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SHIFTING TIDES: BENEATH A MIDNIGHT SEA
by
CASSANDRA CURTIS
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
http://www.amberheat.com
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Shifting Tides: Beneath A Midnight Sea
An Amber Heat Book
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
Copyright © 2007 by Cassandra Curtis
ISBN 978-1-60272-032-9
Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting
Provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com
Published in the United States of America
Also by Cassandra Curtis
Compulsion
Cup Of Fate
I Put A Spell On You
Dedication
To my amazing editor, Karin,
for her insight and advice. And to her husband, who named
my series Shifting Tides. Karin, he's a keeper!
SHIFTING TIDES: BENEATH A MIDNIGHT SEA
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This had to be the stupidest thing she'd done so far. If she could strangle Jill, she would. But no, Jill had called on her cell phone at the last minute to cancel. Wonderful. The whole stupid class had been Jill's idea to begin with, but, as usual, she was the one who got stuck on the follow through.
She could be home watching her favorite TV show, comfortable in her fuzzy slippers. Instead, she and ten other rejects were standing in the produce aisle at the supermarket, learning how to fondle cucumbers and snag their Mr. Right among the vegetables.
When had she become desperate? She knew how to flirt, how to meet men...just not how to keep one.
"Terri? Terri Fletcher?"
She glanced to her left, then her right--nowhere to hide! No. Oh, dear God, no. Maybe she imagined the spandex covered horror? She closed her eyes, willed herself far, far away. Then opened them. Her mother's best friend dropped her grapefruits and waved. She was coming over!
Terri clutched the cucumber tighter, inadvertently pushing on a soft spot. The vegetable squirted pulpy seeds all over her fingers. Great!
The instructor leaned over to pass her a napkin. "I think you just went to the head of the class, Ms. Fletcher!"
The rest of the group giggled. She threw the abused cuke onto the pile and wiped the mess off her hands. While she looked around for somewhere to pitch the piece of paper towel, bony arms drenched in cloying perfume, enveloped her.
"I thought that was you! What are you doing shopping way out here? I thought you moved to the beach or somewhere on the coast, out near the jetties?
"Mrs. Larimore. Isn't tonight bunco night for you and the other ladies in Mom's group?"
"That's on Thursdays. Friday is shakin' your groove thing night." The older woman winked. Then she happened to look over her shoulder at the other group participants, all of them standing near the pile of long, green veggies, each holding a cucumber.
Her own Mr. Cucumber chose that second to roll down the precarious pile. She reached out to grab it before it fell to the ground. Oh, I didn't realize..." She looked back at Terri. "Are these your friends?" The older woman leaned forward, whispered in her ear. "Why are they all fondling vegetables, dear?"
Floor, swallow me. Swallow me whole. "Um, it's a workshop--you remember my friend Jill--she signed us up for it, but she couldn't make it."
"But a workshop on...what?"
The instructor stepped forward. "Hello. The class is for single women on how to flirt with men in a non-threatening, equal environment."
"Ah, well at least her mother will be happy to know she's decided to get professional help." She turned back to Terri and hugged her. "She'll be thrilled you haven't given up. Now you go on back to your class. And pay attention. You have a lot to learn about men, and you're not getting any younger!"
A cloud of perfume trailed in her wake as Mrs. Larimore returned to her cart, wheeling away from the produce section. Before midnight, everyone in her mother's circle would know. Could a woman die of embarrassment? She might be the first to find out.
She stayed for the entire hour and a half workshop, not because she thought she'd actually learn something, but more due to the fact that her check had already been cashed.
Her cell phone rang for the ninth time since she'd left the parking lot. Deep breaths, she told herself. She dug around in her purse one-handed and came up with the tiny flip phone. She glanced from the road to the caller ID. It was her mother. Again.
Ignore it. Go ahead. You're a grown woman. You've ignored it so far. Just because she keeps calling doesn't mean you have to-- "Hi, Mom."
"Is something wrong with your phone?"
"No, Mom. I'm in the SUV, on my way home. You know how I don't like to talk on the cell and drive at the same time."
"So, you're done with your class."
Mrs. Larimore of the spandex groove thing hadn't wasted any time. "Can I call you tomorrow, Mom? I'm just pulling into the driveway."
"I wish you'd moved somewhere closer. Especially if you still plan to grocery shop all the way over here. That's a lot of gas. You really should get rid of that thing you drive--get something more economical. Especially since you insist on living on your own income."
Next she'd suggest moving back home. "Mom... you're breaking...up...call you...tomorrow." She pressed the end call button with a guilty smile and shoved the cell phone in her jeans pocket. Sometimes a little distance was healthy.
She hummed to herself and got out to check her mail. Bills, bills and, oh joy! More bills. Her mother had a point--but she had no intention of going to her mother with her hand out. Just like she had no intention of allowing her mother to help her get a man. The last thing she needed was busy-body interference of the magickal variety.
The sack of groceries she'd bought slid from her hip. She caught it with her knee, and had just unlocked and opened her house door when she heard the noise.
A pathetic moan came from around the side, behind her house. Maybe a hurt animal on the ocean's rock jetties below? She placed the groceries on her coffee table, tossed her purse next to it, and grabbed both a flashlight and the baseball bat her father insisted she keep in the closet. If it was a prowler she'd score a hit and a run.
She snuck around the corner. Something tried to move. A strange, dark form huddled between the clumps of sea grass and sand. She waved the flashlight over the shape, saw it slump over and kiss the ground. On closer inspection she realized it was a man. A very cold, wet, and naked man.
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His ribs ached and his thigh burned from the salt water. The shark's razor-sharp teeth had nicked him a glancing blow, nothing too serious, even though it hurt like hell. He was lucky to have made it to shore before the damned thing started its second pass. Or another shark scented blood in the water and came to investigate.
He managed to crawl up the sandy incline toward a house that overlooked the slick black rocks his kind enjoyed for sunbathing. No lights inside. A good sign. Meant that the land-dwellers were gone. If he could just make it to the wooden step
s and deck, he'd break in, take what he needed, and leave. His conscience be damned.
Pain and blood loss forced him to his knees. He pressed one hand to his thigh and tore some of the sea grass with the other. If he could make a rough sort of tourniquet, it might slow the bleeding. He managed to crawl another four feet before he sprawled, passed out, only inches shy of the first step.
Awareness returned as he woke and took in his surroundings. He sat in a wooden chair, on the same deck he'd tried earlier to reach. A soft but scared feminine voice spoke in low tones to someone on an impossibly small, cordless phone. Interesting. When he'd last been ashore, there had been talk of these small communicators amongst the land-dwellers, but he'd seen no such device except on the boxes they called Tee Vee.
"Yes, I'll stay on the line."
The female glanced his way and dropped the phone. "Oh, are you okay? Duh, of course you're not okay! Sorry, but I'm a little frazzled. It's not often naked men pass out in my backyard. Especially ones who look like they got chewed on by a shark."
He looked down at himself, lifted the blanket wrapped around his waist and shoulders, and noted the bloody towel secured around his thigh with thick, shiny gray tape.
His cap! Where was his sealskin cap?
He tried to stand, but fell back into the chair. Had the female land-dweller found his cap?
For millennia, his people told of the lusty appetites of the land-dwellers--how they would steal and hide the silky bit of fur, forcing many a good selkie to stay with them, unable to return to the sea. He looked upon the female and saw honest concern shadow her face. No doubt an act.
"Where is my cap? Do not think to hide it from me, treacherous female!"
The woman scooped the phone off the deck floor where it had fallen and took a step back. He eyed the jiggle of her ample breasts and the flare of her hips, the sweet curve of her bent--
"Look, I'm trying to help you here!" She straightened and noticed his stare.
"What?"
"Your body is made for pleasure. It would be no hardship to plumb your depths."
"Why, gee, thanks. Not every day I get an offer like that. In fact, you're the first naked, wet stranger to volunteer."
"I would do much in exchange for my cap." He stood, letting the blanket slide from his muscled shoulders and narrow waist.
"Whoa, big boy! I didn't say go for it. I don't even know your name." She backed up another step.
"I am Destin MacCodrum of the Shining Sea."
"Hello, Destin of the Shining Sea. My name is Terri." She lifted a corner of the blanket and held it back up to him. "An ambulance will be here soon to take you to the hospital. Might be a good idea to keep this on in the meantime."
"Ambulance. I remember those." He took the blanket. "Noisy things."
The woman eyed him strangely. "Did you hit your head when you fell?"
"No."
"You really should sit down and keep off that leg until the paramedics get here."
"I will wait for the ambulance, but I am not going to the hospital. The wound will heal soon enough." He sat in the chair again, adjusted the blanket, and secured it like a toga. "I'll not leave here until I have my cap."
"I don't have your baseball cap. Maybe you left it wherever you left the rest of your clothes?"
He closed his eyes, suddenly weary. His leg still throbbed. And the female, however attractive, tried his patience. The underwater storm had thrown him off course, his innate sense of direction hampered. Then the shark had happened upon him, eager for a meal. There'd been no time to ponder where he'd landed. Until now. Where was he? He opened his eyes, and looked up at the stars in the darkened sky.
The little female seemed insistent she did not have his cap. Perhaps she did not. It may have fallen from his hand on the rocks below. He'd search for it tomorrow.
The whirring cry of an ambulance split the silence, then came to a sudden halt in front of the house. He watched as the woman left him to meet the medics and bring them to the rear of her home.
He would let them treat him, but he would not go with them, not with his cap still here, missing.
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Terri forced herself to stop ogling the sexy stranger. He worked out--a lot. But those rippled abs and long, sleek muscles didn't come from a gym. At first, she'd been too worried about him to notice what an incredible specimen of man she'd found.
Oh my...those dark, almost black eyes, and the inky hair. She just knew when it was dry, clean of sea water and sand, brushed straight, it would feather through her fingers in a silky, dark wave. She tried to peer closer at the strange tattoo on his inner bicep. It was a circle of black. Inside, lines formed an interwoven petal-like design. She'd seen this same tattoo somewhere else, long ago, but couldn't remember where.
The approaching siren interrupted her thoughts. She should be ashamed. The man was hurt. He could be married with kids at home, his family worried about him. And she hadn't thought to ask if he needed her to call someone for him. All he seemed concerned about was his baseball cap. She vowed to look for it in the morning.
She excused herself and went to meet the medics. The two men followed her to the deck. While one of them asked Destin questions, the other opened a case and began treating the wound--which was a heck of a lot smaller than she remembered! It looked like nothing more than a nasty scratch and a couple of small puncture wounds.
What the--?
"What type of animal did you say attacked him?"
"Umm, shark. It looked like a shark bite to me. And there was lots of blood. He passed out."
"Could be, judging by the teeth marks, but if it was, your man got lucky. It was probably a baby."
Destin shot her a warning glance. But why? She knew the gouge she'd seen wasn't from a baby shark.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" One of the medics asked, while the other expertly debrided and bandaged Destin's thigh.
"Three."
"Who is president?"
"Of what?"
A look passed between the paramedics. "The United States."
"He's not from here. He's visiting from Scotland," she interjected, worried now that Destin would wind up in the hospital's "special wing."
One of the men stood to shine a light in his eyes. Then he made a notation on a clipboard. "You know what day it is?"
She tried to "mouth" the word Friday, but quit when she noticed the medic glance from Destin to her.
"Ah, Friday."
The medic shot her a disgusted glare. "Can you tell me what year it is?" He asked Destin.
"I will answer no more of your foolish questions."
"I can't help you if you won't answer the questions."
"I need no more help."
"Fine, the docs in ER can deal with you, buddy."
"Nay. I'll not go to your hospital."
"Look, if you don't go, then your insurance won't pay for our trip."
She had no idea if that was true or if the medic had said it to cajole him. But Destin wasn't easily cajoled...or anything else it seemed. He folded his arms in front of his broad chest and shook his head.
"I stay right here."
"I...umm, I don't think he has insurance anyway."
"No insurance?"
She glanced at Destin, and he shook his head. "I guess not."
"Well, then if you are refusing to go to the hospital, there's nothing more for us here. Keep off the leg for a while if you can. And you might want to see if your girlfriend has antibiotic ointment and fresh bandages for tomorrow." He repacked his case, while the other man handed a clipboard and pen to Destin.
"It's a release I need you to sign, saying that you are refusing transport."
He scrawled something on it, then handed it back the man.
"He should follow up--make him go to a doctor Monday."
"I will." She ignored Destin's fierce scowl.
The medics nodded to her as they left.
She scooted her chair closer to his, and s
at down beside him. "Destin, you really should have gone with them. You could have hit your head when you passed out and be suffering from a concussion."
"You truly worry for me? A stranger?"
"Of course I do. Anyone would."
"Nay. Few would. And surely not a land-dweller." He reached out to touch her hair, then leaned closer, whispering, "Fair beauty..."
"Now, I'm really worried," she quipped. "Definitely a concussion."
His lips were mere inches from hers. He leaned in. She tilted her head and met him halfway. The ocean's roar echoed in her mind. Her senses were overwhelmed as she sank beneath his kiss.
He tasted of salt air and the sea. His hands cupped the back of her head and his fingers wove through her hair. He gave a gentle tug, and she opened her mouth.
Now she was the one who felt light-headed. His tongue dove and fluttered, teasing her, tempting her. She placed her hands on his smooth chest and glided her fingers over the rock-solid pecs. Like warm satin over steel. Liquid heat flooded her, sensitizing her skin to his touch. She squeezed her thighs tight.
He pulled back, eyes glittering with some distant emotion. If she didn't know better, she'd think it was wonder. He caressed her face with a butterfly's touch, as she took huge gulping breaths and tried to gather her scattered wits. Despite what her mother thought, she'd been kissed plenty of times--but none like that!
"I, uh...maybe we should go inside. You're probably hungry--for food! I'll fix us something." She led the way, feeling like an idiot. Wanting him, yet shy and a little nervous about the whole idea.
She'd known him less than three hours. Was that too soon to boink his brains out? The poor guy had survived a shark attack. The last thing he needed was to get his bones jumped by a sex-starved lunatic. Of course, her friend Jill would probably have him in bed by now. Or on the floor if she couldn't wait that long.
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