Tempest Unleashed
Page 3
And Mark had made his choice as well—Chelsea, a cheerleader, for God’s sake—as different from me as he could have possibly gotten. No matter what I had told him, no matter what I had told myself, it had been a slap in the face.
As I swam backward away from shore, I held on to that thought and to the emotions it brought back. I didn’t belong here, didn’t belong with Mark any more than he belonged out at sea with me. I couldn’t let myself forget that.
But as I scanned the beach, memorizing the tableau they all made standing there, Mark turned … and looked straight at me.
Our eyes locked—across the wide swath of sand, across the endless yards of ocean—and I saw his beloved chocolate-brown ones widen in shock. For long seconds, he didn’t move and neither did I. And then he was tossing his surfboard on the ground and running straight into the water.
Straight to me.
Chapter 2
I froze for one long moment, then dived deep as panic swamped me. Swim, my brain screamed. Get away from here! Get away from him. It’s too dangerous! Swim, swim, swim!
I started to put as much distance between me and the beach as I could as quickly as possible. But I hadn’t gone very far before I realized, with utter certainty, that self-preservation wasn’t what I wanted.
Maintaining the status quo wasn’t what I wanted.
Instead, I wanted to talk to Mark, to hear his surf-and-sand-roughened voice as he demanded to know where the hell I had been for all these months.
Of course, that could just be wishful thinking. Maybe he’d forgotten what we’d been to each other, the same as I had so desperately tried to forget him.
Suddenly, I knew I couldn’t go any farther until I was certain. I stopped swimming, turned around. I didn’t go back—I wasn’t that stupid—but I wanted to know what Mark would do. Would he write off his sighting of me to his imagination? Or would he stand in the ocean and call my name, sure that his eyes hadn’t been deceiving him?
I hoped it was the latter, even as I told myself I was being selfish, petty. I should be happy that he’d moved on with his life, with Chelsea. I had moved on with Kona. But nothing I told myself just then mattered—in those few minutes, all I cared about was whether Mark missed me anywhere near as much as I missed him.
“Tempest!” The wind whipped my name straight to me in Mark’s snarly voice. “Tempest Maguire, damn it, I know you’re out here!”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My heart had nearly stopped at the first sound of his voice. Instead, I stayed where I was, immersed in the ocean up to my chin, and watched as Mark’s powerful body waded through the water. He was thigh deep, waist deep, chest deep, and still he yelled my name.
It made me feel awful, made me feel wonderful, confused me as nothing had since I’d made the decision to be mermaid. I yearned to go to him, everything in my body straining to answer his call. My skin ached for just one touch of his fingers.
As I was watching him, memorizing him, Mark dived deep into the water. He was looking for me, as determined today as he had been eight months ago when I’d nearly drowned during a routine early-morning surf. Back when this whole alternate life of mine was just beginning.
I watched the surface anxiously, waiting for him to come back up. One minute passed as I counted numbers in my head, then two as I struggled to reassure myself he was okay. Mark was a terrific swimmer, could hold his breath for a long time underwater. Not as long as I used to be able to, but then he was human and I never had been. Not really. Not completely.
My internal count had reached one hundred and fifty-seven before I saw Mark bob back to the surface. I was too far away to see him clearly, but the verdant green of his wet suit stood out against the opalescent azure of the waves. I knew he was sucking in air, gulp after gulp, and my lungs ached in sympathy.
I waited for him to catch his breath and head back to shore and the board he had so carelessly tossed aside. Instead, he disappeared beneath the water yet again.
And again, I began to count and wait and worry.
Every second dragged. One hundred one, one hundred two, one hundred three. There he was, his head and shoulders popping powerfully above the surface. He was closer to me now, so close that I imagined I could see his chest rising and falling.
I started to back up. To submerge myself, to flee. But I watched as he went under again and accepted that I wasn’t going anywhere. I had caused this mess and I had to see it through.
Mark was the most stubborn person I had ever met. Since it was obvious he hadn’t forgotten me, I knew if I just disappeared, he would keep looking until he was completely exhausted. Already, he had swum a good distance from shore. Who knew how much farther he would swim before he finally figured out it was hopeless? And who knew if he’d have enough energy to make it back to land?
I ducked under the water, started to swim toward where I had last seen him. Ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven. He should be heading up for air soon. When I got to one hundred nine, I propelled myself to the surface with a few powerful kicks of my legs.
He wasn’t up yet. I dived back under, swam a little more. Came up again. Still no Mark.
I started to panic. Was he in trouble? Was he caught in the undertow? Was he drowning because of me? I looked back at shore, saw that the guys had all jumped in after Mark. They were still pretty far back, but I knew they were good swimmers. I didn’t have much time.
Going deep again, I searched the water around me for the green of Mark’s wet suit. I didn’t see it, didn’t see him. Oh my God, he was drowning. He was—
“Tempest!” The word was low and growly and so close to my ear that I couldn’t mistake it for anything but what it was.
I whirled around. “Mark!”
“What are you—”
I threw myself at him, nearly took him under as I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed as tightly as I could. And then he was hugging me back, his firm, hard body pressed against me from shoulder to hip, while our legs kicked again and again to keep us from going under.
He pulled away. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for months—”
My voice froze in my throat. What was I supposed to say? What could I say after all this time?
“Damn it, Tempest!” he snarled. “Answer me.”
I opened my mouth, my mind racing for a response. An excuse. Anything. But before I could do more than take a breath, his lips were on mine and any hope I had of thinking dissolved like so much sea foam.
He tasted just the same, only wilder. Better. Like lemons and peppermints and my Saturday-morning mocha.
He tasted like home—with an edge.
I knew I should stop him. I even started to push away, but in the end all I did was wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back with all the emotion this crazy, mixed-up roller-coaster ride of a day had awakened inside of me.
I couldn’t do anything else, not while one of his hands cupped my jaw and the other pressed against my lower back in a hold so possessive I forgot for a minute that we no longer belonged to each other.
Kissing Mark, being held by him, reminded me too much of everything I’d given up by becoming mermaid, and for those few, brief seconds I wanted it all back.
Wanted him back.
But if there was one thing my mother’s life—and death—had taught me, it was that it wasn’t possible to go back. Whatever we’ve done, whichever path we’ve chosen, we have to walk down it. Or in my case, swim down it. Either way, going back to the way things had once been was impossible.
As I swam backward away from shore, I held on to that thought and to the emotions it brought back. I didn’t belong here, didn’t belong with Mark any more than he belonged out at sea with me. I couldn’t let myself forget that.
But as I scanned the beach, memorizing the tableau they all made standing there, Mark turned … and looked straight at me.
Our eyes locked—across the wide swath of sand, across the endless yards of ocean—and I saw his beloved chocolate-brown ones widen in shock. For long seconds, he didn’t move and neither did I. And then he was tossing his surfboard on the ground and running straight into the water.
Straight to me.
Chapter 2
I froze for one long moment, then dived deep as panic swamped me. Swim, my brain screamed. Get away from here! Get away from him. It’s too dangerous! Swim, swim, swim!
I started to put as much distance between me and the beach as I could as quickly as possible. But I hadn’t gone very far before I realized, with utter certainty, that self-preservation wasn’t what I wanted.
Maintaining the status quo wasn’t what I wanted.
Instead, I wanted to talk to Mark, to hear his surf-and-sand-roughened voice as he demanded to know where the hell I had been for all these months.
Of course, that could just be wishful thinking. Maybe he’d forgotten what we’d been to each other, the same as I had so desperately tried to forget him.
Suddenly, I knew I couldn’t go any farther until I was certain. I stopped swimming, turned around. I didn’t go back—I wasn’t that stupid—but I wanted to know what Mark would do. Would he write off his sighting of me to his imagination? Or would he stand in the ocean and call my name, sure that his eyes hadn’t been deceiving him?
I hoped it was the latter, even as I told myself I was being selfish, petty. I should be happy that he’d moved on with his life, with Chelsea. I had moved on with Kona. But nothing I told myself just then mattered—in those few minutes, all I cared about was whether Mark missed me anywhere near as much as I missed him.
“Tempest!” The wind whipped my name straight to me in Mark’s snarly voice. “Tempest Maguire, damn it, I know you’re out here!”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My heart had nearly stopped at the first sound of his voice. Instead, I stayed where I was, immersed in the ocean up to my chin, and watched as Mark’s powerful body waded through the water. He was thigh deep, waist deep, chest deep, and still he yelled my name.
It made me feel awful, made me feel wonderful, confused me as nothing had since I’d made the decision to be mermaid. I yearned to go to him, everything in my body straining to answer his call. My skin ached for just one touch of his fingers.
As I was watching him, memorizing him, Mark dived deep into the water. He was looking for me, as determined today as he had been eight months ago when I’d nearly drowned during a routine early-morning surf. Back when this whole alternate life of mine was just beginning.
I watched the surface anxiously, waiting for him to come back up. One minute passed as I counted numbers in my head, then two as I struggled to reassure myself he was okay. Mark was a terrific swimmer, could hold his breath for a long time underwater. Not as long as I used to be able to, but then he was human and I never had been. Not really. Not completely.
My internal count had reached one hundred and fifty-seven before I saw Mark bob back to the surface. I was too far away to see him clearly, but the verdant green of his wet suit stood out against the opalescent azure of the waves. I knew he was sucking in air, gulp after gulp, and my lungs ached in sympathy.
I waited for him to catch his breath and head back to shore and the board he had so carelessly tossed aside. Instead, he disappeared beneath the water yet again.
And again, I began to count and wait and worry.
Every second dragged. One hundred one, one hundred two, one hundred three. There he was, his head and shoulders popping powerfully above the surface. He was closer to me now, so close that I imagined I could see his chest rising and falling.
I started to back up. To submerge myself, to flee. But I watched as he went under again and accepted that I wasn’t going anywhere. I had caused this mess and I had to see it through.
Mark was the most stubborn person I had ever met. Since it was obvious he hadn’t forgotten me, I knew if I just disappeared, he would keep looking until he was completely exhausted. Already, he had swum a good distance from shore. Who knew how much farther he would swim before he finally figured out it was hopeless? And who knew if he’d have enough energy to make it back to land?
I ducked under the water, started to swim toward where I had last seen him. Ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven. He should be heading up for air soon. When I got to one hundred nine, I propelled myself to the surface with a few powerful kicks of my legs.
He wasn’t up yet. I dived back under, swam a little more. Came up again. Still no Mark.
I started to panic. Was he in trouble? Was he caught in the undertow? Was he drowning because of me? I looked back at shore, saw that the guys had all jumped in after Mark. They were still pretty far back, but I knew they were good swimmers. I didn’t have much time.
Going deep again, I searched the water around me for the green of Mark’s wet suit. I didn’t see it, didn’t see him. Oh my God, he was drowning. He was—
“Tempest!” The word was low and growly and so close to my ear that I couldn’t mistake it for anything but what it was.
I whirled around. “Mark!”
“What are you—”
I threw myself at him, nearly took him under as I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed as tightly as I could. And then he was hugging me back, his firm, hard body pressed against me from shoulder to hip, while our legs kicked again and again to keep us from going under.
He pulled away. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for months—”
My voice froze in my throat. What was I supposed to say? What could I say after all this time?
“Damn it, Tempest!” he snarled. “Answer me.”
I opened my mouth, my mind racing for a response. An excuse. Anything. But before I could do more than take a breath, his lips were on mine and any hope I had of thinking dissolved like so much sea foam.
He tasted just the same, only wilder. Better. Like lemons and peppermints and my Saturday-morning mocha.
He tasted like home—with an edge.
I knew I should stop him. I even started to push away, but in the end all I did was wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back with all the emotion this crazy, mixed-up roller-coaster ride of a day had awakened inside of me.
I couldn’t do anything else, not while one of his hands cupped my jaw and the other pressed against my lower back in a hold so possessive I forgot for a minute that we no longer belonged to each other.
Kissing Mark, being held by him, reminded me too much of everything I’d given up by becoming mermaid, and for those few, brief seconds I wanted it all back.
Wanted him back.
But if there was one thing my mother’s life—and death—had taught me, it was that it wasn’t possible to go back. Whatever we’ve done, whichever path we’ve chosen, we have to walk down it. Or in my case, swim down it. Either way, going back to the way things had once been was impossible.
