“What does that have to do with—” He paused. “Oh. Yeah. That’ll probably work.”
Still, neither of them started walking. Instead, he hitched her a bit closer, and they just . . . cuddled for a minute, her head on his shoulder, his strong, broad hands lightly stroking her sides and hips and arms. When he eventually folded her into his embrace, she rested her arms on top of his.
After a moment, he kissed her temple, then laid his cheek there.
It was the gentleness she’d told herself she didn’t want.
Turned out she was a liar, because she wanted it all. His teeth and his tenderness. His pretty face and his laugh lines. The respected thespian and the hammy star of Sharkphoon.
The gold and the pyrite.
Turning her neck, she pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Come home with me. Please.”
He didn’t hesitate, not even for a breath.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
MANMAID
EXT. SHORELINE AT THE BASE OF THE CLIFFS – DAWN
CARMEN has waded chest-deep into the surf, fully clothed, and TRITUS flicks his tail idly to stay upright before her, gazing adoringly into her seafoam-green eyes.
CARMEN
When will you return?
TRITUS
Whenever you need me.
She casts him a shy glance through her lashes.
CARMEN
What if . . . What if what I need from you, you can’t give?
He frowns, confused. Then realization dawns, and so does desire. He swims closer.
TRITUS
Trust me. I may only be half human, but I’m all man.
CARMEN
You mean . . . ?
TRITUS
Let me show you.
But as they touch for the first time, hands entwined, her legs against his tail, her eyes widen, and not in desire. Suddenly, she is struggling to breathe, gasping and staggering away from him.
CARMEN
My—my allergy! To kelp! I’d—
(gasps)
forgotten!
TRITUS
No! My curse! It has finally come to pass!
The tragedy of their love overwhelms him, and he swims away, disappearing beneath the waves.
16
“SO THIS IS WHERE I LIVE.” APRIL WAVED HIM INSIDE. “IT’S an in-law apartment, so I have my own entrance, and it’s relatively private.”
Marcus glanced around. “Looks like a great find, especially in this area.”
An open floor plan, excluding the bedrooms and bathroom. Not overly spacious, but cozy. Well maintained too, with gleaming hardwood floors and stainless appliances and marble-looking countertops. Once she had the chance to settle in, he suspected it would become much more welcoming than his own LA home with its aggressively modern interior design. Served him right for not overseeing the process himself, of course, but he’d been overseas at the time and eager to come back to a finished house.
“Sorry about the boxes.” April shifted from foot to foot. “I haven’t had time to put everything away or get art on the walls.”
The white marble console table in the entryway—she’d chosen stone rather than wood, no surprise there—didn’t wobble when he rested a hand on it, its surface cool and smooth and solid under his fingertips. “I’m impressed by everything you’ve managed to unpack in such a short amount of time.”
She pursed her lips, but her little hum sounded like doubt.
By the time he’d followed her to the apartment, some of her confidence and her unabashed, intoxicating sexual aggression had faded. Right now, her gaze was darting around the room, seemingly cataloging all the space’s flaws. This was as nervous as he’d ever seen her, and that included their first dinner together and their first encounter with paparazzi.
Which was unfortunate, because the change allowed his blood to cool and his head to clear too. Enough that he remembered his resolution to discuss one last sensitive topic with her before they bared themselves to one another.
Not that he’d assumed they would, and she could change her mind now or whenever she wanted. But he’d hoped. Fantasized.
“I know it’s not what you’re probably accustomed to—” she began.
“April.” He shook his head at her, an eyebrow raised in gentle reproof. “My parents are prep school teachers, remember? I grew up in a house not much larger than your apartment.”
Her face brightened slightly at the reminder, but the stiff set of her shoulders didn’t entirely ease. “That’s right. I’d forgotten.”
She was anxious about his judgment. That was obvious enough. What wasn’t: whether all her nervousness really stemmed from her half-settled home.
They’d come to her apartment for a purpose, one she’d made clear. But now that the prospect of so much intimacy, so much literal and figurative nakedness, loomed before them, did she worry he might judge her and find her lacking in an entirely different way?
“Umm . . .” She wandered toward the kitchen area. “Are you hungry? We could eat lunch, if you’d like. I have some leftover pizza. Some leftover fried rice too.” Her shoulder lifted, and she opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves. “Sorry. I haven’t done much cooking since the move. Not that I cooked much before then, either.”
He wasn’t going to get a better opening than that.
She didn’t move from the refrigerator as he walked up behind her. Not even when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, looping them just above her waist. Her body was still within his embrace. Stiff, although she didn’t move away.
After a few seconds, she relaxed, melting into him the way she had earlier.
Ducking his head, he rested his chin on her round shoulder. “I like to cook. Which is good, because my job means I have to be careful about what I eat. How I exercise too.”
And there it was. He might as well have been holding a piece of her stone countertop. No surprise there.
“April . . .” He pressed a quick kiss to the newest bruise on the side of her neck. “After those doughnuts this morning, I’ll probably eat nothing but protein and vegetables for the rest of the day. I can’t have leftover pizza or fried rice. I’m not especially hungry anyway. But—”
She was closing the refrigerator door and twisting out of his arms and moving away from him, and he didn’t try to stop her. He just kept talking and hoped she was still listening.
“—I don’t expect anyone else to eat or exercise the way I do. It’s a part of my job. That’s all.” He gestured to the shiny refrigerator. “So if you’re hungry and want pizza, have pizza. If you want fried rice, have fried rice. If you want to eat more doughnuts the size of your head, or another of those croco—”
“Cocroffinuts,” she muttered, finally meeting his eyes again.
“—whatever the fuck those things are, you should do it. Despite the very real risk that more caffeine might actually make you levitate.” He tried to infuse each word with every bit of sincerity he could muster, every bit of reassurance. “What I eat or don’t eat is irrelevant.”
He shouldn’t know why she’d turned cold in the cab after their day at the museum. But he did know, and before they fell into bed together, she needed to hear the truth.