Catch of a Lifetime (6 page)

   Okay, so, technically, since her family was royalty, she
was a princess. But other than the occasional "m
y lady," the title didn't mean a hill of shells in her world. Here, though… wow.

   Wendy must have melted that plastic with all these clothes. Angel
knew
it'd be fun to try on silky item after silky item, then put more on top of those. Swishy dresses, flowing skirts, lightweight pants, colorful tops. They were all so beautiful, like a tropical coral reef on a sunny day. That Humans could create such beautiful products said a lot about them—and gave her hope for the future.

   And the shoes! Oh, the shoes. The flats came in so many colors, and Wendy had insisted she try on a pair for each outfit. Really, Angel hadn't needed much convincing. She loved the flamingo-colored sandals the saleswoman had said were the latest style. They were comfortable and looked so very pretty on her new feet.

   And then, the high heels! All different heights, some thick-heeled, some as thin as an anemone ten tacle. Made from cork and wood and even that loath some plastic, decorated with sequins and braiding and bows… she was going to have to practice walking in them when she was alone. They were absolutely ador able. The saleswoman had suggested a pale oyster colored pair for
casual
and a shiny pair of black ones for
evening. Angel had never realized Humans change
d shoes according to the time. All these neat things that came with legs. And firsthand experience.

   With Wendy's help, she selected a white halter dress with a peek-a-boo cutout at the top of the bodice, criss crossed with all the colors in Atlantis' coral gardens. It reminded her of home. Not that she was homesick per se, but Atlantis was so beautiful, she wanted that beauty with her on her first day in the Human world.

   Angel followed Wendy to the checkout counter, anx ious to see how the electronic equipment worked. She had one of these machines at home but hadn't yet been able to hook it up to an eel.

   Harnessing the natural abilities of electric eels was one of the ideas she wanted to explore as director of the Coalition. Those suckers could generate a huge jolt if so inclined, but any time she'd approached one to test her theory, they'd turned their squared noses up at her and told her to take it up with their union rep.

   They didn't even have an industry, yet they had a union. Slimy the eels might be, but they were ahead of the economic curve.

   Wendy began scanning the items. The process, while fascinating, didn't give Angel the insight she'd wanted. Aside from taking the machine apart—and wouldn't
that
raise some eyebrows—Angel found she couldn't learn much by watching.

   She learned better by doing. And now was the perfect opportunity to do something she'd wanted to do since Logan had woken her—experiment with balance.

   She leaned her elbows on the counter and shifted her weight from one leg to the other, paying attention as she did so to the play of muscles, the pressure points on her feet, and how her toes reacted. She took one of the sandals off and did it again, mentally comparing the differences.

   Then she lifted one leg, put it down, and lifted the other, thanking the gods no one else was around and that the countertop hid her actions from Wendy.

   Until she accidentally knocked something off it. Great. Way to
not
call attention to herself.

   Angel bent over to pick the object up, then realized that there was a plus to being clumsy. She could exam ine how her leg muscles and joints worked together as she reached down to pick up the leather-covered…

   Book.

   Full of paper.

   Pages and pages of blank paper.

   She loved paper, but it always disintegrated shortly after she got hold of it. Dollar bills, on the other hand, lasted longer and she could write all over them. If Humans would only make them bigger and less clut tered with minutiae, she'd use them for taking notes on her expeditions.

   Like this expedition…

   "I'd like to buy this, as well." Angel handed the notebook to Wendy. "And do you have a…" What did Humans call it? She couldn't very well ask for a sea urchin spine and pot of ink. "A pen. Do you have a pen to go with it?"

   Wendy held up a slim, blue stick. "Will this do, or would you like one from our designer collection?" She pointed to a rack at the end of the counter.

   Three rows of the implements stood like tube sponges, in all different colors and patterns. Some had spots, others swirls, others were solid colors. If Humans were so fond of colorful things, why weren't they more concerned with maintaining coral reefs?

   Exactly the reason she was here. And why she needed the notebook.

   Angel selected a green and blue pen that reminded her of Atlantian waters. "This one will do. And, actu ally," she selected a second pen and another book, "I'll take two."

   Couldn't hurt to have a birthday present for Michael, and what better gift than a book to make notes in? She assumed Humans celebrated birthdays the same way Mers did, and if not, well then, she'd have two. They certainly wouldn't go to waste.

   Wendy scanned the books and pens, placed them in one of the bags, then handed them to Angel along with that piece of plastic.

   Why, it hadn't even gotten a smidge thinner with all the use the saleswoman had insisted they give it! Had Humans designed a hardier version of the non biodegradable pollutant? Rod would be really annoyed to learn about this when he'd finally been making headway in the planetary cleanup department.

   She was juggling the five bags of new clothes when the bells jingled again and Michael appeared on one side of her, Logan on the other.

   "Here. Let me." Logan grabbed two of the bags, then signed the slip of paper the smiling saleswoman put be fore him. His eyes widened.

   "You did say an entire wardrobe," Wendy replied.

   "I did. Er, thank you." He reached for two more

bags. "Michael, you want to give Angel a hand with that last one?"

   "Sure!" With something white encircling his mouth and dripping from an unidentifiable object in his hand, Michael reached for the last bag, but Angel decided she didn't want to risk the pretty garments and new note books to the mess.

   "I've got it, Michael. Why don't you just enjoy… that… and I'll carry this."

   "You wanna try my ice cream?" Michael held up the thing—ice cream. "It's peppermint."

   "Michael, Angel doesn't want to get your germs." Logan held the door open for them.

   Actually Angel
did
want to try the ice cream, but germs… she'd read a lot about germs. The microscopic vermin caused a lot of problems on land, many of which were a direct result of the overabundance of refuse Humans weren't conscientious about discarding. The Coalition's work would benefit both their races; that's why the Coalition was so important—and why it had to have the right Mer heading it.

   Her.

   A blast of hot air hit her as the three of them re turned to the street-side pathway, and Angel decided that air-conditioning, for all its chemicals and energy usage, had some benefits. How amazing it was that Humans could control the temperature—which could explain why they didn't care what they did to the environment by doing so. But if they were clever enough to figure out how to control it, couldn't they also figure out a way to make the process cleaner and safer for everyone?

   More Humans strolled along the pathway, some old, some young. She was mesmerized by how well several bicyclists wove through both Human traffic and the ve hicular kind, amazed they could balance on two thin, rubber wheels. High heels would be enough of a balanc ing act for her; she'd forego the bicycles—especially the tires.

   Those hazards were going to be one of the first issues she'd address. She'd convene a Sewage Reclamation Team to form a small island with tires somewhere in the South Pacific, then set the birds to the task of properly seeding it. Humans would get landmass, and Mers would have Oceanic Beautification: a win-win scenario.

   White metal tables sat outside a restaurant, pastel umbrellas rising from their centers to shade the patrons. The soft
ding
of iced beverages harmonized with the
clink
of cutlery against dishes, so different from her world, yet so very similar.

   "Can we get some more ice cream, Logan?" Michael licked his again, a dribble of white plopping on his shoe.

   "I think one's enough." Logan's tone was stern, but the twinkle had come back into his eyes.

   "A second won't hurt, will it?" Angel asked, wink ing at Michael. Another similarity between their worlds: children and treats.

   "A
second
?" Logan arched an eyebrow at both of them.

   "A second's cool! Let's go!" Michael ran ahead of them, stopping in front of another store, and pulled on the door. "I'm going to get creamsicle this time!" He dashed inside.

   "What about you?" One of the bags Logan carried knocked into hers. "What's your favorite flavor?"

   Uh oh. Potential trip-up moment. She pretended to search for something in her bag. "I like creamsicle, too." She pulled out one of the pretty undergarments. "Oh, phew. I thought I'd left this back in the store."

   She thought she heard that strange garbled sound come from Logan again, so she risked glancing up, hop ing she'd derailed the flavor talk.

   Oh, she'd
definitely
derailed the flavor talk. That was no twinkle in his eye when he looked at what she held.

   She glanced again at the garment. Ahhhh…

   Wendy had said it was the perfect choice. Angel hadn't understood what the saleswoman had meant until just now. Well, okay, maybe she'd had an inkling, but clothing was a new concept to Mers and she hadn't re ally thought it would have that kind of effect on Logan.

   Showed what she knew.

   Stuffing the slip of fabric between the notebooks, Angel picked up the pace and almost walked out of the new shoes.

   "So," she said, hiking the bag higher onto her arm and focusing on something else. What had they been talking about? Besides undergarments… "Do you like creamsicle? Or peppermint? What other flavors does Michael like? How old was he when he started eating it? Does he have it often?"

   Yes, that's it. Think about the research. About the job she wanted. Focus on learning about their world—
not
whether or not Logan liked red undergarments.

   Not that there was any question.

   Thank Zeus, they reached the shop before Logan

answered because she needed to chill out, and air conditioning could definitely take care of chilling out.

In more ways than one.

Okay, so maybe someone Up There wasn't on his side after all.

   Logan opened the door to the ice cream parlor for Angel, leaning back to keep from touching any part of her or that bag.

   She'd picked out red lingerie.

   He'd actually given the saleswoman carte blanche—
and
his credit card—to outfit his son's new babysitter, and, between the two of them, a woman who was sup posed to know fashion and another who had as many degrees as he did, they'd come up with red lingerie. It'd be ironically funny if Michael weren't involved.

   Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he should have just given her the money, bought her a one-way bus ticket, and told Michael she'd had to go home. He wouldn't have to worry about what she wore, what her favorite flavor was, how her hair felt on his skin… nor what it'd be like to kiss her.

   Then Michael grabbed Angel's hand and tugged her forward, his smile almost bigger than he was, and Logan knew he wasn't going to ask her to leave. He couldn't break Michael's heart.

   And hell, he was an adult. He could control himself. He'd proved it on the dock when he hadn't kissed her. He'd been planning to stop long before Michael's inter ruption anyway.

   "Come on!" Michael was bouncing again. Bouncing was, apparently, a good thing in a six-year-old—as long as there was no trampoline, sawdust, or audience as there'd been when he was six.

   Angel slid past him, laughing, the scent of the trop ics and something else clinging to her skin—like Logan wanted to.

   Jesus.
Get a grip, Hardington—and
not
on Angel
.

   He was in charge of millions of dollars at work— hell, he had a problem with eight million of them facing him when they got back. He certainly could handle an attraction to the babysitter without resorting to sending her away.

   "Hurry up!" Michael ran to the counter, dragging Angel with him.

   His son would be devastated if she left.

   Logan sighed. That settled it. Put his libido in check and deal with this attraction in the only feasible way: forget it.

   "Should I get creamsicle, Angel? Or do you think I should go for Moose Trail? I saw a moose once. Rainbow took me to a zoo and I saw lions and tigers and a moose. Little monkeys, too. They were hopping all over their cage. I'd be sad to be in a cage, wouldn't you?"

   Angel slid her hand over Michael's shoulders, then under his chin, which she tilted back so that he was looking up at her. Such an intimate gesture between the two of them, as natural as if they were related.

   But they weren't, and Logan, who was, couldn't even hope for anything so ordinary between him and his son. How had she managed it in the space of half a morning?

   Maybe Michael really missed Rainbow.