LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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