Caught By Surprise
Sandra Paul
He'd make her pay……for luring him to her ship and having her men imprison him. Yes, the beautiful American had sealed her fate, for Saegar, the royal prince of Pacifica, would claim Beth Livingston as his wife, brand her with his passion and make her his forever….What had her father's crew discovered? Whoever–whatever–he was, Beth knew the prisoner with the chiseled face and chest of a Roman warrior directed his anger at her, and if she didn't convince her father to release him, she would one day feel the full wrath of his fury–and his heart's desires….
Long ago and far away…
…there was a world filled with light and laughter and love. But quakes buried the land below the sea. Slowly the people adapted to their new world. But a civil war broke out, forcing the king of Pacifica to send his four children far away, each with a guardian and a piece of the royal seal.
Twenty-five years later, it was time for the siblings to be reunited—and reclaim what was lost. Saegar, the royal prince of Pacifica, had only vague memories of his homeland. Now he was ready to return, but first he must answer the call of a maiden in distress….
A Tale of the Sea
MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE by Carla Cassidy
IN DEEP WATERS by Melissa McClone
CAUGHT BY SURPRISE by Sandra Paul
FOR THE TAKING by Lilian Darcy
Caught by Surprise
Sandra Paul
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedicated to all the wonderful and resilient women of New York, especially those at Silhouette. You guys are the best.
SANDRA PAUL
married her high school sweetheart and they live in Southern California with their three children, their dog and their cat.
She loves to travel, even if it’s just several trips a month to her hometown bookstore. Bookstores are her favorite place to be.
Her first book with Silhouette Romance was the winner of RWA Golden Heart Award and a finalist for an RWA RITA
Award.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Prologue
They were hot on his tail.
Pushing aside his growing desperation, he concentrated on escape. His powerful arms sliced through the cold sea while his leanly muscled lower body enhanced each butterfly stroke with a graceful, curving thrust. Ignoring the burning in his lungs, he kept his head down, unwilling to waste the millisecond it would take to draw a breath.
He gained a yard. Then another. He was fast—very fast. But he’d be a fool to believe he could outrace a motorboat forever. Nor would the men chasing him give up. Their greedy excitement vibrated the air above him as clearly as the boat’s motor vibrated the water.
He had to dive, quickly and deeply. Only in the dark, endless depths could he evade them. Another stroke, another slight gain. The rough, salty water flowed along his body like an icy caress. It was now or never. He soared higher to steepen his plunge—
And they struck. Fiery pain pierced his shoulder. He jerked, managed to break loose from the jagged steel, but failed to escape the net that followed.
Fiercely he fought the tangling strands. If he’d had his knife, he could have cut himself free as he’d once done to escape a patch of tenacious seaweed in the soft surf near his home. But his knife lay on the sandy ocean floor, and the clingy web tightened with each desperate twist that he gave.
He would have kept struggling, courting death, if death would have helped his people. But it wouldn’t. Dead or alive, his capture would prove their existence and send more greedy men out on the hunt.
So he stilled, conserving his energy as they hauled him to the surface. He almost welcomed the raw burn from the ropey twine scraping his skin; the sharp, pulsing fire from the wound in his shoulder. Pain would keep him alert. Anger would keep him focused.
He kept his expression blank as the fading sunlight glinted over his body, but inwardly he cursed the men staring at him with fearful fascination in their eyes. Even more, he cursed himself for the relentless curiosity that had driven him to gamble with his freedom.
But most of all, he cursed the pale-limbed female with the flowing brown hair who had lured him too close to danger. From the bow of her ship, she’d signaled for help using the ancient gestures of his people.
And he vowed revenge.
Chapter One
The combination lock on the hold door took forever to undo, and once inside, the slick railing of the spiraling staircase felt cold and clammy beneath Beth’s palm. She should have changed out of her heels into canvas deck shoes, she realized belatedly as she slowly descended into the ship’s hold. The metal steps were slippery. She certainly should have changed her evening dress for something more practical. The delicate blue silk would be ruined if sea water—or heaven forbid, fish bait or something equally disgusting—should happen to touch its gleaming folds.
Carefully holding her skirt away from the damp metal, Beth took another cautious step down—then gasped as the ship suddenly pitched. Clutching at the railing with both hands, she kept her balance. Barely. But when the ship rolled a second time her stomach went right along with it.
“Oh, darn, not again,” she groaned, shutting her eyes. She hated it when a storm drew near, triggering her sea-sickness. In fact, she hated the sea entirely with its endless up and down, up and down motion and the scary mystery of its dark, cold depths. If it was up to her, she’d remain on dry land every second of her life, she decided, as the ship heaved once again.
But it wasn’t up to her—not entirely. Because her father loved the sea and Carl T. Livingston was a certifiable genius who’d made enough from his biotechnological discoveries to indulge his every whim, including buying the huge, costly ship The Searcher. Unfortunately, his whims included putting a saltwater tank down in the hold of the vessel—a massive tank with a powerful pump, more than adequate to contain whatever creature his crew might capture for him to study.
Swallowing hard to force down her nausea, Beth opened her eyes and took another slow step downward. She wasn’t anxious to discover what they’d caught this time. She always felt sorry for the sea animals the men scooped up for her father to examine. Dolphins, seals—once even a small octopus so confused by its confinement that it had huddled near the tank bottom, futilely grasping the small rock it had been clinging to when the men had prodded it into their net. The little octopod had refused to swim around; it had refused to eat. And before Beth could convince her father to release it, the baby octopus had died.
Pushing aside the memory, she slowly kept going, wrinkling her nose as the pungent odors of machine oil and brine rose up to greet her. She hoped this new creature didn’t die. Especially since she’d been the one to cause its capture.
She hadn’t meant to. She’d been standing on the bow of the ship the previous evening, fighting the urge to vomit, when her father’s assistant had joined her.
She hadn’t wanted company, and certainly not Ralph Lesborn’s. Not that Ralph was unattractive. Tall and in his early thirties, Ralph’s thick, reddish-blond hair was always neatly combed, and beneath his classically straight nose, a stylishly thin mustache outlined his full mouth.
Beth had been pleased for her dad when Ralph had agreed to come work aboard The Searcher a couple of months ago, but lately Ralph had developed the tendency to stand too close; it made her uneasy. And uneasiness was the last thing she wanted to feel when her stomach was already doing somersaults.
Sure enough, Ralph had crowded next to her by the rail. The sickly sweet smell of the cologne he favored caught in her throat, and the flattery he murmured in her ear made her feel sicker than the biggest heaving wave. Perhaps because he considered himself a gourmet, Ralph’s compliments always seemed to involve food. She managed not to gag at the one about her eyes being as green as spinach—they were blue, for heaven’s sake—but when he’d cooed something about her long hair being the same color as the bran muffins he ate each morning, she’d been sure she’d lose it all over his hand-made leather shoes.
She was rolling her eyes in revulsion when she’d glimpsed a golden tail fin flip up out in the water. Hoping to distract Ralph from her bran muffin hair, she’d pointed to the strange fish in the distance.
The ploy had worked. Ralph had stiffened—red mustache quivering, long eyes narrowing—looking remarkably like a cat who’d spotted a fish in a bowl. “No…I don’t believe it. My God, it is!” he’d muttered almost beneath his breath. Then he’d hurried away to gather two of the crew, who’d quickly lowered the speedboat into the water and taken off.
Beth hadn’t stayed to watch as they’d chased the poor thing down. Sending up a silent prayer for its escape, she’d slipped away to the stuffy sanctuary of her room.
But unfortunately, they had caught the creature. Her father had refused to tell her what it was when they’d dined together earlier, but his excitement had been almost palpable. Only by promising to go see it herself and report right back to him, had she managed to dissuade him from trying to leave his bed.
Yep, the hold gave her the creeps, but there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for her father these days, Beth reflected, grimacing as her foot slipped again. Precarious was the word the doctors had used six months ago when discussing Carl’s health after his latest heart attack. He seemed to fall victim to every virus going around, and just this week, had been laid up with the flu.
Not only was his physical health failing, but his mental health seemed to be deteriorating as well. Her heart ached as his once agile mind struggled to separate reality from illusion. She fought despair as he insisted on relentlessly searching the seas for the mythical beings that only existed in his confused brain.
She had long given up trying to make him abandon his hunt. All she wanted anymore was for him to be happy. So she wore evening gowns during their early dinners every day just to see a faint look of pleasure on his gaunt face. She tried to appreciate Ralph and his ridiculous, food-related compliments. And if her father wanted her to look at his mysterious fish and report back to him, then that’s what she would do.
Finally reaching the last step, she paused to glance over at the tank and the massive filter pump humming beside it. She’d hoped to check the fish out from the staircase. Since the tank was constructed of the same clear, indestructible acrylic as those used at public aquariums, she could usually see through it quite easily. But not this time.
The lighting wasn’t the problem. The electric lamps scattered along the walls couldn’t erase the shadows in the cavernous room, but a porthole cut high near the ceiling provided more than enough light to see. Even this late in the afternoon, the sunlight shone down through the thick, round window just like a spotlight, sparkling on the water below.
No, the real problem had been caused by the sea animal. It had churned the water—already disturbed by the pitching of the ship—into such a foaming whirlpool that only brief glimpses of its golden tail could be seen as it glided past.
“Darn it,” she muttered, making a face. “I’ll have to get closer.”
Lifting her skirt higher, she made her way across the slimy floor, carefully stepping around the biggest wet patches. “What on earth is in there?” she wondered aloud as she neared the tank. She paused a couple yards away, trying to peer through the frothing water. Not a dolphin, she decided. Nor a seal, either.
It had to be some kind of shark.
She wasn’t quite sure why she thought so. She’d certainly never heard of a golden shark. Yet, there was something about the way the creature moved, a lethal menace in its sensuous glide through the water, that reminded her irresistibly of those deadly sea predators.
A sudden thought made her pulse leap. Could it be a mutant shark, maybe? Now that would be a discovery—maybe a big enough discovery to restore her father’s reputation.
Budding hope replaced her reluctance. Moving right up to the side of the tank, she strained to see through the thick acrylic. A low, wooden platform hovered only a few feet over the surface of the water, but no way was she climbing up on that. With her luck, she’d fall in and the big fish would chomp her to bits.
The creature whipped by again. Her skin prickled, but she ignored her body’s instinctive reaction to the danger the shark represented, refusing to back away. It couldn’t get her here, after all—it was trapped in the tank. Besides, maybe it wasn’t a shark but just a large tuna or an oversize sea bass. Anxious to find out, she wiped off the condensation that had built on the walls with her palm, creating a small clear circle. Again the creature swept past. Again, all she caught was a blur of movement. “Darn! What is it?”
Determined not to miss it again, she flattened her nose against the tank—and froze.
“Good heavens!” A man was in there with the creature! Floating right before her eyes, less than two feet away!
His dark hair billowed out gently in the water creating an incongruously soft frame for a profile that wasn’t soft at all. High cheekbones, a bony jaw, an imperious high-bridged nose—the dominant cast of his features gave him the look of a Roman warrior. But his golden, suntanned skin, his broad, muscular shoulders—those were pure California surfer.
She gestured frantically to get his attention. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” she demanded, her throat tight with alarm. “There’s a giant, scary—something—in there! You have to get out!”
She knocked on the tank and he turned his head. Beth sucked in a breath as his gaze locked with hers. His eyes… Never before had she seen such mesmerizing eyes. They were blue. Not an indeterminate blue like her own, but rather a true midnight. So dark as to appear almost black. So fathomless, she could feel the fine hairs prickle on the back of her neck as he looked deep into her soul.
For endless seconds they stared at each other through the slowly surging water. Then she wrenched her gaze away, swallowing to ease her dry throat.
He simply continued to watch her, not appearing concerned at all. Was he some kind of daredevil perhaps? Or a Greenpeace activist? Who was he? Not that it mattered, she thought in rising panic. Whoever he was, he had to get out of that tank before the mutant shark got him!
Her growing alarm must have been reflected on her face, because for the barest second, his enigmatic expression changed. Was it disdain—contempt?—that flashed across his face? Beth couldn’t be sure…and she forgot the question as he slowly swept his hand downward.
Instinctively, she followed the movement. Her gaze drifted down past his broad shoulders to his muscular chest, lingered for a second on the silver medallion lying against his golden skin, then dropped even lower to his washboard stomach and lean masculine hips. They were encased in some kind of odd, glittery suit, she realized, as he shifted slightly. A scaled suit. A golden scaled suit that covered his legs, his ankles, even his feet and ended in a…
Tail?
The mutant’s tail—golden and glittering. But not a mutant shark’s as she’d first surmised, but rather a mutant man’s. A mythical man described in ancient legends, the kind of being her father had been hunting for years. To be precise, a creature who was half fish, half human.
A merman.
Chapter Two
No— Yes! It couldn’t be…but it was! The evidence was floating right before her eyes. Beth felt dazed, unable to look away from that unbelievable tail. Logic and disbelief warred in her brain, freezing her in place. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
But he could. Her wide gaze grew even wider as the man—the fish—the whatever he was—suddenly shot to the surface of the tank. He hovered there a moment looking down at her…then turned and slapped his tail, sending a large wave lapping over the side.
Drenching Beth completely.
“Omigosh!” The shock of the icy water broke her paralysis. She turned to run, almost tripping over the sodden skirt of her gown as she stumbled back toward the staircase. She lost one shoe, then the other. She didn’t care. Not about that or how slimy the floor felt. Or the way the cold metal steps seemed to burn her bare feet as she scampered up them. Sheer blind panic—triggered by a primitive fear of the unknown—had her in its grip. All she cared about was getting away from that fish-man. Out of the gloom to safety.
She’d almost reached the top of the staircase when something grabbed her dress, yanking her to a halt. Him? Free of the tank? Her heart jumped into her throat. Clinging to the rail for support, she glanced behind her.
Her skirt had snagged on a rusty screw.
With a gasp of relief, she tore free. She fell, bruising her knee, but immediately scrambled up and kept going, running out the door, slamming it behind her. She took two steps—then paused.
The lock. She’d promised her father she’d relock the door.
Whirling around, she spun the combination until it clicked to a halt, then hurried off to her father’s stateroom. She tried to walk, but her steps kept quickening until at last—finally!—she burst through his door.
Carl Livingston stared at her across an expanse of plush maroon carpet. Alarm flashed across his gaunt face, and he struggled to sit up in his bed. “Elizabeth! My goodness, child, you’re all wet!”
Then he saw her expression. He stilled, leaning on his elbow with his eyes fixed on hers. “So it’s true—Ralph wasn’t mistaken.” His voice sounded oddly hushed. “We caught a mermaid.”
Beth shivered. “Actually,” she said, wrapping her arms around her waist to still her shaking, “you caught a mermale.”
Light flared in Carl’s sunken eyes. For a few precious seconds wonder eased the lines of suffering around his mouth and brow. “I knew they were out there,” he declared almost dreamily, his thin cheeks flushing with rare color. “I first sighted one in these very waters—a beautiful female with long, dark hair floating on the waves. Nearly twenty years ago it was, only a few months after your mother died…” His voice trailed off on the final sentence. A spasm of pain crossed his features and he fell back against the pillows, coughing.
Beth glanced around the room, and realized her father’s nurse must have gone to the galley for her dinner break. “I’ll go get Anne,” she said, turning back toward the door.
Carl’s voice stopped her. “No,” he wheezed, still coughing sporadically, but shaking his head. “Stay here. We need to talk.”
Beth leaned against the doorjamb. Pushing her wet hair back from her face with a trembling hand, she forced her own breathing to slow while she waited for her father’s coughing spell to stop.
Carl’s paroxysm finally eased. He rested for a few moments against the pillow, staring up at the mahogany-paneled ceiling. Then he turned his head to look at her again. The color in his face had faded, but his gaze still held the glittering sharpness it used to have whenever one of his theories had proven correct as he asked, “How did he look?”
Beth stared back at him unseeingly, images whirling in her mind. A bronzed, muscular chest. Shimmering, golden scales. “Incredible,” she whispered. Hard-edged features and a dark, fathomless gaze. “Dangerous,” she added with a shudder. “Dad, that merman is very, very angry.”
She jumped as Ralph spoke from behind her. “Please, keep your voice down, Elizabeth,” he admonished her. With a murmured apology, he brushed past her into the room, closing the door deliberately behind him. “We want to keep the merman’s existence a secret for the time being.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “A secret! The whole crew must know about him by now.”
Ralph shook his head. “No, they don’t. Even the captain has no idea what we’ve captured. Only you, your father, and the Delano brothers know what’s actually in the tank. After we netted our find, I wrapped him up in canvas before we brought him back to the ship. Oh, the rest of the men probably know we’ve snared something of interest,” he admitted, “but who among them would ever suspect the truth?”
“I knew that one day we’d find one,” Carl declared with pride in his voice. “It was just a matter of time.”
“And you were right, sir,” Ralph agreed fervently. His pale eyes lit with excitement as he added, “Think of the coverage, the attention, this will garner when it hits the media. A live merman! We’ll be famous!”
Nausea twisted in Beth’s stomach. She didn’t want to be famous. She just wanted that merman off the ship. Back in the sea where he belonged before he did something more dangerous than splashing her.
“But he hates being in that tank,” she protested, glancing from Ralph to her father. “He threw water all over me!”
“An accident, I’m sure,” Ralph told her. “If anything he’s probably just playful. Apt to splash a bit if one gets too close…” His gaze swept over her, and disapproval thinned his full mouth. “As you apparently did.”
Glancing down, Beth realized what a mess she was. Her gown was ruined; her bra showed clearly through the wet material. Crossing her arms protectively across her chest, she opened her mouth to argue, but Ralph cut her off with a wave of his stocky hand.
“You’ve had a shock,” he said in a soothing tone that merely annoyed her. “Let me get you a towel. You’re dripping all over your father’s carpet.” Without waiting for her answer, he headed into the adjoining bathroom.
He’s worried about the carpet? Beth thought in amazement. When there was a merman down in the hold?
“Listen to me,” she insisted, watching him through the open door. “That merman is really upset.”
“Nonsense, Elizabeth. You’re the one who’s upset.” Ralph opened a cupboard and reached inside. “The merman doesn’t have real emotions. Not like people do.”
She stared at him in surprise. “You can’t know that.”
“Of course I can. I’ve been observing him most of the day,” Ralph informed her as he came back into the room. “We’ve made numerous efforts to communicate, but the creature hasn’t responded at all—not even on the most primitive level. He can’t understand a thing.”
“If anyone should know, Ralph should,” her father reminded her. “His expertise is working with sea mammals.”
“But he hasn’t worked with mermen—no one has,” Beth pointed out. “And I’m sure the merman understands something at least. Why, he’s wearing some kind of medallion around his neck. Would a fish do that?”
Amusement caused Ralph’s mustache to twitch. “Sometimes. I’ve trained dolphins to slide chains around their necks, after all. Perhaps he picked it up from the bottom of the ocean and slipped it on. Chimps put things around their necks, too. Even in the wild.”
“But he’s not a dolphin or a chimp! He’s half-human—”
“Shush, you’re getting all excited.” Draping the towel around her, Ralph brought the ends together beneath her chin and looked down into her face. “Don’t be deceived by appearances,” he chided softly. “It’s not a man, just a fish. With no more sensibility than a cichlid in a bowl.”
His thick knuckles nudged her chin, encouraging her to meet his eyes. Aware of her father watching, Beth forced herself to do so. Ralph’s pale eyes looked sincere, confident. Her worry eased a little…yet refused to disappear completely. The merman had looked so—so intense.
She stepped away, forcing Ralph to release his grip. Clutching the towel closer around her, she turned back to her father. “Even a fish can feel pain.”
Carl smiled reassuringly at her. “Of course they can, my dear. But he’s not in pain…or at least—” he hesitated, glancing at his assistant “—did you tend to that wound yet, Ralph?”
“No, not yet, sir.”
“He’s hurt?” Beth glanced at Ralph in concern. “Where? I didn’t see anything.”
“It’s on his back. High up on his shoulder. Rather minor, in my opinion.”
“How did it happen?”
Ralph shrugged, spreading his hands in puzzlement. “Who knows? Maybe he scraped himself on some coral. Or possibly got bitten by another fish. It’s hard to say until I have a chance to examine the injury more closely.”
He glanced over at her father as he added, “I’ll have to contain him in a smaller crate in order to do that, sir. We’ll get right on it tomorrow. I thought it would be best to give him a chance to settle down in the tank today. To acclimate himself to his new environment.”
Carl nodded with approval. “Good idea.”
“Yes, that is a good idea,” Beth agreed. “If the wound needs attention, then take care of it. And after that…” Taking a deep breath, she resolutely met her father’s eyes. “Well, after that, I think you should let him go.”
“Let him go!” Carl’s incredulous tones cut off Ralph’s exclamation of protest. He stared at his daughter in amazement. “Elizabeth, do you realize what you’re asking?”
She clasped her hands tightly together. “I know this has been your lifelong quest—”
“Not just my quest—the quest of every man throughout history who’s ever glimpsed the creatures,” Carl said, his voice rising sharply. “The Greeks—the Romans. Even Captain John Smith spied a mermaid in 1614 when he reached the coast of Maine. But I am the first—the very first man in thousands of years—to actually manage to capture one of the creatures.” His thin chest heaved as he gasped for breath, but the intensity of his gaze didn’t ease. “And you want me to let him go?”
Beth stared back at him helplessly. “Yes. It’s amazing—wonderful—that you found him,” she said, trying to calm him down. “But we can’t just kidnap him—”
“Kidnap!” Ralph laughed heartily. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he gave her a squeeze. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth. Your imagination is running wild. You can’t kidnap a sea animal. We’re simply holding him in the name of science.”
“Well, can’t we simply videotape him?” she asked with sudden inspiration. “Take some pictures and release him?”
Ralph released her instead. “You’re being naive,” he told her, with a hint of contempt. “No one will believe a videotape. This is the kind of find that scientists will insist on seeing for themselves.”
Carl nodded somberly. “He’s right, Elizabeth. No one knows that better than I do. In fact, Ralph has convinced me to keep our find a secret for a couple of weeks until the Fall Science Exposition opens in San Diego. We’ll gain more validity by revealing the merman there, where the world’s scientists can see for themselves that it isn’t a hoax.”
“But, Dad…”
He waved her to silence, and lay quietly for a moment. Staring unseeingly ahead, he collected his thoughts, his thin, restless fingers plucking at the blue silk bedspread lying across his legs. Then he looked back at Beth. His mouth twisted as he slowly admitted, “It hurt, daughter, to have lifelong colleagues turn away from me the way they did when I announced my belief in the existence of mermaids. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t believed in me, and I want your support now, too.”
Guilt—hot and heavy—flooded Beth’s chest. The truth was, she hadn’t believed in him. She loved him with all her heart—she worried about him constantly—but not since she was a little girl had she considered the notion that his claim might be valid.
Until today.
She stifled a sigh. Who was she to think she knew better than he did? She’d majored in sociology, not marine biology. Besides, she’d only seen the merman for a minute or so—met his eyes for barely seconds. Even if it had been anger in his gaze, that didn’t make him human. Animals got angry, too. Maybe he didn’t mind being in the tank as much as she thought. If Ralph—who’d worked with sea mammals for over a decade—was sure the merman had the sensibility of a fish, then who was she to say differently?
In fact, maybe it was even a good thing that they’d caught him, so Ralph could tend to the wound on his shoulder. Perhaps the merman would have died if they hadn’t captured him.
She looked over at her father, lying there so pale and thin. So sick with his damaged heart. She thought of the years, the decades, he’d been on his search. All he’d given up to pursue it. If she hadn’t had faith in him before, wouldn’t now be a good time to start?
Her father met her gaze, entreaty and pride combined in his own. “Don’t you understand, Bethie? This find will restore my reputation, my standing in the scientific community. You want that, don’t you?”
Tears prickled behind her eyelids. Did he really need to ask? “Of course I do.”
The tension eased from his body. With a sigh, he shut his eyes.
Weariness washed over Beth as well. Suddenly conscious of her wet clothes, she turned to leave. “I’d better go change.”
She reached for the doorknob, and Ralph immediately stepped forward to open it for her. Perhaps he saw the trouble on her face, because he suggested, “Why don’t you come and watch us work with the merman tomorrow, Elizabeth? It will give you a chance to learn a thing or two about the creatures.”
“I don’t think so,” she said quietly as she slipped past. “I already know enough as it is.”
Down in the hold, the merman circled the tank, flashes of rage still surging through him. The saltwater whipped along his skin, stung his open wound, but still he kept going. Ignoring the increasing pain in his torn shoulder, he let each powerful motion of his arms and tail flow fluidly into the next.
Such a deceitfully sweet face his captor had. Such false distress in her sea-colored eyes.
He churned the water harder—faster. Yet even its loud grumbling in his ears could not drown out the thoughts of the little female tumbling through his mind.
Her voice had been soft yet lilting, like water murmuring merrily over sea stones. She’d stared at him as if she knew him—yet feigned surprise at the sight of his tail.
He passed the place where she’d stood. Then passed it again. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a mark on the tank’s clear wall. He faltered, destroying his rhythm. Jerking to a halt, he stared at the circle she’d made with her small hand, her image surfacing in his mind once again.
Slim arched brows. A delicate nose and winsome red mouth. Smooth skin that glowed like a pearl. She wore her thick brown hair long, like the females of his people. Streaked with the mellow gold of ancient doubloons, it cascaded down her back, the ends frothing in playful curls.
Glancing away with a silent curse, he surged upward, exploding out of the water in a violent burst of energy. Flinging back his hair, he stared measuringly at the low platform hanging over the water.
If he were but mer, like his sisters, escaping would be no problem. But he was meremer, one of the cursed ones. For him, there was no transforming back and forth from mer to human between land and sea.
He glanced at the high porthole then turned to study the door at the top of the twisting staircase. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
Like a princess she had descended, wrinkling her nose, holding her skirt high. Stepping over the small puddles on the floor with dainty precision.
His eyes narrowed with grim satisfaction at the memory of how she had left, fleeing from this pit with water streaming down her hair and dress. A minor revenge, but he’d enjoyed the sweet taste of it nonetheless. It fed his hunger for more.
He began swimming again, relentlessly working his arm lest the wound in his shoulder should become tight and stiff. He was not worried that he might have startled her away for good. He’d seen the fear in her blue-green eyes…but he’d seen the curiosity, as well.
It was the same ill-fated curiosity that had drawn him to her when she’d stood on the bow of her ship.
His jaw tightened, his strokes grew faster. Aye, she would be back. Like the turning of the tide beneath the full moon, her return was inevitable.
And so was his escape.
Chapter Three
Yep, if anyone knew about mermaids she did, Beth reflected the next day as she sat in the shadows at the top of the staircase in the hold. Everything from the Disney classic to ancient texts of mermaid lore. In fact, due to her father’s obsession, she’d probably be considered an expert on the subject.
As a child she’d listened for hours as—minute detail by detail—he’d recited the descriptions of the sea people documented by the Roman historian Pliny the Elder. Or reviewed aloud the eyewitness account given by the esteemed Bishop Pontoppidan of Norway, who vouched for a mermaid netted at Hordaland in Bergen Fjord.
She knew that a Greek named Alexander had been the first to describe a mermaid complete with a fish tail—reportedly a lovely creature who burst into tears when a curious crowd examined her, then dived back into the water, yelling unintelligible curses as she swam off. And as a teenager Beth had practically memorized the stories about the fifty beautiful daughters of Nereus, a god of the sea. Apparently, they rode the waves on the backs of dolphins, and had many fantastic adventures.
Yes, she’d heard them all—fables of sea sirens who saved ships or foretold the future or lured sailors to a watery grave. Stories of mermaids with green hair, or feathers, or scales they could remove when they wanted to live on land but had to wear when they returned to the water. She knew legends of potent mariners who’d married mermaids and went on to found dynasties of great navigators because, after all, who would know the sea better than the creatures who lived there?
How fiercely she’d longed as a little girl to actually see one of the lovely, mystical beings. And how she’d wished, even more desperately in recent years, for some proof that her father wasn’t completely delusional.
Well, now she had it—both her wishes granted in the form of one restless bundle of male energy trapped in the tank below. Be careful what you wish for, she thought wryly.
She stifled a sigh. As she shifted to ease the numbness in her bottom caused by sitting so long on the metal step, her hand brushed a sticky patch on the railing by her side. Making a face at the machine oil on her fingers, she bent over to try to wipe it off on the metal step at her feet. She probably had it all over her jeans and red silk shirt, she thought in disgust. The light was so shadowy at the top of these stairs.
She’d lurked in the dimness for over two hours now, unnoticed by the men below. Which was exactly what she wanted. She didn’t plan to interfere—or even make her presence known. She hadn’t even intended to come watch. Her instincts kept telling her to get as far from the merman as she possibly could yet, at the same time, she hadn’t been able to stay away.
A fearful curiosity was part of what drew her back, she admitted silently to herself. The same kind of feeling that caused people to slow down and gawk at the scene of a car accident. Or pick up the National Enquirer to read about the latest sighting of fanny-faced aliens landing in the Arizona desert.
But even more than any of that was the disquiet she still felt. An odd niggling uneasiness that just refused to disappear. Worry for the people around the merman; and a bit of worry for the merman himself.
Not that she’d seen any evidence to support either. As he’d said, all that Ralph and his two helpers did was watch the merman swim endlessly around the tank. Beth kept watching too, but like the previous day, she wasn’t able to see much from the staircase. Just an occasional glimpse of a dark head, or flash of a golden tail fin, flipping up through the foaming water. But even those brief glimpses made her breath catch and her heartbeat quicken. Fish mentality or not, the merman was definitely a fascinating creature. She could hardly look away.
Ralph didn’t take his eyes off him, either. Her father’s assistant had changed from his dress shirt and slacks into a set of work clothes he kept in a small supply behind the stairs. Dressed all in black—shirt, pants and even shoes—he stood on the wooden platform built out over the tank. Hands behind his back, rocking on his heels every now and then, Ralph kept turning to keep the merman in sight. Like the ringmaster in a circus, Beth mused. The effect was heightened by the light shining down on him from the porthole above.
Unlike Ralph, the Delano brothers stood in the shadows, well back from the tank. They were watching the merman, too, Beth noticed, as she glanced their way. She studied them, wondering what they thought of the creature they’d helped capture. She certainly couldn’t tell much from their expressions. Ralph had once told her the men were twins, but beyond having the same olive-toned skin and dark hair, the brothers didn’t look much alike.
Small and wiry, Little Dougie Delano’s shrewd expression and quick movements—not to mention his long pointed nose and buck teeth—gave him an unfortunate resemblance to a rat. Standing next to his brother, Big Mike appeared as huge and stolid as a baby elephant. Legs spread, slowly swaying back and forth, he stared at the tank with his mouth agape, dull surprise briefly lighting his fleshy face every time the merman passed.
Around and around the merman kept swimming, without any noticeable decrease in the speed or power he’d displayed from the start. Fifteen more minutes slipped by. Thirty. Beth was just thinking that the merman would swim endlessly, when Ralph gave a shout.
“He’s tiring, boys! Get ready to get to work.”
Unconsciously, Beth stiffened, leaning forward. At first, she thought Ralph was mistaken. The current was still whirling at a fantastic rate, lapping now and again over the side of the tank or up onto the low wooden platform to trickle beneath Ralph’s shoes. But as she strained forward to see, she suddenly realized the water was slowing. The merman, rather than pushing it along, now merely appeared to be floating with the current, the motion of his arms and tail sporadic, and frighteningly weaker.
Even so he was obviously alert enough to avoid the side of the pool where the Delano brothers stood. The brothers were lowering a slatted crate that vaguely resembled some kind of lobster trap into the water. Once they had the box in place, they picked up long, sharp poles and began herding the merman inside.
The merman refused to cooperate. Time after time he’d appear about to enter the crate, only to slip away at the last possible moment. For over an hour the game continued. Big Mike stayed in one place stabbing steadily, if ineffectually at the water, while Little Dougie chased about the perimeter, trying without success to prod the merman in the correct direction.
Obviously exasperated, Ralph had quickly grabbed a pole, too. From the platform, he tried to block their quarry from swimming from one end of the tank to the other, but the merman evaded the poles with seemingly little effort, almost appearing to taunt the men at times with a lazy flick of his tail before he agilely darted away.
Biting her lip, Beth remained resolutely at her vantage point, even though several of the jabs Ralph and Little Dougie directed toward the merman were vicious enough to make her wince. Ralph had told her father he’d be putting the merman in a smaller cage, and she could see he’d need to do so in order to get closer.
But then Ralph threw down his pole. “This is asinine—a complete waste of time,” he snarled, wiping at the sweat on his face with the back of his hand. Even from a distance, Beth could see angry disgust in his expression as he added, “We’re going to have to tranquilize him.”
“No!” Beth cried out, jumping to her feet.
Everyone turned toward the staircase. Even the merman—a still, golden form in the water—glanced at her as she rushed down the stairs.
The Delano brothers and the merman continued to watch her descent, but Ralph turned away to climb down from the platform. When he reached the floor, he glanced at her, then looked over at Big Mike and Little Dougie.
“Take a break,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the stairs.
Without comment, the men threw down their poles and headed past Beth on their way out. Ignoring them, she hurried on toward Ralph. By the time she reached him, he was crouching next to a wooden trunk by the platform steps.
Beth, already breathless, grew even more so when she saw the dart gun he lifted out. “You can’t!” she said.
He glanced at her, the recent anger on his face replaced with his usual expression of kindly wisdom. “I have to. He refuses to get into the cage.”
“But there’s no way to tell how a tranquilizer will affect him. It might hurt or permanently injure him.”
“I doubt it, but even so that’s a risk I’ll have to take.” Ralph rose to his feet, gun still in hand. He reached into the box again for some darts and stuffed them in his pocket as he reminded her, “I need to tend to that wound.”
“But you said his wound was minor.”
He shrugged. “I realized when I saw it again today that I was wrong. But don’t take my word for it. See for yourself.”
He gestured toward the platform, silently inviting her to climb up. Stung by the mockery in his tone, Beth glanced at his face. His expression was polite, concerned—and just the slightest bit condescending. Her fingers curled into fists. Ralph knew she was afraid of the water—not to mention the merman himself. But what he didn’t know was that no Livingston ever backed down from a challenge.
Squaring her shoulders, she stomped toward the wooden steps. Ignoring Ralph’s surprised expression, she climbed up them, aware that he was following right behind her. When she reached the top, she gingerly walked out a few feet onto the platform, careful to stay in the center of the structure. There she paused, and forced herself to look out over the tank for the merman.
For a few dizzying seconds, she couldn’t even find him. All she could see were the undulating peaks and valleys of the restless water. Then a golden flash broke the surface at the far side of the tank. Like a dolphin, the merman suddenly arced high into the air, droplets of water glittering all around him like a shower of diamonds before he disappeared back beneath the surface.
“He’s never done that before!” Ralph exclaimed in surprise, then frowned. From beneath lowered brows, he slanted a considering glance at the woman by his side.
Beth barely noticed. Startled by the merman’s sudden appearance, she’d only caught a glimpse of the red mark high on his left shoulder before he dived underwater. She kept her eyes on his shadowy form, waiting for him to resurface. When he rose into view again, he was much closer, and this time Beth saw his wound clearly. The sight made her stomach lurch. Obscenely red and raw, the gash looked painful—as if someone had crudely slashed a lightning bolt into the merman’s smooth bronzed skin.
“It’s ghastly,” she said huskily as the merman dived back underwater. Turning to confront Ralph, she demanded, “You didn’t see how bad it was yesterday?”
He shrugged, smiling ruefully. “All right, yes. I did. But I didn’t want to worry your father.”
“So you lied.”
His smile faded, and his wide brow creased in a slight frown. Removing a dart from his pocket, Ralph slipped it into the gun before glancing at her again. His voice was very crisp as he retorted, “No, I simply bent the truth a little.”
Snapping the clip down, he strode to the edge of the platform and peered into the water with a narrowed gaze. His jaw tightened as he saw that the merman had swum to the far side of the tank.
With an impatient exclamation, Ralph swung back around to face Beth. His frown darkening at the disapproval on her face, he added, “I’m concerned about your father’s condition, too, Elizabeth. I thought it best to save him as much anxiety as possible. If you can’t understand that—”
“I can,” she interrupted, biting her lip.
He nodded abruptly. “Good. Now go get the Delanos back in here—and perhaps you’d better stay outside a while. This won’t hurt the animal, but—”
Ralph broke off to stare down in stunned surprise at the strong, lean hand grasping his ankle. “What the hell is— Ack!”
The pistol flew into the air, skittering at Beth’s feet as Ralph fell backward. With a huge splash he hit the water.
Beth’s eyes widened and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Good lord! The merman had jerked Ralph off his feet!
Hurrying to the end of the platform, she looked down over the edge. The merman was swimming away. Ralph was flailing just beneath the surface of the water.
He bobbed up, gasping for air. “Elizabeth! Get the Delanos, I—”
A muscular armed wrapped around his neck, choking the words off. The merman had circled, coming up behind him. With frightening ease, the merman pulled Ralph back against his broad chest, holding him there with one arm across his throat, the other around his ribs. The immense muscles of the merman’s shoulders and biceps leaped into corded knots beneath his gleaming brown skin as slowly, steadily, he tightened his grip.
Beth watched in horror as Ralph’s eyes widened. His round cheeks turned from pink to red as he tore fruitlessly at the muscular forearm locked against his wind-pipe. His eyes rolled then bulged as he fought to escape, his expression filled with panic. But it was the sheer lack of emotion on the merman’s face behind him that finally spurred Beth into action.
“Oh, no. Oh, please no,” she pleaded unconsciously, desperately looking around, trying to decide what to do.
Her frantic glance fell on the tranquilizer gun Ralph had dropped on the wood. Snatching it up, she pointed it with a trembling hand toward the two figures battling in the water.
Ralph’s struggles were growing feebler. His face, held just above the water line, turned from red to purple. On shaking legs, Beth moved to the other side of the platform, trying to get a clear shot at the merman’s back.
She had it—his uninjured shoulder was in her sights. She steadied her hand. But a split second before she pulled the trigger, he swung around again.
The dart hit Ralph, high in the chest.
Beth’s hand fell, the gun dropping from her numb fingers. She could see the dart sticking out from Ralph’s wet shirt, right below the tanned forearm locked around his neck. The blood drained from her face. Now—thanks to her—the merman would finish Ralph off with no problem at all.
“Oh, God, no,” she said, the words emerging huskily from her tight throat. “I’ve as good as killed him.”
The thrashing figures suddenly became ominously still as trapped in the merman’s hold, Ralph went limp. Over his shoulder, Beth’s despairing gaze locked with merciless blue eyes. For a long, endless moment the merman stared at her silently.
Then he slid underwater, carrying Ralph with him. Beth’s hand crept to her throat—then she gasped as a form suddenly burst out of the foamy water. Water flew everywhere as Ralph landed on the platform at her feet.
She quickly bent down over him. Water streamed from his hair, his clothes—dribbled out of his mouth and nose. He was soaked. He was weak. But when she pressed her fingers against the side of his neck, she could feel his pulse beating.
He was alive.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she breathed, looking toward the water.
But the merman had glided away.
Chapter Four
Ralph obviously wasn’t going to awaken anytime soon.
“The tranquilizer in that dart you showed me is pretty strong,” Anne, her father’s nurse, informed Beth about an hour later. The nurse straightened and stared down at the man in the bed, shaking her white head. “He’ll probably regain consciousness in about six hours, possibly a little longer.”
Bending over again, she lifted one of Ralph’s eyelids and pointed a tiny flashlight at his pupil. Ralph didn’t move at all. He continued to lie there with a silly grin on his face, as if he’d had a bit too much to drink.
Such a contrast to his usual demeanor, Beth thought, feeling oddly guilty. He was almost unrecognizable. The Delano brothers had stripped his wet clothes off after lugging him to his bedroom while she’d run to get Anne, but they hadn’t bothered to dry Ralph before covering him with a sheet. A wet patch haloed his head on the pillow, and half of his red hair stuck out in greasy spikes, while the other half was plastered to his pale freckled skull.
The Delanos had laid him at a crooked angle on the mattress, too, Beth noticed. She kept wanting to straighten him out, as if doing so would straighten out this whole entire mess.
She watched Anne examine the puncture wound in Ralph’s shoulder. The creases in the nurse’s forehead deepened as she frowned at the tiny red mark, then glanced at Beth.
“You say you accidentally shot him while he was teaching you to use the dart gun?” she asked—for at least the third time.
“Um-hmm.”
“And he acquired the bruises on his chest and neck when he fell?”
Beth nodded, still avoiding the older woman’s eyes. She hated to lie to Anne. Over the years, the nurse had become more of an adopted aunt rather than simply her father’s caretaker and, along with Captain McDugald, was one of the few people Beth considered a friend. Beth knew that Anne’s snowy white hair, plump figure, and absentminded expression hid a very keen mind and equally kind heart.
Yet for some reason, keeping the merman a secret seemed even more important now than before he’d attacked Ralph. Perhaps because a normal merman was bad enough. A savage one was worse.
“Those don’t look like bruises he’d get from a fall,” Anne commented.
“He hit the edge of the platform after I shot him,” Beth explained, trying to make her story a little more believable. Conscious that the other woman was watching her intently, she busied herself by pulling the sheet up higher over Ralph’s milk-white chest. “But you think he’s going to be all right?”
The nurse nodded. “He should be—barring any unforeseen complications,” she added with characteristic caution. “He might have cracked a rib or two—without X rays I can’t tell. He’ll certainly want to take it easy for a week or so. But he’s young, healthy. All he really needs to do right now is sleep it off.” She turned away to repack her equipment in a small, brown case.
Beth gave a sigh of relief. If Anne said that Ralph was going to be all right, then she had no doubts he would.
The merman, however, was another story. A small frown puckered Beth’s brow as she thought about the wound on his shoulder. “Anne…”
“Yes?”
“What would be the best way to treat a gash—say, from a piece of coral or even maybe a piece of wood or steel?”
Anne’s gaze sharpened as she turned to scan Beth up and down. “Are you hurt?” she asked bluntly.
“No.”
“Then who is?”
“No one exactly,” Beth said, waving her hand in a vague gesture. “I was speaking hypothetically.”
“I see.” Anne raised her white brows questioningly. “And is this hypothetical gash infected? Does it need stitches?”
“I’m not sure—that is, I wouldn’t think so.” Good grief, Beth thought. She hoped not. “How would a person tell?”
“It needs stitches if that’s the best or only way to stop the bleeding.”
Beth gnawed on her lower lip, unsure if the merman’s wound had still been bleeding or not. “And if the bleeding has stopped?” she finally asked, hoping for the best.
“Then I’d possibly still administer antibiotics—and a tetanus shot wouldn’t hurt either.”
Beth nodded. Antibiotics in a pill form might be possible to get the merman to eat, but stitches or a tetanus shot had her stumped. She’d administered shots dozens of times at the children’s care facility where Anne had persuaded her to donate time while in college, but giving one to the merman, well, good luck with that.
She was pondering the problem, when Anne interrupted her thoughts.
“Someone should stay with him until he wakes up.” Anne snapped her medical kit shut with a decisive click, then looked back down at Ralph, who’d begun snoring loudly. “And I need to get back to your father.”
Beth nodded. “I’ll stay. Just give me a minute to change. Oh, and Anne— You won’t mention anything to Dad or the captain about Ralph’s accident, will you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to,” the nurse told her. “Frankly, I don’t see a need to get Carl all worked up over it when Ralph will be just fine, and the captain isn’t too fond of the young man as it is. He’ll probably find a way to hold this against him for some reason.”
“Thanks.” Beth gave her a grateful smile, then left the room. She’d go change her clothes—their clammy dampness was becoming more uncomfortable by the second—then she’d talk to the Delanos, she decided. They could take care of the merman, while she stayed with Ralph.
It was a good plan. Except the Delanos wouldn’t have any part of it.
“The pump and filtering device run just fine on their own. We’re not going near that fish freak again,” Dougie told her, spitting on the deck to emphasize his decision. Big Mike did, too, then smiled at her, his head bobbing in benign agreement with his brother’s decree.
“Who knows when he’ll grab one of us? We take our orders from Lesborn, not your father—or you,” Dougie added, “and since Lesborn’s out of commission…” He shrugged.
Beth looked from one to the other, seeing the fear beneath the sullen determination on Dougie’s face and the bewilderment on Big Mike’s. She straightened her shoulders. “Fine. You two take care of Ralph,” she said decisively. “I’ll take care of the merman.”
Night had fallen by the time Beth returned to the hold. She’d settled the grumbling Delanos in with Ralph—ignoring Anne’s look of surprise—then changed into a dress and had dinner as usual with her father, whose joyful expression and expansive plans about his “fantastic find” assured her he had no idea at all of what had transpired that day.
But as soon as the meal was finished, she slipped away, changing once again—this time into black shorts and a gray shirt. The dark clothing would help serve as camouflage, she thought, to prevent anyone noticing her going into the hold at such an unusual hour. And indeed, no one appeared to notice her as she hurried across the deck to the door.
After she unlocked it, she glanced carefully around, then slipped into the room, letting the door close quietly behind her. She paused, taking the time to twist the lock from inside. No way did she want anyone to come in unexpectedly and discover the merman. She had enough to worry about without that.
She started down the stairs, keeping a steadying hand on the railing. The room was darker, more shadowy, than it had been earlier. Only a dark patch of sky was visible through the porthole. The lights along the wall were still on, though, and the powerful filtering pump hummed steadily. With all the uproar over Ralph, neither she nor the Delanos had remembered to dim the lights before leaving the room, Beth realized. They’d all been too upset—and just plain frightened.
She shuddered, remembering Ralph struggling in the merman’s grip. Clutching the bag of medical supplies she’d “borrowed” from Anne a little tighter, she pushed the memory away and forced herself to continue her descent. Halfway down the staircase, she paused to look over at the tank. For once, the merman wasn’t swimming around. For a few seconds, she couldn’t even see him. He had to be in there somewhere, of course, but the surface of the water stirred gently, creating liquid shadows that made it hard to see.
Then she spotted him, lying with his forearms resting on the platform, the human half of his body lifted out of the water. His head lay on his arms, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow.
Beth’s heart skipped a beat. Was he asleep? Unconscious? she wondered, as she hurried down the rest of the stairs. Surely he wasn’t dead? Anxiety quickened her stride as she headed across the room toward the platform. He didn’t move as she climbed the wooden steps, but as soon as she stepped out onto the structure, he lifted his head.
Relief flowed through her. No, not dead, not even unconscious. But definitely hurting. For a split second—before he’d assumed his usual expressionless mask—she’d swear she’d glimpsed suffering in those dark-blue eyes.
“You poor thing,” she said involuntarily. She started toward him—then stopped in midstep as his lip curled, revealing excellent white teeth.
Beth remained frozen in place, uncertain what to do as he continued to watch her unblinkingly. She needed to get closer, to see to his shoulder. But she couldn’t get her feet to move. From across the room, he’d looked formidable. Up close he was totally intimidating.
For one thing he appeared much larger than he had in the water. Nor, in spite of the hints of pain on his face, did he appear at all weak and helpless. Lying with his arms and torso propped on the wood made his shoulders appear broader, his brown chest deeper than Johnny Weissmuller’s in the old Tarzan movies Anne so enjoyed.
But what really made Beth nervous was that unblinking gaze. Something in his unreadable, narrow-eyed stare made her pulse beat faster, kept her rooted in place like a person afraid of being bitten by a dangerous dog. Not that she’d ever had any contact with dogs—well, except for a puppy she’d played with once when The Searcher had anchored for a time near Catalina island. Nor was she exactly worried about being bitten—although the merman’s teeth did look extraordinarily white and strong. No, she was much more concerned about being dragged into the water as he’d done to Ralph.
She couldn’t forget how easily he’d held Ralph, or the strength it must have taken to throw the man—who had to weigh at least two hundred pounds—back up on the platform.
She took a deep breath trying to calm her racing pulse. The point to remember here was that he had thrown Ralph back, she reminded herself. He’d released him. If the merman was truly, knowingly vicious, then surely he wouldn’t have done that.
Taking comfort from the thought, she took a tentative step forward—then paused again as his eyes gleamed in his shadowy face. Well, at least he’d stopped snarling. That was a good sign…wasn’t it? Of course it was, she told herself. Maybe he just needed a few seconds to get used to her. To realize she wanted to help, not hurt him.
They continued to stare at each other as she tried to think of a way to get her goodwill message across. Maybe she should sing—that was said to soothe the wild beasts. It had worked with King Kong, hadn’t it? She cleared her throat, preparing to try, then abandoned the idea. She really had a lousy voice. For all she knew, it might rile him up. Or at the least, send him underwater. Then she’d never get close enough to tend to his wound.
She tried a compromise, speaking in a soothing tone. “Now don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you,” she said, slowly stepping toward him.
He didn’t move, just continued to watch her. Taking this as an encouraging sign, she crept closer. “All I want to do is help you with that shoulder. I know it hurts you—it has to. But I have stuff here to help it heal. To make it feel better.”
He still didn’t move. She slowly inched forward until she was able to see his expression clearly. She drew in a breath as he turned his head slightly, and the light fell fully across his face.
No doubt about it, he was suffering all right. His dark, wet hair was slicked back from his face, emphasizing the strong cast of his features. Dark shadows lay beneath his deep-set eyes. His skin looked tauter across his high, proud cheekbones, his face leaner than it had before. And even though his eyes were bright, his eyelids drooped heavily.
She drew closer still until she was within touching distance of his arm. Carefully, she crouched down and extended her hand. Slowly…slowly…until her fingers brushed his biceps.
He quivered…then went still.
Beth sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. Wonder and exhilaration flowed through her, and she wanted to laugh with the sheer joy of it. She was touching a merman—a mythical creature that wasn’t even supposed to exist! Yet, how real—how solid he felt beneath her hand.
Gently she stroked his skin, enthralled by the sensations coursing through her. Her father had tried to explain to her once about the excitement of touching a gray whale—those giants of the deep who, after centuries of enmity with man, had recently begun allowing humans to stroke them in a lagoon off Baja.
But nothing—nothing compared to this, Beth thought, delicately trailing her fingers back up over the sculpted curve of his biceps. How smooth, yet firm his skin was. How rock hard the muscles beneath it. The most amazing thing of all was that he hadn’t moved away.
She stroked his arm again, more lingeringly this time. A faint tremor ran along the taut muscle beneath her fingertips, and afraid he might swim away, she began talking again. “How handsome you are,” she praised him, in that crooning tone that had worked so well before. “You’re such a good-looking merman.”
Beneath her palm, she felt him stiffen. His eyelids flickered, and he shot her an almost startled glance, before he looked away again, his expression going blank.
But even this minute sign of response encouraged Beth. She tried more compliments, getting into the spirit of the thing, pouring lots of enthusiasm into her voice. “So big and strong. So manly. And so warm…”
Her voice trailed off. “Maybe too warm,” she added in a worried tone, a small frown creasing her brow.
She slowly lifted her hand toward his face. He sent her another sidelong glance and she said softly, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just afraid you might have a fever.”
She gently brushed back his hair, combing her fingers through the damp, silky strands. She did it again, watching his thick dark lashes drift down with the movement, as if he were half-asleep. Then she placed her palm firmly against his forehead. He only allowed the contact for a few seconds before pulling away, but that was plenty long enough for Beth to make her diagnosis.
“You’re so hot!” she exclaimed, dismay filling her voice. She sat back on her heels to look into his face. Sure enough, examining him more closely, she could see a slight flush beneath the dark tan on his cheeks. “You do have a fever!”
She moved to the side, leaning over him to see his back. She sucked in a breath as she stared at his wound. “And no wonder,” she said huskily.
The jagged, lightning-bolt gash was dark red and swollen along the edges. But at least it wasn’t bleeding, Beth noted, grateful for small favors. The skin had even begun to seal, forming a thick, uneven ridge that made her wince.
“It looks bad,” she told him, unconsciously patting his arm comfortingly as she spoke. “But not as bad as it could be. The salt water must be good for it.”
Of course he didn’t respond; she knew he couldn’t understand her. He just continued to regard her with that inscrutable stare. Beth continued to talk to him anyway, as much to calm her own anxiety as his. “You’re going to have a terrible scar, but you already have a few anyway, don’t you?” she added, as her gaze roamed over his chest and back.
This close, she could see other marks on his bronzed skin. One thin, faded white line ran beneath his well-defined pecs and the glinting silver medallion he wore. Another small scar was centered on his muscular back. Almost hidden beneath his hair she noticed another mark, curving from beneath his ear toward the back of his neck. She looked at it more closely, and with a slight jolt, saw it wasn’t a scar at all, but a gill.
The realization shocked Beth—yet, it oddly reassured her, too. His rugged face, the hard muscles and warm flesh beneath her hand—his sheer, raw maleness—unsettled her in a purely female, human way. This new evidence of how different—how alien—he actually was, quieted the uneasy, feminine wariness that had unconsciously been stirring inside her.
She wasn’t taking care of a strange man, but a strange animal, his features taut with mute suffering.
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