in my family, about the compass. But that was in the North Sea, so . . .”
He looked down at the compass, still in his hand. “Unless it wasn’t. The sailor and the mermaid, saving each other. The gift of direction. That’s a lot of parallels. Maybe it is the same, but the locations in your version or mine changed in the telling over the years. You’re Annika.”
“Yes, I’m Annika.”
“I’m Sawyer Alexei King—Alexei was the name of the sailor who was given the compass. So I’m named for him. Parallels, or maybe just fate.”
“This sacred place is where your grandfather brought you?”
“Yeah, we camped right here, on the beach.”
“So, we’ve both been here before. This place is important to us both. That’s also parallel?”
“In my book, yeah. Go on in. It’s a great night for a swim.”
“Swim with me.” And in her carefree way, she pulled off her dress, tossed it aside.
She raced into the water, dived into the roll of surf. Her tail flipped up, fluid as the water itself, then slid under the indigo sea.
Seconds later, she rose up, just to her shoulders, her smile brilliant. “Swim with me!”
“Be right there.”
He needed to set things up first, and did so quickly as she slipped under the water again. Then he stripped down, and as she had, dived into the surf. He swam out beyond the breakers, pleased his shoulder didn’t twinge, his side didn’t ache with the movement.
Then he let himself float in the cool with the white moon sailing above and stars like scattered diamonds. And he realized as everything in him eased, he’d needed this as much as she had.
Like Sasha had needed to paint, he’d needed something bright and beautiful.
And the bright and the beautiful arrowed up, head back, hair streaming. She seemed to bump the moon before she folded herself and dived in again. Her tail wound around his waist. When he started to laugh, he found himself propelled up, toward the sky. And he heard her laugh as he managed to tuck in, hit the water again in a ferocious cannonball.
“You make such a big splash.”
“I’ll say. Do it again.”
“It was fun?”
“Completely.”
This time, prepared, he pulled off a jackknife. His entry would never match hers, but he figured he rated a seven-point-five.
They played, diving, leaping, splashing, gliding.
Then floated.
“Does this hurt your arm, your side?”
“No. Almost a hundred percent all around now.”
“You’re strong.”
“Getting there.”
She turned in the water, put her arms around him. “You’re strong,” she repeated. “Sasha and Bran are strong healers. So you can be well again. I was afraid. In the cave, even after.”
“Me, too. But here we are.”
“Yes.” She brought her lips to his. “Will you touch me? I miss having you touch me when you want me.”
“I always want you.” He ran his hands over the sleek hair that fell past her waist, and under it to skin, over the strange and marvelous transition from skin to scale. Both smooth, both beautiful.
Automatically, he kicked his legs to keep them above water, then her tail curved around him and kept them both afloat.
“I wanted you the first time I saw you.”
She stroked his cheek. “This is truth?”
“Absolute truth. You were just a drawing in Sasha’s book, but I wanted you.” He found her lips again. “And when I saw you on the beach in Corfu, in the moonlight, in the white dress, I wanted you.”
“But you were only my friend.”
“I am your friend, but it wasn’t easy to stay only your friend.”
Her heart sighed, her body shivered when he cupped her breasts. “Why did you?”
“I thought it was the right thing for you. You had so much to learn. I didn’t want to confuse you.”
“I’m not confused.”
She rose higher in the water, offered her breasts to his lips. When he took them, she let her head fall back. Her hair flowed over the water—a black silk pool over the dark sea.
Strong, she thought again, and how she’d needed those strong hands on her. His mouth tasting her, feasting now in a way that showed her he desired.
The thrill poured into her, had her streaming up with him, to circle and spin on the surface.
She clung tight, pressed his head to her, spilled down again on a sighing moan. There she circled, circled slowly so the water flowed around them while their lips met, their tongues met, in a kiss gone suddenly urgent.
Her hands ran over him, her fingers tracing the healing wounds. “Does this hurt?”
“Nothing hurts.” But his blood pounded