Heart of the Sea

by Sela Carsen

  “Whatever, Ronan. I’m still hungry.” His jaw set again and she smiled at him. “And naked under the towel.” She let it slip just a bit off one shoulder.

  “Witch.”

  “No. Halichoerus grypus.” He looked at her blankly. “Gray seal.” Ronan turned and stalked away from her, offering a surprisingly nice view of taut muscles moving under his jeans. With no shirt on, his back was beautiful. Tanned and smooth, a symphony of muscular control.

  Meriel stomped her feet hard on the sand mat to get rid of her gooey, girly thoughts and stepped in. The blinds and curtains were all drawn, leaving the house in dismal shadow despite the bright sun. A haphazard array of shabby furniture littered the floor. Nothing in the little house spoke of wealth or privilege, or even comfort.

  “Ronan?” she called, the sound falling dead.

  Footsteps pounded on the naked wood floors. “Get dressed.”

  He threw a pile of clothes at her. A wrinkled blue polo shirt and jeans worn almost white smacked her in the face. Meriel tucked the towel under her armpits to keep it from falling while she sorted out her new wardrobe. He stood, obviously waiting for her to make the comment that was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it and smiled sweetly instead.

  “Thank you, Ronan.”

  He grunted at her and headed through another set of doors. She followed him.

  The tiny kitchen was clean, aside from what appeared to be this morning’s breakfast congealing in a puddle of milk in the sink. The coffee pot was still full and hot.

  “What are you looking at?” he demanded. “I said, get dressed.”

  She placed a hand to her brow—a precarious move because she had only a tenuous grip on both the towel and the fresh clothing—and slathered on her thickest Southern accent.

  “I do declare, your gentlemanly ways will make me swoon.” Her normal voice returned as she stood straight. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  He brushed by her on his way out of the kitchen and she followed, expecting him to point her to a powder room in the hall, but the door he opened surprised her.

  The stripped simplicity of its furnishings couldn’t detract from the beauty of the room. Green sprigged wallpaper and a plain white bed frame left it fresh and lovely despite a thick layer of dust. He stood in the doorway and pointed inside.

  “There’s a shared bathroom there.”

  Meriel had to slide past him to step into the room, leaving a scant few inches between them. His bare torso, muscled and rough, radiated heat, anger and bitterness.

  She paused, confused. “Ronan, I don’t—”

  “Then don’t.” He cut her off. “Get some clothes on and come back to the kitchen.” He closed the door when he left.

  Chapter Four

  He had a Selkie in his house.

  A Selkie who didn’t seem to have any problem with nudity. It had been way too long since he’d gotten laid and suddenly sex was at the front of his mind. With a Selkie. That wasn’t bestiality, was it?

  Nah. She was cursed, not born. She was human. Oh baby, was she human. She had exactly the kind of body he liked. Little and curvy in all the right places. Not board straight and not Barbie silicone. She was also a natural brunette. Cuffs and collars definitely matched. He stared down at the cutting board and couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing.

  “Can I help?” Her voice startled him out of his reverie and instead of slicing the tomato in front of him, he cut into his finger.

  She rushed over and grabbed it before he could put it in his mouth. “Don’t do that. Here.” She grabbed a paper towel and pressed it tightly to the wound. She’d brushed her teeth and washed her face, the familiar scents going straight to his head. “Let me look at it.”

  “Haven’t you done enough?” he said. His shirt swallowed her. She’d pinned a heavy, dark brooch on her shoulder. It tickled his memory, but he dismissed it. There were more interesting things to see. The two buttons she’d left open on the shirt would have been modest from a foot or two away, but standing as they were, the vee offered a clear line of sight down her cleavage. Her unbound cleavage.

  Ronan pulled away from her and went to the sink, aching from the cut and the sudden hard-on.

  “You go wash that out and put a bandage on it. I’ll slice the tomatoes.” He nodded, too tired to fight for the moment.

  He went into the bathroom and found a bandage in the medicine cabinet. His finger throbbed in time with his dick, but he ignored it. Ronan glanced into the mirror when he was done and actually looked at himself for the first time in years. Jesus. It was a wonder he hadn’t scared her to death. He needed a shave. And a haircut. And some Visine. His eyes were so red from both his hangover and his seawater dunking that they glowed demonically.

  He reached for the shaving cream, but drew back his hand. Was he seriously considering shaving for this woman? Hell no. He narrowed his eyes at his reflection and ran a hand over his chin. The stubble really didn’t suit him. He’d tried a beard before, but it grew in patchy. He should shave anyway. So the guys at the shop wouldn’t tease him about his crap beard.

  But not for a woman. Besides, she wouldn’t notice. She didn’t even like him. And he didn’t like her. He splashed his face with water and started rubbing on the shaving foam.

  When he got back, Ronan watched as she assembled sandwiches out of the few things he had in the fridge. She scraped up the last of the mayonnaise and, without turning around, asked, “Where’s your list?”

  “My what?”

  “Your grocery list. You’re out of…” Meriel finally looked over at him and her next word was garbled. Ronan’s face felt naked, like he’d scraped off a layer of armor with his stubble. He also felt like an idiot and had to make a conscious effort not to cover his cheeks while she stared at him. After another moment, she blinked and took a deep breath.

  “You’re out of mayo. I was going to write it on the list so next time you go shopping, you don’t forget.”

  He shaved for this? His temper snapped. “How can you do this? How can you make sandwiches after everything you did to me?”

  “I didn’t do anything to you, Ronan.” She slapped a sandwich down on the plate. “I don’t know what happened here, but let me tell you what happened to me. I fell off a damned cliff. Off. A. Cliff. The only cliff on the southern tip of Rhode Island, in fact. Why can’t you live on the beach like everyone else?” Meriel paced the galley kitchen, picking up the sandwich fixings and putting them away. Bread into the breadbox. Tomatoes into a bowl on the counter.

  “I hit the water and I nearly drowned. I was a breath away from death, Ronan. This life I have is a blessing given to me by a curse, so I don’t know if I should be grateful or miserable. But I’ll tell you what. If you’re what it’s like to be miserable, I’ll take gratitude.”

  Pickles, roast beef and cheese in the fridge.

  “When I woke up, I wasn’t even human anymore. I was a seal. There is no possible way to explain that to you. Iona, another Selkie, taught me everything I needed to know about surviving in the ocean, but she can’t help me with the curse I live under.” She put the lettuce into the crisper and slammed the refrigerator door. A bottle of milk inside the fridge rattled ominously, but didn’t crash.

  “The ocean gave me this brooch to save you and told me it was magic. Because of it, because of you, I can be human for a day. Iona told me to use this time to figure out how to break the curse, but now you’ve gone and screwed me over yet again.”

  “Me? What did I do?” Ronan rose to tower over her. Everything was out of control and he needed to win at something. Even if it was just being bigger.

  “I saved your hide and in return you took mine, you jerk!” She didn’t back down from him, even when he stood an inch away with her hard nipples brushing his chest. The arousal that hadn’t completely died down sprang back to life. He grabbed her arms and pulled her flush against him.

  “That’s right. Hate me. Hate me as much as I hate you.” Ronan�
�s gaze roamed her face, watching her blush suddenly, feeling the shudder that racked her body. She didn’t pull away.

  “I…I don’t hate you, Ronan.” Her soft breath warmed his jaw, whispered in his ear.

  “I don’t hate you, either.” He kissed her. He had to. If he didn’t kiss her, his head would explode. Or some other part of him. And she was so sweet. Even under the toothpaste, she tasted of the wild sea—of sights he’d never seen and places he’d never go. Not without her to guide him.

  Ronan delved deeper, groaning when she opened to him, when her tongue rolled against his, softening the kiss that had begun too harshly. He let go the grip of his hands and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close, pulling her up to his height. She came willingly. Her fingers fluttered over his shoulders, wound into his hair.

  His palms slid down her slender back until he filled his hands with her ass and lifted her so he could grind himself into the niche of her thighs. A gasp of shock left her, but he smothered it with his mouth.

  Ronan nipped lightly at her and paused to gauge her reaction. She opened her eyes and smiled wickedly, her mouth wet and glistening, before she swooped back in and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, returning the nip.

  Perfect. Because what was pleasure without pain to remind them of the heights?

  Ronan tugged at her legs until Meriel wrapped herself around his hips, then he walked them to the kitchen counter. Now she had the freedom to touch him and she indulged herself. His chest wasn’t completely smooth, but had a sprinkling of dark hair that made a perfect shadowy triangle in the center. She spread her hands over it until she felt his nipples with her little fingers. Nipples. God, she wanted his hands on her breasts so badly she actually whined in eagerness.

  He got the hint and pulled at her shirt until he finally touched her skin. She arched into him and hissed in a breath at the heated contact. His palms were rough and calloused, not what she expected of a business man, but she didn’t care to pursue that rabbit trail. Not while his strong fingers stroked her spine, spanned her waist, slid up to the valley between her breasts. Teasing her with his touch while she squirmed for it.

  Meriel tore her mouth away from his and put her plea into her eyes. He knew what she wanted. She could read it in his feral grin. But he asked anyway.

  “Tell me, Selkie. Tell me what you want.” His fingertips danced up her sides, almost touching her aching flesh, but then skittering away.

  She whimpered. He put his hands around her waist, cupping the swell of her ribcage. “Tell me, Meriel.”

  Two could play this game, she thought, understanding his ploy for dominance. But she didn’t have a submissive personality, so she retaliated. She dragged her hands down his back, fingernails leaving a light trail, and he shuddered hard, his eyes dilating with pleasure. When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she kept going until she slipped her hands into his back pockets and squeezed. He flexed, his jaw set as hard as the erection he rocked against her, and she grinned at him.

  “Touch me, Ronan.”

  And he did. He put his hands under her tender, aching breasts and lifted, pressing them together. He flicked her nipples with his thumbs and she choked back her cry of pleasure.

  “Don’t hold back. Scream for me.” He put his mouth over hers again and swallowed her next sob. Over and over, he caressed her, tracing each inch of skin, pulling and tugging at her nipples until they were swollen and hard enough to cut glass.

  He pulled the shirt over her head in one smooth tug, and the press of breast to chest made her moan. They had passed coherent speech long ago and it took her a moment to understand when he muttered, “Need you,” in a voice harsh with desire.

  Not smart. Meriel knew that. Screw smart. She needed him, too.

  “Yes.” She nodded against his neck, reaching down to pop open the button on his jeans. He did the same to her, lifting her to yank them out from under her bottom. Their pants landed in a heap with her shirt. He hadn’t provided underwear and she’d already realized that he was going commando, so nothing impeded them when he stepped between her thighs again. Nothing.

  Meriel’s eyes went wide.

  “Condom,” she squeaked against his mouth.

  “Clean,” he mumbled, pulling her hips to the bare edge of the counter.

  “Me, too.” The head of his penis, broad and smooth, slid up and down the wetness that seeped from her body, readying them both for his entry. Muscles long denied ached as her brain flickered.

  “Pregnant,” she moaned. That made him pull back. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder.

  “Shit.” They were both breathing hard, and every time they inhaled, his chest hair abraded her nipples. “Not on the pill?”

  “I’ve been a seal for seven years, Ronan. It hasn’t been an issue.” He had the strength to chuckle and she was grateful for the sound. Carefully, he rearranged himself before pulling her into a tight hug. He felt so good, solid and warm, snuggled up against her. Her breathing slowed as sanity returned.

  “You haven’t had sex in seven years?”

  “Please don’t remind me right now.” She wanted him so much her whole body thrummed as if she’d walked into an electric fence.

  “I still want you.” His voice rumbled through her and her skin absorbed the vibration.

  “I know.” There was more she wanted to say, but now that the heat had dimmed, she couldn’t push herself past her sudden shyness to do it.

  “You want me?” Ronan’s face was carefully neutral when she looked at him. Too neutral. This was a man whose emotions had been boiling over the rim a few minutes ago, so she wasn’t fooled. And it was a little late for her to be bashful. She was sitting naked on a kitchen counter, for Pete’s sake.

  “Yes, I do. But…”

  “Yeah. I know.” He stepped back and the cold that had vanished when he held her in his arms returned. Ronan bent down to grab his jeans and her shirt and, although she knew they had done the right thing by stopping, the sight of his trim, rangy form made her body clench.

  He handed her the shirt, but stopped her with a hand on her breast, cupping the weight of her.

  “We’ll do this, Meriel. We’ll finish this soon.”

  She nodded, trembling at his touch, before he turned away to tug his pants on.

  “I have to get to work,” he said, facing the sunny window. He couldn’t look at her. She’d finally put the shirt on, but now that he knew, intimately, what lay under it, his control danced at the end of a thin thread.

  “At Burbank? How long does it take to get to the city at this hour?”

  “There is no Burbank Industries anymore, Mer.” He shortened her name automatically, liking the way it felt on his tongue. “I had to sell it off, piece by piece. The only thing left is the boat yard, and it’s in hock up to the mainsail.”

  Ronan looked down at his fingers. He hadn’t had a manicure in years and he didn’t miss them. He’d earned each callus, each nick and scrape, and he was proud of the history on his hands now.

  Meriel hopped off the counter and slid her jeans—his jeans—up her hips. He’d started to calm down, but his body hardened again as he recalled the path his hands had traced there. She had great legs. Muscled and firm. He shook his head.

  The touch of her fingers on his arm startled him. “You build racing boats now?”

  Ronan couldn’t trust his voice, so he nodded shortly.

  “Do you like it?”

  He shrugged. Like. Not like. It’s what he did now.

  “Are you good at it?” He glanced around and she had a shrewd smirk on her face. Ronan barked out a laugh. She’d hit the right button. He pushed himself to be good at everything. He hated to fail, or even worse, be only mediocre at what he tried.

  “Think you know me, do you?”

  “Not really, Ronan.” She sighed and turned on the tap to wash her hands. She had such graceful fingers, long and slender. They hadn’t eaten their sandwiches, so she wrapped them in plastic w
rap. “You want to take this with you?”

  He nodded, watching with growing curiosity. She did things that needed to be done. She didn’t ask, she didn’t wait. Meriel was a lot like him in some ways. She found lunch-sized paper bags in a cupboard and tossed in a baggie full of chips and the last apple from the crisper.

  “That ought to hold you.” He stood out of her way as she wiped down the counters, pausing at the spot where she’d been sitting a short while ago.

  “So you’ll be staying, then?” he asked.

  Meriel nodded. “You have my skin. I’m bound to you until you return it to me.”

  Her skin? That’s what this housewifely industriousness was about? Ronan’s body went cold with betrayal. He grabbed her arm and swung her around, but his anger clashed with shock when she flinched away. He might be furious, but she was afraid. Of him.

  “Don’t do that, Meriel. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Then let go.” He did, opening his hand abruptly. It sickened him that she thought him capable of harming her. Then he remembered the episode on the beach and realized that she was right.

  “God, Mer. I’m sorry. I…I have to go.”

  She nodded, her face closed, and he missed her. Missed her smile, missed her response to him. “Hey, if you need to go out, there’s a bike in the garage.”

  Meriel nodded again and opened her mouth to say something, then hesitated before she finally spoke. “I may do some grocery shopping.”

  Immediately, he pulled out his wallet and all his cash. All fifty-two dollars of it. He’d put himself on a pay schedule like everyone else in the shop and that was what he had left until Friday.

  “Keep it, Ronan. I told you before, money’s not a problem.”

  “Not a problem? Money’s the only problem I’ve got.”

  “I doubt that. But it’s one of the odd-ball benefits of being a Selkie. All the treasures of the sea are mine for the asking. Nothing useful like clothes when I ask for them, or granting me freedom from this curse, but I can have all of these I want.” She opened her palm and where there had been nothing but smooth skin a moment ago, now half a dozen Spanish doubloons glittered dully, caked with the patina of centuries and the residue of the ocean.