A - Immortal Sea

He mounted her, pushing her thighs wide as she strained toward him, wet and open and aching under him, their joining

sharp as orgasm, shifting as a dream.

In one shocking, glorious thrust, he shoved himself full length inside her, thick and hard. Filling her. Stretching her. She

had never been so full. Only once. Only . . .

She moaned in pleasure and in need as he ground against her, seated deep inside her. She ran her palms down the line of his

back, dug her short nails into his buttocks, pulling him closer, urging him on, reveling in his hot, smooth, bare skin, in his

strength and weight pressing her into the mattress. It had been so long. Too long. He slammed into her again and she arched,

shuddering with sensation, delighting in the power of his body, the scent of his sweat, the healthy slap of wet flesh on flesh.

She panted. “More.”

He reared up, his odd, pale eyes with their deep, dark centers gleaming golden in the dark.

Morgan.

She woke to the rasp of her own breathing and the emptiness of her bed.

Oh, dear God.

Liz lay on the damp sheets, willing her heartbeat to return to normal.

She was married. Had been married. After three years, she was resigned to rolling over at night reaching for Ben. Wanting

Ben. She missed her husband beside her in their bed, the intimacy of touch and breath that was deeper than sleep, more

satisfying than sex.

This was different. Dangerous. Disloyal.

This was Morgan, Morgan‟s face she had imagined over hers in the night, Morgan‟s weight on her, Morgan‟s flesh in her,

Morgan filling her. Fucking her.

She drew a sharp breath.

“I am offering you sex,” he had said to her.

“That’s not enough.”

Maybe not.

But the prospect, the promise in his voice and in his eyes, left her empty and aching for him.

The foggy remnants of her dream lingered the next morning, clogging her brain, pounding like a hangover in her head. She

rummaged in the back of her drawer for underwear. She needed to do laundry. Her hand closed on a folded square. She pulled

it out. Stared at it blankly.

And was transported back sixteen years in time.

Morgan, standing in the light of early dawn, the scratches of her nails on his shoulders. His face calm, composed, polite, as

he turned to offer her something. His hand? A handkerchief.

She managed to sit up and take it, pleased to notice her hand was steady. Evidence of her awesome self-control, she

thought, and winced.

Then he hadn‟t simply invaded her dreams, Liz reminded herself. He‟d trampled them.

She finished dressing, dabbing concealer on the bags under her eyes. Her familiar reflection stared back from the mirror,

pale, resolute, in control.

It bothered her she could not control her dreams. She felt betrayed, as if her mind and body were in collusion against her.

Stumbling downstairs, she fumbled through her morning routine, fueled by coffee and the need to maintain a pretense of

normality. She packed snacks and a peanut butter sandwich for Emily, propped a note in the middle of the kitchen island

where Zack would be sure to see it when he woke.

Walking into the front hall, she felt Morgan‟s presence from the night before like a ghost brushing her skin.

Steadying herself with a hand on the banister, Liz called up the stairs. “Emily! Time to go!”

It was a relief to get to work, to slip on the authority and armor of her white doctor‟s coat, to concentrate on her patients‟

needs and problems instead of her own.

Margred Hunter, in Exam Room 2, could be a problem.

Liz glanced down at her notes; up at her patient. Sitting upright on the paper-covered table, Margred certainly appeared

healthy. Glowing dark eyes, abundant hair and breasts, slight, mysterious smile. Like a poster model for pregnancy, Liz

thought, or some pagan fertility goddess. Her physical exam confirmed her blood pressure was normal and she had only mild

edema. Her baby was head down and settling nicely into her pelvis.

But the woman was less than two weeks from her due date. She could go into labor at any time.

“About your birth plan,” Liz began.

Margred looked surprised. “We went over that at my appointment last week. When Caleb was here. He wants me to have

our baby at the hospital.”

“Which is great,” Liz said promptly. “They have a wonderful birthing center there and the best neonatal unit outside of

Portland. The thing is, you‟re already thirty percent effaced. Of course in an emergency, we can call LifeFlight or the Coast

Guard. But given your progress, I wonder if you had considered staying on the mainland until after the baby is born.”

“No,” Margred said simply. “Caleb cannot be away from the island. And I will not be away from Caleb.”

“As long as you understand the risks. We‟re a good ninety minutes by ferry from the mainland.”

“Less than an hour if Caleb‟s father takes us in his lobster boat.”

Liz blinked.

“That‟s how Regina got to the hospital,” Margred explained.

“Right. All right.” Liz blew out her breath. “I‟m still learning how to live on an island. Just promise me you‟ll call if you

have any questions or concerns.”

“Or contractions.”

“Those, too.” Smiling, Liz put a hand under Margred‟s elbow to help her down from the exam table. “You can make an

appointment with Nancy for next week. Assuming you make it that long.”

“I had better. My baby shower is Tuesday night.” Margred cocked her head. “You should come.”

“Oh.” Warm pleasure caught Liz unaware. But the situation was awkward. Margred‟s husband had picked up Liz‟s son for

questioning yesterday. Automatically, she retreated behind her familiar doctor-patient barriers. “Thank you, but it‟s hard for

me to get away in the evenings. I have a little girl.”

“I saw her, I think. In the waiting room?”

Most people didn‟t see a resemblance. Liz felt the tension in her shoulders relax. “That‟s right. Emily.”

Margred shrugged. “So bring her. Lobster bake at the point, seven o‟clock. There will be plenty of children. Regina‟s son

Nick is about your daughter‟s age.”

“I . . .” Liz bit her lip. Why not? Obviously any awkwardness was mostly in her own mind. And wasn‟t this why she

moved to the island? To form connections, to be part of a community with her children. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” Margred‟s mouth curved with sly humor.

“Now if I go into early labor, I won‟t have to leave the party.”

Liz was laughing as she escorted her out front.

While Margred scheduled her appointment, Liz scanned the waiting area. Her daughter was camped in a cluster of chairs

pulled seat to seat into a makeshift fort.

And crouched on his heels at the entrance, his white blond hair even with the top of the chairs, was Morgan. He looked up,

eyes gleaming, golden, intent, like the eyes of a predator or the eyes in her dream.

Hot color swarmed her face.

“Elizabeth.” He rose to his feet with smooth, animal grace. He nodded as Margred finished at the front desk and came up

behind them. “Margred.”

“Morgan. I did not expect to find you here.”

“Nor I you.”

“Then what . . .” She looked from Morgan to Liz. Speculation glinted in her eyes. “Ah.”

Liz cleared her throat. There was an odd resemblance in the two faces that were otherwise so different, male and female,

dark and fair. Something in the expression or the eyes maybe, something fierce and proud and primal. “You two know each