Siren's Surrender (6 page)

Now that his demeanor had lost a layer of frost, he reminded Gwen of a stallion—roped and harnessed, forced to be tame. She couldn’t help but think that a wild streak lurked beneath the surface of his calm, straining to break free and run loose. She could imagine how Mr. Straight-Laced Tight-Ass might be in other situations . . .

Feeling heat creep into her cheeks, Gwen quickly turned her head. While she’d never admit it out loud, she’d been reading a lot of erotic romances and wishing she was the heroine, being swept off her feet by the drop-dead gorgeous hero.

Truth be told, Gwen actually had no idea what Whittaker might be like in bed. Or any other man for that matter. Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, she’d never found a man she would dare to be that intimate with.

Yes, she’d dated, had even fooled around a little. But she’d never taken the plunge and moved any of her relationships to the next step.

She was twenty-seven years old and still a virgin.

Gwen inwardly winced. Unlike Tessa and Addison, she didn’t have enough confidence in her body to strip to the buff in front of a human male. Needless to say, her boyfriends invariably got frustrated with her inhibitions and dropped her like a hot rock. And since Mers didn’t age like humans, it was beginning to look like she was going to have a long, lonely life ahead.

Being the world’s oldest bachelorette didn’t appeal to her one bit. And just because she’d never had sex didn’t mean she didn’t think about it. She did. A lot.

She gave Blake Whittaker another surreptitious peek. Oh, goddess, he was pure eye candy.
If I were going to give it up, that man would be the one
. Everything about his looks appealed to her.

But there was no way in hell she’d try getting down and dirty with a government agent. All she really wanted was for Agent Whittaker to get the hell out of town. The sooner, the better. Until that time, she doubted she’d breathe easy.

At least they were one step closer to fulfilling that objective. The ride was almost over. In another five minutes Agent’s Whittaker’s torture would be over.

Gwen couldn’t suppress a sigh as she looked around the all-too-familiar surroundings. Even though she’d moved to the mainland to live among the human population, Little Mer continued to drag her back. The place was like a magnet. Sometimes it seemed like she’d never be able to get away.

Others of her kind had made the great escape. And they’d never come back. Nowadays very few Mer inhabited the bay. Through time their numbers had dwindled to almost nothing. It was inevitable her kind would branch out, moving onto land and joining the humans. Even members of her own family had given up and moved on, determined to fit in to a society that didn’t necessarily welcome anyone who was strange or unusual.

Gwen hated being different. Being Mer. Even though she lived and worked among people, she still didn’t feel she belonged. She never felt like she would. There would always be that one thing separating her from everyone else.

Killing the Evinrude, Lucky guided his boat up to the island’s landing place with all the skill of an expert seaman. The skiff glided to a gentle stop. Throwing out a rope, he quickly secured the skiff to the dock. “Here we are, folks.”

Gwen pushed herself off the carton. The paper towels packed inside had made quite a comfy seat. “Thanks for the ride, Lucky.”

The old man doffed his cap. “Anytime.”

Whittaker also stood. During the ride over, a bit of the tension seemed to have left him. At least his hands had unclenched and his expression was a bit less sour and a little more human. “I’ll need maybe an hour,” he informed the skipper.

Lucky just shrugged. “I’ll be around.”

Stepping up onto the pier, Gwen motioned toward the house in the distance. “This way, Agent Whittaker.”

He scrambled up beside her, a little bit more graceful this time. “Thank God that’s over,” he muttered under his breath.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she continued. “But I took the liberty of sending word ahead. Kenneth and Tessa aren’t exactly early to rise.”

Whittaker cocked a brow. “They just got married, right?”

Gwen nodded. “About three weeks ago.” She thought a moment. “How did you know?”

“There’s a reason the word
investigate
is in the job description,” Whittaker answered behind a smirk. “It’s what we do.”

“Smart-ass.”

He smiled slowly. “And I’d say you had a nice ass, but it would probably get me slapped.”

Ah. So there was a human being under that hardcore facade he wore like a second skin.

Gwen tilted her head back to look at him. She was fairly tall herself, but he dwarfed her. The top of her head barely brushed his shoulder. He was definitely the kind of man built for sweeping a woman off her feet.

“Or sued for sexual harassment,” she added drily. “And if you were trying to compliment me, you missed the mark.” She offered her own smile. “By at least a mile.”

Whittaker blew out a breath, then cleared his throat. “I’m attempting to apologize for being a jerk back there.”

Her heart missed a beat. “
Jerk
doesn’t begin to describe it,” she countered.

He frowned. “Oh?”

Gwen decided to let him off the hook. At least he was trying to be civil and decent. “But it’s too early in the morning to hold a grudge,” she added. “So apology accepted.” It helped that he presented quite a nice package to look at. She might not indulge, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy savoring the view.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “So let me make it up to you by letting me buy you something to eat when we get back to the mainland.”

She laughed. “My tax dollars at work, right?”

“Something like that.” He shrugged. “Or you could think of it as my attempt to repair my terrible manners.”

“So you guys really aren’t trained to be bastards?”

“Only where the bad guys are concerned,” he answered seriously. “You’re not a bad guy, are you?”

Gwen clicked her tongue. “You’ll have to use your investigative skills if you want to find out.”

He nodded. And even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, she had the feeling he was eyeing her from head to toe.

Stepping incrementally closer, he lowered his head. The tips of his shoes didn’t quite touch hers. “I could do that,” he breathed in a voice that reminded her of smoky bars with shadowy corners.

Arousal leaping into blazing life, Gwen felt her knees weaken a bit. Whittaker was so close she was aware of every inch of his big body, so hard and brawny under the drape of his suit. The heat behind his murmured words brushed her cheek.

The attraction was definitely there, buzzing between them like a swarm of angry bees.

An all-too-familiar voice interrupted the moment. “Hey, you two, break it up!”

Reality crashed back in.

Clenching her teeth, Gwen took a quick step back.
Get a grip,
she thought.
Act like a grown woman instead of a desperate virgin
.

Addison’s shoes clattered onto the dock. She was all noise and chatter. “What the hell?” she said by the way of a greeting. “We’ve been waiting since seven for the freaking feds to arrive.”

Gwen grabbed her sister’s arm, pulling her back. “Please, Addison, mind your mouth,” she said between gritted teeth. Brash and uninhibited, the youngest Lonike sister had no sense of proper decorum. Addison said whatever was on her mind, even if it meant hurting someone’s feelings. Or stepping on their toes.

Blake Whittaker straightened his tie, already perfectly positioned. The invisible shield he’d temporarily lowered clicked back into place. The human in him disappeared and the stone-cold automaton returned. “Actually there’s only one fed, and I’m it.”

Addison planted her hands on her hips. “Well, do you think you could get a move on? We’re all tired of sitting around, twiddling our thumbs.”

Whittaker pulled his mouth into a flat line. “Twiddle no more.”

Gwen mentally slapped her forehead with her palm. Just when it looked like she was making a little headway, Addison’s bad timing had to ruin everything. Having Whittaker in a good mood might have moved his interview with Kenneth and Tessa along a little faster.

Now he’d probably give everyone a good grilling. All she could hope was Addison wouldn’t open her mouth and insert her big foot. She could practically hear the headlines blaring on the nightly news: MERMAIDS DISCOVERED IN PORT ROCK, MAINE. If anyone was going to out their kind, it would definitely be Addison.

“That little twit has to ruin everything,” she muttered, following her sister and Whittaker toward the house.

As for that meal he’d offered to buy her . . .

Gwen had a feeling she wasn’t getting it.

 

 

The only pictures Blake had seen of Little Mer Island had shown a lighthouse perched beside a rundown Cape Cod-style house. The lighthouse still stood in its place, keeping its unblinking watch over the open sea. The main house, however, had changed. A lot. Even from a quarter-mile distance, he could see the dwelling had morphed from simple to elaborate, tripling in size.

Blake shook his head. The intelligence report he’d received apparently wasn’t the most current. He rolled his eyes. Damn. How could they not be informed about all the freaking construction? With satellite technology that could capture the image of a license plate on a car, they shouldn’t have missed the massive construction activity. Hell, they could have found this with Google Earth.

He sighed. “Fucking budget cuts,” he muttered under his breath. Not to mention short staffing. Since 9/11, hundreds of agents had been transferred into counter-terrorism operations, leaving dozens of positions unfilled. Even the A51 division was feeling the pain of the gutting.

“Did you say something, Agent Whittaker?” Gwen asked.

Blake shook his head. “Just admiring the construction.”

“Quite a lot of it going on lately,” she agreed. “Kenneth seems to have been bitten by the building bug.”

Blake combed through his mental notes. He knew Kenneth Randall was loaded, the widower of Jennifer Marsham, heiress to the Marsham Investments firm in New York.

He also knew Randall had inherited quite a chunk of change after Jennifer Marsham was gunned down in a carjacking. Her grief-stricken parents had even gone so far as to accuse Randall of hiring someone to kill their daughter so he could get his hands on her money.

Their accusations were for naught. No connection was ever found between Randall and the shooter. Jennifer Marsham’s death was a random occurrence, nothing more.

Whatever his story, no one could accuse Randall of greed. He’d practically rebuilt the house from the ground up. The small, cozy home had turned into a larger, cozier home. Two more cozy little cottages were being built nearby.

Addison noticed his twice-over. She pointed at one partially built home. “Mine.” She grinned and pointed to the other. “And that will be Gwen’s house.” She winked. “For when we get married and move home with our husbands.”

Blake nodded. “Nice.”

Addison eyed his left hand. “You married?”

That was easy enough to answer. “Nope.”

“Dating?”

No hesitation. “Nope.”

“Looking?” she asked hopefully.

Blake shook his head. “Nope.” Damn. She was good at prying. She’d just gotten his whole sorry relationship status in three questions. The bureau could use a sharp little cookie like her.

Truth be told, he wasn’t serious about looking for a new lover. Once their biological clocks began to tick, most women wanted to put flings behind them and settle down. Blake had already had a taste of settling down and it hadn’t agreed with him one bit. A little over four years ago he’d even tried shacking up with a woman.

He frowned.
What a disaster.
The only good thing to come out of that mess was his son, Trevor.

Gwen interrupted her sister’s grilling. “Stop it with the third degree, already,” she warned. “His life is not your business.”

Addison grinned, revealing a cute little gap between her teeth. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, she also sported a set of wicked bad tattoos that started at her wrists and wound their way up her arms. The art was awesomely impressive. Blake didn’t even want to think about the pain involved.

“Any man not wearing a wedding ring is my business,” she shot back. “If he’s single and over twenty-one, then he’s fair game.” She winked. “You know how slim the pickings are around Port Rock.”

Gwen sighed toward the cottage Addison had indicated as hers. “You know I’m not moving back. Kenneth and Tessa just have this big fantasy that we’ll all get married and raise our kids here.” A laugh escaped her. “I have a business, on the mainland. Remember?”

“Don’t know why you couldn’t commute. It’s only a fifteen-minute ferry trip, twenty max.”

“Winter,” Gwen reminded her recalcitrant sibling.

Giving half an ear to the sisters’ conversation, Blake looked around the island. Some parts of it were still uncultivated, jungle wild. It was the kind of place a kid would love to run amok; climbing trees, playing on the beach, swimming in the cove. Such a wide-open space and fresh air seemed like paradise on earth, a terrific place to grow up.

Trevor would go nuts for this,
he thought. When school let out for the season, Blake would have forty-two blissful days to visit with his kid.

Blake could almost imagine bringing Trevor to Port Rock, maybe show his son where he’d spent the first half of his life. Even though he and Debra couldn’t speak without shouting at each other, his four-year-old son still thought Daddy was a hero. And Blake was determined to keep it that way. The cycle of abuse and neglect he’d known as a child didn’t have to continue into the next generation. Why punish his son because he felt unlovable and unworthy?