bobbing like a sleek seal. The silvery curve of the shoreline beckoned. She quenched a flare of trepidation. Before he'd gone off on his quest for gold, she and her father had rented a modest cottage

at Brighton each summer. She'd become a strong swimmer. It couldn't be as far to land as it looked. Could it?


The cool water caressed her bare skin. A wave of heady delight coursed through her. She drew in a

deep breath and struck for the shore with long, graceful strokes, free at last.


* * *

As Justin prowled the deserted beach, the bloated moon laved the peak of each swell in molten silver.

The waves broke on the sand and rushed over his feet in a swirl of foam before the sea could suck

them back. He felt the inexorable tug against his bare soles as if the sea held the power to melt the

very shore beneath his feet.


He thrust his hands deep in his pockets. The breeze whispered of a respite from his aching restlessness, but for Justin it was a taunting refrain. He couldn't even still his thoughts long enough to hear the night's music calling to him. The only thing more elusive than sleep was peace.


Damn the tenacious Miss Winters and her letters! It had been months since he had been jolted from

sleep by the bright, merry edge of a child's laughter. Tonight the mocking echo had driven him stumbling and groaning from his pallet to seek the brighter darkness of night.


He paused, rocking back and forth on his heels, and stared blindly out to sea. Cool spray misted his skin. It had been seven years since he, Nicholas, and David had come to New Zealand to seek their fortunes. Seven years since Trini had dragged his boat ashore and pried David's stiffening body from his grip. But when Justin closed his eyes, time melted like the sand beneath his feet.


If the smooth-talking Nicky had been their wit and Justin their brains, it was David who had been their heart.


After weeks of fruitless panning for gold in the cold shadow of the Southern Alps, it had been David's relentless optimism that had given them the cheer to continue. David had hope enough for all of them; David had dreams of the future; David had Claire.


Claire. Long after Nicky was snoring, Justin would lie awake in the dark and listen hungrily as David talked of his baby daughter. As he would drift into sleep, it was almost as if the scent of her tousled

curls and the echo of her irrepressible giggle would warm their lonely camp. He had even dreamed of

her once. She had toddled from the sea, her plump arms outstretched, the lilting timbre of her voice crying for her father. In the dream it had not been David but Justin himself who soothed her puckered brow against his shoulder.


The stringent cry of a kiwi shattered his memories. Justin sucked in a breath, half expecting the beach

to erupt in a welter of Maori natives, their tattooed faces twisted in frenzied cries for utu, their sun-browned hands twined around the deadly hilts of their taiahas. From behind him came only the

flurry of wings as a startled gannet took to the sky.


Justin opened his eyes. He stood on a different shore now. The salt-tinged breeze of the North Island

was kinder and balmier than the stiff winds of the South Island. The palms swayed in lulling rhythms

and the sea sang instead of roaring. He had created a life for himself here. A small and simple life

stripped of snarls and entanglements. But the stench of gunpowder and blood still haunted his nostrils, mingling with the rich, sweet scent of the crimson-flowered pohutukawas.


It had been Trini, with his innocent wisdom, who had told him he still carried with him the body of his friend.


Justin kicked at the waves and started down the moon-drenched ribbon of beach. If he didn't return

soon, Penfeld would come searching for him. His valet believed him too absentminded and too

immersed in his music to find the hut once he wandered far from it.


He turned his face to the wind, abandoning his senses to the seductive beauty of the night. Stars misted the smudged charcoal of the northern sky. His hair danced against his shoulders like a dark cloak as he ambled along, lost in the pounding symphony of sand and surf.


A cloud darted across the moon; Justin spotted a dark shape against the sand. Seaweed, he thought. Or driftwood. The cloud sped away. Moonlight spilled over the beach, illuminating the shape in a pool of riveting clarity.


Justin's heart slammed into an uneven drumbeat; he glided forward as if in a trance.


A woman lay on the sand, half curled into herself, half exposed to his piercing gaze. No, not a woman, but a gossamer creature woven of moonlight and dreams. Justin blinked, expecting her to vanish. But

she remained-mysterious, provocative-and wearing not a single stitch of clothing.


He crept nearer. Her cheek was pillowed on folded hands. Her breasts rose and fell gently with each breath. Justin's dazed mind absorbed details with dizzying lucidity: a cherub's face-a dash of freckles across the bridge of a snub nose, a rosebud mouth, lashes of stubby velvet, an unruly mass of chestnut curls. Before he could stop it, his gaze drifted lower, where a nest of darker curls glistened with sea

drops. His toes curled into the wet sand.


The sun had kissed her face and arms, but the rest of her was polished to creamy pearl. Sand sparkled against her skin like ground diamonds. Luminous coral tipped her breasts. He was tempted to look

around for the giant shell that must have birthed her.


His gaze flicked upward to the mocking wink of the stars. "For me?" he whispered.


He sank down cross-legged in the sand beside her. He ought to be rousing her, checking her for injuries, covering her. But he had worn only his tattered dungarees. Even with the best of intentions, one of them was going to be naked. And he wasn't yet sure his intentions were the best.


He rested his chin on steepled ringers, unable to drag his gaze away from the rosy little nymph. He couldn't fathom the effect she had on him. He felt as if someone had punched him low in the gut,

driving out all the breath with one blow. His rising desire was a foreign heat that bore no relation to

the rare fumble in the dark he might share with some generous Maori woman or Auckland whore.


He felt he might sit forever, afraid of not touching her, more afraid of touching her, locked in her strange spell until someone dragged him away. The breeze whispered encouragement even as the waves chanted a warning. They might have been the only two alive. For the first time Justin understood Zeus's temptation to turn himself into a swan to mate with Leda in the forest. He knew the hunger of the fierce knight Huldbrand groaning for the siren song of his sea witch Undine.


A primitive enchantment beckoned him. It had nothing to do with the civilized constraints of his time,

but hearkened back to another era, when a man had knelt between a woman's thighs with no need for polite small-talk to woo her heart.


Justin buried his face in his hands. Sweet Lord, his morals were becoming as muddled as his dreams. Perhaps he should return to England, where he wouldn't be tempted to ravish a girl just because she'd

had the ill luck to wash up naked on his beach.


He shoved his hands through his hair, determined to take some action. He would have to carry her back to the hut. Unless he wanted to drag her by the hair, that would mean touching her.


He sat up on his knees. The feathery fingers of his shadow fell over her, brushing all the plump swells

and lush hollows his hands burned to touch. Dragging in a breath that was more a groan, he eased an

arm beneath her shoulders. The coral petals of her mouth parted in sleepy surrender. Justin's tongue darted out to moisten his lips.


What could one kiss hurt? Even Sleeping Beauty's prince had stolen that much. He leaned forward,

taking painstaking care that no less-principled part of his body should meet with hers. He touched her mouth softly with his own. Her lips were salty-sweet. Justin licked the salt away, glazing her lips with liquid moonlight. He couldn't remember the last time he had kissed a woman. His head reeled. Only minutes ago he had been walking alone on the beach. Now he was kissing a goddess.


A mistake. As her lips parted beneath the subtle, hungry pressure of his own, Justin knew kissing her

had been a terrible mistake. But it was too late to extricate himself. He could only slide his tongue between her parted lips, making hot, slippery love to her mouth with all the tender ferocity his body craved. Her taste was magic and he couldn't have pulled himself away if she had wrapped her legs

around him and dragged him to her kingdom deep beneath the sea.


He buried his face in her damp curls. The faintest aroma of vanilla clung to her hair, rendered erotic by

its very purity. Just one touch, he promised himself. Just to rake his fingers across her sand-sugared skin, to cup the gentle swell of her breast in his palm…


He was already reaching for her when the husky whisper came, so close to his ear it had the intimacy

of his own thoughts. "I stabbed the last man who stuck his tongue in my mouth."


Justin slowly lifted his head. He hung there, caught dead in the sights of her sparkling brown eyes.


"What's wrong? I didn't swallow it, did I?" Her pert nose crinkled as she laughed. Justin thought it was

the most endearing thing he had ever seen.


Her merry eyes went somber. She lifted her hand. Justin couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Her fingers caught a stray lock of his hair, brushed it gently from his brow. "You have the most extraordinary eyes," she whispered.


Then she rolled over, snuggled her face against the warmth of his lap, and went back to sleep.


Time stopped. Justin couldn't have said how long he knelt there, brushing the sand from her tangled

curls and enduring the exquisite torture of her warm sigh breaching the threadbare calico of his dungarees.


He didn't even hear Penfeld approach, huffing and puffing as if he'd trotted all the way from England. "There you are, sir. I was just out for a stroll-" His gaze dropped to Justin's lap. He threw a hand over his eyes. "Good Lord!"


"What?" Justin gazed dumbly up at him, still lost in the throes of his reverie.


Penfeld peeped between his round little fingers. "If I've come at an inopportune moment, sir…?"


Justin blinked as if coming awake after a long sleep. The sleep of a lifetime. He reluctantly untangled his fingers from the skein of curls. "No, no. You've come at the perfect time. Give me your coat."


Justin had to admire his valet's aplomb. Penfeld turned his back and peeled off his coat as if finding his master cuddled on the beach with a nude, insensible woman were a normal occurrence. He started to

fold it. Justin tugged it out of his hand. If he hadn't stopped him, Justin knew he would have washed

and pressed it before handing it over.


Penfeld rubbed his arms, shivering in his crisp linen shirt as if he were the one naked. "I do say, is it

a mermaid, sir?"


"Do you see any gills?"


Penfeld chanced a tentative glance over his shoulder. What he did see was a voluptuous young woman being tenderly enveloped in the folds of his coat.


Justin stood, gathering her like a child in his arms. Her head lolled warm and damp against his shoulder. His gaze traced her features-the elfin tilt of her nose, the pout that made no apology for its sensual promise.


Penfeld dared to turn around. "Wherever did she come from, sir? Could she be the victim of a shipwreck perhaps? Or a stowaway?"


Grinning, Justin lifted his head. "No stowaway, Penfeld, but a gift. A gift from the sea."


Penfeld couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his master truly smile. Justin was already striding