Mermaid (2 page)

She wanted to...let the blackness...come back...

Still supporting her, Mark dabbed at the blood on her temple and rinsed her face and neck clean. The cut wasn’t as bad as he’d thought at first and would only require a Band-Aid. Sitting on the second step at the terraced shallow end of the pool, he cradled the mermaid in one arm and patted her lovely face, watching a hint of rosy color come into her cheeks. Her lips remained blue, and he wanted, with a shocking urgency, to kiss them to warmth. Wisps of blond hair, beginning to dry, curled in tiny, soft tendrils around her face.

Then, slowly she opened her eyes again and parted her lips as if to speak, but no sound issued forth. She frowned and lifted a hand to touch her wounded head.

“It’s all right,” Mark said in a tender tone he didn’t recognize as his own, capturing her small, thin-boned hand and holding it. “You’re going to be fine. You have a little cut on your head where you got bashed into a rock. You’ll have a small bump by the time an hour has passed, but it won’t be too bad. You also have a hook in your...er...front that will have to come out.”

She closed her eyes once more and rested on his chest as if that was where she belonged. Clearly she hadn’t understood a word he’d said, but just as clearly she trusted him. It was a good feeling, he acknowledged, as he patted her cheeks again, saying, “Come on, beautiful. Wake up. Wake up...”

He watched her tail give an experimental flicker of movement. Then, because he did not want to have to bring in a doctor, Mark quickly grasped the hook and gave it a turn, a twist, and a pull, stopping with it only halfway out when her eyes popped open and she gasped.

“Oh, lord, I’m sorry,” he said. “Sweetheart, I have to do it. I have to get that hook out of you. Please, stay very still. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Sweetheart?
He had called her sweetheart? He, who had never called another woman that in his entire life, was calling a strange mermaid “sweetheart”—as if he meant it? Yes, he was. And it sounded right. He swallowed hard, steeled himself again, and once more reached for the hook.

To his surprise she pushed his hands gently away and then removed the hook herself with a quick flick of her fingers. Again he felt sick. He remembered all the fish he’d thought he’d hooked solidly but which had gotten away. How many of them had been...
My God! When did I start to believe in mermaids? Really and truly believe? Have I gone that far off the deep end? Was I so demented that I really bought this whole thing?
He stared at her and she stared back with faintly bewildered, sunlit, sea-green eyes. He never wanted to look away but knew if he didn’t, something terrible was going to happen to him. If it hadn’t already. He could feel his breath coming in short little puffs, his heart hammering high in his throat.

Hell! His eyes dropped to ripples in the water that hid where her legs should be. It was utterly pointless to get sexually aroused over a mermaid, for heaven’s sake. Yet what was even more amazing, he realized with some shock, been one hell of a long time since he’d been aroused by anyone. And then he realized she had pulled the hook from the scales between her breasts, and that they were merely sequins affixed to some kind of fabric. Of course it was. A suit of some kind. A costume. There was no such thing as a mermaid.

He went weak with relief, knowing this was no mermaid in his swimming pool, but rather a warm, vibrant woman who was looking up at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling. And... as if she didn’t mind. As if maybe she shared those feelings of interest, intrigue.

He was glad to know his sanity had returned, but if she didn’t quit looking at him like that, he didn’t hold out much hope for its lasting a whole lot longer.

Mark stared at her, for a moment feeling foolishly betrayed by the truth. He swallowed hard to rid himself of the childish disappointment. “I have to leave you for a minute,” he said. “You need a bandage on your head. I’ll be right back. Then I think I should get you to a doctor in case you have a concussion.” He loped away, and when he returned, she was looking a little brighter, her eyes more alert, her color better. Crouching beside her on the middle step of the pool, he gently wiped the blood from her head and dried the area with a towel.

“What’s your name?” he asked after he’d affixed the bandage firmly to her temple. “And what in the world were you doing out there?”

Putting her hands on the top step, she pushed herself up one level and then hitched her body right out of the water onto the deck, leaving only her tail hanging into the pool. She smiled at Mark, showing small, even white teeth. He moved up to sit beside her.

“It’s a long story,” she said. “And my name is Jillian Lockstead.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned. “I suppose your friends call you Jilly Fish?”

She laughed and flipped her tail, slopping water up over the edge of the pool. It washed across his lap, but since he was already wet, it didn’t matter.

Hell, with that laugh of hers ringing in his ears, he could have been bone-dry and dressed in a tuxedo and it wouldn’t have mattered.

Her laughter sounded, low and sultry and shockingly at odds with her delicate, fair looks. A laugh such as hers should have come from a dark-haired, red-sequined siren, Mark thought. But when he looked deep into her sea-green eyes, he realized that her voice and her laughter and her eyes were exactly right for who she was, blue-sequined mermaid or woman, and that as impractical and outrageous as it might be, he had no intention of letting her go any time soon.

This catch was a keeper.

She smiled again, and his heart leaped high in his throat. She bit her pink bottom lip, looked faintly guilty, and then said, “I guess I got caught by the wrong fisherman. Obviously you’re not Ken Bristol, the congressional candidate, and this isn’t the good ship
Andrea
.”

Mark almost said, I’ll run for Congress if you want me to, but instead he said, “No, I’m Mark Forsythe.”

Suddenly Jillian found herself thinking that if she had to get caught by anyone, she was glad it had been this man. Dressed in shorts and a skin-hugging T-shirt, the only garment, she thought, that shoulders like his deserved—he was deeply tanned with bright, intense blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair. Yes, she thought, looking more closely, his white-streaked hair was rich and thick and strangely at odds with his youthful face, dark brows, and lashes. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. She wanted very badly to touch his hair just once, just to see if it felt as wonderful as it looked.

She held out her hand. “Hello, Mark. Thanks for rescuing me. Without my contact lenses, I guess the white blur I headed for was the barnacles rather than Ken Bristol’s boat.”

His large hand wrapped around hers, just as his smile wrapped around her, warmly. As she met his gaze, she knew it was more than his good looks that attracted her. She had a vague memory of those eyes looking into hers with compassion and caring and concern, and of those strong, brown arms lifting her and carrying her, holding her as if she were precious to him.

Tenderness from a man was something she had missed for so long in her life, and something in her, even in her semiconscious state, had responded to it strongly. There was a quality in his gaze that spoke to something deep inside her soul, as if I they had known each other before in another life, as if he recognized the kinship they shared as much and as deeply as she did.

Oh, stop it, she told herself. She was being fanciful. It must have been from the bump on the head.

“Did you want to get caught by a certain fisherman?”

“Well, that was the plan. I mean, getting caught by a man named Ken Bristol was what I was getting paid for.” She grimaced with consternation as she blurted out, “Darn! Now I guess I don’t get paid.” Suddenly she bit her lip and drew her brows together. “Oh, heavens! Robin! He’s a diver. He’ll be down there looking for me! Unless—did anyone see you bring me here?”

“I tried to make sure no one did,” he said with a grin. “I intended to keep you all to myself.”

“Sorry, but I have to let someone know where I am and what happened, or there’ll be all sorts of repercussions. Could you go and tell them that I’m here? They could send the Zodiac ashore for me.”

With a heavy sigh of reluctance, Mark got to his feet and said, “If I must, I must, but I’d rather keep you.” They shared a smile before he strode away around the end of an impressively large old house.

Jillian leaned back on her elbows, letting the sun soak into her skin, feeling it warm her as she stared at the house.

Gray and weathered, it looked as if it had been sitting there for a hundred years or more, although the patio and pool, along with umbrella tables, lounge chairs, and other outdoor furniture, all spoke of modern tastes—and obvious wealth.

Mark returned very quickly, frowning. “The boat is gone,” he said without preamble, shocking her upright. “No Zodiac, no diver, no cruiser. The bay is empty.

S
UDDENLY JILLIAN WAS SHIVERING
again in spite of warmth of the sun. “But...how could they do that? How could they leave me? Oh, gosh, maybe they didn’t! Maybe they’re searching for me. I need to get to a phone.” Her eyes swept the pool area.

“No, there’s no phone jack out here,” he said, knowing what she was about to ask. “And the big headland behind me blocks the cell signals. But that’s not a problem. Hang on,” he added and lifted her into his arms and stood.

Jillian wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the strength of his arms, the heat of his skin, the rigid wall of his chest. He was a big, powerful man, and she could feel all that power as he strode with her along a flagstone path toward the house. She tilted her head back an inch, wanting to see his eyes, but all she could see was his profile—a straight nose, a square chin, one strangely small ear tucked in close to his head, and that thick hair she found so tempting. If she could just lift one hand two inches, sort of by accident, she could touch it. With great strength of will, she kept her fingers locked together behind his neck.

When her icy hands clasped at the back of his neck, Mark felt guilty. He should have taken her inside long before. As warm as the sun was, she needed more than its heat. She was chilled right through. What she needed was to get out of her costume and into some dry clothes. A picture o Jillian Lockstead out of her costume, not in dry clothes but in his warm bed flashed across his mind, and it shook him. Damn, but she was doing incredible things to him.

It was easier to carry her when she was conscious and able to cooperate, able to put her arms around him and help. At least in one way it was easier. In other ways, it was much more difficult, he thought as he felt his heart rate Increase to a level an aerobics freak would have been proud of. His breathing was considerably faster as well, and he struggled to control it. Oh, lord, she felt good in his arms, scales and all, and those little drying tendrils of hair tickled his neck in a manner that nearly knocked him out cold when she moved her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, noticing his distressed breathing. “I know how heavy I am in this suit. Honestly, it’s the tail, not me.”

He flicked a quick glance into her eyes and smiled as he elbowed open a set of French doors. “Do all mermaids have fat tails?”

“I’m the only mermaid I know, but my tail is made of neoprene, and without built-in weights to give it negative buoyancy, I’d go around head down all the time and ruin the effect of a mermaid’s effortless swimming.”

“When you were fighting that slop out there, it didn’t look so effortless,” he said, as he sat her in a chair by a small table.

“It wasn’t. That was tough. Oh, look, I’m still dripping. I’ll ruin your carpet and chair.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Water won’t hurt anything.” Gesturing to the phone on the table, he left her, returning with a large, thick white terry robe that he held out for her to put her arms into. She leaned forward while he tucked it down around her back. He drew her wet hair out from inside the robe and rubbed it hard with a towel for a few moments. Then, wrapping the towel around her head turban-style, he crouched in front of her, rubbing her cold arms through the loose sleeves of the robe, listening without a qualm to her side of the conversation.

“Get hold of Robin,” she had been saying when he came back. “Tell him we blew it. He hooked me up to the wrong lure.” She was silent while someone else spoke, then she exploded into speech.

“What do you mean, he knows already? How does he know? And why didn’t he...Bristol actually caught a fish?” She laughed, but her amusement was short-lived.

“Well, if they saw me carried ashore,” she said sharply, “why didn’t they come and get me? Oh.” She covered the phone for a moment and said to Mark, “You locked the gate, he says.”

He nodded. “Sorry. It locks automatically, and I didn’t know anyone had followed.”

She explained this to her boss, and Mark watched her face as she listened for another minute or two, then saw weary resignation flood her eyes as she rolled them skyward. “Of course I understand Bristol’s a busy man and has other commitments, but surely he could have hung around long enough to get me back aboard his boat. No, Jim, obviously I didn’t hear them shouting. I guess I was unconscious. Of course I’m all right. I have a small cut on my head and the hook caught me in the chest, but it won’t be a problem for long.”

There was a pause, and Mark’s estimation of the “Jim” on the other end of the line went down a long way when Jillian said with the same weary resignation, “Yes, Jim, I’ll be able to work tonight.” She listened for a few more moments. “Okay. That’ll be fine,” she said. “I don’t know where I am, but hold on and I’ll find out.”

She turned her eyes up to her host and met his steady gaze.

Mark looked back at her and smiled. He knew exactly where she was. She was with him, and not they were at sea, and the boat was rocking dangerously.

Mark moved toward her. He was so close to touching out to draw her into his arms again that lie didn’t know how he stopped himself in time. He wanted to embrace her, to keep her close to his body, to tell her, “This is where you are, Mermaid, and this is where you’ll stay.” But of course he couldn’t. Instead, he said, “Don’t bother asking anyone to send a car. I’ll be happy to take you wherever you want to go.”