Mermaid (12 page)

The excursion was set up for the following Sunday, and Amber was an effervescent bubble of impatience for the rest of the week. It was all but impossible to keep her contained until then. But the day finally came, and Jillian sat in the rigid hulled-inflatable boat wishing for binoculars or at least her contact lenses so she could scan the shore and maybe get a glimpse of Mark. But her lenses were aboard the cruiser with her clothes, and she hadn’t thought to ask for binoculars.

On the blur that was the shore she couldn’t even begin to guess which direction, toward which barnacle-covered rocks she had been drawn and then been dashed against. She wondered if Mark was there watching and if he knew that she and Amber were in the boat.

As the small craft sped over the water, she curled half on, half off a seat, ready once more to go over the side with Robin, who was all suited up with scuba equipment as they neared the large, white cruiser where Ken Bristol waited along with his camera crew. This time, she had been promised, there would be no mistakes. Ken Bristol was going to use a very distinctive lure, one that Robin couldn’t mistake.

Again, her eyes swept the blurry shore as she wondered exactly where it was she had ended up last time. Was that a man standing on the rocks, or was it a tree? She wished she could see, but it was impossible. She sighed. She wished she could stop thinking about Mark Forsythe, but that was impossible too.

She hadn’t heard from him all week, so if he intended to continue the discussion she had terminated she had no idea when he meant to do it. Not that discussing it further would make a difference, but she would like a chance to apologize for having accused him of making a purchase-offer. Even as she had said the words to him, she’d known that she was wrong.

He’d panicked her, and she’d struck out at him the only way she knew how. She had to protect herself against the powerful pull he exerted on her—not just sexually, but on levels that went much deeper. His personality appealed to her too much. He was too easy to talk to. He answered a need she had long recognized within herself for a soul mate, someone she could lean on and who would be comfortable leaning on her.

She thought that it might be possible for her, with his help, to overcome the sickening fear she felt each time she thought of—She shuddered, remembering his kisses, remembering the tenderness with which his very presence surrounded her. Surely with him it would be all right, only...

She wanted a husband.

And Mark Forsythe had stated categorically that he did not want a wife ever again. All he had asked of her was to come and live with him. She—who had a child and a mother whose respect she cherished, to say nothing of a sister and a brother and several nieces and nephews, could never do that, not even for a caring man like him, and certainly not under the circumstances.

He cared deeply about his son; she had seen the gentle compassion with which he dealt with her own daughter. What he was doing for his “elves” was nothing short of saintly. And in the past weeks she had seen ample evidence of his concern for her. Even though they had fought, even though she had said cruel, hateful things to him and hurt him, she still was being shepherded home each night by her faithful taxi driver.

She missed Mark more each day. It wasn’t something she could control. She thought about him all the time, jumped whenever the telephone rang. But it was never Mark, nor had he come to the club as far as she knew.

Now, as she watched Amber sitting perched on the back of the front seat of the Zodiac beside the man at the helm, her face held up to the wind, her small hands clutching tightly to the sides of the seat-back, Jillian reminded herself how important even this little jaunt was.

Amber was having a wonderful time, turning her head to let the wind whip her hair in different directions, opening her mouth wide to catch the salty drops that flew toward her, and holding up a hand to the wind and the spray, clearly enjoying the experience.

Jillian hitched herself to where her daughter sat. “Pretty good, huh?” she asked, as Amber turned a laughing face toward her.

“The best, Mom!” she shouted over the noise of the outboard engine at the stern. “The absolute best!”

For Jillian the whole day became worth it.

Mark stood as he had three weeks before, fishing rod in hand, and tried to bring himself to cast the line out into the rippling water.

He could not. Each time he tried he remembered the very thing he was trying hard to forget, the sight of Jillian swimming toward him with that hook embedded in her breast.

That picture and so many more had lived with him this past long week while he had tried to get her out of his mind. It was impossible, and now he knew it.

Something had drawn him back with a pull too powerful to resist, and he had been at the club the last two nights, watching her, aching for her, wishing he knew what was happening to him and why he couldn’t get a grip on himself.

It was agony, being so near her and not being able to touch her, but it was ecstasy just watching her perform.

Her beauty enthralled him. He ached to hold her again, to feel her lips under his, to taste the sweetness of her mouth. He yearned to slowly peel away the barriers of her clothing—especially the mermaid suit—and see again the beauty he knew they concealed, to feel once more her hard, hot nipples jutting against his tongue. But sitting there and hearing the comments of the men around him made him grit his teeth and clench his fists in order not to break a few heads.

That described his relationship to date with Jillian Lockstead. From the very beginning, most of his feelings about her had caused him either agony or ecstasy.

There was the jealousy; all those evil-minded men and their foul talk. Couldn’t they see there was a real, live, sensitive woman inside that suit, a woman who would hate the things they said about her, the things they discussed doing to her and crudely laughed about?

Also there was the fear. In spite of what she’d told about keeping her car in good repair, he couldn’t help worrying. What if it did break down? There were too many dark streets she was forced to travel en route, too many “dead zones” lacking adequate cell coverage. There was even one undeveloped area she had to pass through. If she had trouble there, she’d be forced to walk blocks to the nearest telephone, and the thought of her doing that made him crazy inside.

No woman should be forced to travel home from work in the middle of the night under those circumstances. And no woman of his would ever have to. No woman of his would have to work in a damned nightclub! If she were his wife, it wouldn’t happen!

He sat down abruptly on the unforgiving rock. His rod and reel threatened to slide into the sea, and he caught the butt end of the rod, setting it into a safer location, wondering where that extraordinary idea had come from.

Since his divorce he had not once contemplated marrying again. And it wasn’t as though he was really giving it serious thought now, he told himself. It was just that damned jealousy and the fear he felt for her safety. He wanted her, true. He had asked her, impulsively and much too soon in their relationship, he now acknowledged, to come and live with him. No wonder she had taken offense.

Practical or impractical, sane or insane, the woman had done something to him. If it was the last thing he ever did, he vowed, he would get her out of that tank, get her off public display and into his bed until he had her completely out of his system, because, like it or not, he wanted her all to himself.

He saw the fast-moving Zodiac come sweeping around the tip of the point, heading in his direction, and he concentrated on it, glad of the distraction. A child with long, dark hair flying loose was seated high in the bow, another figure stood at the wheel, and one sat low in the middle of the boat. Seemingly oblivious of anyone else, the operator of the small craft sent it zipping along, throwing a huge wake that dashed up on the shore nearly to Mark’s feet, sending other boats into frenzied rock and roll maneuvers. Over the scream of its engine a high, childish voice shouted, “The best. Mom! The absolute best!”

Mark recognized that voice and stood up quickly, shading his eyes.

The Zodiac came to a halt near the largest of the boats anchored in the bay.

It was a forty- or fifty-foot cabin cruiser, shiny white, with a command bridge, from which a man in a gold-braided cap gave gestured instructions to the man in the Zodiac.

At once, Mark recognized the cruiser, too. The Andrea! The small boat disappeared around her stern and was out of sight for several minutes. When it reappeared, only the man at the wheel and the child in the bow beside him were visible, and it didn’t take the cameraman bracing himself in the stern or the other cameraman on the bridge of the yacht to tell Mark what was going on.

But what he couldn’t understand was why it was going on when he had heard Jillian adamantly refuse to do a retake of the scene. This was Amber’s fast, bouncy boat ride.

Damn her! Didn’t she see this as “selling herself” just as much as letting him do things for her and Amber would be?

No. Of course not. To Jillian it was a job, and presumably the candidate hadn’t asked her to go to bed with him, or if he had, she’d have refused both his offer and the job. He sighed, the whiplash of anger that had snapped through him subsiding.

The candidate wasn’t the clumsy, idiotic fool that Mark Forsythe had been. Presumably—though he thought it was highly unlikely, the candidate wasn’t on the verge of falling in love with a mermaid. And he was. No, he was more than just on the verge. He had done it. The thought was stunning, and he had to sit down again while he absorbed it fully. Oh, hell yes, he loved her. That explained the jealousy, explained the fear he felt for her safety. It also explained why it was so damned important for him to have her come and live with him.

But was that really all he wanted from her? All she wanted from him? Oh, hell, was that what had offended her so badly? Was it the way he had put it, the lack of commitment he seemed willing to give? Was commitment what she wanted from him? And was he, when it came right down to it, willing to give it?

For long moments, he closed his eyes against the glare off the water, thinking deeply, wondering if it would be possible, if it could be the answer. He had sworn he’d never do it again, that it was too much trouble, that marriage changed things too much, made people look at each other differently. But now he wasn’t so sure.

He already had seen Jillian in so many different ways, looked at her in her many guises, and he had wanted her in every one of them. He’d seen her first in her mermaid persona, a little bit of magic that took his breath away and filled his soul with joy. He remembered the look in her eyes after the first time they had kissed, and the compassion on her face while they discussed Chris. He had been touched by the tenderness she showed her daughter, by the fierce love shared by the pair of them, and he admired the concern she had for her mother.

He smiled, thinking of how she had looked the second time he’d followed her home. Dressed in jeans and a blue blouse and with her hair like a golden cloud tumbling around her shoulders she had tilted her chin up and said in that soft, musical voice of hers, “You followed me,” as if she were amazed that anyone would care that much about her welfare. Of course. She was always so busy looking out for others, she probably never noticed at she needed looking after herself.

He had seen her that same night rosy and weak from his kisses, passionate and giving. He had wanted her with such raging desire in his blood that, when he’d left, he’d sworn never to return, because wanting of such magnitude was dangerous to a man like him who valued his freedom.

But it was that same desire that had driven him back to see her show and to follow her home again, to sit in that restaurant with her and talk until her eyes were so sleepy, she could barely keep them open. He’d been rocked by the swift surge of tenderness that had made him want to lift her up and carry her home, because when she was tired, her limp was worse.

He thought, too, about the way she had looked sitting on the floor of her bedroom all tangled up in the quilt that had covered her to just above her knees, and the sheer nightie she wore that covered very little of everything else. He had hated the thought of her getting dressed, yet when she’d come out of her room in a green T-shirt, it had been all he could do not to grab her. Later, of course, he had grabbed her, and he had said and done stupid, impulsive things, but he meant to make up for it if she would let him.

He would go to her house, ask politely for a date, take her somewhere quiet and private for dinner—maybe he could talk her into coming to his house—and then if it seemed just right, if he could keep himself under control, he would tell her he loved her and wanted to make slow, wonderful, beautiful love with her—all night long.

And then he would ask her to marry him.

M
ARK BECAME AWARE THAT
he was trembling as he sat there, that he was as scared inside as he’d been the first time the sergeant had hollered “Next!” and it was his turn to jump out of the airplane. But he had made the jump and survived. And he’d make this one, too, or he wouldn’t survive.

The little boat was bouncing around like a cork, and even from a distance, Mark could see that Amber was no longer perched on the back of the seat but huddled down on it. Only her head and shoulders were visible behind the rounded side of little boat, but he could see one hand tightly griping the rope that ran the length of the hull. Apparently now she didn’t think her excursion was the “absolute best.”

A tall, white-clad figure appeared in the cockpit of the cruiser as he had the previous week, fishing rod in hand. He stood with one foot on the low transom, the breeze toying with his hair. The hat with gold braid now hung, glinting in the sun, from a rod-holder bracket. He posed, smiling, and expertly flipped his lure and sinker out over the side, then began feeding line down into the water. Both cameras focused on the man, but now and then one of them would pan the surface farther out or sweep slowly along the shoreline. Most of what was happening occurred on the far side of the cruiser, and it seemed to be taking a long time. Ten minutes then fifteen dragged by while Mark waited for a glimpse of his mermaid. From across the water came the sound of Amber’s clear, childish voice once more. “Mr. Larson, how long will my mom have to stay down there?” She sounded tearful.