by Nina Mason
Shan laughed, albeit with an edge. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me…and planning to stick around, though I cannot imagine why you would want to do so. Ronay is nothing compared to Eriskay, and you must not disappoint the Nics.”
Cuan shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “As I said, I will set off the moment I am strong enough to do so.”
Shan gave him a long, hard look. “If you had any sense, you’d go now. Remember your duty to your clan, Cuan…and to the ocean. Humans are devils, and a half-devil is still a devil in my books.”
Self-doubt seized Cuan. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe his attraction was blinding him to the truth about Cordelia. She was, after all, working for the men who’d brought Ketos into the Minch.
Sunset was approaching and golden light winked from the dancing surface of the waves, making him eager to get back to the cave. He was hungry and did not wish to miss out on whatever Cordelia might bring him for dinner. Neither did he wish to endure further admonitions from Shan.
“Can I beg a favor?” he asked. “As a friend and fellow warrior.”
Shan nodded, even as distrust shimmered in his wide-set blue-green eyes.
“Tell no one you have seen me or about this conversation.”
Shan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why not?”
“I have my reasons. Now, can I count on your silence?”
“You can, provided I can count on your promise to leave here as soon as possible.”
“You have my solemn oath.”
The lie left a bitterness aftertaste on Cuan’s tongue. He had no intention of leaving Ronay until he’d solved the mystery of Cordelia’s lineage. “But before you go, there is one more thing I must know. Well, two things, actually. The first is why we attacked Ketos. The second is why, ten years ago, we drove the yacht called Nautilus into the rocks in the Stornoway harbor. What had the humans we drowned done to harm the ocean?”
“I only know what my father told me.”
“Which was what?”
“They are conspiring with our other enemies, the Finfolk of the Vanishing Isles, to do harm in our territory.”
Cuan’s brow furrowed. “What kind of harm?”
“Something to do with the harvesting of oil.”
Eight
Chapter Eight
A persistent banging broke into Corey’s dream, shattering a scene in which she’d been swimming in the ocean with her mother. In the dream, a recurring one since childhood, she was pulling through the sea like a frog, breathing as naturally as if the water were air. Her mom was leading her somewhere, but something always awakened Corey before she learned where they were going.
Just like now.
The thumping persisted. Someone at the front door. The realization penetrated a thick cloud of grogginess. So did the glowing red numbers on the bedside clock. It was just after two o’clock in the morning. Worry constricted her chest. Who could be knocking at this ungodly hour? That asshole MacInnes, probably…or maybe Trowbridge with bad news from the command center.
Her mind skimmed over the direst possibilities. The spill was worse than anticipated…or more reporters had gotten through his barricades…or somebody had found her merman.
The last thought brought her to a bolt-upright position. Kicking off the covers, she jumped out of bed and danced in place, hugging herself against the cold. Holy shit. It was like an igloo. Teeth chattering, she hunted around for her bathrobe while the banging grew louder and more insistent. She found the robe hooked on the back of the door and pulled it on as she bounded down the stairs, the fuzz of sleep still enshrouding her brain.
“Keep your hair on,” she yelled at the impatient knocker. “I’m coming.”
She yanked open the door with a huff. Her irritation gave way to astonishment when she saw her A.W.O.L. merman standing on the porch looking remarkably un-blue and unfishlike. The blanket she’d taken him was draped around his hips like an old-style kilt. He’d used what looked like a braided length of kelp as a belt to secure the tartan cloth around his hips. Beneath the hemline were very human-looking calves, ankles, and bare feet.
He was taller than she’d assumed he’d be—about six-foot-one, by her calculations. Her gaze jumped to his bare chest, which was broad, muscular, hairless, and far too alluring for her to see him as anything but pure male animal—and an impressive example of the breed, to boot.
A wave of desire crashed in her loins as their gazes met. He touched her chin as softly as moonlight. As he tipped her face upward, her knees nearly collapsed. Their gazes met with a visceral spark. His eyes pulled her in, pulled her down. She was sinking, drowning, unable to breathe. She sensed he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. She wanted to say something, too, though her mind was suddenly blank. Even if she could form words, she’d never push them through her voided airways.
Tearing her gaze from his, she let it roam over his magnificent physique. What did he look like under that blanket? She had to know—for purely scientific purposes, of course.
“Would you like to come inside?” As raw lust overtook her reason, a seductive smile stole across her face. “I could give you another bath, if you feel so inclined.”
Eyes suddenly wild, he stepped across the threshold and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Jeh HAH oo? Jeh HAH oo?”
She neither understood the question nor knew how to respond. She broke away from his hold and made for the stairs. He followed, as she hoped he would. She wanted him to make love to her. Yes, it was an insane wish. He was a merman, for heaven’s sake and, with her career crumbling around her, the stupidest thing she could do was tumble into bed with someone she hardly knew—especially someone who was blue, half fish, and lived under the sea three-quarters of the year.
Still, good sense didn’t stop the wanting. In fact, for reasons she could only attribute to pheromone magnetism, she wanted Kew-in right now more than she’d ever wanted anyone.
She ducked into the room where she’d been asleep and hurried to the bookcase. Kew-in followed, saying nothing. She scanned the spines, found the Gaelic-English dictionary, and began to flip through the pages. He stood behind her, so near she could feel the warmth of his breaths on the back of her neck. His heady ocean scent enveloped her, making her dizzy with desire. Biting her lip against the urge to turn around and kiss him, she kept her focus on the book. In Gaelic, words didn’t sound the way they were spelled. Not to her ears, anyway. She looked up from the confounding pages as an idea glimmered. Was there any chance he could read? If so, maybe he could use the dictionary to tell her what he wanted.
Rounding on him, she pushed the book into his hands. He looked confused for a moment before his blue-green eyes brightened, letting her know he’d grasped the idea. He thumbed through the pages, flipped back and forth, and paused now and then to mouth silent sounds.
Despite her knotted stomach and raging hormones, Corey couldn’t help smiling at his enterprise.
Turning more pages, Kew-in stroked his chin, touched his lips, and furrowed his brow. God, he was gorgeous. When he lifted his gaze to hers, her breath caught as a hot bolt of need zapped her between the legs.
“What are you, Cordelia?”
Holy crap. He really had been soaking up the language. She took a step back and tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Are you human?”
She furrowed her brow. What was this about? “Of course, I am. What else would I be?”
He broke eye contact to consult the dictionary again, flipping pages. “Not nymph nor selkie nor mermaid?”
She released a tense laugh. “Not that I’m aware of.”
He moved closer and sniffed her hair. “You smell of the sea.”
“Not surprising,” she said, smirking, “given that I’ve spent a good part of the day on the beach.”
Frowning hard in concentration, he again referred to the book. After a moment, he looked up and stared at her intently. “Your mother was human?”<
br />
“I assume so.”
“What about your father? Was he not a sea god?”
Yesterday, she would have laughed at the question, but not today. Today, she was talking to a merman who’d learned the English language from a book in five minutes. Anything seemed possible. Even that Poseidon, Triton, Glauckos, Oceanus and a host of other fish-tailed deities might be out there fathering demigods.
“Let me see that.” She snatched the dictionary out of his webbed fingers—fingers she couldn’t wait to feel caressing her every erogenous zone.
Now, how the hell to communicate what she wanted? She tried looking up “sex,” but it wasn’t there.
Sexual intercourse? Not there, either.
Making love? Shit, still no luck.
What might a Gaelic-speaker call the act of copulation? Coitus, like Sheldon Cooper? Coupling? Mating? Spawning? She tried them all without success. Clearly, the authors of this dictionary did not want Hebrideans interbreeding with the English.
Giving up, she returned the dictionary to its place on the shelf. Screw verbiage. Words were overrated anyway. Taking his warm, webbed hand in hers, she lifted her face and puckered her lips.
He must have understood what she wanted because his mouth moved toward hers. Their lips met in a kiss that was gentle, but ripe with promise. He tasted wild and primitive—like the sea, the source of all life. She put her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in the strands of his hair, pulling his mouth harder against hers. He pressed his fingers into her back, drawing her pelvis to his. Even through the blanket he wore, she could feel he wanted her, too.
Breaking out of the kiss, he took hold of her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. Then, in shockingly perfect English, he said, “I believe you mentioned something about a bath. Why don’t we take one together?”
The idea had a lot of appeal. Sex appeal. Despite the special differences, she wanted him rather desperately. Kew-in reminded her of Jared, a guy she’d dated while at UCLA. He was a surfer with long, sun-bleached blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a little soul-patch goatee. He taught her to surf, painted her a picture of the ocean, and made love to her in the back of his van.
More importantly, he made her laugh and feel good about herself until, without explanation, he broke it off after they’d been going out a few months. The break-up, though amicable enough, had been crushing for Corey. A few months later, she ran into him on the pier. “I’m getting married,” he told her, “to someone I met at church. I’m a re-born Christian now, and go to Calvary Chapel three times a week.”
After they talked a little while longer, he invited her to the wedding. She went, thinking she could handle seeing him marry someone else. She couldn’t. Especially when he kissed her on the mouth in the receiving line.
No one since had made her feel the way Jared had when they were together, and she had started to believe no one ever would. But Kew-in did.
“Come on, then.”
Taking him by the hand, she led him into the bathroom with the claw-foot tub. As she ran the taps, he stood behind her, silent but acutely present. Noticing a jar of bath salts in a basket on the floor, she dumped some in. Within moments, a fresh, spa-like aroma filled the small room.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, an afterthought.
“I don’t,” he said. “The smell is…pleasing.”
Corey suddenly felt as nervous as a virgin. She didn’t know him, didn’t know what to expect. What if mermen had sex in some weird otherworldly way? As the tub filled, she laughed the idea off. She’d seen dolphins and orcas mate and, except for being underwater, the mechanics were pretty basic.
When the tub was full—though not so full it would overflow when both of them got in—she shut off the faucet and turned to face him. To her surprise and delight, he’d shed the kilt. Her gaze slid to his crotch. There was nothing there apart from the aperture she’d seen before.
He stood and gazed at her, his wide-set blue-green eyes smoldering with desire. Then, he stepped forward and peeled off her robe. Underneath, she wore only a long T-shirt. He took hold of the bottom and, without a word, peeled it off and cast it aside.
Suddenly self-conscious, she made to cover her breasts with her arms. He pushed them out of the way and stepped back to admire her. She flushed crimson and stared at his chest—a monument to masculine beauty.
“Ha oo boy-ach, Cordelia,” he said softly.
Heat flooded her face and parts lower down. “You’re not so bad yourself, Kew-in.”
Stepping up to her, he set a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. A thrilling charge shot through her body. Was it bio-chemistry or something more intangible working on her? She’d never believed there was magic in the world, but couldn’t say what was real anymore.
She set her hands on his chest. He, in turn, set his softly on her breasts. As they teased each other’s nipples, she lifted her face for his kiss. His lips met hers with a tenderness that made her ache inside. When he withdrew, she said, “Should we get in before the water gets cold?”
“I don’t mind cold water,” he said, grinning adorably, “but you probably do.”
He stepped past her and into the tub. Tiny birds fluttered in her stomach as she followed his lead, positioning herself between him and the faucet with her back to him. The water rose as they lowered their bodies in unison. The water was warm, soothing and smelled divine. She relaxed as he pulled her against his chest and placed his long legs over hers, knees bent.
He sniffed her hair. “You smell of the sea.”
“As I said before, I’ve been on the beach in the wind most of the day.”
“You do not smell as if you’ve been kissed by the sea,” he said, lips moving against her scalp. “You smell as if the sea is in your blood.”
His comment surprised her. “Do I?”
“Aye. Tell me about you mother, Cordelia.”
Her eyebrows puckered in confusion. It seemed an odd request under the circumstances. Talking about one’s mother wasn’t exactly a turn-on. “What do you wish to know?”
“Everything.”
Again, queer, but whatever. Nothing wrong with getting better acquainted before taking the plunge. She leaned back against him, fixed her gaze on the faucet, and said the first thing that came to mind. “She was a great storyteller. Every night, after tucking me in, she would sit on the edge of my bed and tell me all sorts of fantastic folktales. One of my favorites was the story of the Mester Stoor Worm, in which a gigantic white serpent threatened to destroy a seaside village. A shiftless farm boy named Assipattle finally kicked the worm’s ass.” She let out a laugh. “How funny is that? Assipattle.”
“I like your name, Cordelia.” He kissed her hair and ran his fingers down her arms. “It’s an old Celtic one meaning ‘daughter of the sea’.”
“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve always hated my name. It’s so formal and old-fashioned—the reason I go by Corey. My mom picked it, according to my father.”
“How did your parents meet?”
“They met in Orkney when my dad was working on a drilling platform. He was an engineer for Conch Oil, the same company I work for.”
Though I’m not sure for how much longer…
“How did your father meet her? What were the circumstances? Do you know?”
What she’d like to know was why he was so interested in her parents, but rather than ask, she answered him. His questions seemed harmless enough, and he was another species, so maybe this was just what merman talked about before getting intimate.
“I only know they met and married in Orkney.”
“How old were you when she drowned? No, let me guess. You were seven, and they never found her body. Am I right?”
Corey, astonished, turned to look at him. “How did you know that?”
Before he could answer, someone pounded on the door downstairs. Shit. Whoever it was had terrible timing. When she started to get up, he put his arms around her and
held her fast.
“Don’t answer it.”
“It might be important,” she protested. “I’ll just pop down and see what they want. You can stay here…but please don’t make a sound…or do anything to call attention to yourself.”
The visitor pounded again. Hard enough to shake the walls. Whoever it was clearly meant business. What if they wanted to come in? Worry swamped her chest. She couldn’t risk anyone finding her with Kew-in. Even if she could pass him off as human, she could never explain what she was doing in the bathtub with her cousin from Orkney.
Kew-in released his hold on her. She got up, stepped onto the mat, and, dripping everywhere, grabbed a towel off the pile on a nearby antique chair.
She dried hurriedly before slipping on her robe and heading downstairs. Pulling open the front door, she found MacInnes on the doorstep, his unshaven face gravid. She wanted to scream at him about intruding upon her privacy, but just stood there waiting.
When he started to speak, she held up her hand, silencing him. “Before you say anything, I think you should know I’m out of the loop. If you have questions, you need to go to the command center.”
“I’ve not come with questions,” he said. “I’ve come with news.”
She squinted at him. “What sort of news?”
“The captain is awake—and carrying on about storm kelpies being the cause of the accident.”
As a picture of Kew-in in the bathtub upstairs flashed through her mind, Corey gulped and forced a trivializing laugh from her throat. “Storm kelpies? How preposterous. Everybody knows there’s no such thing.”
“Not everybody.”
She arched a damp eyebrow. “Does that include you?”
“Let’s just say it’s not the first time the blue buggers have been blamed for a sinking in these waters.”