Mark almost said, I’ll run for Congress if you want me to, but instead he said, “No, I’m Mark Forsythe.”
Suddenly Jillian found herself thinking that if she had to get caught by anyone, she was glad it had been this man. Dressed in shorts and a skin-hugging T-shirt, the only garment, she thought, that shoulders like his deserved—he was deeply tanned with bright, intense blue eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair. Yes, she thought, looking more closely, his white-streaked hair was rich and thick and strangely at odds with his youthful face, dark brows, and lashes. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. She wanted very badly to touch his hair just once, just to see if it felt as wonderful as it looked.
She held out her hand. “Hello, Mark. Thanks for rescuing me. Without my contact lenses, I guess the white blur I headed for was the barnacles rather than Ken Bristol’s boat.”
His large hand wrapped around hers, just as his smile wrapped around her, warmly. As she met his gaze, she knew it was more than his good looks that attracted her. She had a vague memory of those eyes looking into hers with compassion and caring and concern, and of those strong, brown arms lifting her and carrying her, holding her as if she were precious to him.
Tenderness from a man was something she had missed for so long in her life, and something in her, even in her semiconscious state, had responded to it strongly. There was a quality in his gaze that spoke to something deep inside her soul, as if I they had known each other before in another life, as if he recognized the kinship they shared as much and as deeply as she did.
Oh, stop it, she told herself. She was being fanciful. It must have been from the bump on the head.
“Did you want to get caught by a certain fisherman?”
“Well, that was the plan. I mean, getting caught by a man named Ken Bristol was what I was getting paid for.” She grimaced with consternation as she blurted out, “Darn! Now I guess I don’t get paid.” Suddenly she bit her lip and drew her brows together. “Oh, heavens! Robin! He’s a diver. He’ll be down there looking for me! Unless—did anyone see you bring me here?”
“I tried to make sure no one did,” he said with a grin. “I intended to keep you all to myself.”
“Sorry, but I have to let someone know where I am and what happened, or there’ll be all sorts of repercussions. Could you go and tell them that I’m here? They could send the Zodiac ashore for me.”
With a heavy sigh of reluctance, Mark got to his feet and said, “If I must, I must, but I’d rather keep you.” They shared a smile before he strode away around the end of an impressively large old house.
Jillian leaned back on her elbows, letting the sun soak into her skin, feeling it warm her as she stared at the house.
Gray and weathered, it looked as if it had been sitting there for a hundred years or more, although the patio and pool, along with umbrella tables, lounge chairs, and other outdoor furniture, all spoke of modern tastes—and obvious wealth.
Mark returned very quickly, frowning. “The boat is gone,” he said without preamble, shocking her upright. “No Zodiac, no diver, no cruiser. The bay is empty.
Chapter Two
SUDDENLY JILLIAN WAS SHIVERING again in spite of warmth of the sun. “But...how could they do that? How could they leave me? Oh, gosh, maybe they didn’t! Maybe they’re searching for me. I need to get to a phone.” Her eyes swept the pool area.
“No, there’s no phone jack out here,” he said, knowing what she was about to ask. “And the big headland behind me blocks the cell signals. But that’s not a problem. Hang on,” he added and lifted her into his arms and stood.
Jillian wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the strength of his arms, the heat of his skin, the rigid wall of his chest. He was a big, powerful man, and she could feel all that power as he strode with her along a flagstone path toward the house. She tilted her head back an inch, wanting to see his eyes, but all she could see was his profile—a straight nose, a square chin, one strangely small ear tucked in close to his head, and that thick hair she found so tempting. If she could just lift one hand two inches, sort of by accident, she could touch it. With great strength of will, she kept her fingers locked together behind his neck.
When her icy hands clasped at the back of his neck, Mark felt guilty. He should have taken her inside long before. As warm as the sun was, she needed more than its heat. She was chilled right through. What she needed was to get out of her costume and into some dry clothes. A picture o Jillian Lockstead out of her costume, not in dry clothes but in his warm bed flashed across his mind, and it shook him. Damn, but she was doing incredible things to him.
It was easier to carry her when she was conscious and able to cooperate, able to put her arms around him and help. At least in one way it was easier. In other ways, it was much more difficult, he thought as he felt his heart rate Increase to a level an aerobics freak would have been proud of. His breathing was considerably faster as well, and he struggled to control it. Oh, lord, she felt good in his arms, scales and all, and those little drying tendrils of hair tickled his neck in a manner that nearly knocked him out cold when she moved her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, noticing his distressed breathing. “I know how heavy I am in this suit. Honestly, it’s the tail, not me.”
He flicked a quick glance into her eyes and smiled as he elbowed open a set of French doors. “Do all mermaids have fat tails?”
“I’m the only mermaid I know, but my tail is made of neoprene, and without built-in weights to give it negative buoyancy, I’d go around head down all the time and ruin the effect of a mermaid’s effortless swimming.”
“When you were fighting that slop out there, it didn’t look so effortless,” he said, as he sat her in a chair by a small table.
“It wasn’t. That was tough. Oh, look, I’m still dripping. I’ll ruin your carpet and chair.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “Water won’t hurt anything.” Gesturing to the phone on the table, he left her, returning with a large, thick white terry robe that he held out for her to put her arms into. She leaned forward while he tucked it down around her back. He drew her wet hair out from inside the robe and rubbed it hard with a towel for a few moments. Then, wrapping the towel around her head turban-style, he crouched in front of her, rubbing her cold arms through the loose sleeves of the robe, listening without a qualm to her side of the conversation.
“Get hold of Robin,” she had been saying when he came back. “Tell him we blew it. He hooked me up to the wrong lure.” She was silent while someone else spoke, then she exploded into speech.
“What do you mean, he knows already? How does he know? And why didn’t he...Bristol actually caught a fish?” She laughed, but her amusement was short-lived.
“Well, if they saw me carried ashore,” she said sharply, “why didn’t they come and get me? Oh.” She covered the phone for a moment and said to Mark, “You locked the gate, he says.”
He nodded. “Sorry. It locks automatically, and I didn’t know anyone had followed.”
She explained this to her boss, and Mark watched her face as she listened for another minute or two, then saw weary resignation flood her eyes as she rolled them skyward. “Of course I understand Bristol’s a busy man and has other commitments, but surely he could have hung around long enough to get me back aboard his boat. No, Jim, obviously I didn’t hear them shouting. I guess I was unconscious. Of course I’m all right. I have a small cut on my head and the hook caught me in the chest, but it won’t be a problem for long.”
There was a pause, and Mark’s estimation of the “Jim” on the other end of the line went down a long way when Jillian said with the same weary resignation, “Yes, Jim, I’ll be able to work tonight.” She listened for a few more moments. “Okay. That’ll be fine,” she said. “I don’t know where I am, but hold on and I’ll find out.”
She turned her eyes up to her host and met his steady gaze.
Mark looked back at her and smiled. He knew exactly where sh
e was. She was with him, and not they were at sea, and the boat was rocking dangerously.
Mark moved toward her. He was so close to touching out to draw her into his arms again that lie didn’t know how he stopped himself in time. He wanted to embrace her, to keep her close to his body, to tell her, “This is where you are, Mermaid, and this is where you’ll stay.” But of course he couldn’t. Instead, he said, “Don’t bother asking anyone to send a car. I’ll be happy to take you wherever you want to go.”
“Oh, I...” she started to protest, but he shook his head.
“My place is...hard to find from the road.” She sensed he didn’t want his address given out and remembered the wrought iron fence and the locked gate. The house exuded the impression of old wealth, and she didn’t blame Mark Forsythe for wanting to protect his privacy. She nodded and took the towel off her head, shaking her hair loose. It would dry better unwrapped. Running her hands through its length to untangle it, she explained to her boss that she didn’t need a ride, watching as Mark Forsythe walked outside with long, even strides to hang her wet towel over the back of a chair. In the sun, the white in his hair was so bright, she could barely look at it without squinting, but she managed somehow. His tanned skin rippled over hard, sinuous muscles. She easily could have spent the next sixty-nine years watching the man move, she thought, but then what Jim was saying began to get through to her bemused brain.
Only it made no sense at all.
“Do it all over again?” she said with a gasp when she realized what he was asking of her. “Not on your life! That was a one-time-only shot, Jim. I don’t care what it cost to hire the photographers! No! I’m not going down there again! Then let Bristol use the film of himself playing the salmon, and they can splice in film of me in the tank...I don’t care what they’re willing to pay. Once was enough...No, I didn’t like it,” she snapped. “In fact, I hated it. I was scared and cold, and it wasn’t the piece of cake you and Robin assured me it would be...Of course Robin wasn’t cold! He was wearing a full wetsuit! It was also a whole lot different from working in the tank. Buddy-breathing is for the birds.”
There was a pause, and as Mark came back into the room, he could hear the sounds but not the words of a male voice arguing. “Well, then, it’s for the fish,” said Jillian. “Or the porpoises or whatever, or strictly for emergencies. It is not for me. Not again. Sorry, but if you want publicity photographs for any more political hopefuls, you find yourself another mermaid.”
After another pause she said, “Yes, I’m just as committed to cleaning up the oceans as I ever was, and I believe that if he’s elected, Ken Bristol would stand a chance of making some progress, but there has to be another way I can do my bit. I...”
She listened for a moment or two, and Mark noticed how pale she was again. He tucked the robe around her more tightly, and she smiled at him in thanks as she said softly but firmly, “I said no, Jim. And I meant it. Not again, not for any amount of money.”
Mark heard her make a soft, dismayed sound and saw her stiffen, saw her eyes widen and her face go even whiter. He kept his hands on her waist, aware of the rubber suit between her skin and his but also very much aware of her female shape.
“You both told me it was an extra! That it had nothing to do with my regular job. And if you try to pull anything, changing my job description in the middle of the season, let me tell you, you won’t get away with it. I’m the mermaid in the club, and that’s that. Any extracurricular mermaiding you want done from here on out, you hire yourself another mermaid!” She hung up, and staring wide-eyed and frightened into Mark’s face, she wrapped her arms around herself tightly.
“Oh, brother,” she said. “Can I do that?” Without waiting for him to reply, she went on. “But I did, didn’t I? I as good as told my boss to get lost.”
He stood and went to an intercom switch near the door. “Edward, could I have coffee for two in my den, please?” He thumbed the switch closed and came to sit opposite Jillian, drawing his chair up so close that his knees almost touched her thigh.
She could smell the scent of his soap, or aftershave, or shampoo, or maybe it was just him. It smelled good and male and comforting, and his voice when he spoke was deep and masculine and soothing. Well, maybe not soothing, since it made her heart beat fast, but it was...oh, she didn’t know. She certainly did enjoy the sound of it. It held a rumble so deep, she could almost feel it. It made her want to lay her palm on his chest to see if she could feel the vibrations.
“Why don’t you get out of that costume, Jillian? I could find you someth—”
“No!” Her sharp, almost panicked word cut him off, and he waved a hand as if to calm her.
“All right, all right. It was only a thought.” Maybe she needed help getting out of it and didn’t have anything on underneath. The thought made his breath catch in his throat.
“I...Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. But I’m fine like this. I’d rather keep it on, and really, I’d rather have someone else come and get me. I hate to bother you, and I’d make sure they were discreet about where you live and—”
“Jillian, I said I’d take you home. It’s no bother at all.”
“Thank you. I’m grateful. It’s just that if you’re going to drive me home, it’ll mean you’ll have to carry me to the car and...” The thought of being lifted into those muscular arms of his again, being held against that solid, warm chest was almost too much I much for her. Weakly, she forced herself to go on. “So maybe it would be better if...” She let the sentence trail off as he shook his head.
“I’ll drive you home, and I’ll be happy to carry you to the car,” he said. In fact, he thought he would be happy to carry his mermaid in his arms for the rest of the day. Or maybe even the week. Hell, why not go whole hog? What about the rest of my life?
The thought slammed into his brain, and he shook his head. It was one thing to be so damned sexually aroused by the woman that he could hardly keep his hands off her, but it was entirely another to be thinking in terms of the rest of his life.
“I, uh, how in the world did you ever get to be mermaid?” he asked quickly, making conversation to occupy his mind because he felt as if he was on the verge of tilting into insanity once more. “That has to be the most unusual occupation I’ve ever heard of. And how long have you have been doing it? Where?”
“Just for the past two years, in a place called The Pearldiver’s Club. I did a lot of water ballet when I was younger and was on a synchronized swimming team,” she said, “not that I ever expected it to be anything but a sport, but when I—needed a change from my regular job, my former training was what got it for me.”
“Your regular job?
“I’m a...I was a teacher.”
“What kind of a teacher?”
“I was a guidance counselor and taught phys-ed.” She bit her lip, then said with a wry smile, “If I’ve lost my mermaiding job, I guess I’ll have to go back to teaching.”
Mark got the impression she was of two minds about it and wondered why. He smiled. “If you’re as good a teacher as you are a mermaid, I don’t see why there’d be any problem.”
“I’ll never go back.”
He leaned forward slightly. “Why not?” he asked, as if it really mattered. “Didn’t you like teaching?”
Suddenly she had the most absurd impulse to move closer and bury her face against the warmth she knew she’d find between his muscular shoulder and his strong neck, to feel his arms encircle her, hold her again, make her feel secure and unafraid. Instead, she leaned back and pulled the robe more closely around herself, pulling her tail in as tightly to the front of the chair as she could, telling herself that she could take care of her own life and didn’t need to lean on anyone.
“I loved teaching,” she said. “It’s the most rewarding job in the world.”
He raised his dark brows. “But you left it? Why?”
“Oh, I decided I needed a break,” she said with a bright smile that he didn’t bel
ieve for a minute. But he did believe that she had loved teaching. “I’d been at it for more than ten years, and it was for something new. I’ve done some tutoring on the side these past two years, just to keep my hand in and my license active.”
He smiled as she spoke of her former job. He was surprised at how long she’d been a teacher. It had been twelve years since she’d graduated from college, counting the two she’d been out of the teaching business, he calculated. He’d guessed her age to be around thirty. Now he upped that by three, maybe four years. And in spite of the bright smile that curved her pink mouth, something bleak in her tone and pained in her eyes told him there was a lot more to her choice to leave teaching than just having “decided” to take a break. He wondered if something had gone wrong with her job, and she’d been forced out of it.
“Where were you teaching, Jillian?”
“In Seattle. In a school downtown.” Her eyes still seemed to smile, but he thought he saw sorrow in their depths. “Downtown” was an ambiguous word that could mean a lot of things, but coupled with teaching, it normally meant “inner-city”, and inner city could mean tough kids, knives, drugs, danger, constantly having to be on the alert, constantly having to be on edge.
Burnout? No, probably not, he decided, not when her eyes lit up the way they did when she spoke of her former career. Yet there was a sadness about her that suggested she hadn’t left of her own free will.
“What about another district?” he suggested. “Did you try to find a position in a school up this way?”
She gave him a faint smile. “No,” she said, amazed at the intensity of his gaze. With those blue eyes of his fixed on her face, it was as if he could read all the conflicting emotions that ran: through her whenever she thought about what she’d like to do with her life, whenever she remembered the plans she had made and how circumstances had changed them. With anyone else, she would have looked away, hidden her feelings, kept herself private as she always did, but somehow his knowing she felt sad about having left the school system didn’t seem to threaten her. She was comfortable with it and with him.
Mermaid Page 2
