And always, he was there ready to catch her.
She was bright as the sun, alight with laughter and joy. He was a creature of cold water and colder blood, but every brush of her skin against his filled him with fire. He wanted more. He wanted to bury himself in her heat until she warmed him to the marrow of his bones. He wanted to bask in her warmth forever.
But he only had one night. These fleeting touches were all he would ever have, could ever have.
It will be enough. I promised that I would be content, if she would only give me one memory. I cannot ask for more.
He tried to stay in the moment, a shark’s eternal now. He had to memorize every touch, every glance. He had to hoard enough of her heat to keep him warm for the rest of his life.
It will have to be enough.
But he knew it wouldn’t.
Chapter 9
Good Lord, the man could dance.
Nigh on seven feet tall, broad as a barn and dressed in honest-to-God armor, and yet he put every other man there to shame. He moved as fluidly as water, every muscle under perfect control. No flourishes or fuss; every step, every turn had the smooth, economical grace of a hunting predator. He barely touched her, and yet led so effortlessly that Martha’s feet seemed to follow of their own accord.
Dancing with him was as simple as breathing. It was life, it was light, it was pure joy. With her hands in his, she felt like she could dance the rest of her days.
It felt so right, it took her most of the evening to realize that something was badly wrong.
“Having a good time, ma’am?” Tex the bartender asked when she went to fetch more drinks.
“Oh my word, yes.” Martha tucked her escaping flower back behind her ear, beaming at him. “I feel sixteen again. Though I bet my poor feet are going to be feeling every day their real age, come the morning.”
Tex grinned back as he poured her a glass of ice water. “And, ah, is he enjoying himself, if you don’t mind me asking? Kind of hard to tell, if you know what I mean.”
Despite the lively salsa music, a twist of unease stabbed her stomach. She did know what Tex meant. No matter how beautifully the Master Shark’s body moved to the rhythm, no hint of warmth showed in his face. She’d known rocks with more expression.
Is he enjoying himself? she wondered with a twinge of guilt. Or am I just tormenting the poor man?
She cast a glance back where she’d left him lurking in a shadowed corner—and caught a glimpse of his hulking, armored form ducking out the doorway. Her sense of unease grew.
He’s probably just gone out to get some air, she tried to tell herself. He’s wearing inch-thick steel, fo
r crying out loud. No doubt he needs to cool down. He’ll be back.
Nonetheless, her inner coyote nipped at her heels. Gathering up a glass of water, she hurried after him.
“Uh, Master Shark?” she called out self-consciously—for Heaven’s sake, why couldn’t the man have a proper name? “Everything all right?”
“Yes.” He’d retreated to the end of the veranda again, both hands braced on the wooden railing, his back to her.
“I brought you some water.” A little tentatively, she set it down on the rail, next to his left hand.
He didn’t look round. “Thank you.”
Almost, her nerve broke. But damn it, she was an alpha coyote. She’d faced down rattlesnake gangs and poachers, screaming toddlers and sullen teenagers. She’d never backed down from a challenge. She wasn’t going to let a mere giant, brooding, armored shark king intimidate her now.
“Hey.” She tugged on his arm, forcing him to look down at her. “Are you having a good time?”
“It is the best night of my life.” Though his flat, toneless voice made it difficult to tell, she was pretty certain he sincerely meant it.
“Then what’s wrong?”
Even as she said it, she knew exactly what was wrong. She knew what it was that kept his face still and expressionless. Much as she tried to deny it, she had the same cold, rock-like lump in her own chest.