The Selkie

by Rosanna Leo

  All of a sudden, every Orcadian swear word he knew came to mind. And he knew a few. Ones even the oldest of Orkney historians would have forgotten.

  It’s because she’s beautiful and you’re hard up, that’s all. You should just go back to the pub, fuck Annette until she doesn’t know which side of the bar is up, and get it out of your system. Humans are all the same anyway.

  And yet even the idea of making love to anyone but this Collins woman was strangely repulsive. He couldn’t even visualize the act without picturing her auburn curls strewn on his pillow while he buried himself in her warm body. She fired up his imagination, made him wonder what it would be like to put a new light in those extraordinary blue eyes of hers. The light of surprise and ecstasy when she realized what he could do to her.

  But why? Why should he want her so much? So much so that he lost control with her on the beach. Thank Odin he’d heard someone passing. The momentary distraction had given him the power to escape before the seduction was complete. And yet, here he was with her again, unsure of who was doing the seducing in their strange scenario.

  The fact that he’d felt an overwhelming need to protect her, to stay the night, when he’d seen the prankster in her house was even more disturbing. Why should he care about this woman’s welfare? She was nothing to him! And yet the thought of her running into what was likely only a teenage hooligan still set his blood to boiling.

  To say nothing of the storm of furious emotion he’d experienced watching her talk to her ex-fiancé. He’d had to hold himself back.

  And what if the intruder was after his pelt? Was there a chance Nora had been less

  than discreet, even though she’d promised not to tell anyone about it? What did he do then? Call the police? He couldn’t take a chance his skin might end up in another’s hands, even a police constable’s hands.

  He glanced at Maggie again. These feelings he had for her were new, awkward. He didn’t know what to do with them. He supposed he could ask Angus. That is, if his reprobate of a brother would spare him a moment. Since mating with the lovely Elsie a year ago, Angus hadn’t resurfaced. Wouldn’t leave his mate’s side, and especially not now that she was expecting their pup. Why, the only time he’d heard from him was when he’d asked him to attend the birth. His brother chose to spend the rest of his time mooning over his wife.

  Damned newlyweds. For the long life of him, he’d never understand them.

  Maggie made a small noise, bringing him out of his reverie. He watched and waited through narrowed eyes, and saw how her eyes grew wild at the sight of him. He jumped to calm her. “I won’t hurt you. I’m … a friend. I swear.”

  “Yeah, right,” she whispered. “Who the hell are you, and how did you get in my house?”

  He could hear her heart racing. He could smell her fear. He could also smell something else. Her sudden arousal. And that delicious fragrance did fuck all for his sore dick. Still, that tangible proof she fancied him made him feel a little cocky. He grinned, sitting back leisurely in the corner wicker chair. “Well, you did have a key in your pocket.”

  “My pants pocket, you pervert!” Her voice rose with every word. “I’m not really in the habit of letting strangers get into my pants!”

  “I’m no stranger, Maggie Collins,” he replied, seeing the impact of his lilting, deep voice on her. “Certainly not after what happened on the beach.”

  “That w-was a dream. I’ve been having a lot of weird dreams lately.”

  “And you know I’ve been the star in every one of them. But you can deny it if it makes you feel better.” He shrugged, seeing how she shivered each time he rolled r’s with his Orcadian accent. All the while, he made sure to continue grinning his most devilish grin. The one that had helped him pry his pelt out of feminine hands for centuries. He’d charm this woman too, if he had to. He needed that skin. And if he had to bed Maggie Collins to get it, so be it. It’d be a pleasure for both of them.

  With that thought in mind, he leaned back in the chair and spread his legs in a careless pose that drew her attention to his lower half. He licked his lips, enjoying her discomfiture tremendously. “Now, wee Maggie. Let’s have us a nice chat, shall we?”

  She shook her head. He tried not to gawk at the way the silky, auburn springs bounced above her shoulders. All of a sudden, he understood why ancient folk used to consider redheads witches. He couldn’t look away from her.

  “You’re not supposed to be real,” she whispered, staring at a spot somewhere over his shoulder. “I made you up.”

  He cleared his dry throat. “Yes, well, I’d rather hoped you weren’t real either. It appears we were both tragically mistaken.”

  *

  Maggie stared at him. His long, brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the body that was so naked and wet on the beach was now clad in a black T-shirt, jeans, and a leather biker jacket. She felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of him in this

  bad-boy garb. She’d always had a thing for bad boys, from the moment Steven O’Dowd played so carelessly with her heart in high school. And while both Matthew and Bobby had been preppy and straitlaced on the outside, on the inside they’d ended up looking really bad after she learned of their philandering inclinations.

  So help her, she would not fall for another bad boy. Her plan was not to fall for anyone, period, for a long time.

  Especially not men who overpowered her senses and seemed to ooze sex and moonlight. There really was a faint glimmer to his skin. She rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was too young for cataracts to set in.

  Despite her determination to make the stranger disappear, he didn’t appear even slightly prepared to go. Her mind raced. “This isn’t happening. I was drunk, grieving. I imagined you. I’m probably imagining you right now. Only with more clothes.”

  He moved slowly over to the bed, allowing himself to perch on the edge, still smiling. “I didn’t hear you complaining about my lack of clothes last time.” His gaze dropped to her chest, and he waved his hand in that vicinity. “You might want to fasten your gansey. It’s a wee bit distracting.”

  “My … gansey?” She shook her head, annoyed. This man used words even her grandmother hadn’t. “What is that?”

  He nodded at her bosom, looking annoyed himself. “Your … jumper.” He seized on the right word as if it had just occurred to him. “Your shirt!”

  She looked down, only to see her bra on flagrant display. Damn. Feeling herself turn scarlet, she hurried to button her shirt up. She tried not to make eye contact while she did so, but her gaze inevitably flew to his face.

  She watched, helpless, as his tongue darted out again to wet the corner of his full lips. She’d tasted that scrumptious tongue. Couldn’t get the taste out of her head! Without thinking, she blurted, “Stop that!”

  “Stop what, love?”

  Oh God. Stop being so sexy, she wanted to scream. All the heat in her body seemed to shoot up into her face, and she just knew her shame must be written all over her forehead. “Look, pal, this needs to stop. I don’t know you.” Her hands were trembling now, and her lips were chattering in anger to boot. “I don’t understand…”

  “Maggie,” he uttered, grasping her hands. At his touch, her hands stopped shaking and she felt herself calm down once again. His eyes softened as if he almost felt sorry for her. He let go of her hands. From somewhere next to the bed, he produced her flask of brandy. “I’ll explain everything to you, lass. Have a drink first, though. You’ll need it.”

  “No drinks.” For all she knew, he’d spiked it. Maybe he was a sex maniac who’d come upon her on the beach, had slipped her something, and was looking to reap the rewards. Yet even as she imagined it, she grabbed the flask. She swallowed a huge gulp of brandy, not caring that it streaked a burning path down her throat.

  Once again, his tempting mouth widened in a lascivious grin. “Why don’t I start with my name?”

  “Fine.” Her own lips tightened into a straight line, and she tried not
to stare at his eyes or his lips or anything that reminded her of how savagely he’d kissed her on the beach. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Calan Kirk.” He said it simply, as if that was enough explanation.

  She looked blankly at him until the realization set in. “Wait. You’re my

  grandmother’s friend?”

  “I am,” he whispered. As much as he kept his face serious to match hers, there was a definite laugh in his dark eyes. “Am I not what you expected?”

  “It’s not that … I just thought, oh, I don’t know. The past couple of days have been…”

  “Hell,” he answered for her, his gaze now seeking to console her, as much as his jaw was still set in tense lines. “You’ve been through bloody hell.”

  “Right.” She felt her pulse slowing down. How is it that, as much as he troubled her, he also seemed to understand her? She’d never even met him in person, or had she? Maybe at the funeral. She’d shaken so many hands that day, she couldn’t even remember the faces that went with them. Was it possible she’d sent him the wrong message there, and not remembered? She couldn’t have. She would have remembered this man. He was too sinful to forget. “Were you at the funeral?”

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  “That’s too bad.” Boy, if I’d only met this guy before Matthew…

  “That piss weasel Matthew’s no good for you,” he said, snarling, as if he’d read her mind. “As I said before, he’s the greatest fool that ever lived.” And then he looked surprised for having said it.

  Maggie’s jaw dropped. “How did you do that? It’s like you read my mind.”

  “Easily.” He shrugged, his big shoulders shifting under the leather. “I know … your type.”

  My type? She knew she should be rattled at the comment, but her heart was still too busy flip-flopping in her chest at his earlier comment about Matthew. “I don’t think so, friend. Not after one drunken romp on the beach.” And then the most horrible realization flew into her head. “Wait! It’s morning! You’ve been here all night? In my grandmother’s bedroom? With me?”

  “You fainted,” he said in a rational tone, not appearing in the least concerned with how things appeared. “How did I know you wouldn’t go into some sort of … diabetic shock? I don’t have a copy of your medical chart, you know.”

  Maggie felt all the color drain out of her face. “I don’t believe this.”

  “Don’t fret,” he replied, glowering. “I’m not a raving sex offender. You were quite safe.”

  Maggie calmed her racing heart. This stranger had stayed with her all night, had probably watched her sleep. She knew she should be creeped out. However, she was more creeped out by the fact that she wasn’t so bothered. In a surreal way, it was nice that he’d waited for her to recover. Still, what had Gran been thinking, putting her in touch with this man? “Look, why are you even here? Did my grandmother ask you to come? Is this some sort of weird, beyond-the-grave matchmaking effort on her part?”

  He laughed, and the heady sound made a shiver run down her spine, but then his face became serious. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned that someone broke into your house.” He looked toward the window, frowning at the state of the old, rusty locks. “It was probably just bored teenagers, looking for a stash of money in a dead woman’s house, but you should still be careful.” And then he got an odd look on his face, as if he didn’t quite believe his own explanation.

  Maggie remembered the shadow she’d seen from outside, and felt herself start to panic again. Once more, each taste bud in her mouth seemed to dry up and her hands

  began to shake again. “This is all way too weird for me. What’s happening?”

  Obviously recognizing her for the distraught creature she was, Calan frowned. He inched closer to her on the bed. She didn’t resist as he put a leather-clad arm around her and gathered her to his warm chest. He stared down at her, the furrows in his brow making him appear hungry and determined and shocked, all at once. His lip curled and he patted her head, as he would a dog.

  “Hush, lass. We scared him away. I would have caught the little bugger, but when you fainted I stayed with you.” He gazed into her eyes, seeking, seeking something she couldn’t name. “Still, better to be safe than sorry. Your granny worried that someone might break into her house. She actually asked me to watch over you. I made her a promise I would until … certain things are returned to me.”

  “Why? What was she to you? She was almost ninety.”

  His sensual face compressed into a tight mask. “We were friends. Fate brought us together.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, pushing away from Calan and jumping out of the bed. He was too close, emanating too great a heat. Maggie had only ever been with safe-looking, clean-cut men. This Calan was the opposite. All sex, with looks that made her want to dissolve. She couldn’t sit on a bed with him, enfolded in his massive arms. It was far too tempting, and so unlike her to give in to someone like him. “You’re gonna have to do way better than that.”

  He let out a long sigh, looking up from under impossibly long, dark lashes. “Oh, you’re not ready for the truth.”

  She stood, hands on hips. Of course, she could handle the truth. She’d been fired by the powers that be at city hall. She’d had to confront not one, but two fiancés cheating, and had survived … sort of. She could handle anything. “Try me.”

  Looking like he was starting to lose patience, he vaulted off the bed and stood in front of her. He glared down at her, nostrils flaring. “Fine. You want the truth? Your granny certainly didn’t see fit to tell you.” He inhaled deeply, as if unsure how to begin. “Nora took something that was mine. She got me drunk and won it from me in a card game. Perhaps you’ve seen it? The skin of a selkie?” His brown eyes flashed, boring into hers.

  “That smelly, old thing? Is that what all this is about?” Maggie cried. “Have it!”

  His eyes widened. “You’d let me take it? Just like that?”

  “Look, if she tricked you, I’m sorry. She was old. I think her mind was going. I don’t know why she’d want it.”

  “Don’t you? It’s not an ordinary pelt.” He drew closer to her. She could feel his hot breath on her cheeks. “Don’t you know what I am?”

  She stared up at him, so lost in his dark eyes that she couldn’t have formed an answer to his question if she had one. Even still, words issued from her mouth of their own petulant accord. “I don’t know. A taxidermist with a grudge?”

  “I am,” he continued quietly, ignoring her pert suggestion, “of the selkie race. Your granny took the pelt and hid it as a final gift for you. She wanted you to have some happiness in your life, happiness only a selkie man could provide. I was starting to show you some of that happiness on the beach, when we were interrupted.”

  “You’re crazy,” she said, breathing a little harder, all too aware of how close he was to her.

  “Oh no, I’m not,” he replied, sanity shining through his eyes like a flashlight being turned on her. “And neither was your gran. I told Nora that’s not how it works. You cannot win a selkie for someone else, but she begged me. Begged me to keep you safe. She worried others might know of the hidden skin, but not where. And I have to admit, I was curious. My people have … certain gifts. One of them is the ability to see in dreams. And I began to see you. I’ve been seeing you for months.” He reached two fingers toward her cheek, the lightest of strokes, as if unable to refrain from doing so. “You’ve haunted me like a bewitching phantom.”

  The impact of his words hit her, but her brain was too addled to accept the truth. “Wait. You’re telling me you really were in my dreams, and that you were the seal in the water?”

  “That was me, although not fully formed without the pelt. You see, I could never return to the sea without it, but I can still create the odd illusion.”

  She shook her head and felt faint. Needing something solid to brace her, she plopped onto the bed again. “This isn’t real. Please go away.�
��

  He grasped her gently by the arms. “I’ll prove it. Look.” He held up his hands, slowly spreading his fingers in front of her. For the first time, she noticed that his large fingers were slightly webbed. A thin membrane of almost translucent skin stretched between the bottom of each finger. One might never notice if one wasn’t close enough to him.

  She continued looking at his hands. They were astoundingly beautiful, if unusual, and she wished she could touch them. Wished she could dance her tongue over the sheer membrane while she sucked on those luscious, long fingers.

  What is wrong with me? Stop this!

  “Okay,” she argued, desperate for reason. “But that doesn’t prove you’re a selkie. I’ve heard of people with webbed fingers.”

  “Oh, I see you have all the answers,” he whispered, his voice thick with what sounded like tightly leashed desire. “Well, according to the old lore, there is another way to prove it to you. Let me love you, Maggie. I’m unlike any lover you’ve ever known.”

  She knew she should offer a retort, a smart comment to bring him down a notch for his boastfulness. But all she could do was look up at him in complete wonderment. Her body was already crying for the touch of this clearly insane stranger. She was dying for him to crush her under him and was losing the will to resist.

  Something in him spoke to her. And something in her was responding with aching clarity and need.

  Calan put a finger under her chin. As he did, she grabbed his hand and stared at the webbing as if it were a beautiful painting. Gently, he encircled her in his other arm and kissed her softly on the forehead. Maggie closed her eyes as he did so, feeling feverish. Even that innocent kiss made her want to tear her clothes off, straddle him in that bed, and ride him hard. When she opened her eyes, he was staring hotly into her own, as if he had seen the dirty image in her brain.

  “What happened on the beach before … I don’t do that sort of thing with just anyone,” she dared to whisper, melting under his enveloping, all-consuming heat. His face was so close, she could already feel her lips and tongue exploding with the flavor of him.