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combined to put an end to any pleasurable sensations lingering.
    In record time, he launched onto the reef and over into the protected lagoon. Nothing dangerous there, but he swam in swiftly nonetheless and emerged dripping on the sand. He’d done this trip enough times now to be able to spot the break in the trees along the shoreline that led to the campsite, even in the moonlight. It took no time to get closer.
    He passed through trees bowing under the weight of roosting birds, moving softly so as not to disturb them, failing once or twice to the grumpy protests of a number of bigger birds.
    Then he saw the clearing ahead and eased his steps. If Honor was sleeping, the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. He’d settle down in the camp chair and wait out the couple of hours until dawn.
    Her little tent was, technically, big enough for two but he was certain she wouldn’t be in a hurry to share it with someone she’d just met, man or woman. And certainly not uninvited. Thinking about his reclusive mermaidstretched out all warm and sleepy got his imagination whirring.
    You’re a pervert, Dalton.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had that conversation with himself since arriving on the island.
    As he stepped closer to camp, movement drew his attention down to one corner, near the tree line on the far side. He glanced at his watch. Quarter to three. Clearly, Honor couldn’t sleep any more than he could. She crossed the moon-dappled space towards the tent, the golden sheen of her skin unbroken from head to foot. He sucked in a breath. Without thought, he stepped back into the shadows of the trees, averting his eyes.
    Naked.
    He heard the sounds of her rummaging in her stores and dropping something into a small bowl. Then he heard the sounds of water trickling into the bowl.
    He froze where he stood, wanting to leave but conscious that if he could hear her filling a bowl, she could hear him moving away. He swore silently. Why hadn’t he turned straight back? The sound of her wringing water out of a sponge got his complete attention. Her footsteps took her past the tent and off into the edge of the trees where he’d first seen her.
    Rob fought with his conscience. He would only need to move inches to breach the gapbetween them with trees, block her from his view and tiptoe off. Staying made him little better than a voyeur. It would be the second time he’d spied on her in less than twenty-four hours.
    Instead, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of her bathing. His values may have been all messed up but there was nothing wrong with his imagination and the bikini she’d been getting around in all day really left little mystery. As the sounds of tinkling water reached him, he pictured her naked and natural in the moonlight, her back to him, sponging herself with suds from the bowl. Her touch was light and all business wherever the sponge travelled, almost a matter-of-fact chore. So matter-of-fact it shouldn’t have been particularly sexy, but Rob swallowed back an instinctive groan. A freshwater bath had to be a rare luxury in a saltwater environment and she would be as careful conserving the precious supplies as she was gentle with her salt-abused skin. Almost ritualistic. She stood, mostly obscured, her shoulders and head visible above the circle of low-growing pandanas bushes between them. Her hands lifted back into view as they drifted to the scars. She slowed and stroked the area with more care, almost lovingly. Then she paused for a moment with onehand resting on the puckered flesh, her head bowed.
    Rob stopped breathing. He grew entranced by the way her gentle strokes over the scars resumed. The way she practically worshipped them. It was more intensely personal than any naked part of her body could possibly be. A dull thud started up right through his body.
    Right about then he realised his eyes weren’t closed any more, and he wasn’t imagining. Spying on a naked woman came a paltry second to