Dalton used both hands to grab Rosa by her upper arms. At first he’d been nervous about holding her too tightly in case he hurt her. But after she’d twisted out of his grip a few times, wrenching herself free and striking back, he’d stopped treating her so gingerly.

Rosa was wearing the same distracting shorts as yesterday, but her T-shirt had a high neck. At first glance, it seemed less tantalizing than yesterday’s scooped neck. So, in theory, practicing throws and punches shouldn’t make him want to have sex with her.

So far, he’d been able to think of little else.

He kept being distracted from the moves he was demonstrating by the trickle of perspiration inching temptingly down the back of Rosa’s neck, and the dusting of sand clinging to her legs.

He was in front of her now, on the beach, with his back to the bures and the rising sun angling into his eyes. Rosa’s chest went up and down with each breath, and her high-necked T-shirt was molded to her breasts. They’d been working hard enough that they were both perspiring, and her arms were a little slippery under his hands.

She smelled of coconut sun-tan lotion and coconut shampoo. The smell of Lantana Island. All through his teenaged years, any whiff of coconut had caused his throat to close and the hollow place inside him to ache. He’d avoided coconuts for years, and when he’d arrived in Lantana a couple of weeks ago, the ubiquitous scent had been one of the hardest things to face. But the smell didn’t hurt anymore. In fact, after training with Rosa, his bad memories were rapidly being overridden.

“Ready?” she asked.

He nodded. “You can break my grip by lifting your arms.”

“I was going to kick you in the nuts.”

Dalton fought a grin, keeping his expression serious with an effort. “Okay. But try lifting your arms first. Link your hands to make the lift stronger. That’s it. You can probably get me under the chin.”

“Or in the nose.”

“Once you’ve broken my grip, I’m off balance. So, what are you going to do next?”

“Um…”

He leaned forward, hands raised as though attacking in slow motion. “You don’t have time to think about it. I’m still in front of you, and in an instant I’ll have recovered my balance and be coming back at you, even angrier than before.”

“Now’s when I introduce my knee to your cajones.”

“Don’t forget to jump back so I don’t head butt you when I double over.”

She bought her leg up, careful not to connect, then bounced back lightly. “This is all great. But I also want to do proper fighting, like in the videos. Less breaking free of holds. More killer punches.” She dropped into a fighting stance, with her knees bent and fists raised. “You want to go a few rounds, hot shot?”

He matched her pose, feeling a rush of enjoyment at the prospect. It had been years since he last did any martial arts training. He’d have to be gentle, but it would be fun to spar with her. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“You scared?”

“Only of bruising you.”

“Big talk, hot shot. Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He feinted toward her, all too aware that if he accidentally connected with a punch or kick, he could do some serious damage. Instead, he swept her foot out with his. She went down on the sand with a grunt. To her credit, she scrambled right back up. “You have long legs,” she complained.

“Then let’s make it fair. I won’t do any more leg sweeps or kicks.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I want to learn to beat you without any advantages. But okay.”

When she went for him, she didn’t hold back. Lunging forward, her punch grazed his stomach and probably would have winded him if he hadn’t jumped back. When she pressed the attack with another punch, he barely had time to block it. Stepping back again, he stumbled on the churned-up sand and almost went down. She wasn’t just fast, she was so determined to beat him, she was ready to mow him down. Her lips were compressed, and her look of complete concentration made him want to smile. He’d call her adorable if she weren’t a little scary.

She lunged again and this time he managed to reach in and tap her ribs. But she caught him as he was pulling away, her fist slamming into his side. He grunted as the breath went out of him and clapped his hand over the place she’d struck.

“Ouch!” she yelled. “That really hurt.” She shook her hand, her face contorted. “It feels like I broke my fingers.” Another shake of her hand, then she touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” As if he’d admit to anything else.

“Time out?” She sat and he eased down on the sand next to her.

He pulled his hand from his aching side and sucked in a deep breath. “That’s a wicked right hook you’ve got there, slugger. When you decide to do something, you throw everything into it, don’t you?”

“That’s the way I was raised.” She extended her hand in front, palm turned away to show her red knuckles. “I think that punch hurt me more than it hurt you. My fingers are throbbing, all along here.”

He reached out and touched the red flesh gently. “We should go back and ice it.”

She shot him a glance that was almost shy, her cheeks flushing. “I’d better not have seriously hurt it. I have too much to do.”

That made him think of his own pressing business, all the work waiting for him in his office. But it wasn’t pressing enough for him to move. Not yet. She was sitting close, and although they weren’t touching, their training session had built a sense of companionship between them. The sun had risen higher, and though the brilliant sunrise colors had disappeared into the endless blue of the tropical sky, the sand was becoming pleasantly warm. Small waves shushed in and out, and the water was so clear he could see small, dark fish darting through the shallows. Even more scenic were her long, golden legs, stretched out on the sand in front of her. They were spectacularly inviting.

“How do you know how to fight anyway?” she asked. “Is there some kind of secret handbook that boys get issued at birth?”

“I went to a military boarding school. Fight training was part of the curriculum, and I studied karate as an after-school elective.”

“Military boarding school,” she repeated, picking up handfuls of sand and letting the grains run through her fingers. “That’s where you disappeared to?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Tiny didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t say a word. And at school, there was all kinds of gossip about Tiny’s mysterious older brother. Rumors flew.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“You probably don’t want to know.” She shot him a sideways look. “For the record, you’ve never actually killed anyone, right?”

“What?”

She grinned. “In our all-girls’ school, gossip and speculation were part of the curriculum.”

He couldn’t smile back. Tiny hadn’t wanted to talk about him, to the point where she hadn’t even set the gossips straight. That realization burnt like an ember in the pit of his stomach. He’d let Tiny down, so she’d shut him out.

“You okay?” she asked, her grin disappearing. When he didn’t answer, she touched his arm. “What made you decide to go to military boarding school?”

“The decision was made for me.”

“By your aunt and uncle?”

Dalton nodded. “They’d been saddled with two kids they barely knew. One of those kids was an angry thirteen-year-old with a bad attitude. They couldn’t cope, so they sent me away.”

She screwed up her nose. “That must have been difficult.”

“Worse for Tiny.”

“Really? Why?”

“She was only ten. Our mother had died barely a year before, and our father…” He broke off, wondering why he was talking to her about the past. He’d never spoken to anyone about it, not like this.

“Your father?”

“He didn’t cope well,” he said curtly. No need to share the details of that awful time. The cyclone that killed their mother had also flattened their home and destroyed their only boat. The generator and water tank had both been damaged, so they’d had no electricity or clean drinking water, and barely any food. They’d bathed their mother as best they could and waited for help to arrive from the mainland, knowing their mother’s body wouldn’t last long in the tropical heat.

They’d waited four long, terrible days. A fire had been their one comfort, and they’d been able to boil some water. Their father had been no help. He’d closed himself off when they’d needed him most.

Dalton had been digging a grave for his mother when a boat had finally arrived.

In the weeks and months that followed, they’d had the generator repaired and a team of men had come to rebuild their house and some of the resort’s buildings. Their father had shown little enthusiasm for helping with the rebuild. In fact, the only thing he’d been enthusiastic about had been making sure a glass of amber liquid was always within reaching distance.

Dalton’s uncle had begged the whole family to come back to Sydney, saying the island wasn’t safe. Their father had agreed the island was dangerous. And that seemed to be the very reason he’d decided to stay, although he’d eventually sent Dalton and Tiny to their insistent uncle.

“Our father cut himself off from us,” he said. “Tiny relied on me instead. She’d essentially lost both her parents, and when we went to live in Sydney, she also lost the only home she’d ever had. I was all she had left. And then I got myself sent away to boarding school, leaving her with nobody and nothing. She was devastated.”

“But that wasn’t your fault.”

Dalton shrugged. Of course he was at fault. If he hadn’t been so angry and difficult, he could have stayed at his aunt and uncle’s. Stayed with Tiny. He stared out to sea, searching the horizon for something he knew he’d never find. There was no way to change the past. All he could do was look after Tiny now, the best way he knew how.

“When I saw her yesterday, Tiny said you hate Lantana,” Rosa said softly.

“That’s right.”

“But you grew up here. Did you like it back then?”

“Before the cyclone, I did.”

“What did you like about it?”

He stared at her, not sure how to answer. Once, he’d liked everything about it. But now all he had were bad memories and worse dreams.

“I’d better get to work,” he said finally, pushing himself to his feet. “Lots to do.”

She scrambled up too. “Come on, there must be something. Did you like to sail?” She motioned to the Lady of Lantana, which was moored a little way off the beach. Tiny had acquired the yacht a few months ago. She’d been planning to charge the guests to borrow it, but the yacht needed a spruce-up, so she’d been letting people use it for free in the meantime.

“I did a bit of sailing back then,” he said, thinking of the cruisers who sometimes anchored their yachts in Lantana’s sheltered bay. One had stayed for several months, and had taught Dalton how to handle a boat.

“Then we should take the yacht out one morning. See if you still enjoy it.”

“You want me to take you sailing?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Was she hitting on him? Not that he’d object if she was, but she’d seemed so serious about doing a good job here, he hadn’t expected her to want to blur those professional boss-employee lines. At least, not so quickly.

“Sure. Why not? If you think you’ll have fun.” She bent to slip on her sandals, and he couldn’t help but admire the movement. Her toenails were painted a bright, fire-engine red, a color as bold as she was.

“I’ll have to wait until my first day off,” she said, straightening. “Which won’t be until after the wedding. But you could always go out on your own in the meantime.”

“Do you like sailing?” he asked.

“I’m sure I will.” She gave him a smile that made his breath catch. “We’ll go out and enjoy ourselves, okay? Just like you used to do when you were a kid.”

Not exactly like when he was young. He’d left Lantana at thirteen so he’d never taken a beautiful woman out on the water. But Rosa was obviously eager, and the Lady of Lantana had a bed that was large enough for two.

“It’s a date,” he said.