Touching Paradise Read online

  “You look like a mermaid,” he said. Siren was more like it. He struggled to keep his physical reaction to a minimum. “Ok, here is where we dive.”

  She looked down. “Thirty seconds is enough?”

  “Yup. I’ll pull you down. So you aren’t surprised, there’s a dark area we’ll go through. That’s normal.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip.

  “If you get worried, tap me with your free hand, or scratch me.” He would recognize her nervousness probably before she did, but she didn’t know that, and he wanted her to be confident that she had control.

  “Wait. What about… Don’t people pass out sometimes? Isn’t there some… I dunno… with the water pressure? The ears…”

  “Nothing’s going to go wrong.” He smiled and moved wet strands of hair from her face. Thank goodness his cock was behaving now; the last thing he needed was to terrify her by looking like a desperate pervert when she was worrying about passing out. “When you’re ready.”

  She took a deep breath, then nodded.

  He had planned to pull her hand, but he liked her too much in his arms, so he cradled her, then dove.

  Her body was so alive, thrumming with excitement and, yes, fear. He was ready for her to tap him, for her mind to abort the dive even though her body was coping perfectly well—although she was burning through her air faster than he would have liked.

  Of course he saw perfectly fine. Not as well as with his shark’s eyes, but well enough.

  Five seconds.

  They were through the dark bit now, and the patch of light was just ahead, illuminating a vivid array of fish that had made this strange little reef their home. He couldn’t take her all the way, but he wanted her to see it closer up, to know that this existed, and he felt her surprise as they stopped. She looked at him, a question in her eyes, and motioned for him to go closer.

  Ten seconds. Time to turn back. He shook his head. He would take her up for air, then bring her down again.

  A loose school of bar jacks passed near them. He knew they were there, but one fish broke from the rest and darted past Monroe’s leg.

  Startled, she screamed, the sound almost immediately drowned in the water. She clamped her mouth shut—he sensed it—and scratched at his arm to get his attention, exactly like he’d instructed.

  It didn’t matter how long they’d been down there. She was completely out of air, and there was no way to get her to the surface fast enough. Only one thing to do, and he didn’t hesitate. He turned her, wrapped his legs around hers, locking her knees to keep her steady. Her brown eyes were open wide, and she’d gone completely stiff in panic. Her heart felt like a trapped hummingbird trying to break free of her chest.

  He nodded, hoping she’d realize he was telling her it was ok. Then he pressed his mouth on hers and forced breathable air into her lungs.

  After a moment of resistance, her body greedily took it. “Exhale,” he said, even though he wasn’t any better at speaking underwater than any human. “Relax. You won’t drown.”

  She exhaled, and he cupped his mouth over hers and fed her more air. Then again and again, until he was reassured that she was out of the danger zone.

  “Can you hold that one?” He held his nose and raised his eyebrows questioningly, hoping she’d understand.

  She nodded and looked up, her brow creased with worry… for him. In her confusion, she seemed to think his lungs were the size of a whale’s. When the panic wore off, when they were on land again, her rational mind was going to take over and demand explanations for the unexplainable.

  “I’m fine,” he said, miming, giving a thumbs up. He pointed to her. “Are you ok?”

  She nodded, and he took her in his arms again, and before he could talk himself out of this folly, he dove deeper, heading for the tunnel’s mouth. She was yielding and compliant in his arms. In shock, perhaps.

  He gave her air again when they reached the opening, then they pushed into it together. To his relief, she stayed calm.

  They passed through the long tunnel. It would seem pitch black in there, for her, so he squeezed her tight. She had handed all of her trust to him, and he refused to let her down.

  Revealing himself like this was something he’d never done before. It wasn’t technically forbidden because it didn’t need to be. Shifters were naturally secretive. No human knew what he was, and he didn’t know if he was prepared for that to change.

  Now it didn’t matter if he was prepared.

  It had been selfish of him to take her deeper. He could have brought her to the surface. He could have told her that she’d passed out or something.

  But so far, he hadn’t lied to her about who he was, and he didn’t want to start. That felt important to him for reasons he didn’t understand. Assuming she didn’t plug her ears and demand to be taken home, she was going to have a lot of questions. He just hoped she could accept his answers.

  They came through the tunnel and into a second, smaller pool. He gave her air several times until she was relaxed, then he pulled her up toward a smaller tunnel that led to the surface—the ocean—which he knew would be choppy.

  They emerged in a rocky area. Waves pounded at them. It wasn’t the easiest bit of water to navigate, but he needed to get her into the air and didn’t have time to swim underneath the activity, not with the tide coming in and a strong whirlpool just on the other side of the rocks.

  He protected her with his body, ignoring the sharp rocks scraping at his skin. They wouldn’t hurt him. When he swam alone, it wasn’t a problem. How fragile the human form was, he realized. So easily torn, so easily broken.

  Just a little higher and they were in the spray of the air. Monroe gasped, and the spell seemed to have broken. She grabbed at him, panicking.

  “Hold your breath,” he yelled. He hoped she’d heard. There was a large wave coming, and he dragged her underneath so it wouldn’t dash them both against the rocks.

  Now things were calmer, and he surfaced. Monroe was sputtering, coughing. He swam her to the closest beach, a bit of untamed beauty, white sands lapped by light blue water. When he could stand, he looped his arms under her shoulders and knees and carried her onto the perfect sand, where he carefully set her down and backed away, wanting to run. But for him, running would be into the surf, not on the beach.

  Suddenly aware of what he’d done, he sank onto the sand, something like grief welling up inside him. He was putting off the moment when he’d have to face her… and himself.

  Chapter 9

  Monroe stayed where Koenraad had placed her. She felt like she had come through some strange dream, or perhaps was still in it. There was a stretch of empty beach to one side, and to the other, a sort of cliff, though not extremely high. The ocean thrashed loudly around her, mucking with her disjointed, racing thoughts.

  Am I dead? She didn’t feel dead. In fact, some strange part of her felt more alive than ever. It was like she’d been going through her days with blinders on, and they had been ripped away.

  Koenraad had ripped them away.

  She slowly turned, expecting to find herself alone on the beach, perhaps some empty tequila bottles nearby. But he was there, his tanned skin glistening, beads of water dripping off of his sopping hair. He was staring out at the ocean.

  How?

  Even though she hadn’t spoken the word aloud, Koenraad turned to her as if he were reacting to her voice, to her question.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was hoarse with regret.

  She scrambled in front of him. She’d known there was something different about him. “What are you?”

  “I’m—”

  “And don’t say a lifeguard.” She was almost giddy, full of nervousness and excitement and dreadful curiosity.

  “Shark. A shifter,” he said. He wasn’t ashamed, but she could tell he was worried. He thought she was going to… what? Reject him? Call the authorities and have him… what? Put into a tank?

  Shark warriors. “It’s true,�
�� she whispered.

  She sat back on her heels and looked at him, really studied him. That lean, lithe body that was pure power. The size of him. The sculpted muscles. And his face… the midnight eyes.

  She had known.

  He turned his attention to her, and she felt it again, that uncontrollable shiver she’d had when they’d first met, when he had taken her hand. He was a predator, and some primal part of her had recognized that from the beginning.

  But she wasn’t afraid of him, not right now.

  She shoved her wet hair out of her face and studied him closer. “Show me.”

  He laughed silently, shaking his head.

  “Why not? I’m not afraid of you, Koenraad.”

  He drew the heel of his hand across his lips to his jaw, pretending to scratch an itch, buying time, she guessed. “Because if I tell you something, you can forget it, or discount it. If I show you, you can’t un-see it.” Those predator’s eyes were now studying her. Apparently, he had a whole second set of mannerisms. She suppressed the urge to squirm, to wriggle backward, out of his reach. It was just a reflex, nothing more.

  “There are already a lot of things I can’t un-see,” she said. “Is fear the only instinct you allow to control you?” She threw his earlier words out there, but she wasn’t trying to pressure him. And damn, what he had taken her through… “That was amazing,” she said simply. “I’m glad I trusted you. You… saved my life. I would never tell anyone.” She suddenly remembered when he’d said he trusted her. Now she realized how much he had at stake.

  She stood and brushed powdery sand off her ass, planning to walk up the beach, give him some space.

  Koenraad grabbed her wrist as she passed in front of him. “Wait.”

  She turned and looked down at him, but he was staring at the sand. “Yeah?” In his grip, she could feel that he wanted to say something, but he was holding back.

  “I should get you to the hotel,” he said. He didn’t let go of her wrist, though, and she didn’t try to pull away.

  They stayed like that for over a minute, until the sun disappeared behind a cloud and she began to shiver lightly.

  Koenraad stood without letting go of her, without looking at her. Then he turned, his movements smooth and fast, and she instinctively took a step backward.

  “You’re not afraid of me?”

  Well, now she was. “I am, but a little less than before.”

  “Less than before?”

  She shrugged, though she didn’t feel quite so casual about it. “You’ve got a secret. It makes you… I know this is going to sound silly, but it makes you more human.”

  Amusement flashed through his dark eyes. “More human.”

  “Yeah.” She choked back a laugh. It was the result of being so tense for so long.

  She didn’t even see him move. One moment he was smiling, the next he was kissing her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up against him, wanting more of that closeness she’d felt earlier, when his kiss had given her life-sustaining air.

  Back then, she’d been sure that she was going to faint. That it was over, and if she woke up, it would be with Koenraad giving her CPR on a beach. Koenraad had looked so calm, and then he’d put his mouth over hers. She had felt like they were one being. He had poured life into her lungs. She had never been so close to anyone before, so completely in sync.

  A very large and greedy part of her hoped that this secret would bring them closer together. It was an awful thing to think, to wish on this man she didn’t know and who didn’t deserve to be saddled with any of this. She just couldn’t imagine voluntarily walking away. Anyway, it wasn’t her decision.

  His large palm skimmed along her back, then pressed, and he was supporting her as he lowered her onto the sand. When he stopped kissing her, she decided she could be brave at least once more.

  “I want you inside me,” she said.

  A noise, half moan, half growl, ripped from his throat. He was breathing hard, and she felt his cloth-covered erection against her thigh. His body was hot, almost feverish.

  “Take me,” she continued. “Please. I want you so bad—”

  He kissed her, fingers sliding around the swell of her breast, slipping underneath the damp, clinging fabric of her bikini top. The fine sand abraded her flesh slightly as he filled his hand with her. He pulled back, his eyes closed, his breath almost singeing her lips.

  “Not here,” he whispered, and kissed her again, his kiss saying the opposite, that he wanted her right here and now. His tongue licked between her parted lips, and she felt it up and down her body.

  “Not like this.” He kissed her again, harder, like he was taking something. “Not for you.”

  She moaned a little in disappointment, and he kissed her again, hungrily, gently but then biting, nibbling, tasting and returning to gentleness, all soft lips and tongue, but forcefully enough to press her into the shifting sand.

  Finally he pulled back, his eyes glazed, and helped her to her feet. His hand took hers, and he led her down the beach, then down a road that cut inland. It was a long walk, mostly silent. What was there to say when the energy of their attraction burned between them? Words were useless here.

  He held her hand the entire time, and she couldn’t help but compare it to how that other man, her stupid, selfish, insulting ex, had acted like he was doing a favor if he allowed her to hold his hand. In the dark, in the movies, that was one thing, but in public? Forget it.

  But Koenraad never let her go. The man seemed to need her touch as much as she needed his.

  Man. If that was the right word for… whatever he was.

  Shark.

  The silence gave her plenty of time to think that over, too. She was bubbling with questions. How did it work? Was it magic or science? Had he been bitten? Were his parents also sharks? She remembered him saying his father was a marine biologist. Had the professor made an experiment of his son?

  And then there were other questions that burned inside her. Were there other types of shifters? And how many?

  But now wasn’t the time to talk about it. That much was clear. And it wasn’t really any of her business. Just as well. She could hardly process what little she did know.

  He swung her onto the boat, which was, as predicted, exactly where he’d left it.

  “The head… I mean, the bathroom is down that hall,” he said, pointing. “There are towels in the cabinet.”

  “Towels?”

  “You’ll want to shower, I think. All that sand. Unless you’re into pain.” Was it her imagination or did a flash of interest cross his features?

  She blushed and hurried down the hall.

  “Lock the door,” he called out. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  That amused her. He wasn’t worried about locking up his boat… unless she was on it.

  The bathroom wasn’t large, though it was spacious compared the one in her apartment. And it was well organized and quite clean. After thoroughly rinsing off her bikini, she made good use of the hot water and very male, woodsy shower gel.

  The idea of a shark smelling woodsy amused her. The whole thing was so very weird. Surreal. She wasn’t the kind of person who went with the flow. Who accepted things. Zen? Hardly. Yet the day’s events weren’t sending her screaming for help.

  And she didn’t understand that. Why did this all feel so right?

  She squeezed more gel into her palm and smeared it over her shoulders. A slow smile spread across her face, then turned into a light chuckle. Apparently, she didn’t know who she was. Her whole life she’d thought she was the responsible one. The level-headed, reasonable person. The oldest child who didn’t have any siblings.

  Learning that everything she’d taken for granted about biology and physics was wrong hadn’t reduced her to a quivering, fearful mess.

  The smile faded. Maybe she was so logical that she accepted facts as presented, and dealt with them.

  So be it. All she knew for sure was that this
was the most excited she’d ever been. This was an adventure. Something she’d never forget.

  The soap rinsed away, she shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around her torso. She had rinsed but not shampooed her hair—no way, not when there wasn’t any conditioner in sight. After toweling off, she squeezed the excess water out of her bikini and carried it into the fresh air to dry.

  Koenraad was coming up the dock, her beach bag over one shoulder. Wow. A man who held her hand and who didn’t mind carrying a woman’s bag around. She cocked her head and took a moment to appreciate the way his muscles rippled as he walked.

  She hadn’t realized that the boat was now floating a good six feet from the dock. Not until Koenraad took a running jump at it. He easily landed on the deck, set down the bag, then pulled back the ropes.

  “Suppose I’d drifted off to sea?”

  “Even if you’d climbed up top, started the motor, and driven off, I would have caught you. No one else could have, though.” There wasn’t an ounce of boastfulness in his voice, which had the unexpected effect of chilling her.

  He went up to the top level, and she dug the yellow dress out of the bag and pulled it over her head. Her breasts bounced under the fabric as she climbed the inside stairs to join Koenraad. The boat pulled smoothly away, but she grabbed onto a handle, just in case.

  “What are your parents like?” she asked.

  He glanced at her. “Good swimmers,” he said without a trace of irony. Was she supposed to read between the lines? “Yours?”

  Behind them, the island was quickly getting smaller. She wondered if she’d be able to find it on a map. “My father died when I was little. My mom is… a lot like me. Responsible. Predictable.”

  Koenraad laughed. “You are not predictable.” He moved over a little. “Sit.”

  She did, but she wanted to leave him plenty of room, so she perched on the end, at an angle, and she had to balance her weight between her butt and her feet. She became aware that without the bikini top acting as a buffer, the outlines of her nipples were visible through the yellow dress.