Ocean of Love (19 page)

He pinched the sides of the wound together,
pressing gauze before he turned her over. He started on the back of
her shoulder and gently rotated her shoulder, guiding her body back
to the mattress. He washed the site again with antiseptic, lightly
tracing the tight stitches that were stark against Marissa’s
skin.

Wyatt released an uneven breath. He
completed treating her injury by dressing the wound on both sides
of her shoulder, placing a layer of sterile gauze over the sutured
areas, and finished by taping around the edges.

Within the hour, Marissa had begun to
violently shiver under the comforter. He covered her with more
blankets, trying to keep her warm. He stroked her face and hair;
all the while her eyelids remained shut. He sat by her side,
holding her hand, watching over her, unsure what to do next.

Later, he began removing the blankets after
her skin warmed. Then she seemed too warm. Her skin became flushed,
and he brought a bowl of cool water to the night table. He wet a
cloth, and worried when she began to moan, thrashing under the
covers. He wiped her face, leaning over her, touching his cheek to
her forehead. She was burning up this time.

After wiping her skin with tepid water, he
went downstairs, opening and closing the kitchen cabinets. He found
an assortment of tea and a tin of beef bouillon. He set the tin
down, staring at the animal on the label. This consommé wasn’t from
the sea, her source of food. Now, her odd preference made perfect
sense. He wondered about that for a second, and then shook his
head, dissolving complicated thoughts.

He prepared a tray to keep Marissa hydrated,
liberally lacing the tea with honey and, on second thought, added a
stiff shot of brandy to help her rest. He returned upstairs and sat
by the bed. After setting the tray on the nightstand, he leaned
closer over the mattress, dripping the broth into her mouth. Being
this near to her, he wasn’t about to lie to himself about the
feelings she continued to provoke. The sight of her in bed
unleashed his desire to keep her. Safe. Finding her injured, he
grimaced, giving into his overarching need to protect her—no matter
what.

“
Darling, a little more,”
he murmured and continually encouraged her to swallow. He followed
with the tea mixture, dropping tiny spoonsful into her mouth. Her
eyes fluttered once. She didn’t say anything or wake up. Wyatt ran
his hand tenderly over her skin. She was cooler to touch, yet there
was no mistaking a fever raged within her while pin-pricking fear
moved across his chest.

Marissa, with her hand curled near her face,
appeared fragile, if not breakable. He rubbed his chest. A heavy
thud smacked him, over and over, where his heart should have been
beating. He recommenced sponging off her face, neck, and arms while
keeping her covered otherwise.

He kept up his vigil over her, calling
Sinclair only to be told that the contract was signed, and in route
via email. The real estate closing would go forward and the
promissory notes and deed recorded in another day. He cared less
and less about projected land development as the hours ticked past.
He placed a moist cloth across her forehead, spellbound by her
unmoving form. For minutes he gazed at Marissa. He brought over his
laptop to the chair, and sent an email that he was unavailable to
his office.

Her color changed to a deep, pink flush and
he was sorely tempted to find a doctor who did make house calls. He
squeezed the back of his neck, acutely aware of the risk
involved.

He paced, fixed more broth and tea, pressed
cold cloths to Marissa’s face, and paced some more over the floor
at the side of the bed. The sun had set and, throughout the night,
the wind whipped at the terrace doors, rattling the glass and his
nerves.

From the terrace doorway, he watched the
moonrise and the reflections riding the waves within the water. He
tracked the moon’s movement across the sky in between clouds, now
and then visible. Pressing his forehead against the cold glass, he
almost believed he could make out the darting movement of dolphins
along the shoreline. Finally, he returned and sat by the bed,
holding Marissa’s hand.

He talked to her while she slept, telling
her stories about his childhood, even his experiences on
construction sites, losing his parents, and burying his pain
inside. He talked about hiding from life within countless hours of
work. He held her fingers, marveling at each of her delicate nails,
satin skin, and pressed a kiss to her palm, reliving the night
they’d shared just one evening ago. He held her hand against his
cheek, praying for her to get better, to come back to him
regardless of the details of her life. By the time the gray edges
of the night crept upward into the sky, giving way to wisps of
fuchsia-tinted clouds, his stiff body accentuated his worry. Too
many questions and concerns filled his mind, to remain seated by
the bed if she needed real emergency medical care. He prayed for a
sign. Anything.

The room grew lighter and the shadows
receded as seagulls flew by the terrace. Glistening moisture stood
out from Marissa’s cheeks and forehead. Her skin no longer housed a
dry fire underneath but was cool to touch. He kissed her forehead,
and didn’t feel ice cold skin under his lips, nor a blazing
furnace. Her smooth skin lay cool beneath his mouth.

Wyatt sighed loudly. “Thank God.”

What would he tell her? Or, harder to
envision, what would she relay to him? For all he’d believed
twenty-four hours ago, he didn’t know what shore he now stood upon.
His entire existence had come unraveled when he had found Marissa
wounded. And now, his future balanced upon this fragile woman. The
laws of his universe had come undone. Rippling, rolling,
shifting—his whole world had changed.

Marissa’s eyelids fluttered and she coughed
and, suddenly, nothing else mattered except her. This precious
woman—the keeper of his heart.

“
Drink a sip, my darling.”
He held a glass of water to her lips.

He drew his mouth across her forehead, and
set his cheek against her brow. An act he’d done a hundred times
during the night.

He stood up smiling, his shoulders relaxing.
“You’ve come back,” he whispered, taking hold of her fingers.

She gazed up at him, a smile tugged at the
corners of her mouth. “How long have I been sleeping?”

“
A day. It’s the
16
^th
.”

“
Oh,” she said, wincing. He
let go of her hands, moved closer to her side, and gently brushed
back her hair.

His insides churned, warring against the
need to protect her, and still having so many unanswered
questions.

He’d have to tell her he knew her secret.
His heart slammed against his chest. In the next few minutes his
life would change. Forever. Completely. Change. He didn’t want to
lose Marissa by scaring her.

“
You were injured.” He
lifted his gaze, directing it to the terrace and beyond. “In the
water. I don’t know how. Do you remember?” He faced her again, wide
aqua eyes meeting his gaze. Her brow had creased and she twisted
the sheet between her hands.

She inhaled and cleared her throat. “Not
everything, but I do remember being injured while swimming.” Her
voice had begun to shake.

He took hold of her hands again. “I found
you on the shore yesterday morning about this time.”

“
I’d gone out early. You
were still asleep.” she said hesitantly.

He rubbed the tops of her knuckles. Now, her
hands were warm in his. “Baby, maybe if I tell you what I’m
thinking then it will be easier for you. Is that alright?”

She nodded, the side of her lip held between
her teeth. She pushed down the comforter, frowning at her injury He
helped her sit upright. Her hair fell over her naked body, draping
across her chest and arms.

He lifted her hair back from her shoulder.
“Darling, a group of dolphins kept you safe along the shore. At
first, I thought they were injured. Beached or stranded.” He let
that information sink in.

“
I approached and noticed
your hair. One of the dolphins got ahold of my arm when I tried to
reach you.” He held up his hand where he had a neat double row of
puncture marks on either side of his arm. “Nothing serious. I think
the dolphins were protecting you. Finally, I was able to get you
back to the house. I removed a piece of metal that wounded you
here.” He lightly touched beyond her injury.”

He picked up the two pieces of the trident
he’d removed from her shoulder, now cleaned yet savagely pointed.
He held them out in front of her.

“
I didn’t know what it was
that wounded my shoulder.” The crease between her brows deepened.
She shook her head, murmuring, “Senseless.”

“
That’s not all.” He rose.
“May I?” He took hold of the sheets and blankets.

“
What are you
doing?”

“
I just want to show you
something, that’s all.”

“
Another injury?” Her face
filled with concern, and she vehemently attempted to push the
covers free with her good arm.

“
Slow down, sweetheart. No,
not another wound,” he was quick to say as he took hold of her hand
with his and squeezed.

She inhaled and nodded, gazing up into his
face.

He let go of her hand, and then folded the
comforter and sheets back from her body. “It’s just that you
changed.” He stopped and stared at two hopelessly beautiful legs.
No tail.

Carefully, he ran his hand down her skin,
reliving the pleasure he’d experienced with her beautiful legs
wrapped around his waist, and thrown over his shoulders. He was the
only man with such memories of her. Now, he must tell her. Had to
tell her when he found her, she’d not had legs but a tail. Even
last night, before he’d covered her with blankets, her brilliantly
colored tail lay shimmering on top of the mattress.

“
You’ve changed back.” He
sunk down next to Marissa on the bed, confusion taking
over.

“
Yes, I always do,” she
whispered.

Chapter Thirteen

Marissa squinted, gazing across the sand
stretching from beyond the terrace patio overlooking the beach.
Another perfect South Florida day and she lay back against the
comfy cushions of the chaise lounge. She slathered on suntan oil
under a large patio umbrella. Even though the sun was on the other
side of the house, her skin was delicate and prone to sunburns. The
shade provided coverage to watch the rise and fall of the waves,
cresting and converging in the afternoon surf.

Today was the first day after the full moon.
She stretched, relaxed and loose from a night of incredible
renewal, not to mention hot, delicious sex with the most
ambitiously romantic man.

She moved her hands to the top of her
thighs, and downward to the point where her white shorts creased.
She shivered underneath a camisole, her nipples aching, and she
pressed her knees together. Her skin tingled from Wyatt’s
exploration of her body, both on land and in the saltwater
waves.

Over the last year, he’d taught her how to
receive as well as give pleasure.

My goodness, she quivered. Wyatt’s ability
to make her scream echoed inside her body. His imagination as her
lover kept her yearning for his touch and hungry to satisfy him as
much as he sated her. He refused to allow anything to stand between
them and nothing did, once they had talked, getting the truth out
in the open or, at least, sharing the truth between them.

Wyatt hadn’t just talked. He had asked her
every possible question. And she had filled him in with the tiniest
of details. As well as the parts of her life that she’d kept locked
away, including the death of her parents and siblings. She’d
explained how she’d been living on her own, and what her life had
been like on the land. He’d pressed to know everything. It was the
moment that she realized, either she could trust him or remain
alone. So, she’d held her breath describing what her once-a-month
return to the sea encompassed. He’d listened attentively for what
took hours, pacing up and down over the floor. Afterward, he’d
quietly stated that he needed time to think. He’d gone for a walk
by the seashore and she’d assumed their romance was over. In her
mind she’d lost him from a truth too difficult to bear.

His walk had lasted for an hour. He’d
returned, taking her hands into his and making her promise only one
thing—never to go swimming by herself again. Well, there were other
vows he had wrangled after he’d asked a few sweet questions, but
that was the only mermaid promise.

Suddenly, the terrace door opened. Wyatt’s
piercing gaze locked with hers. His lips quirked in the same
devilish way that always made her breath catch in her throat.

“
You’re a vision, my love,”
he murmured, walking over to her with two flute glasses in his
hands. “You look good enough to eat. Again.” His voice was like
velvet, caressing her skin, and making her ache for his
touch.

“
Come sit by me.” She
scooted over, entranced by the sight of his strong
fingers.

She licked her lips, recalling what he’d
done to her only moments before with his fingertips and mouth on
her body. The air condensed against the smooth surface of the
crystal flutes. Beads of moisture collected and dripped down the
sides of each glass, over his thumbs.

“
You look good enough to
lick,” she returned.

“
I’ll take you up on that
tonight,” he laughed, handing her a glass. “Cheers,
baby.”