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Authors: Katherine Irons

Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Fantasy, #Chick-Lit, #Mythology

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BOOK: Seaborne
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“Good night, Claire. Remember, I’m here for you. Always.”
“I know. Take care. ’Bye.” She hung up the phone, grabbed the paperback, and threw it against the in-suite wall. “Justin? I may be suicidal, but I’m not crazy.”
Maybe she was, a little, but she’d sooner spill her heart out to a stranger—to Morgan—than to trust Justin Warren. She exhaled in one long breath, switched off the light, and wiggled down in the bed.
She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, not without taking something, but to her surprise, she did. And when she opened her eyes, instead of sunlight coming through the sea-front windows, she saw moonbeams dancing across the waves.
She was standing waist deep in the surf, her bare feet half-buried in the sand, with salt-foam washing against her bare waist and soaking the cotton pajama top that covered her breasts.
She looked up in surprise, her startled gaze meeting Morgan’s. “What are you doing here?” she asked him.
A smile spread over his face. “I thought you’d like to go for a midnight swim.”
But how? She couldn’t remember leaving the house, descending the cliff face. Was she dreaming? Didn’t he realize that she couldn’t use her legs? Or could she? She could feel the cold water against her skin, feel the clamshell under her right foot. She wiggled her toes and felt a rush of joy as they moved. She didn’t know what to say to him.
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve never swum in the ocean,” she said, still afraid to believe she was standing—still not knowing how she’d gotten out of bed. “My father …”
“Your father isn’t here, is he?”
Moonlight played over Morgan’s handsome features. His body was every bit as breathtaking as she remembered. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. She was standing. She had feeling in her legs. Cautiously, she took one step, and then another.
Maybe this was real and the rest was a nightmare. Maybe that speedboat with the drunken captain had never shattered her spine and skull. Maybe … She sucked in a deep breath of salt air. Maybe this moment was all she’d ever have. Why waste it?
“I’m not a great swimmer,” she said. She felt giddy with happiness. If he’d suggested dancing naked on the beach she would have agreed.
“Lucky for you, I am.”
Puzzled, she tilted her head and looked up at him.
“A good swimmer.” He squeezed her hand, and she thrilled at the shivers of excitement rushing up her arm and down to tips of her toes. His hand was big and warm. He made her feel safe. She was trembling, not with fear, but with anticipation. So what if she drowned? Hadn’t she been trying to work up her nerve to end her useless existence ?
He was a total stranger. All her life, Richard had warned her to be wary of strangers, to beware of con men or women trying to extract something from her. Morgan might be a psychopath for all she knew, but if he was, he had certainly wrapped his craziness in a beautiful package.
He tugged at her hand and dove under, pulling her with him. Instinctively, she held her breath and closed her eyes. She’d been honest. She wasn’t a good swimmer. Her lessons in the boarding school pool had only been sufficient to pass the class. No one in her family swam, and Richard had a terrible fear of the ocean that he’d passed on to her.
“Open your eyes.”
She was surprised at how clearly Morgan’s words came to her. She could almost hear him speaking in her head. She did as he instructed and gasped with delight at the blue and green sea bottom beneath her. Silver moonlight shimmered above them, and they slid through the water as easily as a goose flies through the sky.
She’d expected the water to be icy, but it was like warm honey against her skin. Each kick she made seemed to carry her farther, faster. They were moving swiftly now, past undersea rocks and swaying columns of sea foliage. Off to her left, Claire saw the outline of a sunken ship, the wooden skeleton glowing faintly with a ghostly luminescence. There on the right was an old lobster pot, broken loose from its float or cut free by some jealous fisherman who didn’t want competition.
Claire swam beside Morgan for a long time before she realized that she was no longer holding her breath. Somehow, she was able to breathe without rising to the surface for air. She supposed that meant she was dreaming, and she felt a twinge of disappointment. She’d wanted this to be the reality. She didn’t want to wake and find herself confined to the bed with legs like cold marble.
“How is this possible?” she asked. “Why aren’t I drowning? Is this a dream? I can’t breathe underwater.”
He laughed. “It’s not a dream, and you’re correct. You can’t. Not normally, but because I brought you into the sea, you can.”
“But how?”
“Think of it as magic. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
She had so many more questions, but the ocean floor spread out before her, full of marvels: giant clams, schools of cod, a small shark. How could all this beauty be here, so close to her home and she’d never seen it? Even the swirling sand formed patterns of different colors, now buff, now black as coal. Claire was enchanted. This was as much a fairyland as anything in the
Green Fairy Tale Book
.
“Duck your head,” Morgan cautioned.
She did and found him leading her under a low arch of stone blocks into a narrow tunnel. She should have been afraid. The light here was almost nonexistent and the air seemed stale. She could just make out the shadows and shapes of fish and crabs swimming past. Then abruptly, they were through the passageway and into an underwater cavern lit by a shimmering rainbow of multicolored fish that glowed like lanterns.
“Ohh,” she cried. “How wonderful.” She had to be dreaming. How could such a place exist?
The sandy floor was littered with pieces of broken marble statuary and patterned tiles that looked almost Grecian. A waterfall tumbled from one end of the chamber, forming a bubbling stream of clear water.
“It’s fresh,” Morgan said. “Are you thirsty?” From a rock shelf, he lifted a crystal glass and filled it for her.
The water was sweet and cold, the best she had ever tasted in her life. She drank until she’d drained the glass. The flavor was faintly familiar, but surely she’d never been here before. “I don’t understand any of this. I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole.”
He smiled at her, and the heat of that smile made her all warm in the pit of her stomach. “You don’t have to, do you? Do you like what you see?”
“Yes,” she cried. “Oh, yes.”
“I do.” He drew her closer and lifted her hand. Turning it, he pressed his lips to the underside of her wrist. “You’re very beautiful, Claire.”
She swallowed, marveling at the sweet sensations that had spread under her skin at the touch of his lips. “So are you,” she replied.
He nuzzled her skin before releasing her, but didn’t step away. They were very close, and she could see just how big he was. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to touch her. Her breasts tingled, and a sudden rush of need filled her. She moved into the circle of his arms as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and raised her face so that he could kiss her lips.
His breath was sweet. He hadn’t even kissed her, but she could feel the tension growing in the pit of her stomach. “Morgan,” she whispered. “What’s happening?” Trembling, she leaned against him.
He took her face between his hands and tilted it up. His mouth covered hers and he slid his hands down to stroke her throat and the nape of her neck. Heat leaped between them, and she opened her mouth as he deepened the kiss. It felt so natural, so right. She’d kissed many men in her life, made love to some of them, but she’d never felt like this.
Sweet, liquid desire melted her bones and slid through her veins. She leaned into him as her knees went weak. She was acutely aware of the corded muscles in his chest and the growing bulge of his sex. Heart in her throat, she traced her fingertips down his chest and flat belly, and down lower until she felt him tremble. Brazenly, she stroked him, growing even more excited as she felt the throbbing length and width of him in her palm.
He gasped and she clung tighter to him. How she’d missed this. She’d been afraid that she’d never feel another man inside her, never know the wild, starburst of intense pleasure that came with a climax. Eyes wide, gazing up into his face, she caught his hand and brought it to an aching breast.
His strong, lean fingers caressed her. His gentle touch set her on fire. She wanted more. Had to have more. He stroked and rubbed, finding the nipple and teasing it until she thought she would go mad with desire. Her breasts felt heavy, sensitive … so sensitive.
She wanted him to kiss her… . She wanted to feel his lips against her bare skin. “Kiss me,” she begged. “Kiss my breasts. Suck them.”
Groaning, he tore away her thin cotton top, lowered his head, and slowly drew her nipple between his lips. Her breathing quickened as he suckled hard enough to send ripples of pulsing joy to the growing heat between her legs.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded.
“You know what I want.”
“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
CHAPTER 4
M
organ looked down at her, suddenly struck by how small, and soft, and trusting she was. Hot lust coursed through him with a liquid fire. He wanted to throw her back against the sand and possess her. He wanted to strip her naked and savor every bit of her, driving deep inside her, riding her until she screamed with pleasure. He knew he could, knew that she’d welcome him, that she’d open to take in every inch he had to give her.
Why shouldn’t he? He’d brought her here for this, hadn’t he? She was only human, and he was of a superior race. Why not take what was so freely offered? It would be a gift of pure, once-in-a-lifetime joy for her. And once he was satiated with her charms, he’d be free of her.
But he hadn’t counted on her silken skin or the delicate female odor that filled his head and intoxicated him, a scent more powerful and enchanting than any he’d ever encountered. He hadn’t guessed how holding her in his arms would cause an overwhelming feeling of protectiveness. Something deep inside stirred and blossomed, thawing the wall he’d built up to guard his emotions. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He’d shared pleasures with dozens, perhaps hundreds of lovers, and none had ever been so helpless … so vulnerable. So what was it about this woman that was different?
Never before when he was in the throes of primal sexual desire—of the must that possessed Atlanteans at certain times of their lives, driving them almost mad with lust—had he ever hesitated. He wanted Claire with a blinding, pulsing heat. What harm would it do to quench this fire?
She was an adult with the free choice to accept or refuse him, and he would take the necessary steps to protect her from the unlikely chance that she might conceive a child. She’d not remember this night once it was over; he’d make certain of that. He was the one risking his life—it might be forfeit for this high crime—while nothing bad would happen to her. Why shouldn’t he have the prize he held in his arms?
“Morgan … please …”
She was breathing hard, her beautiful eyes heavy lidded with passion. If he slid a finger inside her, he knew she’d be wet and ready for him. He groaned, fighting his own release at the thought of tasting that sweet honey. Heat seared his skin as need gripped his loins. Was she a witch that she had this power over him?
Her fingertips pressed against his chest, stroking, caressing … so warm, so alive. He leaned down and nuzzled her swollen breasts. What sweet breasts they were, not large, but perfectly formed with coral-colored nipples … nipples now taut and enticing. He caressed first one breast and then the other, licking and sucking, making her writhe and moan with excitement.
He dropped to his knees, pressing her back into a soft bed of kelp. “Claire,” he murmured. “Beautiful Claire. Do you want me to love you?”
“Yes,” she cried, “yes. Do it! I want to feel you inside me!” She tugged at her pajama bottoms, pulling them away, letting him see the soft brown curls the covered her mound.
He ripped away his kilt. His cock throbbed, hard and pulsing. His need was fierce, and she was only inches away. He could so easily give them both what they wanted.
He leaned over her and covered her mouth with his own. She wrapped her legs around him, bringing her hot, wet sex in contact with his body, and making him crazy. He ran his hands over her breasts and down over her small, flat stomach where the skin was marred by a map of raised scars.
She was whimpering now, her nails digging into his back, whipping his lust to fury. He pushed her back, kissing first her mouth, and then her throat, sucking, licking, and nipping. He trailed the kisses down over her breasts to her midsection, where he kissed each raised lump of scar tissue before moving lower. Her curls were as soft as he had imagined.
Her scent was stronger now. He buried his face in her velvet folds, teasing her with his hard tongue, tasting her woman’s juices, exploring her delicate secrets until she cried out and convulsed with joy. He continued kissing and laving her sex until she sighed with pleasure. Then he dropped back, breathless and panting.
Still unfulfilled, still tumescent and aching, he grasped his swollen cock and sought a solitary relief, stroking and squeezing until he reached the peak and slipped over, groaning as he found release.
Still unable to understand why he hadn’t taken what was offered, Morgan cradled her in his arms and whispered Atlantean love words into her ear. She couldn’t comprehend a word he was saying, but it didn’t matter. He knew. The familiar words of the ancient poet seemed right for this moment and brought a little peace to Morgan’s soul.
Claire raised her head and looked into his eyes. “Why didn’t you … ?”
“It’s all right,” he soothed, and kissed her love-swollen lips tenderly. “It’s all right.” How could he answer her question? He was at a loss. All he knew with certainty was that taking her tonight would have been wrong—would have been no better than rape. For some reason he couldn’t explain, it was impossible to complete his seduction. That’s what he tried to convince himself, but he knew the answer all too well.
She was human. He was an Atlantean male. She had no defenses against his sexual prowess. Taking advantage of her would be wrong, even more of a wrong than bringing her into his world. She might be just a human, but he couldn’t treat her with such disrespect.
He was ashamed of what he had done. And yet … and yet he had to admit that whatever attraction he had for her had not lessened one iota. He still desired her. What was more, he felt responsible for her in a way that he’d never felt for any other female.
How was that possible? Something like anger seeped up to mute the shame. He’d been a fool. When he’d first felt drawn to Claire, he should have found a willing Atlantean woman and sated his lust with her. It would have been easy. There was always a celebration, a party, a gathering of willing men and women eager to enjoy themselves. If he wanted a more serious relationship, there were three Atlantean noblewomen he could think of who would welcome his attentions.
So why had he chosen to become an outlaw on a whim? Maybe his half-brother was right. Maybe he wasn’t fit to sit on his father’s throne. Maybe he had some weakness of character, some thread of madness that would explain this deviation from the correct path. The High Council had sent him on a mission, and instead of doing his job, he’d chosen to involve himself with a badly injured human woman.
“Morgan?”
His name on her lips sent shivers down his spine. And when he met her gaze, his shame flooded back with greater intensity. “Did I please you?” he asked.
Her smile answered his question. “Yes, but I still don’t understand. Why didn’t—”
“It’s late,” he said brusquely. “Time I got you home.”
She sighed and touched his cheek. “I’d rather stay here.”
“No, we have to go.”
She looked around. “It’s so breathtakingly beautiful here. I never imagined that …” She paused. “This is a dream, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Morgan kissed the tip of her nose. “It’s a wonderful dream, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, it is.” She stroked his cheek. “I don’t want it to end.”
“But it has to. You have to wake up.”
“How can I imagine all these things? If it’s my dream …”
He smiled at her. “There are many things in the world we aren’t supposed to understand.” It was true. As old as he was, there were still many unexplained mysteries that puzzled him. He took her hand in his and helped her to her feet. “Come with me.”
She smiled at him. “Anywhere.”
He wondered if she would still feel that way if she were Atlantean, if she liked him because of the enchantment his kind spun over humans, or if … Thinking like that made him only more confused. He led her quickly back toward the tunnel. He’d return her to her home. He’d make certain that she remembered none of this. And he’d never repeat the error with a human again.
But as Claire gripped his hand, he knew that she wouldn’t be so easy to forget. He might leave her, might put an ocean between them, but he had the uneasy feeling that she would continue to haunt his dreams. And he had no idea of what to do about it.
Claire opened her eyes. She was in her bedroom; she could see the familiar outlines of her dresser, the door that led to the adjoining bathroom, the table and chair by the window. A night-light burning by the entrance gave off a faint yellow glow. Her father’s picture stood on her nightstand as it always had.
But the room smelled of salt and sand and rolling waves. If she closed her eyes, she could picture the ocean floor, the schools of fish flitting through the water like flocks of birds.
Tentatively, she touched her sheet, pillows, the fuzzy blanket. She opened her eyes again and saw by the clock that it was 4:30, not yet dawn. She felt confused, not quite awake and not quite asleep. Memories of the fantastic dream continued to swirl in her mind. Morgan … beautiful Morgan. Swimming … she’d been swimming in the ocean with him. They’d been together on the beach and he’d taken her under the water, led her to a magical cavern at the bottom of the sea where he’d made glorious love to her.
Well, almost. At least, he had pleasured her.
She sighed. It had all been so real … Morgan’s kiss … his touch. A warm flush rose under her skin as she remembered the intimacies they’d shared. She felt no shame … just pleasure, and she smiled into the shadowy bedroom.
In her dream, she hadn’t been trapped in a bed or a wheelchair. She’d gone down to the beach and waded in the water, felt the cold, fresh waves break around her … over her hands and legs. She’d felt! She’d physically experienced sensations that had been impossible for her to feel since the accident.
She clenched her eyes shut and let the memories flow over her. Like vivid scenes from a movie, they played out behind her eyelids: the sea floor, the shimmering lights and colors, the sunken ship, the fish that glowed like lanterns. She could see Morgan’s azure-blue eyes gazing into hers, feel him kissing her breasts and nipples … feel the thrill of his hands moving over her body.
Here in this room, she was a cripple, only half alive, but the dream had made her feel alive again. Morgan’s visit to the beach had given her that. If she could only live in her imagination, it was better than nothing. She buried her face in her hands. Why couldn’t it be true? Or why couldn’t she keep dreaming?
She could taste Morgan’s lips, his sweet breath mingled with hers, smell the clean, salty scent of his skin. She could remember the feel of his long blond hair brushing against her bare breasts … feel the texture of his tongue against the inside of her mouth… .
“Why did I have to wake up?” she whispered, hugging herself in desperation. “Why?”
Abruptly, gooseflesh rose on her arms as she realized that her pajama bottoms were missing. She was still wearing her gauzy blue top with the sailboat embroidery, but grains of sand clung to the thin cotton, and it smelled of the sea.
Was she losing her mind?
By eight, Claire was ringing for Mrs. Godwin to send one of the maids up with a pot of coffee—black. Claire wanted a clear head today. She’d finished her breakfast of toast and juice before Nurse Wrangle arrived at eight-thirty to assist her with bathing, medications, and dressing.
“Toast and jam is not a proper breakfast,” the young woman scolded. “You should have oatmeal or a poached egg, perhaps prunes to—”
“Ask Cook to send a basket of fresh fruit down to the beach, if you like,” Claire replied. “I’ll be on the pavilion today.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise. Mrs. Godwin said yesterday was not a good day for you. Bed rest until your therapist comes might—”
“On the beach,” Claire repeated. It didn’t do to give her an inch.
Nurse Charlotte Wrangle was tall and model thin with short blond hair, hazel eyes, and a white uniform and cap. Claire guessed her to be in her mid-twenties. She would have been attractive if it weren’t for the stern expression and the air of importance she wore like a shroud. Did anyone under the age of sixty still wear a nurse’s cap on duty? Wear a stethoscope or carry a physician’s leather case with her initials in large silver letters? Or call herself
Nurse Wrangle
?
Claire handed back the paper medication cup. She’d dutifully swallowed every pill, except the one for pain. She didn’t want to be groggy when Morgan came again. If he came again.
“You know you need this.” Wrangle shook the cup and smiled patronizingly.
“If I need it, I’ll take it. Not before.” She waved the pill away and guided the wheelchair toward the elevator to the first floor. “Thank you for coming,” she called over her shoulder.
“I should take your temperature. And your blood pressure.” Wrangle scuttled after her in her black, lace-up, old lady oxfords.
“Tomorrow,” Claire promised, reaching the doorway. Why did some nurses and doctors insist on treating their patients like small children? Had she lost her ability to make decisions when the speed boat had crushed her skull?
“But your father will—”
“My father isn’t here. And you work for me, Charlotte. Keep that in mind.” Claire thought that she should have a plaque made that said that very thing—
I AM YOUR EMPLOYER
.
DON’T FORGET IT
! Then she could hold it up, instead of repeating herself to the staff, the physical therapists, and Nurse Wrangle.
BOOK: Seaborne
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