A young woman standing near the fireplace snorted with laughter. “Got that right.” She smiled at him, and Nat noticed she had normal, shoulder-length hair, a very cute face, and was most definitely not a mermaid. She walked to him and patted his arm. “Welcome to Bayberry Island. I’m Rowan Flynn and I run the Safe Haven B and B. We spoke on the phone. I think you were heading to my place when you wiped out on the ice.”
Things were beginning to make sense. “Yeah. About that. The taxi didn’t show, so I had no choice but to walk.”
Rowan cringed. “I sincerely apologize. It’s embarrassing to admit, but we have only one driver in the off-season, and he’s pretty iffy, even when the weather is perfect.”
“He smokes the wacky weed,” someone volunteered.
Nat was almost afraid to look in the direction of the voice. Very slowly, his attention moved to the group of mermaids clustered near the doorway. His eyes traveled over way too much exposed, wrinkly skin, something not often seen in LA. He noticed how each of their stretchy, scaly skirts ended in a big fish tail opened at their ankles, revealing a collection of snow boots. One of the women clomped forward.
“Hello. I’m Mona Flynn, president of the Bayberry Island Mermaid Society. We were having an important meeting when my daughter, Rowan, called to ask us to help carry you to the bed. That’s why we’re in our costumes.”
“We all chipped in,” said another woman.
“That was very kind of you.” Nat produced a quick smile before he had to look away. He would never be disrespectful to any woman of a certain age, but damn—there should be some sort of law forbidding the tying of shells to your boobs past the age of fifty. “Thank you, ladies,” Nat said, seeking the safety of the pretty face of his guardian angel. “Uh, my things? My laptop? I had a video camera in my suitcase.”
Her beatific smile appeared again. “Everything’s right next to the bed.” She inclined her head and gazed at him with concern. “Unfortunately, we have only one full-time doctor between Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, and Bayberry during the off-season, and she’s not going to be able to get here until tomorrow because of the storm. But she’s given me instructions on how to make you comfortable until she arrives. To rule out concussion, the doctor wants me to wake you every couple hours to check on your mental state.”
“You might want to check the rest of the island while you’re at it,” Rowan said.
Right then, Nat became aware that soft flannel sheets touched his warm, bare skin—everywhere. That meant that he was naked. “Excuse me.” He didn’t know to whom he should address the question, so he looked to Annie Parker. “Do you know what happened to my clothes?”
“Time to go!” The head mermaid ushered her group out the doorway while they all waved and told him to feel better soon. Annie’s friend Rowan said her good nights, too, and asked Annie to call her in the morning.
Suddenly, the house was still. Annie remained in the chair at his side, smiling sweetly. She was incredibly beautiful. He was completely nude. At any other time, this wouldn’t have disturbed him.
“We had to remove your clothes, Mr. Ravelle. I apologize for taking those liberties, but you were soaked to the skin, and the doctor said getting you warm and dry was our first priority.” Annie appeared the slightest bit sheepish. “We tried our best not to look.”
Nat laughed. “We?”
“Rowan and I.”
“So not the entire mermaid population of the island?”
Annie laughed, too. It was a lyrical sound, and it seemed to fill the room with light and happiness. It wasn’t a girl’s giggle—it was full, womanly laughter, and he loved it. He couldn’t help but stare at her. He simply couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“I have a couple questions, if you don’t mind,” she said.
“Yes.”
“So you do mind?”
“I don’t mind. But I figured we’d save time and let you know that my answer to anything you might ask is yes.”
She chuckled. “Moving right along, are you allergic to cats? Do you have any food or medicine allergies I should know about?”
“Yes. I’m very single.”
Annie’s face froze. For a moment, he feared he’d gone too far, too fast. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. Nat was usually so cool around women that he’d been informed on more than one occasion that he came off as disinterested even when the opposite was true. So this type of flirtatious, pushy come-on was, well, it was truly weird.
He watched Annie’s cheeks redden as she averted her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the smile from forming on her full lips. “Good to know,” she said, looking at him again. “And what about the actual questions I asked?”
“Oh. Cats are fine. Not allergic to anything that I know of.”
“Good.” Annie glanced toward the floor and patted her knee, and the biggest black cat Nat had ever seen thudded onto her lap. “This is Ezra. He might jump in bed with you tonight, so be forewarned.”
Nat felt his eyes widen. “Just so long as he promises not to smother me in my sleep.”
Annie laughed again. “Yeah. He gets a little chunky in the winter months.” She put the cat on the floor once more, but he immediately hopped up on the bed and found a spot against Nat’s right thigh. “I’ll go get you some water and Tylenol, which is what the doctor suggested, and I need to call her. She asked me to let her know when you woke up.” She patted his shoulder as she stood. “I should be back in just a minute. Yell if you need anything.”
It was so wrong. Nat was flat on his back and in pain and had no idea where his clothes were, but the only thing he cared about was how this woman moved, how graceful her arms swayed as she walked, how firm and luscious her thighs were in those jeans, and how he could almost feel her perfect bottom cupped in his hands.
Nat became vaguely uncomfortable and turned to see Ezra glaring at him, his yellow kitty eyes narrowed into slits. “My bad,” he whispered to the cat.
3
Nathaniel seemed more comfortable since he’d spoken with the doctor, took his pain reliever, and was propped up on a stack of pillows. Annie had already apologized to him about her bed—the mattress and box springs were brand-new, but the scrolled wrought iron of the antique headboard wasn’t exactly designed for lounging. She’d helped him into one of Todd the Bod’s left-behind sweatshirts. Nat had been embarrassed that it hurt to lift his arms over his head, but Annie hadn’t minded one bit because it gave her an excuse to touch him. The feel of his solid, warm flesh had sent a shiver of sensual awareness through her.
Annie was pretty comfortable herself. She’d moved her writing chair into the bedroom near Nat and lit a hot cedar and oak fire in the bedroom fireplace. She sat with her feet curled up under her and a cup of tea cradled in her hands. She studied the subtle details of his face and enjoyed the rich, deep tone of his voice as he talked.
Nat had a husky, happy laugh. She’d become fascinated by the way his thick brown hair had curled at the nape of his neck as it dried. She noticed his eyes were a dusky sea green, heavy lidded, and accented by dark lashes and brows. She decided the shape of his face wasn’t exactly square, but it wasn’t round—it was a perfect, masculine combination of curves and planes, washed in gold by the firelight and the small bedside lamp.
It was strange. Annie wasn’t the type to be transfixed by a man. Sure, she’d been ferociously attracted to men before—about one man a year, to be exact—but she’d never understood when her friends would claim they could barely breathe in the presence of a certain man. That kind of talk had always struck her as ridiculous. At thirty-one, Annie certainly had known her share of hot and fun-loving men, but no one had ever caused her respiratory system to go on the fritz.
Tonight, though, something unusual was going on inside her. Whatever it was had affected her pulse rate, the temperature of her skin, and okay—her breathing, too. In fac
t, she felt a little shaky, like her nerve endings were too sensitive. If she were alone, she’d assume she was coming down with the flu.
Annie continued to gaze at Nat Ravelle, unaware of how much time had passed. They’d certainly touched on a lot of background information during their chat—childhood highlights, family, college, hobbies, work—but none of it in any real depth. She kept waiting to hear some tidbit about Nathaniel that would bring her back to the practical skepticism for which she was known, the ability to cross a man off her “maybe” list with absolute certainty and never look back.
But so far, nothing. In fact, the opposite seemed to be happening. Everything she’d heard made her want to know more. Nat had earned his bachelor’s in film and TV. He was smart and funny and was still close to his family. He’d ended a long-term relationship about a year before and had decided to be happy on his own for a while. If the right woman came his way, he said he’d try his best to be open to the possibilities, but he wasn’t looking.
In other words, he just kept getting better and better. This had to stop.
“So do you enjoy your job with Truly Weird?” Annie figured that question would put an end to her infatuation with the handsome stranger. She long ago decided that the island had reached its maximum crazy-person load, and she would not sleep with an imported supernatural-loving lunatic of a man, no matter how stunningly attractive he might be. So she braced herself for his answer. This is where he’d tell her he’d seen the yeti with his own eyes and had since devoted his life to the pursuit of the unexplained. He would say he was honored to come to Bayberry to witness the awesome power of the mermaid.
Instead, he howled with laughter.
“Here’s the thing,” he said, once his outburst had died down. “I hate my job. I hate everything about it, and I’ve already decided that as soon as I get back to LA, I’m going to find something else. I took the gig only after I lost my previous job, which I happened to have loved.”
“Oh?” Annie took a sip of her tea. “And what was that?”
“I made music videos. I’d been working for a production company but had a major falling out with the owner and got my ass fired.” He shrugged his shoulder and immediately winced with discomfort. “LA is notorious for stuff like that. You just have to catch the waves when they’re good. I never intended to keep the Weird job as long as I have, and I’ve definitely hit the wall.”
“Actually, you hit the boardwalk.”
Nat chuckled. “Don’t I know it.”
“So making music videos was your dream job? Is that what you’ve always wanted to do?”
Nat shook his head. “Not really. It was fun and it was a wonderful experience, but I went to film school because I want to produce and direct documentaries. That’s my real passion, I guess you could say.”
For a moment, the two of them said nothing. They simply looked at each other. Annie waited for the inevitable awkwardness that comes when strangers lock eyes for too long and the rawness of it become unbearable. That moment never arrived. Instead, the experience mellowed, and as the seconds ticked by, it seemed as if they’d reached some kind of understanding.
“Can I ask you something?” Nat tipped his head and grinned at her.
Honest to God, that smile was magical. Annie felt like she was under some kind of spell every time it was pointed in her direction. She swallowed hard and responded with a croak. “Sure.”
“Please be assured that I mean no offense, but there are a couple questions I need to ask. I want to make sure I understand something.”
Annie put her mug of tea on the bedside table and wrapped her arms around her knees, thinking this couldn’t be headed anywhere good. “Go right ahead. If I can answer you, I will.”
Nat glanced up at the ceiling, then took a breath. “Look, I know Bayberry Island is synonymous with the Mermaid legend, and I respect that.” He leveled his gaze with hers once more. “I realize it’s tied to the history of this place, but, well, do you ever wonder if maybe it’s just a bunch of bullshit?”
It was Annie’s turn to guffaw. Nat looked a little surprised by her reaction, so she held up her hand to assure him she was almost done with her outburst. She finished with a sigh. “You’re asking me if I’ve been drinking the local Kool-Aid.”
“I wouldn’t put it that—”
“No, Nat. I don’t wonder if it’s a bunch of bullshit—I know it is. Just because I was born on the island and have lived here most of my life doesn’t mean I’m a head case.”
A faint smile broke out on his face. “I guess I’m happy to hear that.”
“Rest assured we’re not all certifiable around here. Mona and her groupies? Yeah, they’re pretty out there, but it’s harmless, you know? They just run around in their spandex and blather on about true love and mystical forces and all that crap. But they don’t hurt anybody.”
Nat was visibly relieved.
“I wish I could say that the Mermaid Society is the weirdest thing on this island, but that would be a lie. There’s also another group of older ladies who call themselves the Fairie Brigade. They wear Tinker Bell outfits with big-ass wings.”
Nat’s eyes bugged out. “Are you kidding?”
“No. And the Fairies are usually up in arms with the Mermaids about something or other. Lately, it’s been the resort plans for the island, and it’s getting really nasty.”
“What resort?”
“Well, there’s a Boston real estate developer who wants to turn much of the north beach into a vacation resort—a championship golf course, a hotel and casino, and a big, swanky marina. The Mermaids are against it and the Fairies are for it. At a recent zoning hearing, one of the Fairies got into it with one of the Mermaids, and there was some hair-pulling and face-scratching going on. The police were called.”
Nat howled with laughter. “This is great! Please tell me they were in costume at the time.”
Annie laughed, too. “They were. It provided some much-needed comic relief, let me tell you. So if you add all this development drama to our baseline Mermaid Festival madness—the parades and the plays and the costume contests and the drunken, naked beach parties—you’ve got yourself an interesting little island.”
Nat went very still. “This would make an incredible documentary,” he said, mostly to himself. “Do you know if anyone’s ever done one?”
Annie thought for a minute. “I don’t think so.”
“Obviously, I was too quick to judge.” Nat shook his head. “I barely read any of the advance material our researcher put together for this trip because I just couldn’t face the crazy. But it sounds like this time the crazy is crazy good.”
“I can’t say I blame you for not wanting to read about us.” Annie stretched her arms over her head, just then realizing how long she’d been seated and how stiff she’d become. “Unfortunately, when you live here, the crazy is sort of inescapable. Plus, it’s the way I make my living.”
“Yeah. About that.” Nat situated himself so he was sitting up taller, a sure sign that his pain was subsiding. “The truth is, I might not have fallen if I hadn’t walked by your shop.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Your sign for adult desserts and erotic novels distracted me and I lost my footing.”
“Ah.” Annie felt her face flush and took the opportunity to get up from the armchair and add more logs to the fire. She remained with her back to Nat for as long as possible. She was embarrassed! How bizarre! It surely wasn’t the first time she’d heard a man’s flirtatious commentary about her particular brand of tourist tchotchkes. In fact, she had a whole list of standard responses designed for every variety of male customer, from the sweet and shy to the complete ass. But she’d never been truly embarrassed. Maybe that was because she’d never cared what a man thought of her wares—if the guy wanted to buy something, great, but if not, fine—until this very second.<
br />
Annie straightened, seeing her reflection in the antique mirror over the mantel. It wasn’t the only reflection she saw. Nathaniel Ravelle was staring at her booty like a starving man eyeing a center-cut pork chop. She whipped around. “Are you hungry, Nat?”
He looked up, not in the least bit ashamed that he’d just had his eyes glued to her ass. “You have no idea.”
Sure, his answer could be interpreted more than one way, but the flirting didn’t worry her. What worried her was how she’d just offered her guest something to eat when she had almost nothing in the house. Her weekly off-season grocery delivery was due in from the mainland in the morning. Talk about embarrassed.
Annie returned to her chair and leaned her elbows on her knees. “How hungry are you, exactly?”
“Starving.” He wigged his eyebrows. “I haven’t eaten since I left LA, maybe ten hours ago or more.”
“Oh great.” Annie caught herself. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be snippy. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting company, and my groceries are being flown in from the Cape in the morning—and that’s only if the weather breaks. In the meantime, the pickings are slim.”
Nat served up one of his magical smiles, stretching his hand toward her. Without thinking, Annie took it. His fingers were long and smooth. His flesh was warm. And that simple touch was enough to make her yearn for more—more smooth and warm flesh, to be exact. His naked flesh. His naked flesh pressing against her naked flesh, everywhere there was naked flesh to be found on their two bodies.
Annie gasped, yanking her hand away like she’d just been electrocuted. She stood again and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll go see what I’ve got.”
“Annie.”
She stopped, her fingers gripping the thick, painted trim of her bedroom doorway. She needed to get ahold of herself. On any other night she would be her usual, reasonable self. Her behavior would be casual and friendly. Her voice would be relaxed and her hands steady. But there was nothing usual about the way Nat made her feel, which was nuts. It occurred to Annie that there was a very good reason why she’d never allowed a man to have this kind of effect on her—she hated not being in control of her emotions.
A Seaside Christmas Page 3