Heart of the Sea Page 6

“Want to see you,” Ronan said. Meriel stood pliable in front of him as he slowly drew the shirt over her head. The nubby texture of the cotton shirt, smooth a moment before, now felt like burlap, scraping at her senses until she was free. The weight of moonlight on her skin was all she could bear as she returned the favor for him.

  She took base advantage of his beautiful flesh as he removed his clothing. His skin under her lips was hot and smooth as she kissed her way around his body. Meriel reached up on tiptoe to press a soft kiss at the nape of his neck, following the trail down to the rise of his tight, muscled ass.

  She straightened and pressed her breasts into his back while she reached around to tweak his hard nipples. She loved being in this position herself, loved the power of a man enveloping her from behind, but had never experienced it like this. She hummed, a throaty sound that they passed between them.

  His hands took their own path, reaching back to pull her thighs closer to his, running his fingers up the cleft between them.

  Meriel sucked in a breath as he discovered the wetness that had been seeping from her for the past hour in anticipation of this moment.

  His head bowed with a groan and she pressed her brow to his spine.

  Ronan turned abruptly. “I’m going to try to take this as slowly as I can, Mer. I’ll try.”

  “At least we can start that way.” Slow…fast…she knew there would come a point where all she would want was him inside her.

  He walked her to the bed and watched as she lay back. This had always been a difficult moment for her. Like this, with him standing over her, she was vulnerable, open. His gaze burned where it touched, but slowly she tensed. When they touched body to body, he couldn’t see her flaws, but they were all on display while he watched her.

  In a moment, he looked away and bent to retrieve his jeans, digging in the back pocket. He held up the packets like golden coins. “Buried treasure,” he said, tossing a handful of condoms onto the bedside table.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “They’ve been in the bathroom. But earlier I was so obsessed I couldn’t think straight.”

  “Obsessed, huh?”

  “Muddled. Lust-crazed.” Each phrase was punctuated by kisses. Along her neck where he tongued the flesh under her ear, which made her shudder. Down to the sensitive spot at the top of her shoulder. Ronan bit oh-so-gently and she cried out. “Out of my head with wanting you.” He whispered the last words to her collar bone as he lazily kissed his way down her chest.

  Meriel dug her heels into the mattress and arched up, trying to reach his mouth with her breasts, but he was inexorable in his determination to make her wait.

  He didn’t even touch them, but let his fingers drift around her belly, drawing circles around her navel until finally, he held the weight of her breasts in his hands. She’d been wound up for hours since the abrupt end of their kitchen session. The sensation of his body on hers now made her desperate for more and she breathed out one word.

  “Ronan.”

  The sound of his name actually sparkled in his ears as he heard her softly moan. A few more of those pleading words and he’d be plunging into her, past coherent thought.

  Her breasts were a feast and he gorged himself, finding the difference in flavor and texture from one nipple to the other, from the skin at the top of the sloping mounds to the flesh underneath. But as he tasted, another sense was aroused.

  Her scent rose from beneath him, cool and fresh. Ronan kissed his way down her body to find its source, pleased when she opened for him. He’d always preferred women who expected the best from their lovers. He enjoyed the challenge of living up to their expectations.

  The soft, short hair around her pubis shifted back from his touch, leaving him with bare skin, sweet lips that already shone with moisture.

  He kissed it away, listening to the sound of hungry approval she made. Ronan parted her outer lips with his hand, revealing the treasure beneath, the silken flesh, the hardening bead at the top. He breathed her in.

  Each lick, each suckle, each probing touch of his tongue and fingers wound her tighter and tighter. Her hands were in his hair, on his face, her smooth, strong thighs tensed around him and still he pushed her, concentrated on finding the places that made her shiver until finally she exploded beneath him. Meriel cried out, her body shaking in time with the pulses of the orgasm that coursed through her, the climax he could feel run under her skin as he changed his focus. Ronan soothed her now with kisses on her smooth belly, two fingers buried inside her body until she breathed again.

  Meriel turned away, breaking his hold, and buried her face in a pillow. Ronan climbed up to lay next to her, dismayed to find her shoulders shaking. She was crying. He’d seen her laughing, angry, and afraid, but these tears were beyond his understanding.

  “Mer,” he said, sliding an arm under her. She threw herself onto his chest, sobbing even more wildly, and there was nothing he could do but hold her until the storm passed. Not that he was complaining. Meriel was a perfect armful. Soft and feminine, graceful and earthy. She was a woman of wonderful contrasts and he wondered if he’d get the chance to learn more of them. Slowly, the sobs ebbed.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Did I hurt you, Meriel? Did I do something wrong?”

  “God no, Ronan. I was just…overwhelmed. I’ve never—”

  “Never what?” Because if he’d hurt her in some way, he wanted to know so he never did it again.

  “I’ve never flown that high before.” Her words were so quiet, he had to strain to hear. “It was amazing. Absolutely amazing.”

  As her tears dried, one of her slender hands began to move across his chest and abs. He tried to concentrate on her face, on her voice, but it was damn distracting.

  Finally, he simply let himself be distracted and leaned back into the pillows, allowing her free rein. Her body temperature was lower than his and the slight contrast of her cold fingers on his hot skin left a trail of buzzing sensation wherever she touched.

  Boldly, she circled her hand around the base of his erection and used her palm to slide skin over nerve endings until liquid leaked from the tip and dripped over her fingers.

  Ronan reached for a condom. “I’ve been ready for hours, Mer. I can’t wait much longer.”

  She let him tear it open, but then took matters into her own hands, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his shaft before she rolled the rubber over his aching cock. Even those light touches felt like lightning bolts to his system.

  “Then let’s not wait anymore,” she said, spreading her legs to straddle him. With his hands on her hips, he watched her face as she sank down to swallow him in one agonizingly slow move.

  He wasn’t a talker and neither was she, but she was vocal. Her moans fed his and the occasional “More” or “Harder” or “Oh yes” were the only words that punctuated the silence of the room along with the soft, wet, sliding sounds of their lovemaking.

  They moved. He was harder than ever as he rose above her, sliding in and out of her body, her legs wrapped around him, their tongues mimicking the movement of their hips.

  They shifted again. On his knees, he skimmed a hand down the smooth skin of her back, reaching under her to cup her breast. Ronan moved his hands under her shoulders, bringing her back to his chest, pulling her down onto his cock, pushing himself deeper than he’d ever gone. The gasps and groans were almost constant now as her pitch wound ever higher. Meriel began to curl in on herself and at the first silken contraction of her womb around him, he let himself go, pounding into her, shouting out her name over and over in his climax while she keened and sobbed again, twisting as the waves of her peak slammed her against him.

  Meriel slumped forward and he grasped at her desperately, needing her body against his as their breath heaved in tandem. Her fingers fluttered over the arm he held around her waist and the words that tumbled from her lips were in no language he had ever heard.

  Exhaustion hit him hard and he low
ered her to the bed, watching as she curled up into a ball. Her eyes were still open when he returned from cleaning up, but she was covered by a blanket now.

  “Your skin.”

  She nodded.

  “You knew where it was the whole time.”

  “It’s not like you hid it very well, Ronan.” She smiled and lifted a corner, inviting him in. Cautiously, he slid his body behind hers, bending up his knees so they fit together like spoons. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Her hair floated into his face and he freed himself with a smile.

  The fur settled over them. The warmth and the evenness of Meriel’s breathing lulled him to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Wrapped in the arms of her lover, under a blanket of magic, Meriel woke. Someone was calling her name. Iona? What was she doing on land?

  Meriel pressed a kiss to the tips of the bristles on Ronan’s cheek and slid out of bed. She pulled her discarded blue polo shirt on over her nudity and crept out the door. A storm brewed over the ocean and the wind whistled around the edges of the house.

  “Iona?” she called. “What’s wrong? It’s not close to dawn yet, is it?”

  “No,” said a harsh male voice from the shadows. Iona stumbled forward, propelled by a shove from behind. The Selkie was old and her skin was wrinkled and gray with the cold. Meriel reached out for her, but rough hands grabbed her. Their captor, having what he wanted, pushed Iona away from them. The old woman didn’t even have time to cry out before she fell. The sound of her head hitting a paving stone made Meriel’s stomach churn with dread. A strong hand over her mouth prevented her from calling for help.

  “We’ve got you now, Byrne. You’ve had your day in the sun, but now it’s time to end this.” He held her close, his arm a steel band around her waist, cutting off her air. She knew that voice. She’d heard it before somewhere, but she was too scared to think it through.

  “What do you want?” Meriel asked. Terror and breathlessness kept her voice low.

  “We want you to finish this curse. We’ve waited more than two centuries for a Byrne to touch water. We won’t give you up after only seven years.”

  “What do you mean, finish the curse? I couldn’t find a way out of it. I’m going back to the sea at dawn. I know that already.” She looked over at her friend, but in the dark, she couldn’t tell if Iona was breathing or not.

  “You think that’s it? You think the curse is that you only get to come on land once in a while?” He laughed and the sound made her feel filthy, as if she’d lain in rotten kelp. “You’re as stupid as your granny. No, this is a curse for all time. You ruined us. Left us on land, alone, until we died, dry as a husk and bitter as the Dead Sea. No, we’re after despair and grief. We’re after seeing that you feel our pain.”

  “We?” Who was he talking about? And how did he know so much about the curse? “Who are you?”

  “The name changed, but the curse lives on.” The crazy man’s voice was a discordant sing-song in a thick Yankee seaboard accent. The accent. She knew that accent.

  “Murphy. Devon Murphy. You’re Ronan’s friend.”

  He snorted. “Spoiled rich boy. Trust fund baby. One little scandal and he spends the next seven years whining and moaning about how they took everything away from him.” He dragged her down the sandy steps to the beach. Meriel tried to trip him. She’d rather be dead of a broken neck than let this man take her, but he just picked her up and carried her, pinning her legs so she couldn’t kick. A dead-looking hummock of fur lay on the sand. Iona’s skin.

  Meriel swallowed hard. “Don’t you talk about him that way, jackass.” She pounded his back, but he ignored her.

  “He thinks his family was strong. My ancestor is in my blood, in my head. Murchadha passed long ago, but his children were all raised on the bitterness of his life. And now that we’ve got you, Byrne, we mean to make you pay.”

  A sturdy motorboat was tied to the boathouse and he pushed her in. The last thing she saw was his huge fist swinging toward her head. The last thing she heard was the motor firing.

  Ronan woke to the smell of fish. He opened his eyes to the unwelcome sight of a naked, wrinkled, saggy old woman.

  “Gah!”

  “Gah, yourself, Ronan Burbank. Get up and bring Meriel’s skin with you.”

  “What?”

  “Get up. Devon Murphy has Meriel and he’s planning to kill her.”

  The mere mention of danger to his woman galvanized him and he leapt out of bed. Unfortunately, he forgot he was naked, too, and cupped himself, trying to avoid the old woman’s knowing gaze.

  “It’s a pity I’m not a few dozen years younger or I might have come on land for that, myself.”

  “Umm, thanks? Turn around, lady.”

  She sighed and turned as he yanked on his jeans and shoved his feet into deck shoes. He pulled a shirt over his head and grabbed Meriel’s sealskin. It still held her scent—their scent. When he picked it up, something tumbled out and thunked on the floor at his feet. Ronan bent to pick it up. The brooch lay heavy and cold in his hand.

  “She left it here?”

  “It was pinned to her shirt. Must have fallen off.” He shoved it in his pocket. Then Ronan pulled the only decent shirt he owned off a hanger and handed it to his guest. “Please. Now what happened?”

  The old lady didn’t waste any words as she buttoned the shirt and followed him down to the dock. “He’s a descendant of Murchadha and he knows the rest of the curse. That means he knows how to break it, too. Careless of the Byrnes to have forgotten it over all these years.”

  Shit. The motorboat was gone from the boathouse. He’d wrecked the dinghy yesterday—was it only a day ago?

  “Come on. We can go out on the Sea Bright,” he said to the lady, and settled in for a run to the boatyard. When they got there, Ronan charged the door, knowing he’d locked it. He bounced off with a new bruise.

  “Calm yourself,” the old woman said. A sealskin was draped over her arm. It must have been her own, mottled with white spots. Meriel’s was purest silver.

  As he watched, the old lady’s hands glowed. Silver and blue-green light played over her fingers for a moment before she opened them, showing him the key.

  “Who are you?” he asked as he unlocked the door and started flinging off the dock lines that bound the boat.

  “My name is Iona and we’ve met before. I told you this would happen then.”

  The keelboat’s hull rocked in the waves as he pulled open the massive doors that led straight out to Block Island Sound. He had no idea what she was talking about and he didn’t care. Only one thing mattered.

  “Are you in or out?” he asked.

  “I’m in,” the old lady said as she climbed nimbly aboard. Ronan pushed the Sea Bright off from the dock and set about running up the rigging.

  The squall beckoned them closer, lightning dancing along the water as wind filled the spinnaker. The sleek little boat shot forward.

  “You’re the old woman from the party,” he shouted over the noise of the wind and storm. Ronan remembered her now as he brought the mainsail around to take advantage of the whipping storm. “You said I’d find all I needed in the sea and then you disappeared. You knew all this would happen.”

  “I was right then and I’m right now when I tell you that your true love will die if we don’t get to her in time. Now sail!”

  True love? How did you fall in love with someone in a day? He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Maybe it was only the beginning, only a seed of love, but it was there. Enough to let him know that if he saved Meriel, it would grow into something strong and true.

  The line in his hands nearly jerked him over the side when a vicious gust hit. It had been a long time since he’d had the time to crew a racing yacht. In truth, he was a better builder than sailor. But now it was time to face facts, do what he had to do, and concentrate on the task at hand.

  Devon Murphy was a madman. And an unattractive madman, at that. When he cackled
to himself, he sounded like an old bag lady and his lips peeled back from huge yellow horse teeth. Then there was the smell—a scent of rotting fish and decay.

  Meriel’s entire head boomed in tandem with the throb of the motor as it chugged mightily against the storm.

  “Have you lost your mind?” she yelled at him.

  “Hee hee,” he screeched. “Murchadha will have his vengeance.”

  “Murchadha was a juvenile bastard who blamed the wrong person for his stupid decision. He knew Granny Byrne was married to a man she loved, but he thought he was so damned special he could change her.” Meriel scrambled to her knees. “I hope you and your entire screw-loose family rot in hell for this!”

  “You’re going to die, and your true love is going to die, and Murchadha will rest in peace and finally get the hell out of my head.” He really was nuts. He thought a dead Selkie was talking to him. She’d have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t trying to kill her.

  “My true love? You mean Ronan?” Was this the ocean’s prophecy coming true? That Ronan’s fate was bound in hers—even if it killed them both? Surely the curse couldn’t ask so much of her. Meriel realized she needed to deflect the psycho’s attention back to her.

  “He doesn’t love me, he barely knows me. And I want you to keep him out of this curse. It’s got nothing to do with him.”

  “It’s too late for that now. Too late since the moment you called on the sea to save him. You love him already and that’s the truth of it. That’s the curse of it. Any child of the Byrne line will become a Selkie forever if it touches the sea.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know that part already.”

  “But you didn’t know about the loophole. The one that gave you the ability to become human for a day. You saved a man and in return, you were given a day of humanity. It gave you hope, though you knew you had to return to the sea by dawn or die, right?”

  Meriel closed her eyes against the truth. She had hoped. And she had loved. “Right.”

  “You need your skin. Without it, you can’t swim well enough to survive in the water.”