A: Immortal Sea

“Take it, yes. But not standing.” He stripped off his coat and tossed it on the ground.

Her eyes widened. He wasn‟t wearing any shirt. Just pants and some kind of necklace, a textured disk on a silver chain. He

should have looked ridiculous. He did not. Above the black pants, against the dark trees, his body looked white and smooth

and very strong. His shoulders were knotted, his chest heavy with muscle.

She gasped as he swept her off her feet, laying her on his open coat under the spangled sky.

He loomed over her, on his knees, between her legs. In moments, he had his pants undone, her top ruched up, and her jeans

shoved down around her ankles. She blushed and squirmed. His cock reared up against his stomach. No shirt. No underwear

either.

She reached out—to cover herself? to push him away?—and her hand brushed his stomach and then the broad, smooth

head of his penis. It jerked at her touch. Morgan made a sound between his teeth and covered her hand with his, holding her

palm against him. He felt wonderful, thick and hard. She wiggled closer, fluid and restless as water, running her free hand over

his chest, his thighs. He caressed her stomach, making the muscles there contract, before he pushed her legs wide. Crouching

over her, he rubbed himself slowly up and down her slit.

She arched toward him; twisted away. “Wait.”

“Why?” He thrust one long finger inside her, then two. “You are ready.”

Before she could say “condom,” he slammed inside.

She convulsed in shock. Too much , her mind cried. Too soon. Too . . . perfect.

She had not known that she had been so empty, that she could feel so full. She felt him everywhere, in her breasts, between

her legs, and deep, deep inside. He didn‟t do anything fancy or fumbling, none of the tricks she‟d tried with her few

boyfriends. She was glad. She didn‟t need technique, only this, only him, his hot skin, his overwhelming size, the violent grace

of his body in hers. He pinned her down and pulsed inside her, pounded inside her, slippery and strong, while the cold ground

dug into her shoulders and the sky wheeled and changed colors behind his head. She cried and clawed and came, again and

again.

He stiffened above her, his back rigid, his lips pulling back in a snarl. She couldn‟t help him. She was stretched too full to

do anything clever with her muscles. It didn‟t seem to matter. With a growl, with a groan, he erupted inside her, pressing deep,

setting her off again.

She trembled as he lowered his weight onto her, his body hard and slick with sweat, cradled between her thighs.

She closed her eyes, stunned. Numb. Her body quivered with aftershocks as her brain struggled to process what had just

happened. What could happen as a result.

Oh, dear God.

Something brushed briefly across her forehead before he withdrew, his shaft dragging from her wet and swollen flesh. She

concentrated on breathing, in and out. The light of dawn pressed against her eyelids. She heard a scrape as he rolled to his feet,

a rustle as he adjusted his clothing.

She opened her eyes.

He stood half-naked in the blue shadow of the trees, his back to her. She regarded the strong indentation of his spine, the

faint scratch marks on his shoulder blades, and wanted to weep.

He turned, his face calm, composed, polite, and offered her something. His hand? She blinked sudden moisture from her

eyes. A handkerchief. An absurd bubble of laughter rose in her throat. No shirt or underwear, she thought, but he carried a

fucking 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.

“You are all right.” His voice was deep and without expression. She couldn‟t tell if he was asking her or telling her.

“Fine, thanks.” She finished with the handkerchief and, after a brief internal debate, wadded it up and stuffed it in her

pocket.

“We can leave now,” he said.

A hollow opened in the pit of her stomach. She stared at him blankly. His eyes weren‟t blue at all, she noted

inconsequentially, but tarnished gold.

“The gates unlock at six,” he explained. “The bridge will be open.”

“Oh. That‟s . . .” She struggled to force words past the constriction in her throat. “Convenient.”

“You will wish to return to your place of lodging.” Another statement.

“I guess.” She got a grip. “Yes.”

“I will accompany you.”

She wanted to tell him she didn‟t need his charity or his company. But that was stupid and unfair. He hadn‟t promised her

anything. Only his protection, which she‟d been plenty grateful for. Face it, anything could happen to her wandering around

the streets of a foreign city in the early morning hours.

She looked at his brutally handsome face, her insides aching and her heart sore. Anything at all.

“Thank you,” she said.

They walked through the open gate without incident and across the bridge to a strip of park. The waterfront was waking up

with chugging boats and rumbling busses and early morning joggers. Liz finger-combed her hair, uncomfortably aware of her

bare shoulders and her companion‟s naked chest, magnificently visible in his open leather coat. Oddly, though, no one seemed

to notice. Maybe the Danes were inured to tourists stumbling home at sunrise.

Golden clouds streaked the sky. Sunlight sparkled on the blue waters of the harbor. The buildings were flat and bright as

dollhouses or images on a postcard.

Liz raised her head, momentarily roused from her funk by the scene. “That‟s the Little Mermaid.”

Morgan spared a glance for the rocky shore and the life-size statue gazing out to sea. “A facsimile.”

She stopped. This was still her trip of a lifetime. She might never get another chance to see the iconic statue, its bronze

warmed to blush by the rising sun. “She looks sad.”

“She was a fool,” Morgan said.

“Excuse me?”

He looked down his brawler‟s nose at her. “To sacrifice the sea.”

“Well, but she had a good reason, didn‟t she? She fell in love. With a prince.”

“Another fool.”

She was not going to let him ruin her fairy tale. “The point is, she chose love.”

“She chose death.”

Liz looked at him wryly. “I take it you‟re not a believer in the Disney princess version.”

He looked blank.

“You know, Ariel and the happily-ever-after ending?”

“Ah. No,” he said. “I am not a believer in happy endings. Not when there is such . . . difference between two people.”

Which pretty much said it all, didn‟t it? They were too different.

So she wasn‟t surprised when he dropped her off at the hotel without asking for her cell phone number. Or when he didn‟t

drop by the next day or the next to see how she was doing or invite her out for a beer and a hot dog. She asked the concierge.

He didn‟t even leave a message.

It was just another one-night stand, she told herself.

Just a summer romance.

Just the best sex of her life.

And like her vacation, when it was over, it was over.

Boy, was she wrong.

2

WORLD‟S END, MAINE, PRESENT DAY

“YOU SAID WE COULD GO TO THE BEACH TODAY.” Seven-year-old Emily bounced on the sofa, her doll Molly

clutched in her arms.

Dr. Elizabeth Ramsey Rodriguez glanced up, distracted, from unpacking the last of the moving cartons. The box had