by Clare London
“Tell me.” Perry frowned.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Occasionally I sell one or two. There are small galleries in Stornoway and sometimes one of my works finds its way to the mainland.”
Perry was amazed and thrilled. Somehow that suited Greg so well—the isolated and creative artist wedded to the stark, striking landscape around him. “Are they of the island? Of the sea? It’s magnificent inspiration! If I had talent, I’d be painting this all day, every day.”
Greg stared at him. He looked equally amazed. “Um. Yes, they are of the island. You didn’t seem so keen on this place when you arrived.”
Perry flushed. “I’ll admit it’s very different from the city, and I’m appalled by the weather, and the boggy peat fields, and the lack of public transport, and the godforsaken isolation—”
“And the water?”
“Oh God yes, that. There is so much water here! Bloody place is obsessed with it. Over eight hundred lochs, apparently, just on this island—”
“And so you’ve been googling this godforsaken place?” Greg asked drily.
My turn to get busted. Perry fell silent, embarrassed at being caught out in his growing fascination with North Uist. The salty air must be stronger than he’d imagined.
“That’s what I mainly paint,” Greg said quietly. “The sea. The shore. The morning light over the dunes. I don’t really do it for the money.”
Perry watched Greg’s eyes as they shifted out of focus, as if he was looking inside rather than at Perry. Yet Perry wasn’t insulted. Greg’s gaze was responding to something much deeper and more beautiful.
“The TV show will pay really well,” Perry said tentatively. Greg frowned, and Perry immediately regretted bringing it up.
“This is my day, remember? You’re not allowed to pimp your agenda.”
Perry smiled. “Sorry.” Smile again. Please! “So what else do you paint? Any city scenes? Portraits?”
Greg snorted. “Hardly, when other things are much more rewarding. I paint the sea and the lochs, and the wildlife it cherishes. There are plenty of seals and birds to admire. Maybe the odd selkie too. This country’s full of legend about them.”
“Selkies?” Was Greg teasing him again? “What are they?”
“Sea sprites. Mermen and women. Legend has it if they come to land, they can be caught and kept as lovers, if you hide their pelt.”
Perry started to laugh, then bit it back at the look in Greg’s eyes. “You believe all that? Fairy tales?”
Greg stared back at him coolly. “Don’t mock it, Perry. There are a lot of things in life that aren’t explained by science.” And while Perry cast around for a suitable answer, Greg started up the engine and directed the boat on its way back to the jetty.
They moored up and Greg left Perry on the jetty again while he went to change back into his clothes. Perry wriggled out of his life jacket and put the box of scallops down beside him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket to alert him to a text, and he tugged it out, wondering who was calling. Candace had already texted him the night before, and Antony had promised to call him soon for a proper chat. And Perry’s mother had never bothered learning how to text in the first place.
It was from the agency! Perry had been waiting so long for this, to hear when the cavalry was turning up. Candace had been vague on the timetable, but Perry knew Eddy would have played this project close to his chest. And now he recognized Eddy’s personal number. At last! He called up the message immediately.
Team can’t make it after all. Sorry. Know you can manage. Take another week. Report in when you can. Eddy
“Team can’t make it?” Perry stared at his phone in horror. I’m completely on my own? He didn’t have anything with him to help—no wardrobe, no hair stylist, no photo equipment, no simulation app to show Greg how his new look would be. And what was with “take another week”? One minute there was a major crisis with the TV filming approaching, now Eddy—not known for his laissez-faire approach—was telling Perry to stay in Scotland. Wasn’t he needed back in London ASAP? These were definitely mixed messages.
Worst of all was the lack of moral support. It felt like a betrayal. In fact, it was a betrayal! His fury bubbled up, making his head swim and his eyes smart.
He’d thought he was doing so well! He was bonding with Greg, learning what made the guy tick, observing him for guidance on how to present him for TV. Ignoring any personal agenda as completely unprofessional—okay, so some of my “bonding” may have strayed into fawning territory—he knew he hadn’t mistaken the way Greg had opened up today, had laughed, had nudged and teased Perry, had been glad to share the day and his love of the island, had been keen to… well, to enjoy real life.
But who was Perry to know what real life was? He looked up at the glimmering sky, listening to the high-pitched cries of birds and the lapping water of the loch against the jetty. How beautiful it all is. He’d only been here a couple of days, but for one astonishing moment, he’d felt as if this was the perfect place to be.
It was the peace that attracted him, that was it. After all, he’d suffered a lot in the last few days, hadn’t he? Damn Eddy and his bloody shitty agency! Perry had uprooted himself from his comfy, if rather too-bijou flat in London, traveled out to the wilds of nowhere, exposed himself and his delicate skin to nature and all her brutal elements, eaten loads of calorificly wrong foods, and now ventured out into the middle of a loch, for God’s sake, all in the name of this job! He was just glad he’d managed the whole of today’s trip without throwing up or getting in the way.
And that, of course, was when he fell in.
He was so engrossed in gazing at the sky and trying to assimilate the cruel text from London, he took a step backward without looking. His foot tangled in a coil of rope, and he toppled. His phone flew out of his hand in one direction and clattered to the deck, while his body lurched the opposite way. He had time for only one loud yelp. The last thing he saw before he plunged off the edge of the jetty was Greg spinning back around to look, eyes wide and mouth even wider.
Probably shouting at me for being a city idiot was Perry’s last, aggrieved thought. Then he hit the cold, dark water with a thwack and thought no more.
Chapter Eleven
GREG had shrugged his shoulders out of his wet suit and was halfway to the hut to change when he heard the yell.
Perry?
He spun around just in time to see Perry tilted dangerously on the edge of the jetty. Greg opened his mouth to shout a warning—their eyes met, Perry’s face contorted in shock and fear. Then he fell sideways into the water.
The splash was loud, and bursts of water sprayed up onto the wooden slats.
He’s not wearing a life jacket!
Greg didn’t even think—he just reacted. He raced back down the jetty, wriggling into his wet suit again, zipping it sharply up to his neck. Even before the bubbles had dispersed from where Perry fell, he dived in after him.
Perry had sunk like a stone, though luckily he hadn’t drifted far from the jetty. But he was flailing around and bloody difficult to grab. Greg dodged a swinging fist too late, and it smacked him on his unprotected cheek. He let himself sink deeper, below Perry, making sure to keep away from Perry’s thrashing feet. Then he kicked back upward and grabbed him around the waist. Pushing hard with his legs, he dragged them together up to the surface.
Perry spluttered, gasping in air, his eyes closed tight, his face deathly white. Water ran down his face, and his hair was a stringy, sodden mess. He fought with surprising strength.
“Perry!” Greg spoke fiercely, sharply in his ear. “Calm down! I have you. You’re safe. You hear me?” He couldn’t get Perry out of the loch while he was struggling. Perry had to cooperate.
“Greg?”
“Hush.” Greg held him tight, treading water for them both. “Hush.” He didn’t know what else to do or say. He’d been trained in life saving, but that was usually on an unconscious body, not a lithe adult one that
was very much alive, and writhing like a desperate fish. Finally, Perry stilled. Maybe he’d heard Greg at last, or maybe he was just exhausted. It was probably only a minute or so since they surfaced, but it had felt like ages.
Greg guided Perry’s hands onto the jetty, levered him up, then lifted himself up beside him. He sat there for a long moment, gathering his breath and cradling a soaked Perry in his arms.
“Greg?”
“Hm?”
Perry’s voice was very shaky. “Thanks for saving my sorry arse.”
Greg chuckled. They needed to get somewhere dry and warm, but he wanted Perry’s heart rate to slow down a bit first. So if Perry wanted to joke, Greg could do that too. “You’re going to need more new clothes. You keep ruining your stuff.”
Perry groaned. “I said this place had too much water, didn’t I?”
“Perhaps you were trying to be some kind of selkie.”
“I’m opening a London branch?”
Greg laughed. Perry was slender and water-slicked, smelling of the loch. Give him a tail and fins, and he could be one of the graceful seals Greg often saw, but transformed into a man. A sea sprite.
My sea sprite.
Where had that thought come from?
“I think they’re better used to life in the sea.” Perry sighed. “It doesn’t seem to be my forte.” His laugh was weak and soft, but his smile was brave.
“Come on. We need to get you back to the house,” Greg said.
Perry went almost limp in Greg’s arms. “Please,” he whispered.
Greg bundled Perry into the Jeep, fumbled his way back into his clothes—not an easy job, when the wet suit still clung—and then drove as fast as he dared back to the croft. He just left the boat where it was, fairly sure it’d be safe for a few hours until he could fetch it back in a separate trip, though Perry had insisted they bring the box of scallops back with them. By the time they arrived, Perry had dried off a lot, but he was shivering. Greg all but frog-marched him into the living room. He’d never learned the niceties of nursing, but efficiency was more important in a crisis, right? He grabbed a pair of his own pajamas from the clean laundry pile in the kitchen and pushed them into Perry’s arms. “Put these on quickly. I’ll get this room heated.”
Perry paused, looking confused.
“Perry?” Greg took his arm and sat him down on the sofa. “Change out of those clothes.” Was he too shy or something? “I’ll turn my back.”
He heard the rustle of clothes behind him as he crouched down to light a fire. When he turned back, the flames catching well and the heat already springing up, Perry was dressed in the too-large pajamas and huddled in a corner of the sofa. “The loch was really cold,” he whispered.
Greg nodded absently. “Always is, even with a wet suit. Fabulous, though. Bracing. Fierce.”
“Yes. I’m sure.” Perry didn’t sound convinced.
Greg caught Perry’s wide-eyed gaze, and his chest clenched in startling and inexplicable pain. Perry looked so bloody miserable. It’s all my fault! Greg knew he should never have taken the poor sod out in the boat. He’d just been showing off, challenging Perry’s city life with his own outdoor choices. How stupidly childish he’d been, and at Perry’s expense. It was a sobering thought. It had been a long while since he’d been so ashamed of his behavior.
Perry could have drowned….
Perry coughed. “Greg, I—”
“Wait!” Without bothering to explain, Greg ran upstairs and hauled Perry’s duvet off the bed. He carried it down to the living room, wrapped it around Perry’s shoulders, and sat down on the sofa beside him. His arm reached all the way around Perry’s body, even with the duvet tucked in. He paused a moment—a strange shiver of emotion ran through him—then he tightened his grip and drew Perry in close.
“Oh. That’s better.” Perry’s sigh was a delicious sound that sprang goose bumps down Greg’s spine. “So much better.”
“I’ll run you a bath later. For the moment, just rest.” Perry was pliant in Greg’s arms, and he rested his head against Greg’s cheek. “Ouch.” Greg bit back the wince of pain from the bruise underneath.
“What is it?” Perry lifted his head to peer at Greg’s face. He placed his fingers against Greg’s cheekbone, and his eyes widened. “Shit. Did I kick you when I was under?”
“Socked me on the face. It’s fine.” Greg didn’t want him to pull away. He really didn’t. And what’s more, he knew it wasn’t just because he wanted to keep Perry warm. “You were drowning at the time, so I forgive you. I thought you said you could swim?”
Perry laughed shakily. “I can. Honest. It was just the shock.”
“Aye?” He felt the heat from Perry’s blush against his neck.
“No. Actually… no, I can’t swim, at least not very well. I got my ten yards certificate at school, but that was the absolute minimum.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “It’s bloody good exercise. And there are all those pretentious gyms in the city you could use.”
Perry’s nose wrinkled and he dropped his head into the folds of the duvet. “All that hassle changing clothes, and getting wet then dry again, and the chlorine in my hair? Ugh, no.”
Greg laughed. For some reason, Perry’s fancy ways were amusing right now, rather than downright pathetic. Perry’s skinny little body felt much warmer. His arms had curled around Greg’s waist in return, and his messy curls were soft against Greg’s chin. Greg would have liked to see his face again, but he wasn’t going to disturb this current cessation of hostilities. It felt too good.
“Thank you,” Perry said softly, his words a gentle breath on Greg’s throat.
“You already said that.” But Greg kept his tone light.
“I mean… I’m sorry I spoiled the day.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It was a wonderful time. Well, up until I fell in. You were a different man out there today. So much in your element. I loved watching you dive.”
“I…? You did?”
“You were marvelous,” Perry said, on a yawn. Somehow it pushed him in even closer to Greg’s chest. “So graceful. Really strong.” There was a smile in his voice. “You’re the selkie, really. You were beautiful in the water.”
Greg was stunned. Was Perry taking the piss? No one had ever accused Greg of being graceful or beautiful. But Perry sounded thoughtful, not sarcastic.
“I was the clumsy idiot who brought it all to an end,” Perry continued. “I’d never be the kind of selkie you’d keep, eh? Way too much trouble.”
Greg cleared his throat. It was painfully tight. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Mm?” Perry lifted his head again. His lips were millimeters from Greg’s, their breath mingling. Their faces were so close, Perry’s features were just a blur. Don’t think about it, just do it. Greg leaned forward that tiny, insignificant yet totally consuming distance and kissed Perry.
It wasn’t much of a kiss—it was less than passionate, yet somehow much more touching. Greg felt a shiver of delight almost immediately. Perry’s mouth opened slightly to let loose a soft sigh, and Greg took it into his own mouth, following the shape of Perry’s lips with his own, brushing his tongue against the tip of Perry’s.
Perry didn’t pull away. Instead, he melded closer to Greg and darted his tongue into Greg’s mouth. Desire shot through Greg like a bolt from the blue. He couldn’t remember feeling such a pure, strong emotion for a long time. He tightened his grip on Perry, sliding a hand under the bulky duvet to find Perry’s body. His palm landed on a slender, muscular thigh.
Oh God. Suddenly he was terrified of doing the wrong thing. But how could he bear to let go?
Perry seemed just as eager to stay close. His breath hitched, and he pressed his mouth onto Greg’s more fiercely. With an awkward shake, he threw off the duvet and climbed into Greg’s lap, pushing Greg back against the sofa cushions. Still touching, still kissing all the time, neither of them breaking hold. Greg clung to him, tangling h
is tongue against Perry’s, breathing in Perry’s smell of cold loch and warm desire. It was something like a miracle, and his head swam with excitement and shock. His hips were twisted awkwardly on the sofa cushion, but he couldn’t mistake the pressure of his swelling cock inside his briefs. His jeans were way too tight for this. Not that he had any special “making out” style of clothing put aside for the ludicrously unlikely event of a gorgeous London man letting him run his hands down his back, feeling every gorgeous knob of his spine, and then cup gently over the equally ludicrously gorgeous globes of his gorgeous arse—
“Well!” Perry said and pulled away, though only a little way. His voice was shaky and his eyes were very, very bright. Greg prayed that wasn’t because he was running a fever.
“Good or bad ‘well’?” Greg asked bluntly. His head swam with confusion now. If Perry told him he was way out of order, he’d be mortified—
“Oh, definitely good.” Perry gave a small but sweet little smile, like he was nursing an internal secret. Then he bent over Greg again, his eyes twinkling with humor as if he were sharing that secret very happily and quite openly. “Very good. Can we do it again?”
Chapter Twelve
PERRY was wondering how long he could survive on the sofa, perched on Greg’s lap, without having to get up for annoying bodily habits like food and the toilet. He could live this way for hours. Days. As long as his lips could cope with it.
Greg laughed, a wonderful sound with a soft, purring edge to it. He was a greedy but very sensuous kisser. Perry couldn’t believe how exciting it was. He ran his fingertips along Greg’s chin, ruffling his beard. Greg almost winced, as if he wasn’t used to being touched that way—so intimately—at all. But then he relaxed into it, nuzzling against Perry’s touch, while Perry kept his fingers gentle.
And oh… but it felt good.
They kissed for a long, leisurely time. Greg had started out quite tentative—it had been unexpected and very disarming—but his hands grew bolder the longer he kept hold of Perry. Perry felt like a rare bird captured by a hunter, yet one who was a bit bemused by his luck. Perry wriggled and moaned, almost in song, against the possessive cage that Greg’s body had created. Greg gripped tighter, and his mouth claimed Perry even more fiercely.
