A - Immortal Sea

“You worried her.” And me , he thought. A new, disturbing notion. “The more you show yourself sensitive to her concerns,

the less concerned she will be.”

“You mean, the more I tell her, the less she‟ll ask,” Zachary said shrewdly.

Morgan smiled a shark‟s smile in the dark. “Precisely.”

Liz read to Emily and tucked her in, both of them comforted by the familiar bedtime ritual. She missed the years when

Zack was small and could be protected with a nightlight and a kiss, when the only monsters were imaginary and could be

banished to the closet.

She padded downstairs to switch on the porch light, her bare feet silent on the wooden treads.

The porch was empty. The yard was dark. The incessant whir of crickets filled the night.

The words of the storybook wrapped her heart like barbed wire, leaving a dozen tiny, bleeding punctures. “And Max the

king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.”

Closing her eyes, Liz leaned her forehead against the cool glass by the side of the door. “Zack, come back,” she whispered

like a prayer. “Come home.”

Where was he? For that matter, where was Morgan? She hated being stuck in the house with no way to reach them and no

way to fix this.

Zack still hadn‟t answered her calls.

She took a deep breath and forced herself away from the door. Turning on another lamp, she settled into a deep chair and

booted up her laptop. Work was a good antidote to worry. So she would work. Fifty-three-year-old Henry Tibbetts had come

into the clinic after an unexpected fall on his boat. Listening to the lobsterman‟s halting explanation, Liz suspected he might

have had a seizure. She took a careful medical history and ordered him to the hospital on the mainland for an EEG. In the

meantime . . . The clinic stocked phenobarbital, but surely there were newer drugs with fewer side effects? Frowning, she

pulled up the research online.

She was making notes when she heard a scrape on the porch, a rattle at the door. Her head rose. Her heart constricted with

hope.

“Zack?” She uncurled her legs, sliding the laptop to the floor.

The front door opened.

Zack. Thank God. Relief crashed over her in a wave.

Her son loomed in the opening to the living room, shoulders hunched, watching her from under his thick, fair lashes. She

jumped to her feet, barely registering Morgan coming in behind him.

Her son didn‟t want her touching him anymore. She didn‟t care. She grabbed him hard and hugged him tight. So tall, she

thought, with a man‟s big bones and a boy‟s lean chest. When did he get so tall? His T-shirt smelled of young male sweat and

grass.

He patted her awkwardly on the back with one arm. “Sorry, Mom.”

Foolish tears, angry, grateful tears, filled her eyes. “Where were you?”

Zack‟s arm dropped.

She stepped back and saw him exchange a look with Morgan over her head. Unease brushed her spine like a cold hand in

the dark.

He cleared his throat. “I went to Stephanie‟s. Stephanie Wiley? Her family owns the grocery store. She thinks her dad can

maybe give me a job.” Another quick glance at Morgan. “Stocking shelves and shit.”

The fist in her chest loosened. “Zack, that‟s wonderful.”

“Yeah.” He shuffled his feet. “I should turn in. Got to be rested for my big day tomorrow.”

“What time do you need to be there? Do you have clean—”

“ ‟ Night, Mom. Good night, um . . .”

Morgan‟s gaze met Zack‟s. Their eyes were the same, exactly the same, gleaming gold with thick, pale lashes. “Good

night.”

Zack practically bounded up the stairs, moving with more energy than he‟d exhibited in months.

Liz faced Morgan. “Who are you and what did you do to my son?”

The gleam spread to a smile. “Perhaps he is simply growing up.”

“You think?” Liz asked doubtfully.

“And perhaps it is the girl‟s influence.”

“Stephanie,” Liz said, committing the name to memory. “He must have met her at the grocery store. I didn‟t know he had

any friends on World‟s End.”

“You are surprised.”

“Thrilled, actually. And grateful.” She reached out and squeezed his forearm. “Thank you. This whole thing turned out

better than I expected.”

His muscles were rigid under her touch. His gaze dropped to her fingers, pale against the black cashmere; lifted to her face.

Her heart stuttered.

“Much better,” he murmured and dipped his head.

Her bare toes curled on the hard floor. His voice was so cool, his body so warm. His heat infected her, spreading from her

hand on his arm to the pit of her belly and the soles of her feet. She felt his swift inhale against her lips and then his mouth

covered hers.

Hot. His kiss was hot and urgent. He didn‟t seduce, he devoured, licking at the seam of her lips, thrusting his tongue inside,

blanketing her brain with heat.

This was wrong. Her children were upstairs. She should stop him. She would stop him.

In a minute.

For now she gave herself up to gratitude, relief, and lust, gave herself over to him. He bit, licked, sucked at her mouth,

devastating her with liquid fire until she was soft and open, until her body was wet and clamoring for his. His hands found and

claimed her breasts. His fingers plucked the tight little points.

“I want to taste you. Here.” His breath seared her lips. His touch glided over the curve of her belly, along the crease of her

thigh, and pressed between her legs. His palm circled slowly. “Here.”

Her body strained toward his. She squeezed her thighs together, struggling to speak. To breathe. “I . . .”

He watched her face as his fingers rubbed her through her slacks.

“I‟m not that grateful,” she choked out.

“You would be.”

Oh, God.

Laughter, shocked, excited, broke from her. She stepped back firmly, away from his touch, out of temptation. “The

children,” she articulated carefully, “are upstairs.”

He shot a glance toward the empty steps, the darkened hall. “We are down here.”

She ignored the thrill that ran through her veins and along her bones. He‟d never married, she reminded herself. He didn‟t

have kids, except for Zack. He couldn‟t understand.

“I can‟t do this,” she said. “I need to set an example.”

I need to be in control.

He stood very still, watching her, his eyes dark and considering between those thick blond lashes. Tension rolled off him in

waves like heat from an oven. She could feel herself melting.

“You are in earnest,” he said finally, flatly.

She inhaled. “Yes.”

“Why? You are ready for me.”

“Not ready for this.”

“You are. I feel it. I smell it. Your body weeps for mine. Let me satisfy you.”

Temptation almost overwhelmed her. “You can‟t. I need more than a quick grope on your way out the door. I need trust

and tenderness and companionship and commitment. Can you offer me all those things? Or any of those things?”

“I am offering you sex.”

“That‟s not enough.”

His gaze met hers. “It was once.”

His words thumped low in her midsection. An exquisite shudder went through her as she remembered the earth moving and

the stars wheeling and his body plunging into hers again and again.

Remembered how she‟d waited for his call the next day and all the days after, the sick realization she was pregnant as the