The Selkie

by Rosanna Leo

  Her feet warm in Nora’s green Wellies, she began to walk farther down the isolated beach. It was a beautiful evening, if breezy, and Maggie slung her anorak over her shoulder. Her unruly bob was currently tucked behind her ears, but the auburn curls kept flying into her face. She turned a corner where she could be sheltered by a massive boulder, and enjoyed a brief respite from the wind.

  Even there, the seal watched her, his intelligent brown eyes trained only on her.

  She walked to the edge of the water, wishing suddenly that she could join him. As she watched him watching her, she felt an unavoidable lump festering in her throat. Her eyes began to sting, and she knew she couldn’t blame it on the wind.

  For the first time, Maggie allowed herself to cry over Nora. All the pain from her death and Matthew’s betrayal washed over her. She didn’t even try to wipe away the tears as they tumbled down her freckled cheeks.

  Oh, Gran! No more men. I swear it. They’re nothing but trouble. Them, and their damned penises.

  Through all of this, the seal watched her, gliding just a little closer in the water as if trying to distract her from her pain.

  Maggie suddenly recalled one of the old tales her grandmother used to tell her as a child. Her lips spread into a crooked smile as she listened to her gran’s voice in her head.

  “Legend says,” Nora had said, “human women who are unsatisfied with their love lives can seek the love of an immortal selkie man. They need only cry seven tears into the sea to call him. He will then shed his animal skin, come to her in human form, and love her as no human man can. But eventually, he will want to return to his beloved sea. However, if the woman steals and hides his selkie skin before he can put it back on, he will be her captive until he finds it.”

  Maggie sniffed at the memory and rubbed her reddening eyes. “What rubbish, Gran. Who wants that? I already have trust issues!”

  She suddenly remembered the pelt Nora was supposed to have hidden and frowned. Surely her grandmother hadn’t stolen a selkie man’s skin and kept him as her love slave? The image was so hilarious it made her laugh out loud. Nora, in her thick, wool sweaters and Wellies, seduced by a buff immortal.

  Pure hogwash.

  No way. If it even exists, that pelt is just an old relic, something Gran probably found washed up on the beach. One of her tatty treasures. Of sentimental value to a superstitious old lady but no one else.

  Gran had obviously lost her mind. And yet, even as Maggie decided searching for the pelt would be as fruitful as searching for the Holy Grail, she knew she had to try. Whether Gran had been sick or not, it was her last request, and Maggie couldn’t say no.

  With a little wave to the seal, who swam even closer now, Maggie returned to the boulder. She laid her anorak down on the sand, but not before having another substantial swig from the flask of brandy. And then she sat, and let the breeze dry her tear-stained face.

  For a passing moment, she wondered how many of her tears might have plopped into the sea. But then she realized it didn’t matter. Selkies were nothing more than myth.

  * * * *

  Maggie awoke some time later with a start, to find that the evening sky had darkened, creating a soft canopy of indigo above her. The moon was high, however, and cast a shimmering light across the water. She looked about, but was relieved to see that the beach was still isolated.

  “Boy, drunk and alone on a beach. Charming,” she mumbled, her tongue feeling so thick. “This is a new low.”

  Knowing she should head back to the house, she began to gather her things around her. She glanced toward the water, automatically looking for her seal buddy. He was gone. And when the palpable sense of disappointment infiltrated her spirit like a dense fog, she felt like even more of a pathetic lunatic. For some strange reason, she missed him. Felt so alone without the sight of his knowing eyes upon her.

  “What did you expect?” she muttered, tucking the flask into her pocket. “That’s men for you. Unreliable. What else is new?”

  She was attempting to stand on her wobbly legs, only to fall back down on her bottom, when she heard the sound of splashing water. Thinking it was her seal, Maggie turned to look.

  Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the animal at all.

  It was a man. He was rising out of the waves, walking toward her. She froze. He was nude, utterly nude, and was staring at her with overflowing intimacy. As if they’d had, God help her, relations.

  And she realized, with sudden panic, they’d had! In her dreams. He was the seal-man from all her sex dreams.

  No. Impossible.

  Her first instinct was to call for help, but there was no one near. And then she realized with frightening awareness that she didn’t want any help anyway. Glued to her spot, she couldn’t help but drink him in.

  He was beautiful, if unnervingly wet and naked. He had long, shiny, brown hair that

  hung down past his shoulders. His face could have belonged on an ad for expensive cologne, and he had a body to match. Sculpted shoulders gave way to arms corded in muscle. His defined chest was blanketed by a smattering of sparse, brown hair that led tantalizingly to his rock-hard abs.

  Maggie held her breath as her gaze traveled lower on his body, taking in trim calves and thighs a quarterback would envy. And, she noted with simultaneous hunger and horror, his penis was the biggest she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. It was thick and long and glistening with the droplets of water that yet cascaded over his body. And it seemed to be reaching for her. She gulped, and forced herself to look back up at his face.

  There was a faint glow about his skin, a shimmery aura. Dismissing it as a trick of the moonlight, she shook her head.

  He was almost upon her, and his full lips were taut in a teasing grin. Maybe he was a surfer who’d lost not only his board, but his shorts in the waves. She knew she should be frantic, but wasn’t. There was something in his brown eyes that was so familiar, so soothing, even as they swept over her own body with lustful appreciation.

  He stopped in front of her, and stood boldly, unashamed of his glorious nakedness. She managed to spit out one hushed word. “You.”

  “You,” was his equally awed reply.

  She blinked, hoping that in the space of that second he’d have thrown some clothes on, but fate chose to mess with her some more. “Who are you anyway?”

  He knelt before her in the sand and reached for her shaking hands. “You know who I am,” he replied, his voice lulling her with its deep Orcadian accent, that unique mix of Scottish and Norse inflections. “You called for me.”

  “Uh-uh,” she stammered, coming quickly back to her senses. “Look, buddy, this isn’t a nude beach and…”

  “Maggie,” he drawled, cutting her off, while bringing her fingers to his lips.

  “How do you know my name?” Her eyes widened. Yet even as she knew she should be alarmed by such frank familiarity, she wasn’t afraid of him in the least.

  “Hush. I must taste you.” The naked man gently curled her knuckles against his mouth, and then let his tongue glide along each knuckle, from finger to finger. The whole time he kissed her in this intimate manner, he kept his brown eyes on her face.

  She couldn’t help groaning, which only made him smile widely. Before she knew what was happening, he laid one hand on the small of her back and lowered her to the anorak that was still pooled around her on the sand. As he leaned over her, his wet hair fell against her shoulders and brushed her cheeks, leaving a cold trail on her skin. Even drenched, his hair was so thick and lush she wanted to grab whole handfuls of it, strip herself and brush it all over her body.

  She knew she should be pushing this crazy man off her, anything but submit to what he was doing. But, she realized with something approaching great abandon, she didn’t want to stop him. In fact, she wanted that gorgeous specimen to lay her down and screw her senseless.

  He lay atop her, and she gasped at how good his weight felt on top of her body. She writhed below him, suddenly wishing s
he could tear off her own clothes and burn them. A deep rumble of laughter reverberated through his chest. He knew she wanted him, and it pleased him.

  For a few delirious moments, she forgot her pledge to avoid men.

  “Oh my, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Me, the one who’s never had a one-night stand. Even with Matthew and Bobby, I waited weeks to do it.”

  His eyes darkened with a strange possessive fire, as he deftly unfastened her shirt buttons. “Those men were fools,” he spat. “I’ll give you so much more pleasure than they ever did.”

  Before she could utter another word, his lips were upon hers. They were plump and soft and their silken friction created a heat that elicited an immediate, burning echo between her thighs. Slowly, in the most seductive dance she’d ever experienced, the man eased his tongue between her eager lips. Her mouth opened for him at the same time that he settled his straining cock into the V of her thighs. He was hard, deliciously so, even over her pants. She kicked off her Wellies and wrapped her legs around his naked waist. And as he began to move himself against her still-clothed sex, his tongue thrust into her mouth, in a delectable foreshadowing of what would happen as soon as he got her clothes off.

  Maggie felt herself coming already, flushed, sweaty, as if he’d been pumping into her all night. And her sex was virtually pounding, aching to be unleashed from her trousers. She knew she was on the verge of the most instantaneous, earth-shattering orgasm she’d ever have. This had never happened with Matthew, or that other idiot whose name she’d suddenly forgotten.

  “What’s happening to me? This can’t be,” she cried.

  There was a noise somewhere down the beach. She blinked a few times. And then, as she lay on her sandy anorak, she realized something was wrong. The heavy weight was no longer on her.

  He was gone. Her naked man from the sea was gone.

  Maggie sat up, her head darting violently all about her, scanning the beach in the darkness. Sure enough, he’d disappeared. There were no footprints in the sand other than those made by size-seven Wellingtons. And as she looked down, she realized her shirt was undone, and her flesh was still warm from his touch. And her crotch was absolutely pulsing with unfulfilled desire.

  “Please tell me I didn’t have a wet dream on this beach,” she whispered, unbelieving. “Oh my God, I am so done with men. Especially the naked ones.”

  Ashamed, Maggie grabbed her things and tore down the beach toward her grandmother’s house. She didn’t even want to look for the seal.

  All the same, she couldn’t help noticing that he still wasn’t in the water.

  * * * *

  Berating herself audibly, Maggie trudged up the path to her gran’s house, not caring if anyone heard her. “Damn brandy. What was I thinking?”

  Still, she mused as she stared at the flask in her hand, what a dream. Maybe if she kept drinking, that gorgeous hunk would rematerialize to finish the job.

  Her brows knit in confusion, she continued her solitary march to the house. The only sound was of the Wellingtons squishing in the gravel. She felt herself starting to calm down. “You’re okay,” she said, attempting to console herself quietly. “You had a stress-related sex dream, brought on by alcohol and Gran’s stupid selkie skin story. That’s all.”

  Even though it had only been a dream, she’d never felt anything so primal. No man had ever inspired such need in her. Sure, she’d loved Matthew, but the man on the beach,

  that denuded figment of her imagination, had made her wanton. Brazen.

  And she’d liked it.

  “Maggie! Stop!”

  She turned toward the voice behind her. When she saw Matthew running in her direction, she blushed. And then remembered she had no reason to blush. She didn’t owe him any explanations about her sex dreams!

  “Maggie,” he said, catching up to her. “Please. Just give me a minute.”

  “I don’t know why you’re here, Matthew. You should be in Toronto, looking for a job.”

  He looked at her like he’d been slapped. “Not until I resolve things with you. About Caitlyn … you have to believe me. I didn’t love her.”

  “You seemed to be loving her mouth last time I saw her with you.”

  It was his turn to blush. “It was a mistake. I swear.” He reached for her hand, frowning when she pulled away. “I’ve been trying to forget you. I know what I did was wrong. But when I heard your grandmother died, I had to be here with you. I still love you, Maggie. That never changed. We were just … in a rut. I was stupid. I got tempted.”

  She didn’t reply. Yes, they had been in a rut. But instead of talking to her about it, he chose to insert his dick between another woman’s lips.

  “Just give me a chance to make it up to you. Let me help you with your gran’s things. I may be a shitty fiancé, but I rock at organizing. And you must have so much to go through. Besides, you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  “I’m not alone,” she answered tartly. In fact, recalling her time with the imaginary sex god on the beach made her feel less alone than ever before. “You made a mistake coming here, Matthew. You should go home.”

  “Not until I know you’re okay,” he replied, looking hurt. “Or, at least, less drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk!”

  “You smell like a distillery, babe, but I won’t hold it against you right now. Oh, and by the way, you’re not getting rid of me. I have a room at the local hotel, if you can call it that,” he sneered. “I’m not leaving until you come home with me. I’m going to fight for you, Maggie. For us.”

  “Argh! Leave me alone, Matthew,” she spat, turning away, stomping farther down the winding path toward the house. Who did he think he was? And how dare he pass judgment on her for having a little beverage after Gran’s funeral?

  Men. She definitely despised the species. Thankfully, he didn’t follow her, and headed quickly back toward the main road, the one leading to the only guesthouse in the area.

  Within moments, she was opening the gate in front of the house. Without knowing why, she stopped walking. Something just felt wrong. She stood still and peered toward the house, her eyes straining in the faint light of evening.

  As quietly as possible, she inched her way toward the house wall, flattening herself against it. With infinite slowness, she leaned out and looked toward the front room window.

  Someone was in there.

  At first, she thought she was seeing things. The lights were off as she’d left them, but there was definite movement in there. She could make out a shape moving back and forth near the front window. Maggie paled seven shades. Suddenly, the words from her gran’s

  letter rang out in her head.

  Trust no one.

  At that moment, a strong arm grabbed her from behind. Before she could scream, a large hand clamped down on her mouth. “Easy, lass,” whispered a man with a deep voice. “Let me help you.”

  Maggie struggled in the man’s grip, but he was too strong. Had Matthew followed her, coming back to plead his insane case again? No. The voice was Orcadian, unfamiliar, yet also somehow recognizable.

  He pulled her off the path and behind some shrubbery at the side of the house. She tried to pry his hand away from her mouth, but couldn’t make it budge. The crazy bastard had hands of titanium!

  “Och,” he muttered, mildly frustrated. “You’re a spry one, aren’t you?”

  Maggie tried to place the voice, but couldn’t, and its familiarity rattled her. The low vibrations of its baritone sensuality even more so. Still, her body automatically fought back, writhing in his grip.

  Holding her from behind, the man lowered his head to her ear. “Now look, lass. If you promise to be nice, I’ll take my hand away. I really don’t think you want to be attracting the notice of whoever’s ransacking your granny’s house, do you?”

  Although her chest was heaving in fear, she nodded. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Now, I’ll let you go. But if you make another peep, I’ll sit on you.”

 
; That option doesn’t sound bad coming from that voice. It sounds good.

  She caught her breath and felt his large hands slide away. Her head spun a little as she experienced the glide of his fingers on her flesh. Gently, he spun her around to face him. Maggie looked up.

  Even in the darkness, she would have recognized his face anywhere. It was the man from her dream on the beach, fully clothed. The man from all her dreams. And he was smiling seductively down at her.

  For the first time in her life, Maggie fainted.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Calan watched as she came to in her grandmother’s bed, where he’d tucked her after she’d fainted. And it was about time the lass woke up. His back was sore from sitting in the chair all night, and now he was plain ornery, especially in light of how badly he’d wanted to share that bed with her.

  It had been little more than torture watching her sleep, and his erection hadn’t given him a moment’s peace.

  Bloody hell.

  Slowly he raked his gaze over her form, which looked no less delectable under her granny’s quilt. He hardened again, which was amazing because he’d been hard for her for months, but seeing her on that beach had done things to him. Undeniably, unbelievably carnal things. And now he couldn’t see straight for the thought of having her body under his again.

  He cursed under his breath. He needed to focus, to fulfill his oath to Nora, get the pelt, and get out.

  So why did he want to stay?

  It must be the lure of the skin, of the sea. He’d had many a human woman in order to help him satisfy the urges that possessed men of his kind. This woman was no different.

  She shifted in the bed, groggy but not yet awake. As she turned over to hug her pillow, her top blouse buttons popped open and he got an eyeful of lacy black bra over the top of an ample breast.