by Nina Mason
“You don’t give a damn about the marine ecosystems.” Her voice boomed from the sound system. “You only care about making money—even if you have to break the law and destroy the environment to do it. Admit it…and, while you’re at it, tell them what Ketos was really doing in the Minch.”
Every eye in the room turned on her. Holy shit. Now she’d done it. She’d stuck her neck out and had nothing to back up her accusations.
“What do you mean?” someone asked. “What was the tanker doing in the Minch?”
Before Corey could answer, Peter shouted from the sound system, “Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s been too busy with her new lover to do her job. That’s right, Miss Parker, we know all about the man you’ve been sleeping with at the cottage your employer is paying for. Dereliction of duty. Fraternizing on company time. These are serious offenses. How do you justify your unconscionable actions?”
Corey, mortified, stepped away from the mic.
More reporters jumped to their feet and started lobbing questions at Peter about Ketos. Somehow, miraculously, he managed to field them all.
Shit.
She’d so wanted to see Peter Blackwell strung up by his thumbs, but the man was as slick as the products he peddled to his drill-happy customers. She’d been wrong. He wasn’t an artful dodger; he was an eel in a Teflon suit.
Just as it seemed he would get away with everything, the rear doors burst open. When she turned to see who’d come in, she couldn’t believe her eyes.
Hope took root in her heart. Never did she dream she’d be so happy to see Lachlan MacInnes, especially when standing squarely in his path. But there he was, arm in a sling, charging up the aisle toward her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when he was standing in front of her. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you…but you had an exclusive. If you call him out here, the story will go global.”
He gave her a smile. “Screw the exclusive. Sometimes, the greater good matters more than our own selfish ambitions.” Stepping around her toward the microphone, he said, to Peter, “Mr. Blackwell, how do you respond to the charge that your company has built a self-contained underwater drilling platform in protected waters for the express purpose of unlawfully harvesting oil from an area where off-shore drilling is prohibited?”
Pandemonium erupted all around them. The journalists, like sharks scenting blood in the water, rushed toward Peter, firing questions like harpoons. Corey, satisfied he’d be crucified, made a bee-line for the exit.
As she made her escape into the hall, she saw Kew-in coming toward her in the same jeans and t-shirt he’d had on earlier—and a pair of sneakers she’d never seen before. Lifting her puzzled gaze to his face, she saw strain there, along with concern.
She stopped where she was and waited for him to come to her. When they were eye to eye, he said, in an adorably human way, “Hi.”
“Hi,” she replied. “Why have you come?”
“I was worried…”
“I appreciate your concern—a lot, but, as you can see, I’m fine, which is more than I can say for Peter Blackwell, I’m happy to report. I hope those reporters boil him alive in his own oil.”
Reaching up, she touched Kew-in’s handsome face, feeling stubble, which surprised her. She’d assumed storm kelpies had no body hair, like other marine mammals.
“You need a shave.”
Smiling, he rubbed his sandpaper cheek against her hand. “I need a lot more than that.”
Taking her hand, he pulled her into an embrace. She went willingly, despite the few people milling about. She didn’t care what they thought. Not when being in his arms brought her so much unspeakable joy. His ocean scent engulfed her. It was the most sensual fragrance in all of God’s creation.
“Did you quit your job?” he asked against her hair.
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “By default.”
Far from regretting her decision, she felt a hundred pounds lighter.
Pulling back a little, he bent and kissed her on the mouth. “Good. Because Conch Oil and Peter Blackwell are going down like a leaky boat. Shan is the new chieftain of my clan, and I’ve told him everything we’ve learned about Ketos and the drilling platform. He will order the fiana to disable one of the coastguard cruisers before raising a squall to blow it towards the drilling platform, which the wind will reveal to them. When the world discovers what Conch has done, they will be called to account for their sins against the sea.” With a smile, he added, “And I wouldn’t want you on the leaky boat with them when it sinks.”
“I wouldn’t want that either,” she said. “Especially now that you’re stuck on dry land.”
“I would not call it stuck, Cordelia.” He stroked her cheek. “I love you with all of my heart…and have never felt more at home.”
Corey touched his face, pouring all the love she felt into her touch, into her gaze, and into the kiss she pressed to his lips. As her heart overflowed with joy, the ocean just outside the inn whispered, I have given you so much more than I ever took away.
Epilogue
Five years later
Already in her nightgown, Corey paused outside the door to Muriel’s room and listened through the gap as Cuan played his cleasaiche and sang an old island ballad in his ethereally beautiful voice. When he finished the song, he picked up a book and began to read to their daughter from the place he’d left off the night before. The reading, she presumed, was more for his benefit than their little girl’s, given that Muriel was already fast asleep.
As it turned out, Twenty-Thousand Leagues under the Sea had been her husband’s kind of book. He’d read it at least a dozen times in the five years since they’d exchanged their vows—on the edge of the cliff overlooking Vaternish Point, while his clansmen and other friends looked up from the sea below. Her mother was there, too, and now made regular visits to her daughter and granddaughter.
Cuan.
He looked up from the book and gave Corey one of those sexy smiles of his that still turned her insides to jelly. He closed the book, set it down soundlessly, and tiptoed to the door. He was such a perfect husband it was hard not to be madly in love with him. Or to bless another child with such a wonderful father.
Upon entering the hallway, Cuan pulled her into his arms—still her favorite place in the world, though not as easy to fit into with her watermelon belly. The new one was a boy, the obstetrician in Benbecula had told them that morning, which had Corey worried. If he were born with a tail, what would they do with him? They could hardly raise an obvious merman on dry land—but neither would she be able to bear giving him up to the sea.
“What is it, dearest?” Cuan tightened his hold on her. “You are trembling all of a sudden.”
“I’m worried about the baby.” She bit back her tears. “What if he’s born with a tail?”
Cuan spreading his long, webbed fingers across her belly. “I have seen him with legs, playing in the surf with our daughter. In my dreams. So, you have no cause for worry.”
His reassurance reminded her of her own dream five years ago of all of them playing together in the loch outside the cottage. Relieved, she snuggled against him, burying her nose in his hair, which, even after all his years on dry land, still smelled as strongly as ever of the sea. “I know a way you can stop me from worrying.”
“What way is that?”
His words, soft and sensuous, sent a thrilling quiver through her.
“By giving me something much more pleasant to focus upon.”
“I believe that can be arranged.”
Turning his head, he kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth. She made a small noise of approval as he gripped her ass with both hands and pulled her against him, crushing her pregnant belly between them.
Don’t forget we have our monthly Ocean Watch meeting in the morning.
I haven’t forgotten.
While they’d not yet succeeded in getting the Minch declared a m
arine protected area, they had been instrumental in getting legislation passed to protect all resident and migrating cetaceans in British waters from capture, killing, injury, or deliberate harassment or degradation of their habitats.
She set her hands on his chest and teased his nipples. He wore only the bottoms of the tartan pajamas she’d given him for Christmas.
Shouldn’t we move this party to our bedroom?
Mmm, he said, his tongue still dancing with hers. Perhaps we should.
Freeing his mouth, he nipped her jaw before trailing kisses down her throat and across her collarbone. She let her head fall back, exposing more of her throat to him as she entangled her fingers in his hair. He slid his hands up her body, and untied the drawstring on her nightgown. Pushing the thin cotton off her shoulders, he bared her breasts to his view and admired them a moment before bending to take a nipple into his mouth.
Moving her hands to his hips, she hooked her fingers in the elastic waistband of his pajama pants and pulled him toward the bedroom. Inside, she shut the door with her foot, walked him backward to the foot of the bed, and gave him a shove. He landed flat on his back with a laugh.
She took a moment to admire him. He was just as handsome and just as buff as the night she’d found him blackened by oil in that cave. Sometimes, she wondered what her life would be like now if she hadn’t gone up the hill that night. Would she still live in her tiny apartment in Belmont Shores? Would she still fear the ocean? Would she still be alone? Would she still think of Jared as the one who got away?
Maybe and maybe not. This much, however, she knew for certain: she would not still be working for Conch Oil. The boycotts and fines resulting from the stunt they pulled in the Minch put them out of business. After the Scottish Maritime Authority dismantled the drilling platform, Peter Blackwell, who turned out to be all-too human, hung himself in his cell.
She let her nightgown slide to the floor before tugging off Cuan’s pajamas. A shudder went through her as her gaze landed on his erection.
“Would you like me to suck your dick?”
He smiled as his gaze skittered over his pregnant wife’s naked body. “Is that a trick question?”
“Sit up.”
Scooting to the edge of the bed, he dropped his legs over the side. She kneeled between his knees and gazed up at him from under her lashes. Passion smoldered in the deep, blue-green pools of his eyes. As she took him into her mouth, his breath hitched, sending a sensual shiver through her. She loved doing this to him. Loved reducing her big, powerful merman to a helpless guppy. She closed her eyes and sucked hard, teasing him with her tongue as she took him deeper.
He grasped her head with both hands and flexed his hips, pushing himself deeper into her mouth. “I do so love the sight of my bod sliding in and out of your mouth.”
With a low groan of pleasure, he pulled partway out of her mouth before pushing deep again. She bared her teeth and let her teeth skim lightly over his shaft while teasing the head with her tongue.
Releasing her head, he sat back, buttressing his upright posture with his arms. She took him deeper and withdrew, still working him with teeth and tongue, again and again and again.
“Stop, or I’ll spill myself.”
Isn’t that the idea?
“No.” His voice was coarse gravel. “I want to be inside you, Cordelia.”
She let him go and met his heated gaze with a lustful smile. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Hooking her under the armpits, he pulled her up and lay down, so she was lying atop him. The roundness of her belly made her feel like a boat run aground, so she rolled off him onto her back. He came over her on all fours before dragging her toward the pillows.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said.
She did and pulled him as close as her bump would allow. Bending over her, hands on either side of her head, he slowly seated his full length within her.
She shuddered, reveling in the gradualness of his possession. “God, Cuan. You feel amazing.”
Tightening her legs around him, she pushed upward, taking him deeper. He groaned and juddered. She grabbed his ass with both hands and dug her fingers into his fleshy cheeks. He began to move, his strokes long, slow, and metered. Like an undertow, he pulled her along. Each time he came into her, she pulled up, crashing against him like waves on a rock.
She felt as fluid as water and he, as solid as iron—her anchor against the erratic ebb and flow of life. He began to move with more abandon until he was pounding her fast and hard. Breaking her down the way rain breaks down mountains over eons. Feeling as fluid as the sea outside their door, she cried out, the gurgling, strangled cry of a swimmer swallowed by the waves. He let out a similar cry, drove into her, and stilled as he spilled himself in her depths.
When it was over, he collapsed beside her, breathless and drenched. Satisfied, she rolled onto her side and stroked his sweat-dampened face. “Do you ever regret leaving the sea for me?”
He gazed back at her, his blue-green eyes brimming with tenderness. “No, Cordelia. My life with you has been more perfect than I ever could have imagined.”
She brushed back a stray strand of hair from his face. “I love you so much, it hurts sometimes.”
Cuan pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I love you so much, it hurts sometimes, too.”
—The End—
Meet the Author
Nina Mason is a hopeful romantic with strong affinities for history, mythology, and the metaphysical. She strives to write the same kind of books she loves to read: those that entertain, edify, educate, and enlighten. When not writing, Nina works as a Pure Romance consultant and doll maker. Born and raised in Southern California, she now lives in Woodstock, Georgia, with her husband, teenage daughter, and a Westie who’s afraid of the dryer.
Find Nina Mason online at the following:
NinaMasonAuthor.com
Facebook.com/NinaMasonRomance
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Keep reading for a special sneak peek of Nina Mason’s new Knights of the Tarot series:
KNIGHT OF WANDS
Paranormal Investigator Vanessa Meadows believes in every kind of magic except love.
When her new boss sends her on an assignment to remote Caithness, Scotland, she’s determined to do whatever it takes to prove the Vampire of Barrogill is more than a legend. First, however, she must get inside the castle where the entity is believed to dwell.
Castle Barrogill belongs to Callum Lyon, a handsome baron and reclusive political astrologer. Their strong mutual attraction proves a boon to Vanessa’s plans, but, once inside his castle, she encounters more paranormal activity than she bargained for. There’s no vampire, but there is a blood-drinking faery knight—and a ghost who will stop at nothing to keep her there. Will freedom-loving Vanessa’s feelings for Callum, coupled with nudges from the other side, be enough to persuade her to give him a chance? Or will the dark secrets of Castle Barrogill only reinforce her unwillingness to put her faith in the power of love?
Chapter 1
Twenty-four hours later
John o’Groats, Scotland
“Have a look at your adoring fan over there,” Duncan said, leaning in. “I do believe she’s visually undressing you.”
Callum looked up from the book he’d been signing—Political Astrology through the Ages, his latest in a series on the subject. The fan in question stood by the refreshment table, clutching the book to her chest. Was she undressing him with her gaze? Och, nay. Judging by the heat of her stare, he was already naked in her mind.
While delivering his lecture on the same topic, he’d seen her in the third row, giving him equally heated looks. All through the lecture, her presence, not to mention her seductive stare, made it difficult to concentrate on his notes. Luckily, he knew the topic well enough to wing it.
With a shameless ogle of his own, he tr
aced the long, smooth contours of flesh and muscle beneath the posh black pantsuit she wore. She was tall and slender—willowy—with an angular face and a wide, full mouth that stretched into an inviting smile as his gaze met hers with a palpable spark. Her eyes were as blue and deep as a loch. Mesmerized, he returned the smile. How easily he could get lost in those eyes, forget how to swim, and realize too late he was drowning.
Atingle with interest, he lowered his gaze to her breasts, which were large, firm, and unharnessed. Did she have an aversion to undergarments? He hoped not, given his penchant for naughty lingerie. He pictured her in a lacy black corset and thigh-high stockings. Oh, aye. She definitely had the figure to indulge his weakness. Swallowing his rising lust, he shifted in his chair to ease the tightening in his trousers.
Turning to Duncan, he asked, “Who is she? Do you know?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” his friend replied.
Licking his lips, Callum shifted his focus to the woman directly in front of him. She was fiftyish, plump, and squat with curly dishwater hair.
“What was the name again?”
“Sorcha.”
“That’s lovely.” He grinned through the qualm inflicted by the name. “I once had a wife called Sorcha.”
“Is that so?” Her interest was clearly aroused. “And would you be married still, your lordship? Because, if you’re not, I ken a bonny lass who’d be just right for you.”
“Oh, aye?” Still smiling falsely, he arched an eyebrow. “What sign would she be then?”
“She’s a Gemini.” The woman beamed at him in a manner suggesting the fix-up in question was probably her daughter.
