Sins Against the Sea (14 page)

After they talked a little while longer, he invited her to the wedding. She went, thinking she could handle seeing him marry someone else. She couldn’t. Especially when he kissed her on the mouth in the receiving line.

No one since had made her feel the way Jared had when they were together, and she had started to believe no one ever would. But Kew-in did.

“Come on, then.”

Taking him by the hand, she led him into the bathroom with the claw-foot tub. As she ran the taps, he stood behind her, silent but acutely present. Noticing a jar of bath salts in a basket on the floor, she dumped some in. Within moments, a fresh, spa-like aroma filled the small room.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, an afterthought.

“I don’t,” he said. “The smell is…pleasing.”

Corey suddenly felt as nervous as a virgin. She didn’t know him, didn’t know what to expect. What if mermen had sex in some weird otherworldly way? As the tub filled, she laughed the idea off. She’d seen dolphins and orcas mate and, except for being underwater, the mechanics were pretty basic.

When the tub was full—though not so full it would overflow when both of them got in—she shut off the faucet and turned to face him. To her surprise and delight, he’d shed the kilt. Her gaze slid to his crotch. There was nothing there apart from the aperture she’d seen before.

He stood and gazed at her, his wide-set blue-green eyes smoldering with desire. Then, he stepped forward and peeled off her robe. Underneath, she wore only a long T-shirt. He took hold of the bottom and, without a word, peeled it off and cast it aside.

Suddenly self-conscious, she made to cover her breasts with her arms. He pushed them out of the way and stepped back to admire her. She flushed crimson and stared at his chest—a monument to masculine beauty.

“
Ha oo boy-ach, Cordelia
,” he said softly.

Heat flooded her face and parts lower down. “You’re not so bad yourself, Kew-in.”

Stepping up to her, he set a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. A thrilling charge shot through her body. Was it bio-chemistry or something more intangible working on her? She’d never believed there was magic in the world, but couldn’t say what was real anymore.

She set her hands on his chest. He, in turn, set his softly on her breasts. As they teased each other’s nipples, she lifted her face for his kiss. His lips met hers with a tenderness that made her ache inside. When he withdrew, she said, “Should we get in before the water gets cold?”

“I don’t mind cold water,” he said, grinning adorably, “but you probably do.”

He stepped past her and into the tub. Tiny birds fluttered in her stomach as she followed his lead, positioning herself between him and the faucet with her back to him. The water rose as they lowered their bodies in unison. The water was warm, soothing and smelled divine. She relaxed as he pulled her against his chest and placed his long legs over hers, knees bent.

He sniffed her hair. “You smell of the sea.”

“As I said before, I’ve been on the beach in the wind most of the day.”

“You do not smell as if you’ve been kissed by the sea,” he said, lips moving against her scalp. “You smell as if the sea is in your blood.”

His comment surprised her. “Do I?”

“Aye. Tell me about you mother, Cordelia.”

Her eyebrows puckered in confusion. It seemed an odd request under the circumstances. Talking about one’s mother wasn’t exactly a turn-on. “What do you wish to know?”

“Everything.”

Again, queer, but whatever. Nothing wrong with getting better acquainted before taking the plunge. She leaned back against him, fixed her gaze on the faucet, and said the first thing that came to mind. “She was a great storyteller. Every night, after tucking me in, she would sit on the edge of my bed and tell me all sorts of fantastic folktales. One of my favorites was the story of the Mester Stoor Worm, in which a gigantic white serpent threatened to destroy a seaside village. A shiftless farm boy named Assipattle finally kicked the worm’s ass.” She let out a laugh. “How funny is that?
Assipattle
.”

“I like
your
name, Cordelia.” He kissed her hair and ran his fingers down her arms. “It’s an old Celtic one meaning ‘daughter of the sea’.”

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve always hated my name. It’s so formal and old-fashioned—the reason I go by Corey. My mom picked it, according to my father.”

“How did your parents meet?”

“They met in Orkney when my dad was working on a drilling platform. He was an engineer for Conch Oil, the same company I work for.”

Though I’m not sure for how much longer…

“How did your father meet her? What were the circumstances? Do you know?”

What she’d like to know was why he was so interested in her parents, but rather than ask, she answered him. His questions seemed harmless enough, and he was another species, so maybe this was just what merman talked about before getting intimate.

“I only know they met and married in Orkney.”

“How old were you when she drowned? No, let me guess. You were seven, and they never found her body. Am I right?”

Corey, astonished, turned to look at him. “How did you know that?”

Before he could answer, someone pounded on the door downstairs. Shit. Whoever it was had terrible timing. When she started to get up, he put his arms around her and held her fast.

“Don’t answer it.”

“It might be important,” she protested. “I’ll just pop down and see what they want. You can stay here…but please don’t make a sound…or do anything to call attention to yourself.”

The visitor pounded again. Hard enough to shake the walls. Whoever it was clearly meant business. What if they wanted to come in? Worry swamped her chest. She couldn’t risk anyone finding her with Kew-in. Even if she could pass him off as human, she could never explain what she was doing in the bathtub with her cousin from Orkney.

Kew-in released his hold on her. She got up, stepped onto the mat, and, dripping everywhere, grabbed a towel off the pile on a nearby antique chair.

She dried hurriedly before slipping on her robe and heading downstairs. Pulling open the front door, she found MacInnes on the doorstep, his unshaven face gravid. She wanted to scream at him about intruding upon her privacy, but just stood there waiting.

When he started to speak, she held up her hand, silencing him. “Before you say anything, I think you should know I’m out of the loop. If you have questions, you need to go to the command center.”

“I’ve not come with questions,” he said. “I’ve come with news.”

She squinted at him. “What sort of news?”

“The captain is awake—and carrying on about storm kelpies being the cause of the accident.”

As a picture of Kew-in in the bathtub upstairs flashed through her mind, Corey gulped and forced a trivializing laugh from her throat. “Storm kelpies? How preposterous. Everybody knows there’s no such thing.”

“Not everybody.”

She arched a damp eyebrow. “Does that include you?”

“Let’s just say it’s not the first time the blue buggers have been blamed for a sinking in these waters.”

“Well, it sounds to me as if he’s suffering from delusions resulting from a head injury.”

“Or the DTs,” MacInnes suggested. “I wouldn’t put it past you lot to put a drunk at the helm of a tanker. Or maybe he needed to drink himself senseless to muster the courage to drive a phantom tanker through illegal waters.”

Corey shivered and crossed her arms. The wind off the loch was so bitingly cold, her nipples had turned to hailstones under her bathrobe. She wanted to be rid of MacInnes and get back to the warm bathtub and her hot merman, but needed to be careful not to arouse the reporter’s suspicions.

“I can’t really comment on that,” she said. “But I find it hard to believe even Conch would put an alcoholic at the helm of a tanker.”

“You give your employer more credit than I do.”

“Yes, well…from the look of things, they won’t be my employer for much longer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of a bath when you knocked on my door…and I’d like to get back to it before the water goes cold.”

He leered at her in a way she found both blatant and offensive. “A bath, you say? Would you care for some company?”

She bristled at the suggestion and stepped back. He wasn’t unattractive, but was clearly predatory—a good trait in a journalist, but a lousy one for a romantic prospect. Besides which, Lachlan MacInnes ran a distance second to her sexy storm kelpie. “Not if you’re the company.”

He affected a hurt expression. “You wound me, Miss Parker. But I suppose you’re one of those women who suffer from the Groucho Marks syndrome, eh?”

Though she probably shouldn’t bite, she couldn’t help herself. “What is the Groucho Marks syndrome?”

“You don’t want to be a member of any club that would have you for a member.”

Irked by the insinuation, she said, “You’re wrong. I simply have no interest in joining a club run by an asshole.”

He coughed, spraying her with spittle. “If you’re trying to give offense, you’ll have to do better than that, lass. I’ve been called worse than an arsehole by the nuns back at school.”

She eyed him narrowly. “Why does that not surprise me?”

He fixed her with a lustful look she didn’t care for in the least. “You’re very bonny, you know. Especially when you’re half naked and full of fire. I’ll bet you’re a real wildcat between the sheets.”

Corey, seething over the inappropriateness of MacInnes’s compliment, grabbed the door, ready to slam it in his face. Was he actually making a pass at her? Her thoughts ran upstairs to Kew-in. She needed to get back to him.

“I have a boyfriend,” she blurted. “Who happens to be upstairs right this minute…”

Why not tell him about Kew-in? She’d simply leave out the part about him being a fish-tailed demi-god.

“I see.” MacInnes licked his lips. “Well, he’s one lucky sod to have a spitfire like you—and don’t think I was making a play for you, because that wasn’t the case. I was merely giving you a compliment. You
are
bonny—a simple statement of fact. As well as smart and determined. Qualities I admire, which is saying a lot when you take into account the scum of the earth you work for.”

She couldn’t quite bring herself to thank him. Excusing herself, she shut the door on him, engaged the deadbolt, and headed back upstairs. Kew-in was still in the bathtub, which appeared to be fuller. Figuring he’d added more hot water, she shed her robe, stepped over the edge, and re-inserted herself between his legs. She was right; the water was still nice and warm.

“Who was it?” he asked, making room for her.

“An obnoxious reporter from Skye.”

“What’s a reporter?”

“Someone who reports on the events of the day.” She’d forgotten he wouldn’t know about such things. “They write for newspapers and sometimes expose wrongdoing.”

“Ah, and he’s here, I presume, to report on
Ketos
and the oil?”

“Yes.” That he’d put the pieces together so quickly told her he had a quick mind. So did his rapid absorption of the English language. Should she tell him what MacInnes had said about the captain claiming storm kelpies were responsible for the spill? Maybe later, but right now, she needed the comfort of his strong arms and beachy scent. She snuggled against the manly wall of his chest. “Where were we?”

“You were telling me about your parents.”

Oh, right…and what was up with that? “Why are you so interested in my family?”

“I’m interested because I believe your mother might have been a merrow.”

The declaration caught her off guard, but not as much as what happened next. Without warning, he pushed her down, under the water, and held her there. Holding her breath, she struggled to free herself, flailing wildly and pummeling him with her fists.

“Breathe,” he said. “Breathe, Cordelia. If you don’t, I will have to kill you.”

His statement made no sense. He was killing her now. Why? She floundered and thrashed, but accomplished nothing. He was too strong and determined. The urge to inhale grew more and more demanding. Mortal fear flooded her system. Holy fuck. This was her worst nightmare come to life. Only she’d always imagined the sea would kill her, not a storm kelpie in a bathtub.

Her thoughts grew foggy and began to swim. The need to breathe became more and more intense, overriding her will to survive. Drowning was supposed to be a peaceful death, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

“Breathe, Cordelia. You can. You must.”

Unable to fight the compulsion any longer, she opened her mouth. Water rushed in, burning her airways like liquid fire. The flesh tore near the glands on her neck. The accompanying pain was so unbearable, she nearly lost consciousness. She released a gurgled scream, expelling the water she’d inhaled. Then, her windpipe closed and the gashes in her neck began to pump like a bellows.

The sensation was strange. Scary and abnormal, but also kind of cool. She could breathe underwater. Holy hell. He’d guessed right. She really must be part merrow.

When he released his hold on her, she shot up like a fountain, pushed back her sodden hair, and wiped the water from her face. Her windpipe opened and her gills sealed shut, which was considerably less painful than the reverse. She drank in air in great gulps. When she was able to breathe normally again, she turned a blistering glare on him, drew back her hand, and slapped his face.