Touching Paradise

by Cleo Peitsche

  He should have regretted revealing what he had, which was far, far too much. But he didn’t.

  He kissed the damp, curled hairs on the back of her neck, enjoying how clean and healthy she smelled. He shuddered as he reluctantly pulled from her pussy’s grip, then fell onto his back next to her.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said with a yawn.

  She laughed. “You’re sending mixed messages here, ‘cause you sound like you need a nap.”

  “Ok, I’m tired, too,” he said as his stomach growled, and they both laughed. He sensed that she’d curled her hands into fists and was drawing her arms in, and he realized that she was getting cold, so he pulled her back into his chest and draped his arms over her.

  “You’re so warm,” she murmured.

  There was a reason for that, but he wouldn’t explain it to her. He felt her breathing grow slower, then even, and he felt the moment when she passed from dozing into true sleep.

  He wanted nothing more than to stay curled up with her, but those strange noises he’d ignored earlier were now again nagging at him, and there was something else, a strange sensation that worked on his nerves. Maybe it was technically his day off, but there weren’t any other sharks patrolling his waters. That splash had been weird… needed looking into.

  Reluctantly, he eased his lover out of his arms and went into the hallway on feet as silent as death. Concentration made his senses hyper acute. No strange noises, but an unidentifiable sensation made his teeth itch.

  He passed onto the deck, sniffing, then dove into the ocean, shifting automatically when the water touched his skin. Immediately, he felt like something had slammed into him from all directions at once. He forced himself to come back to the task at hand, and he swam fast, tasting the water, smelling, sensing, trying to tease out the identity of that unnameable sensation.

  Sick.

  No theory as to its provenance, if it was a smell or a taste or a goddamn electromagnetic disturbance. His brain was simply overwhelmed. Every cell in his body told him to get out of the water and do it now.

  If he were any other shark shifter, he would have circled back to the boat, climbed back aboard and gone somewhere else for a few days, hoping that whatever was wrong would blow over. But this was his territory, the ocean filled with his charges, the beaches full of people who, while they didn’t realize it, depended on him for safety. Protecting Tureygua was his job, but it was also his calling. And so he forced himself to head toward the sick.

  As he swam, he tried to break the sensation into components. It was mostly a smell, and not a remotely familiar one, yet his brain assigned it a word. Sick. Very sick. It was jumbling his senses, making touch and smell and feel and vibration… all of it was confused. He remembered, suddenly, the dolphin he’d been following when he’d gone to investigate the stalled Dragon.

  The dolphin had emitted the faintest of traces of this sick. It hadn’t registered, then, this new smell; it had been barely detectable, and he’d lacked a framework for it. Now it hammered at him, seemed to have gotten deep inside and lodged there. He knew that even when he shifted back to human, when he closed his eyes to sleep, it would return and plague him until he discovered what it was and then fixed it.

  It wasn’t the right time to investigate this. Not with an innocent woman sleeping on his boat. She could wake up at any moment, and if she found him gone, with nothing but dark seas around…

  Reluctantly, he turned and headed back. He didn’t need to consult Darius, but contacting one of the sharks who patrolled a nearby island felt like a good idea. The last thing he needed was to go headfirst into some new toxic sludge. Though this didn’t feel like chemical runoff from an unmonitored factory.

  He hoped there was an easy explanation, but his instincts said otherwise.

  Chapter 11

  Monroe pulled the sheet around her shoulders and stepped into the hallway. Koenraad must have stopped his boat far from the inhabited islands because she didn’t see even a sparkle of manmade light, no matter which direction she looked.

  “I’m out here.”

  Even those three words set her to tingling again. Koenraad had been the most amazing, mind-blowing, incredible… every superlative she could muster up, it applied to what the man had done to her body.

  She carefully walked out to the boat’s deck where Koenraad sat, naked in the moonlight, elbows on his knees and staring intently at nothing she could see. He looked up at her and seemed almost surprised. She wanted to tease him a little, but the slightly worried, concentrated look on his face made her think better of it.

  “Hi,” she said shyly.

  He seemed to snap out of it, or mostly. “You make that sheet look good.”

  Charmer. She touched him, feeling self-conscious, like she had no right to be so familiar with him. But wasn’t that how it always was with someone new? Except it was an order of magnitude greater with Koenraad. Despite his perfect manners and attentive consideration, there was still something wild and uncontrollable lurking under the surface.

  She couldn’t keep Thomas interested. There was no chance in hell that someone like Koenraad would consider her as anything more than a fling.

  Not that it mattered. Her life was in New York, and Koenraad’s was here. And then there was that other thing… which, after her nap, felt even more like a really bizarre dream, or perhaps the result of undiagnosed heat stroke or something. But at the same time, she accepted it. He was… a shark. That’s what he’d called himself. When she got home, she was going to be researching the hell out of it.

  “Your hair is wet,” she said.

  “I went for a quick swim.”

  “Before we got distracted earlier, I asked about dinner…”

  He stood easily, gracefully. “I would love to take you to dinner, but I’ve got something to deal with.” He frowned. “Forgive me. I would love to. Yes.”

  “Ok,” she said, surprised. “I’d like to treat you, to thank you for ferrying me around—”

  “Not gonna happen, but if you insist, we can flip a coin for the privilege. So you know, I always win.” He cocked an eyebrow. Despite his flirting, he seemed a bit tense.

  She put on her bikini, which had dried and was now cool, then slipped on the coverup dress and the sandals.

  “Which hotel is yours?”

  She dug the room key out of her beach bag and was relieved to find the name printed on the side. She held it up for Koenraad to see, and he nodded. “Are you cold?”

  “Just a little,” she said as she followed him inside the lower cabin. She stared at the steering wheel. “What would happen if I went up and turned the other steering wheel while you were down here?”

  He shot her an amused look. “I have no idea. Maybe we can try it tomorrow. What time is your flight?”

  Try it tomorrow. She liked the sound of that. “Two-thirty.”

  “You have plans in the morning?”

  She shook her head although she didn’t know if it was true or not. She’d make time for him. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten her friends, but first, she saw them often in New York—even Linda, who had moved to Chicago when she got engaged, still returned several times a year for big company meetings. Plus her friends all had someone to keep entertained. She was the only one who’d come alone.

  To her surprise, Koenraad took his boat right up to the beach near her hotel. Well, not right up to the beach. She didn’t ask how he intended to get her onto dry land, but she had a pretty good idea what he had in mind.

  “Don’t let your bag get wet,” he said as he scooped her up. She held it over her head, and he easily ferried her onto the shore. His hands slid up her body when he set her down. “Sorry that I got your dress wet.”

  “It’s fine. Um… what should I wear for dinner?”

  “Dress comfortably. I’ll be at your hotel in an hour. In a car.” His eyes were reflective in the darkness. Eye shine, like a cat.

  She thought about that as she
walked through the cool, shifting sand. It was definitely real, no matter how dreamlike it felt.

  By the time she reached the paved hotel sidewalk and turned around, Koenraad was gone, his boat nowhere to be seen. It was like she’d imagined the whole thing.

  A little twisty feeling in her gut whispered that she’d never see him again. It was silly and unfounded, but as she walked through the bright lobby, she became more and more anxious. She didn’t have his phone number or even know his last name.

  There was a new clerk working the desk, a dark-skinned man with an obviously dyed black handlebar mustache and a shiny cue ball of a head. He did a double take when he saw Monroe. I’m on fire today, she thought. Maybe it was the new tan.

  “Are you Monroe?” he asked.

  She nodded, repressing a smirk; so much for having become magically irresistible to all men.

  “I have a message for you.” He handed her a folded note, her name on the front in Tara’s perfect handwriting. Inside, it said:

  Been trying to call you all day. Maybe your phone fell into a coral reef. Everyone’s feeling better. Went to Club Carrib, dinner reservations at 9:00, having drinks first. Join us!

  She shoved the note into her bag. “Where’s Club Carrib?”

  The clerk came around the desk and walked out the front door. She assumed she was meant to follow, so she did. “See the orange building? One block beyond that. You can’t miss the sign.”

  “Ok. Thanks.” She headed off the way he’d indicated, walking quickly. She would reassure everyone that she was ok—even though Tara hadn’t said she was worried, Monroe knew her friend well enough to read between the lines—and then get back, take a quick shower and change into something appropriate for dinner with Koenraad.

  A little thrill ran down her back as she remembered him asking about her flight. It sounded like he wanted to spend the night and next morning with her. More Koenraad was definitely a good thing.

  Despite the restaurant’s name, Club Carrib was about the tamest, quietest place she’d ever seen. Most of the diners were older couples, and little tea lights flickered on all the tables. She spotted her friends off in one corner.

  Tara had said they were feeling better, but they seemed subdued. Monroe caught Tara’s eye and waved her over.

  “Are you ok?” Monroe asked.

  Tara shrugged. “Not much worse than lunch at Paco-Paco’s Taco Truck on a hot summer day. Of course that’s easy to say now, but this morning…” She shuddered. “Where were you? Some girl at Dive Happy Caribbean said you were off with a guy named Koenraad?” Tara let her raised eyebrows ask the rest of the questions.

  “Yes, I met someone, and—”

  “Whoa. Back up, girlie. Unless you finish that sentence with ‘I met someone who sold me a timeshare’ you’re going to have to go into a lot more detail.”

  “I know I’m being antisocial again, but I only have a minute. He’s coming to get me for dinner. I promise I’ll make it up to you in New York.”

  “Wait,” Tara said, grabbing Monroe’s arm even though she hadn’t started to walk away yet. “Who is he?”

  “Really nice guy who rescued me when the boat broke down.”

  Tara’s eyes went huge. “The boat broke down? Did it capsize? Were you shipwrecked?” Tara was speaking loudly, trying to draw attention. Now their other friends were looking over, curious as hell.

  Monroe realized she’d never get away. Not until she divulged enough information to satisfy her best friend. She allowed Tara to lead her to the table.

  “Guess who met a local hottie?” Tara asked the group.

  Monroe sighed. So much for giving Tara a fast rundown and then making an escape. “Everyone feeling better?”

  They nodded enthusiastically, but she suspected that was to spare Linda’s feelings. “We’re fine,” Nya said. Her fiancé held her hand in both his. “Who’s this hottie of yours?”

  “Local guy with a boat.” Better to say boat than yacht. She shifted uncomfortably. She’d give up the details, or at least the non-shark details, later, but she didn’t want to go into her plans for the night. She didn’t want to talk about her love life with the guys listening, though probably they knew more about her dating misadventures than she would have liked.

  Oh, screw it to hell. “I’m going to have dinner with him,” she said. “And breakfast.”

  Linda’s eyes went wide. “Look at you getting over Thomas so fast. Maybe, when we get back, you can meet Marco’s buddy who just moved to New York?”

  Marco shifted uncomfortably.

  Monroe shot Tara a dirty look and received an innocent shrug in return. Next time, Monroe was going to swear her to secrecy. She sighed. “Anyway, I need to change, but I wanted to check in.”

  “Bring him here!” Linda said.

  “Yes!” Tara insisted. Nya nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

  “I… I’ll ask him.” Monroe stood, gave her friends quick hugs, then hurried back to the hotel.

  When she walked in, the clerk waved her over. “Monroe?”

  “Still Monroe,” she said, smiling.

  He handed her another note. Frowning, she opened it. Work problem came up. Have to cancel dinner. I’m really sorry. I’ll come by tomorrow around 9ish and see if you want to have breakfast. Leave me a note if you go out and I’ll find you. Love, Koenraad.

  It felt like someone had dumped icy water over her head. He’d canceled. Seemed like a running theme in her life.

  She couldn’t be angry at him. After all, she’d monopolized his day. Still, it sucked. And it hurt, though it shouldn’t. She blamed Thomas for the raw, vulnerable edges.

  Numbly, she thanked the clerk and took the elevator to her room, which had been cleaned in her absence.

  After a hot shower, she ordered room service because she didn’t feel much like showing up to dinner and explaining why she was alone. Again.

  Only after she finished eating did she check her cell phone.

  There were three emails from Thomas.

  Her heart in her mouth, she read the first one. What? Where is this coming from? Can you talk?

  Nervously, she opened the second one. Please don’t do this, Monroe. I’m really sorry that you had to go to the wedding alone. When I said I’d make it up to you, I meant it. How was the wedding anyway? I bet Linda and Mark made a beautiful couple.

  “His name is Marco,” she said through clenched teeth and moved to the third email. You are too special to lose. I’ve been soul-searching all day, and you’re right. I screwed up. This is 100% my fault, and I’m going to fix it. If you don’t want to talk to me right now, I understand. I don’t want to ruin your vacation. We’ll talk when you get back.

  She read the email over and over, conflicting feelings brewing inside her. Thomas wasn’t the kind of man to apologize at all, let alone so profusely. She’d never heard him express anything like what he was saying in this email. Was that a sign that he meant every word or that his ego was bruised? He must have meant it, though. What would be the point of begging her to reconsider if he wasn’t willing to change the things that had upset her in the first place?

  She flopped back onto the bed. How could she even consider getting back together with him? Tara had given him a failing grade and Monroe hadn’t missed him at all.

  Plus she’d already slept with someone else. Without protection.

  “I am such a slut,” she said, giggling. Boring women didn’t sleep with hot guys while on vacation.

  Poor Thomas. Too little, too late.

  She read the emails again. Funny how he’d shown more caring since she’d said she was through with him than he’d demonstrated in a typical month of dates. If only Thomas could be more… well, like Koenraad, actually.

  Chapter 12

  Koenraad paced in his kitchen, waiting for Darius to call back. He considered himself fairly reasonable, but the bad turn his evening had taken was making him want to rip something apart.

  When he’d gotten back o
n the boat, there was a message from Darius saying to call back immediately. He did, and Darius said he’d need Koenraad overnight. Then he’d said he would call back and hung up abruptly.

  Going back to the hotel and leaving a note for Monroe had made Koenraad feel awful. It was funny… all the women he’d canceled on, run out on, and this was the only time it had bothered him.

  He’d caught Monroe’s intoxicating scent—mixed with his—and followed her to the restaurant, but he had decided against interrupting. The note was his only alternative, but it was less than ideal.

  When he took her out for breakfast, he planned to suggest she stay a few extra days. She’d said she had the vacation time, and he was happy to buy her a new ticket, first class and with no layovers. But she might say no. Even though he knew she’d felt their connection, she didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to change her plans for a man she barely knew.

  He wasn’t on the boat for five minutes before Darius called again. There were problems off the coast of Bonaire, and Wardell had disappeared several days earlier. Darius thought he must have fallen off the wagon.

  Wardell’s wife, who probably hadn’t shifted shark in three decades, finally convinced Darius that something was wrong, and he’d reluctantly sent three dolphins to investigate. They had returned around the time that Koenraad and Monroe were discussing dinner plans. The dolphins had reported no trace of Wardell, but there was something wrong with the water around the island.

  Koenraad immediately knew it was the sick, that strange sensation that had scrambled his senses, and he told Darius everything he knew, which wasn’t much. Darius didn’t say what they were both thinking: the sick had contaminated the open ocean between Tureygua and Bonaire. That was a staggeringly large amount of water.

  Koenraad leaned against the counter and stared at his empty kitchen. He wondered what Monroe was doing. He hoped she’d gone back to the restaurant to eat with her friends.

  The phone rang, and he jumped on it.

  “They’re in comas,” Darius said, his gruff voice laced with anger.