by Devyn Quinn
Churned by the storm wailing above, the water was muddy and as dark as a tomb. The murk boiled around her, thick and almost impenetrable even to her super-sharp eyes.
Propelling herself at top speed, Tessa headed in the direction where she’d last seen the suicidal swimmer.
Precious seconds ticked away as she searched for the man she’d seen onshore. Beneath the surface, the water was bone-chillingly cold. As a Mer, Tessa was comfortable hot or cold. For a human, surviving would be difficult. In this temperature he’d have perhaps ten minutes before muscle impairment set in.
Struggling past the impulse to panic, Tessa forced herself to slow down. The water filtered in and out of her lungs as easily and naturally as she breathed air.
If he’s dead . . .
She clamped her teeth against the acidic nausea of dread. No! She would find him. She would save him. It was her fault he’d gotten this far out into the water in the first place. If she’d been paying attention instead of worrying about her starved libido, she would have recognized the warning signs sooner.
Making several more passes through the area, she sensed rather than visually recognized his presence. A shadow. A wisp. Hair loose and tangled.
Head whipping around, she zeroed in on the body gently bobbing beneath the water’s surface. His arms were floating outward, as if he were reaching for her in appeal. But his unseeing gaze stared right through her. There was no light, no life, in his eyes.
Fear lanced through her. Was she too late to help him?
Gasping painfully, Tessa quickly swam over to the fading man.
If he still has any life, I can save him. The thought offered a glimmer of hope.
Reaching out, Tessa cupped the man’s face between her palms. Beneath the water, a mermaid’s kiss could save a man’s life, granting him the ability to breathe. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the precious air he needed to survive.
Tilting her head, she pressed her mouth to his. Summoning the magic known only to the Mer, she exhaled, passing the vital spark of life from her body to his . . .
Chapter 1
Port Rock, Maine
Ten months later
The boat skimmed across water as clear and shiny as a newly polished mirror. Though the bay was calm and untroubled, Kenneth Randall felt his stomach make a slow backflip. Swallowing hard against the rise of nausea, he quietly fought the urge to vomit. Good grief. He’d had no idea a quick trip across the Penobscot would make him sick as a dog.
Tightening his grip on the edge of the flat-bottomed skiff, he glanced down into a depth unfathomable to the naked eye. A prickling sensation ran up his spine. The bay looked unwelcoming, ominously unpredictable. Because the weather changed from day to day, its tides often presented intimidating challenges to navigation and piloting.
Kenneth shivered. His muscles bunched with tension. Though the water was tranquil, he couldn’t help thinking back to the day he’d almost sacrificed his life to that all-consuming abyss in a moment of despair.
He frowned as images of walking into the choppy water flashed across his mind’s eye. Through the hazy labyrinth of time and distance he still couldn’t remember what had happened after he’d gone under. Every time he tried to put the pieces together, the indistinct pictures melted away, slipping back into the murky void lingering around the edges of his skull.
Despite the fact that it felt strange to admit it, he had a feeling he hadn’t been under the water alone. Someone—something, some benevolent presence—had hovered nearby, keeping him alive when he should have perished. Whether it was the design of a higher power or the provenance of pure luck, somehow he’d survived. And while he wouldn’t go so far as to label the underwater presence an angel, he couldn’t shake the deeply rooted notion he’d been visited by a being of purity and beauty.
Digging deeper into the murk surrounding that day, Kenneth’s stomach tightened at the fleeting, half-conscious impressions crowding into his brain. Female. Yes, he was absolutely sure the presence was a feminine one.
A flush prickled his skin as his heart sped up, filling his veins with hot adrenaline. Since that time the same faceless siren had visited his dreams, ushering in a sensually erotic delight. He was absolutely convinced he’d experienced the feel of her hands caressing his skin with a sensitive, compassionate touch. The breath seeping from his lungs had been restored by her kiss . . .
Kenneth choked down a lump of frustration before taking a few quick breaths to calm his fluttering stomach. “I definitely need to get my head on straight,” he muttered under his breath.
The idea his sea nymph was nothing more than the apparition of a mind gone awry had occurred to him on more than one occasion. The siren had to be the figment of a desperate imagination. He’d spent months in therapy working through that day. His therapist had even identified the notion to be part of post-traumatic stress disorder.
Survivor’s guilt in the wake of two painful events had obviously put a lot of pressure on his subconscious mind. His body was relieving the stress in the only way it knew how, through sleep. Coming from the mouth of a professional, it all made perfect sense.
Forcing his gaze away from the water, Kenneth settled his attention on the island ahead. As the transport motored closer, he could see a traditional Cape Cod- style home—right down to the whitewashed exterior and gray-shingled roof—that stood several hundred feet behind a high concrete wall designed to break the worst of the waves.
The lighthouse was perched staunchly nearby, a guardian warning ships away from the dangers of land ahead. According to what he’d been told, he’d washed up, battered by the rocks and unconscious, on the island’s rocky shore during the storm. The island’s owner had reportedly pulled him to safety, alerting shore patrol to the emergency.
Kenneth hoped by returning to the island he could talk to the woman who’d rescued him. Surely she could help him put the final pieces of that day together.
“You guys never last.” A raspy voice shattered Kenneth’s internal monologue, reminding him he wasn’t alone on this voyage into the unknown.
Kenneth glanced over his shoulder. Outfitted in clothing that had seen better days, the owner of the boat manned the rudder. Loaded with supplies destined for the island, the motor-powered vessel wasn’t the prettiest or fastest on the bay. Rather, she was seaworthy and worked hard, a necessity for people who made their living in the coastal waters off Maine’s shores. Dubbed Lucky’s Lady, the small craft was as sun-weathered as the grizzled old man piloting her.
Feeling a twinge of tension in his shoulders, Kenneth loosened his grip on the edge of the boat. “I didn’t catch what you said,” he admitted, shouting his words over the whine of the motor.
Pushing back a cap that barely covered a fall of shoulder-length silvery hair, the old man spat a wad of phlegm over the edge of the boat. His expression was one of amusement. “Tessa,” he yelled back, nodding toward the island. “She eats up the help and spits them out. Can’t keep a handyman to save her life.”
Ah, right. Now he understood why the old man had been so willing to ferry him across the bay. Clad in a pair of jeans coupled with a short-sleeved knit shirt and heavy boots, he most likely looked like he needed a job. Failing to correct the notion, he signaled his understanding. “Is she hard to work for?”
The skipper sucked his lower lip against his bottom teeth, then spat again. “That’s saying a mouthful.” He flashed a grin, showing more of his gums than teeth. “I reckon you’re about the fifth or maybe sixth man I’ve taken across in the last few months.”
Kenneth grimaced at the idea of nursing on a wad of tobacco. Disgusting habit, worse than his own addiction to nicotine. At least he tried to be polite about his smokes. “That’s a lot of men,” he yelled back. The mental picture of a sour old fishwife was beginning to take shape. The woman sounded like a shrew from hell, impossible to please.
The old sea dog guided the skiff up beside a small dock reigning over a rocky shoal; more
than a little creaky and none too well cared for. Battered by the elements, it clearly wouldn’t survive many more storms. “Tessa’s a real ballbuster,” he spat, throttling the Evinrude into blissful silence. “No man can satisfy her, no matter how hard he works.” He briefly scrubbed a hand across his silvery whiskers. “Nobody lasts more than a week—maybe two—before they head back to the mainland. No man has managed to stand up to her yet.”
“You’re still around.”
“Gwen—that’s her sister—pays me to bring over the supplies and do a little tinkering with the lighthouse radio system. Past that . . .” He shook his head. “I’m too damn old to put up with any woman’s lashing tongue.”
Kenneth nodded his understanding. That made sense. “So Tessa never leaves the island?”
The skipper stood up and expertly looped a rope around one pillar to keep the skiff from drifting. Unloading a few items onto the dock, the old man climbed out of the boat. “The Lonikes have always kept to themselves, minded their own business. Tessa’s sisters are nice enough, I suppose, seeing as they work in town. I like ’em both. As for Tessa, she’s best left to herself.”
Kenneth began to rethink the day’s journey. Perhaps hitching a ride to the island wasn’t such a wise notion after all. “Maybe I’d better stay here,” he ventured.
The old salt snorted. “Tucking your tail between your legs?”
Those were fighting words. And one thing Kenneth had already decided in this life was that he wasn’t backing away from anything ever again. He’d folded like a wet paper sack once. A second time wouldn’t be acceptable. Besides, it wasn’t like he actually wanted the damn job. He’d simply find the woman, and thank her.
Simple enough.
Fighting to keep his balance, which wasn’t half as assured as the skipper’s, Kenneth scrambled onto the dock. Though the ride hadn’t taken more than ten minutes, he felt better having his feet closer to solid land.
He eyed the sign prominently nailed to a post. NO TRESPASSING. The locals clearly respected the privacy of people living off the mainland and their desire for peace and solitude. As an uninvited guest, he had to wonder how soon it would be before the island’s reclusive owner sent him packing. Too late to second-guess my decision now.
“What’s she like?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going just a moment longer.
The skipper shrugged. “She’s as stubborn and ornery as a jackass. She won’t listen to anyone and does what she damn well wants when she wants to. As for answering to a man . . . not anytime soon. You can take her, or leave her.” A chuckle slipped between his chaw-stained lips. “Most of ’em leave.”
“Got a feeling I’ll be leaving soon,” Kenneth muttered under his breath. Pushing his sunglasses up onto his head, he surveyed the island stretched out in front of him. A strange sense of familiarity crept in, seeping up from the darker corners of his mind.
The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. His lungs seemed to freeze, holding on to the oxygen. Bit by bit, a sense of recognition began to return. Even though the sky held nary a cloud, he fancied he heard the rumble of thunder preceding a rain redoubling its angry assault on the earth. He vaguely recalled the wind kicking up, slashing at his bare skin. The chill was painful, penetrating all the way to the bone . . .
With more than a little relief, Kenneth released the breath he’d been holding. For once the cells in his shortcircuited brain were beginning to spark, the soggy mass of gray matter finally assuming coherent shape.
The presence is here. He definitely felt it. Her.
Relief mingled with a tinge of anxiety. Most of the memories were still a blur, the details yet to be clarified. Despite the signs warning strangers away, he hoped Tessa Lonike would give him a few minutes of her time. All he wanted was information, enough to fill in the blanks. Once his need was satisfied, it would be time to close the door on the past and move on.
The skipper gave him a hard poke. “You going to stand there all day?” he demanded irritably. “I ain’t got all day to be foolin’ around here.”
Jarred out of his thoughts, Kenneth refocused on the matter at hand. The skipper thought he was here to work. Best to get a move on and get going. “Just tell me what to do.” Being agreeable was the best way to get along with people, especially strangers. The small community was a tight- knit one, where everybody knew everyone else’s business. The best way for an outsider to gain acceptance was simply to go with the flow.
The old man made a sound just this side of a deep hack before spitting a wad of phlegm into the water. “You’ll have a better chance of getting on Tessa’s good side if you make yourself useful.” He pointed to one of the parcels he’d unloaded onto the dock. “She’s waitin’ on a new motor for the swamp cooler. The sooner you get it in, the happier she will be.”
Kenneth picked up the part, tucking it under one arm. “Can do.”
“Just go on around back,” the old man continued, pointing out a path leading toward the house. “I’ll finish unloading the supplies. Once you’re done there, we’ll carry it all up to the house. I’d like to be home for supper before sundown, so get a move on.”
Kenneth blew out his cheeks in a sigh. “Whatever you say, boss.”
The trail leading from the dock to the house was made up of half-buried stepping-stones zigzagging over soil eroded from continual assault of water driven by furious winds. One wrong step would twist an ankle, or worse, break a bone. The walkway could clearly use improvements.
Leaving the rocky path behind, Kenneth stepped onto an overgrown lawn. Up close the place wasn’t as picturesque as it appeared from a distance. Grass curled around his ankles, thick and squishy underfoot from recent rains. The thick, loamy scent of pine nettles and decaying leaves from trees clustered around the house filled his nostrils. They needed to be clipped and thinned, as did the low hedges edging both sides of the house. The house also needed a lot of work. The roof had lost more than its share of shingles to high winds. The white paint covering its walls had faded, cracking and slowly peeling away. Plywood nailed over a broken corner window lent the house a sad, neglected air.
It looked picture- perfect when viewed from a distance. However, the fairy-tale allure faded as perspective changed. The enchantment had long ago faded away.
“Needs a lot of work,” Kenneth muttered under his breath. Despite the neglect, he recognized a lot of potential in the property. The house clearly had a solid foundation. Why the owner had let the place go when repairs would be so easy to make was beyond him.
He eyed the house, making a mental note here and there. “It could be fixed up.” A new roof and a fresh coat of paint would go a long way toward restoring it to its former glory.
Closer now, the sound of angry voices drifted around the corner of the house.
Kenneth cocked his head, straining to hear the words. Though he couldn’t make out the gist of the conversation, he clearly recognized the anger filling two female voices. An argument was under way and getting louder by the moment. Neither one of the participants was happy.
Feeling a little bit like an intruder, Kenneth tightened his hold on the motor. By the sounds of things, the girls were going at it tooth and nail. They probably wouldn’t welcome any interruptions, especially from a stranger who’d invited himself onto the property.
Maybe I should go while the going’s good. . . .
Despite the thought, his feet had other ideas. He’d come here for a reason, to settle his mind. Leave now and he’d just be back to that first frustrating square.
Walking with more confidence than he felt, Kenneth skirted the side of the house, skimming between the hedge and wall. He emerged into an overgrown backyard.
His gaze settled on two women standing beside the remains of a derelict swamp cooler. Someone had taken off the panels and gutted it, scattering the parts without much thought toward reassembly. Perched on a base constructed of cinder blocks and plywood, the old air conditioner looked ready to topple at a
ny given moment.
His gaze shifted, refocusing his attention. Two women, two fiery redheads, were squared off against each other. The fur was flying, fast and energetically furious. By the look of things, neither was backing down.
Kenneth dragged in a breath. Talk about timing. He’d blundered straight into a hornet’s nest.
He grimaced. It’s my own fault if I get stung.
Tessa Lonike’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the stranger. If she hadn’t been so damn spitting mad at Gwen, she might even have welcomed his arrival. He carried the much-needed motor for the swamp cooler, back-ordered for more than a month. She’d been waiting all day for Lucky to show up with supplies. What she hadn’t counted on seeing was a total stranger.
A twinge of suspicion rose. “You know him?” she demanded peevishly.
Gwen followed Tessa’s gaze and shook her head. “No, but I hope to.” Pasting on a grin, she lifted a hand in the air. “Over here,” she called, motioning for the stranger to join them.
Screwdriver in hand, Tessa waved the tool toward her sister. “Don’t lie.”
Realizing the jig was up, Gwen pled out. “I put another ad in the paper,” she admitted sheepishly. “I was beginning to think no one was going to show.”
Shooting a glare toward the man, Tessa frowned. Gwen was determined to step all over her authority as the eldest. “I’ve told you before I don’t want strangers here. I can handle this place myself.”
“No, you can’t.” Gwen’s hand shot out, delivering a sharp jab to Tessa’s chest. “Now, be nice and hope he wants to work.”
Grumbling under her breath, Tessa rubbed her aching boob. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with today. Her to-do list was already too long. “I have no intention of being nice.” Hot and sweaty from wrangling with the swamp cooler, she didn’t feel like kissing ass.
Gwen ignored her. Quirking a brow, she gave the approaching man an appreciative twice-over. “He’s got potential.”
