miss West?’

‘Poppy,’ she muttered distractedly. ‘You may as well call me Poppy. I’m going to be here a lot.’ She started turning on units, she couldn’t help herself. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for letting me stay.’ She stood on the spot and turned a slow circle, taking everything in.

‘I take it you have everything you need?’ he asked dryly.

Poppy smiled at him, really smiled at the man, and wondered why he blinked.
‘Oh, mama,’
she said with utter reverence.
‘Yes, indeed.’

‘Are you a gamer too?’ asked Seb from the doorway as Poppy began lighting up the various screens. In true geek style, she seemed to have forgotten his presence the second she’d
spotted Tom’s computer rig. He didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted. Eventually he settled on being a bit of both.

‘Sometimes I game,’ she murmured as she examined one piece of hardware after another. ‘You?’

‘Sometimes. You ever play with Tom?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

More lights came on, accompanied by the whirring of fans.

‘With him or against him?’ he asked next.

‘Both.’

‘Ever beat him?’

‘Once or twice.’

‘Ever sleep with him?’

Poppy blinked and turned back to stare at him. Cornflower-blue eyes and a world of incomprehension. ‘What?’

‘My brother. Do you sleep with him?’

‘I, ah…no.’

The
no
sounded solid without being vehement. ‘Ever want to?’

‘What?’

That wasn’t vehemence either. That was pure and utter incomprehension.

‘Don’t mind me,’ he murmured silkily. ‘I’m just trying to figure out what the deal is between you and Tom. Maybe he’s got plans for you. It’d help if I knew.’

‘Help how?’

‘I’d play nice and leave my brother’s toys the hell alone.’

He watched her eyes widen and her lips part as the intent behind his words sank in. He watched her gaze skitter over his chest, and then the rest of him, lingering just a little too long over areas that bulged beneath clinging wet jeans and, just like that, all thoughts of playing nice fled.

Warm colour crept into her cheeks and did nothing whatsoever to stem Seb’s need.

‘I, ah…’ She cleared her throat and started again. ‘Yes, your brother has plans for me,’ she said. ‘Big plans. Huge.’ Her gaze had dropped below his waist again. Seb allowed himself a tiny smile.

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes.’

She couldn’t lie for squat. Seb cocked his eyebrow and shot her a smile and Miss Ophelia West met his gaze and blushed.

‘Your brother’s waiting for me to become self-assured, playful, sexy and somewhat on the curvy side,’ she murmured. ‘That’s how he likes them, you know? And as soon as I become all of those things I fully expect him to fall at my feet and worship. He’s going to
let me know just as soon as I meet his requirements.’

‘So you’ll be having bacon and eggs, then?’

‘What?’

‘For the curves.’ Seb swept his hands through the air, outlining imaginary curves with his hands. They were very buxom curves.

‘Oh.’ She seemed mesmerised by his hands.

‘You want extra bacon?’ he said, and smiled a crooked smile.

She shook her head, her smile fey and fleeting. ‘No, thank you.’

‘I don’t think you have any intention of moulding yourself to meet my brother’s requirements,’ he murmured. ‘I think you’re waiting for slender, geeky and socially awkward to become the new sexy.’

‘It’s going to be a long wait.’

‘Maybe.’ And maybe not. ‘Coffee’ll be in a pot in the kitchen,’ he added. And because he was a gentleman and a good brother and the situation he found himself in required far more consideration than he’d given it so far, ‘Get it whenever you want.’

He left her alone after that. Poppy heard the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen and soon enough she smelled bacon frying, but
Sebastian Reyne didn’t come near her again, and eventually she heard the quad rumble to life. A glance through the window confirmed that Sebastian was indeed heading back down the rough dirt track on the quad, his destination unknown.

He’d changed into cut-off canvas trousers in beige and he’d added a black T-shirt, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of difference to her reaction to him. She still looked, and she sure as hell still wanted. She tried to count how many other men she’d wanted with the intensity that she wanted this one. The counting didn’t take long.

None.

Poppy retrieved her carryall from the living room and hauled it to the computer room. She dug out her hard drives and plugged them in and then settled down to see what security measures Tomas had put in place. No internet signal was the biggest gift that kept on giving, but there were other safeguards in place and Poppy approved of them all. No way for anyone outside this room to know what went on in here, and as for leaving a mess behind for Tomas to clean up, that wouldn’t be happening either. Before she left she’d strip this computer back to this time
today, with no record whatsoever of her use of it.