An Elemental Tail (3 page)

Now it was here. They were in the same room.
This was the closest he’d ever been, and this close he could sense
it, even if he couldn’t locate exactly where in the room it was. He
could almost hear the slap of waves against the shore. Once he was
whole he’d raise a storm to celebrate, one that would drown islands
and flood cities.

The flounder-faced prat of a teacher flicked
his hand in an impatient gesture to get started. He’d been less
than impressed when his hand-picked model hadn’t showed up. That
guy had been easy to get rid of. Nik had doubled his money and
taken his place. And here he was in a room full of students eager
to see what was under his black bathrobe. A smile graced his lips.
They wouldn’t be disappointed. The robe shimmied to the floor like
ink spilled from a bottle.

A couple of people sucked all the air out of
the room as they gasped for breath. He glanced their way, and their
faces reddened like cooked lobster. It was really too easy to play
with human emotions. He reclined on the cushions, the essence of
relaxation, as the students stared—as his waitress stared.

But his pose was false. His stomach was
twisted tighter than a whirlpool, and spinning just as wildly. He
could taste the saltwater on the air. The book was here, but not in
anyone’s hands, not yet. Would he be able to resist the urge to
leap up and snatch it out of the student’s hands and run for the
nearest body of water when he saw it? Nik closed his eyes and
breathed slowly. He’d wait out the class. Discretion was how he’d
survived this long. He could wait.

What would it feel like to have someone
drawing on his skin, marking the pages of the book? Would he feel
the pencil marks? As far as he knew, the book had never been used.
In his chest his human heart pulsed faster than it ever had. Soon
it would be beat no more. When he regained his tail, he wouldn’t
take human form again…well, not for a very long time.

Isla swallowed and kept her lips pressed
together to keep her mouth from hanging open. The model was the man
from the restaurant. The temptation she couldn’t have was now
stripped bare, nothing left to her imagination—and her imagination
had failed in comparison to the reality.

He lounged, as at ease in his pale skin as
she was in clothes. No trace of fat, just endless planes of muscle
covered by lily-white flesh, like he’d never seen a day of sun in
his life. Not even a freckle dared mark his skin. Smooth as
polished marble, he could have been carved by Michelangelo. The
only hair on his body was on his head. It fell in a thick crimson
curtain between his shoulder blades, and when he moved his hair
shimmered black and turquoise like the first time she’d seen him.
The effect was hypnotic.

She blinked, suddenly aware of the soft
scratches of pencil around her. She’d been staring, her hand
halfway into her satchel. Her fingers touched the spiral spine of
her regular sketchbook, but the leather-bound book pleaded for
attention. She’d promised herself she’d use it today, and it was an
easy promise to keep with the object of her imaginings now before
her. The pages were the same color as his skin; the drawings would
be perfect. In her mind she saw the completed sketches, the man’s
body filling the pages one piece at a time. If nothing else, she
would have a record of the most beautiful man to ever walk the
planet Earth, naked.

Her fingers curled around the soft leather as
she took out the book. The model flinched. Or did she imagine it?
His body hadn’t moved, but his eyes had. They had opened and locked
onto her, endless pools of black, fanned by dark lashes. Her
breathing shallowed to a pant. She looked away, breaking the pull
and the urge to touch him. Her eyes skimmed down his body to his
groin.

She dropped the book. It splatted on the
floor, earning her several sniggers and glances from other
students. Inside she curled up tight with embarrassment as she
retrieved her book, her cheeks the same flaming color of the
leather. This wasn’t the first nude male she’d ever drawn, yet she
was behaving like it was. Worse, like she was attracted to him.
Well, a woman would have to be dead to not notice the gorgeous
naked man in the room. But she didn’t have time for fleeting
fancies.

Isla set the book down and selected a pencil
with more care than necessary, then took a breath to steady her
hand and ready herself to look at him again. His eyes were fixed on
the ceiling as if nothing had happened.
What a fool
. Men
like that didn’t give nondescript women like her a second look.
Until now that knowledge had never bothered her; it had suited her.
Another reminder she was nothing like her mother. Her thumb rubbed
against the page. The skinny blond with the blue streak in her hair
and the nose ring was more his type. Still, she knew who would be
featuring in her dreams, again, and in detail she would never
forget.

His eyelids flickered as if staying still was
costing him a great deal. His jaw was locked, tension tight in his
neck, his throat flexing with each swallow. Inaction battling the
need to move. Could she capture the strength and vulnerability, his
need for movement warring with the request to be motionless?

Skin to skin, her emotions poured into Nik.
Intense and unstoppable, like a spring waterfall fuelled by winter
snow melts. Wonder, apprehension, and tension were lost beneath the
tide of desire that swamped him and tossed him into a battle with
his body. Blood drained from vital organs to the one he wanted to
ignore. He counted marks on the ceiling then listed species of
fish, alphabetically and by color. Anything to keep the flesh
between his legs soft and inconspicuous.

He wasn’t immune to the charms of a pretty
woman. His weakness for humans was what had crippled him four
hundred years ago. Since then he’d kept company purely for
entertainment. His entertainment. That was the purpose of taking
human form. With so many nerve endings involved, the sensation was
different from melding with another water Elemental. Raw and—Nik
suppressed a smile—earthy.

What had seemed like an easy job was becoming
more strenuous than laying rail tracks—something he’d done to get
by all those years ago. The clock on the wall counted off seconds
like minutes. The woman’s touch on the book made his skin tremble.
He was aware of her hand skimming across the page, barely a caress,
but enough to tighten his muscles until they ached. He felt the
warm brush of her finger on his skin, but not the cool smudge of
lead as she drew him. His forehead creased before he remembered to
keep still. Of course he would only feel her touch. It took a
moment to recognize the slight sinking sensation listing in his gut
as disappointment. He wanted to know what she was filling the book
with; it was his after all. Would she do his body justice?

The pressure from the flood of emotions eased
as she became lost in her work. Nik relaxed and began to study her
the way she was studying him. Her lips were parted, revealing a
wide mouth that would flash lots of pearly white teeth when
smiling. Most of her dark hair was twisted back, with a few
straight strands falling around her face. Carefully constructed
scruffy, or naturally unbothered by her appearance? She wasn’t
plastered in makeup or other decorations. Without the worry marking
her face, she was a natural beauty.

Her eyes raised and met his, cool and gray. A
storm waiting to happen. He glanced away, pretending not to notice
the contact that had sent his blood surging, again. Desire raced
over his body, threatening to expose more to the class than a model
should. He forced all the breath from his body and thought of
plankton.

Lots of plankton.

****

Mr. Gardner called an end to the class too
soon. Isla sketched and smudged to finish, rushing. She wanted to
stay and put more of the man on paper. The model held his pose for
a few more heartbeats. Her eyes darted between the man and her
work. She’d caught the wild grace in his arm and the aloof tilt of
his chin. The page was alive as if she’d captured a part of his
essence in lead pencil and paper. She couldn’t hide the grin that
tempted her lips. It was her best drawing yet.

She placed a piece of tissue paper between
the pages and closed the book with a snap. As she tucked it into
her satchel, her skin prickled with warmth. The model watched, his
dark eyes like mirrors, a smile worn only on the corners of his
mouth. She frowned, not sure he was looking at her, then cautiously
returned the smile, not used to attention for attention’s sake. His
gaze trapped her. Breath slid from her body, unnoticed. She wanted
to drown in him, to fall through the endless night and never wake
to find the dream over.

A student passed between them, and the spell
was broken. The noise of the emptying class room returned. She had
to leave before Mr. Gardner collared her again, but she was too
slow.

Mr. Gardner was already waiting. “Did you
want to make up those missed classes, Isla?”

Her back stiffened as he used her name with
too much familiarity. She crossed her arms and glared at him,
determined to make him back off and find another target. She was
sure someone would appreciate the pass he was offering and not be
troubled by the cost. “I’ve missed none, and you know it.”

“The official record says otherwise. I’m free
tonight.” His lips pulled back in what she supposed was a charming
smile, the kind worn by a cat before it decapitates a mouse. There
would be no escape, no joy, if she took the deal Mr. Gardner was
offering.

Isla ground her teeth. What she wanted to say
would probably get her suspended, or kicked out. So she gave him
the simple truth. “I’m working.” That was her life, work or
study.

“Another missed lesson won’t look good on
your record.”

“Stop. Just stop. Until you, my record was
unblemished.” Isla ran her hand over her hair, pushing back the
strands that always escaped.

She had no idea how to deal with his unwanted
advances that had deteriorated into blackmail. She’d never played
her mother’s mind games. For the first time she wished she had, or
that she at least understood how they worked. If her mother were
here, she would know exactly what to do… Who was she kidding? Her
mother would have never said no.

“Do you think you’re better than the rest,
than me, because you’re on a scholarship?” Bitterness spilled out
with his words, staining the air and making it toxic to
breathe.

“The lady said stop.”

Isla and Mr. Gardner turned and looked at the
speaker. The model was dressed only in his black jeans, the lean
muscle of his chest on display, glimmering in the light.

“You’re not paid to speak,” Mr. Gardner
snapped, spots of color like spilled wine blooming high on his
cheeks. The man opened his mouth, but Mr. Gardner continued before
the model could make a sound. “What you thought you overheard is
none of your business.” Mr. Gardner picked up his briefcase and
turned to Isla. “This isn’t over.” The door banged shut after
him.

Isla stared at the door and sighed. Her
well-meaning rescuer had only made the situation worse. By stepping
in, the model had humiliated Mr. Gardner.

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have done
that.”

The man shrugged and buttoned his shirt. “He
shouldn’t be abusing his position.”

Isla watched all his luminous white skin get
covered with dull black clothing. Her hand strayed to the book in
her satchel. She traced the spine of the book. It was right he
should grace the pages.

He raised one dark eyebrow as if he could
read her thoughts, the ones she didn’t want anyone to know.
Particularly him.

“Do you want to get coffee?”

Isla glanced up at the clock. She was
tempted. One coffee, a simple thank you for stepping in even though
he didn’t have to. Only Sarah had ever helped her. “I can’t, I
really have to go to work.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed his
features like a summer rain shower. He nodded and smiled. “Maybe
next time.”

Her bright red satchel bumped against her hip
as Nik let her go. She had piqued his interest, and not just
because she possessed his tail. After four centuries of being a
lumbering land dweller, that was no small achievement. He waited,
then from a discreet distance followed. He didn’t want to lose
sight of the book or the storm-eyed woman. Nik pulled the cap out
of his pocked and twisted his hair underneath. If he was going to
stalk Storm-eyes, he would have to be unmemorable.

But he wasn’t. Her thoughts rippled over his
skin in tightening waves of desire each time she slipped her hand
into her bag to caress the crimson flesh of the book. His body
responded as if her hand were on him, sliding over his skin. Heat
slithered over him and nestled in his pants. This time he didn’t
have to fight it. She’d had ninety minutes to indulge; it was only
fair he now got a turn. She stole his breath with each casual brush
of her fingers, and she had no idea what she was doing to him. And
what he would like to do to her in return. As Nik trailed her, he
awaited her next caress. The next look into her being. Beneath her
yearning, a dark, silent undercurrent moved. Regret. She’d wanted
to accept his offer, not realizing coffee was an excuse to get her
alone so he could take back his tail.

She moved with ease, never touching another
person in the crowd as she left the building and made her away
across campus. In the open space, people moved slower. It would be
easy to brush past, steal her bag, and then disappear. Storm-eyes
turned a corner. He shadowed her, his lips curling at the game of
dolphin and sardine. He didn’t want to end the game, not yet. As
long as he kept his eye on the woman with the book, he couldn’t
lose.