# **Contents**

SW Header

BLURB

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Other Stories

**TOUCHING PARADISE**

Smashwords Edition

Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer:

**TOUCHING PARADISE** © 2014 by Cleo Peitsche. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is for entertainment purposes only.

Cover photo © 2014 by Cormar Covers.

**This book contains mature content and is solely for adults. **

Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing this ebook. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I look forward to sharing more of my stories with you.

Why join my mailing list? Because I release new stories at a special price to thank my readers!

xoxo,

Cleo

**Other Titles By Cleo**

**After Forever/Bisexual Billionaire Trilogy (Threesome Romance)**

Careless

Hopeless

Fearless

After Forever Box Set

**Office Toy Series (BDSM Gang Bang Romance)**

Office Toy

Client Satisfaction

Company Vacation

Flex Time

Soft Skills

Executive Package

**By a Dangerous Man (BDSM Erotic Romantic Suspense)**

Trapped by a Dangerous Man

Wanted by a Dangerous Man

Saved by a Dangerous Man

Tempted by a Dangerous Man

Seduced by a Dangerous Man

**The Shark Shifter Paranormal Romance**

Touching Paradise

**Take Me Hard Series (BDSM Romance)**

Ride Me Hard

Love Me Hard

Use Me Hard

Take Me Hard Compilation #1

Push Me Hard

**Fantasy Playland Series (BDSM)**

Sleeping Lady

Sleeping chez Sade

Wide Awake

Wide Open

His Kiss

Fantasy Playland Box Set

**Mistress Moi Series (Femdom)**

My Three Slaves

Cuckold Chuck

Faye-Faye and the Sadist

**Bad Boyfriend Series (Femdom Romance)**

Bad Boyfriend

**Anthologies**

Underground Erotica
**_TOUCHING PARADISE_** _is an erotic paranormal romance of 41,000 words. _

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_Despite his billions in the bank, Koenraad is a shark shapeshifter haunted by secrets and regrets. Unable to move on with his life, he relentlessly patrols the waters near the island he once considered home. Fate puts the beautiful Monroe in his path, and duty demands he offer his services, but one look into her eyes and he knows the lonely, frightened woman secretly yearns for adventure._

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_Monroe is having a hard time getting into the vacation spirit. She's surrounded by powdery white sand and swaying palm trees, but she's terrified of the ocean. When her tour boat breaks down at sea, she's thrilled to skip the so-called trip of a lifetime. However, a gorgeous man with a sleek yacht is determined to change her mind... and maybe her life._

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_Contains explicit sexual content and graphic language that may be objectionable to some readers. Includes sexual dominance and submission and very mild BDSM elements. For adults only._

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**Prologue**

Koenraad whipped through the cool blue ocean, each slice of his crescent tail propelling him faster, the water rushing over his powerful body. Two minutes earlier, he'd sensed a boat approaching his yacht... and that could only mean one thing.

He hoped, oh god, he hoped it was good news.

A large school of bluefin tuna scattered before him in terror. He passed through a drifting tangle of seaweed, felt a clump snag on his triangular dorsal fin before tearing away.

He didn't slow as he neared his yacht. Instead, he exploded out of the water, shifting human mid-air, landing on the deck in a crouch with a graceless, wet thump.

His light blond hair was in need of a cut, and he shoved the dripping mass out of his eyes as he straightened. The dangerously fast pounding of his heart and his burning lungs rendered him momentarily speechless, but he kept the pain off his face.

"So this is what you're doing out here weeks on end," Darius said in a lazy drawl. "Your touchdown needs work, but it's a nice trick." He was leaning casually against the rail of his own sixty-foot yacht, a straw hat shading his eyes. The whiteness of his elegant beard contrasted with his ruddy face. Despite the humidity, his Bermuda shorts and tan shirt were crisp.

Koenraad continued to gulp down air while he scrutinized the other boat. No sign of the boy, and he didn't smell him, either. Just Darius and two bodyguards.

He turned his attention to Darius, praying the man's next words would put an end to his nightmare.

But Darius shook his head, and Koenraad's heart sank.

"It's time for us to have a chat." Darius easily hopped the twelve feet that separated the vessels.

Koenraad bristled. It was bad form to board a boat without permission, and he didn't like or trust Darius. "You... here to help—" He really couldn't catch his breath. Every shifter knew better than to change to human in the middle of intense exertion. It was a good way to drop dead. Too much strain on the heart and circulatory system.

"Help you what? Indulge your insanity and obsession? Seems you've got that well in hand." Darius softened his assessment with an uptick of his reddish lips. "Hot today," he said as he lowered himself onto one of the padded bench seats.

"If you're overheated, there's plenty of empty ocean to cool off in." Koenraad's voice was still raspy, but his meaning came through just fine.

"I know you're grieving, so I'm going to overlook your tone. How about offering me a refreshment? Seems the polite thing to do."

"I'm sure you've got some on your boat."

The genteel man's face turned sharp. "You're swimming in shallow water, Koenraad."

"Let me see about your refreshment." He nearly added a _your highness_ , but stopped himself at the last moment. He went into the galley, feeling dazed, like he'd been woken unexpectedly. Blinking, he stared at the luxury that surrounded him. The custom-made wood cabinetry and furniture alone had cost tens of thousands. Now the excess made him sick. He hated it, hated that it was beautiful, that it reminded him of happier times. He wanted to destroy everything, sink this yacht.

His money, his power, his abilities... all useless.

He braced himself against the sink and took a deep breath, followed by another. He needed to get a grip. Losing his temper wouldn't get him what he wanted.

As soon as he'd mastered his emotions, he put on a pair of linen pants, grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator and rejoined Darius, who hadn't moved.

"Much obliged," Darius said. He took his time opening the bottle, then slowly began to slake his thirst.

Koenraad stared blindly out over the expanse of blue water. He always knew which direction Tureygua was, but if he hadn't, the breeze would have betrayed the island's position as due west. The scents of suntan lotion, deep-fried food and human sweat mixed with petroleum and warm vegetation.

Tureygua. It was supposed to be a paradise, but for him, it was hell. He didn't care if he never set foot on it again.

"I know you're grieving, Koenraad, and it's clouding your thinking. You blame Victoria, but she's distraught, too. Brady was her son as well. Do you think this is easy for her?"

His anger mounting again, Koenraad held up a hand, but Darius wasn't finished. "Even if you find him, then what? He's a shark."

"He's your nephew and a shifter!"

"He was an animal. A _shark_ ," Darius pronounced. His steely blue gaze seemed to look into Koenraad's soul. Finally Darius shook his head. "What was your plan, anyway? Would you have kept him in your pool? Fed him fish flakes twice a day?" Darius removed his hat, revealing a bald dome fringed with snowy white hair, and set it on his knee.

"Why are you here?"

"Courtesy. I've asked Victoria to patrol Tureygua. She'll be here in a couple of days. Plenty of time to clear out if you need to—"

"No." Koenraad looked down at his hand, surprised that it was suddenly wet. He had crushed the water bottle in his fist. He stiffly walked into the galley to dispose of the ruined plastic.

The oceans would reek of Victoria, and she would, no doubt, be fighting to get into his bed, spouting nonsense about keeping the shark shifter lines pure, about replacing Brady.

She had torn his life apart twice. Once when she got pregnant after an ill-advised one-night stand when he was twenty-two. That moment of weakness had been a mistake... yet it had led to the best thing in his life.

Yes, Brady had been different. Six years old and he'd never learned to speak, and he was so frail that he seemed half his age. Often, the boy would spend hours staring at the ocean with unbridled longing. But Koenraad had known his son's gentle soul. Brady wasn't a mindless animal, not then and not now.

The second time Victoria had ruined his life was when she allowed Brady into the ocean alone. For that, Koenraad would never forgive her. Or himself.

He had spared no expense in the search for Brady, burning through tens of millions of dollars within weeks. Through bribery or promised favors, he'd forced every marine shifter he knew into the search. But increasingly, it was clear that he was the only one who cared.

Koenraad didn't give a damn if his son never managed to shift human again. Once he found him—and he would, even if it cost every cent of his fortune—then Koenraad would shift shark, and they could leave for good. They would migrate the globe together, skirt the ice of Antarctica, taste the waters of Australia.

He was going to find Brady, and that meant staying near Tureygua. He wouldn't quit or be run off.

The boiling rage settled to a simmer, and he stalked back out onto the deck.

He planted himself in front of Darius. "If Victoria shows up here, there will be blood in the water."

"No one wants to patrol islands instead of living free. I know it's a bad job. If I had someone else to do it... Don't suppose you're interested?"

Koenraad glowered down at Darius, but he knew the older man had the upper hand. He'd been trapped.

Darius offered up a thin smile. "It's for the good of the community."

"If I agree—"

"Victoria stays away. Frankly, I don't see why you hate her so much—"

"She's a manipulative monster."

Darius shrugged, donned his hat and stood. "Runs in our family. I'll send over a contract tonight."
**Chapter 1**

****

**Two Years Later**

The wind rushed in from the dark ocean, ruffling the bottom of Monroe's lime-green bridesmaid's dress and raising goosebumps over her bare arms. She wanted to hide under the blankets in her hotel room, beyond the reach of the chilly Caribbean evening breeze. Instead, she took another nose-burning gulp from the bottle of champagne she had swiped during her graceless escape forty minutes earlier.

She needed to pull herself together.

Five more minutes. Then she'd go back inside.

She eased off her heels and flexed her toes while holding onto the rail for balance. The concrete of the balcony was chilly under her feet. Why was the evening so cold, anyway? When she'd arrived in Tureygua that afternoon, it had been so blistering hot that she'd longed for the icy streets of New York.

Several stories below, young surfers smoked something that hadn't popped out of a cigarette machine. The individual words of their banter were swallowed by the laughing cadences of their speech.

She sighed and took another swallow. Even though there was a roomful of people who loved her not so far away, she felt lonely, stuck halfway between youthful freedom and adult responsibility.

"Monroe!"

Monroe groaned when she saw Tara, looking like an adorable green pompom in her dress, coming unsteadily toward her.

Repositioning herself to hide the bottle of champagne, Monroe forced a smile onto her face. The effort made her cheeks ache. "Are the newlyweds having fun?"

Tara nodded slowly, her head tilting, her blue eyes inching over Monroe. "You're avoiding us. Maybe you can fool everyone else, but I know better." She wobbled a moment, then braced herself against the railing next to Monroe.

Even tipsy, Tara was too perceptive. Monroe smiled harder. "Are they looking for me...?"

"Everyone is drunk. Don't worry," Tara said gently. "So... Thomas really had to work?"

Tara's gaze shifted away. She was, Monroe realized, giving her an out. Making it easy to lie again.

Which, for some reason, made her eyes prickle with tears. She stared out at the water, dark and foreboding under the moon.

Finally Tara leaned forward and snagged the hidden bottle of champagne, her wedding band clinking against the thick glass, and took a hearty swig. "Imagine if we'd had booze this good back in college," she said. "We never would have graduated."

"You should get back to Lee. I'm heading to bed soon, anyway."

"Monroe—"

"I just need to be alone. You're not being a bad friend."

Tara fidgeted for a moment. "Ok," she sighed. "I'll cover for you if anyone asks. By the way, did you decide if you're coming on the scuba boat with us tomorrow? I double-checked, and you can snorkel, no problem."

_Oh, that_. The idea of bobbing around in the middle of the ocean terrified her. Even Tara didn't know about that phobia. "Haven't decided. There are some boutiques I want to check out."

"Hey, I wanna go shopping, too. We'll do it after. You should come. It's just us girls... The boat company brings food and beer and everything we could possibly need. Party boat."

"Maybe. Probably. Maybe." She sighed. "Ok, fine. What time?"

"Great!" Tara squealed. "Shuttle comes at 7:30. I'll email the tour guides right away." Tara fussed with the corner of Monroe's dress. "Whatever happened, you're too good for him, you know."

"Noted."

Tara went back inside, and Monroe turned back to the ocean, feeling simultaneously better and worse about herself. Tara had gotten married the year before. Now that Linda was married and Nya's wedding was in a few months, Monroe was the last single girl in their group.

She didn't mind being unmarried—she had plenty of time to settle down—but it would be nice to have a boyfriend who lasted longer than a pair of cheap shoes. Really, all she wanted was a man who could be bothered to show up at weddings. Was that too much to ask?

Two inches of champagne remained in the bottle. She poured them down her throat, then forced her cold and swollen feet back into the shoes.

Inside, everyone was dancing, laughing loudly, snapping photos with their phones. Merrily celebrating. She slipped around the perimeter of the room and ducked through a door at the edge, then hurried to the elevator.

Safely inside her own room, she put on pajamas. To distract herself from the gnawing ache in her soul, she flipped through the guide books on the night stand next to the bed. So many photos of happy tourists riding horses in the surf or getting massages next to a beautiful sunset.

There were a few articles, too. She skimmed one about the history of Tureygua and learned that Spaniards had enslaved the native population. Then the island had fallen under Dutch rule. Now it was independent.

She flipped past an ad for kitesurfing, and on the next page was an article entitled, "The Shark Warriors of Tureygua." Her eyes skimmed the first paragraph, then she slowed, curious.

The original inhabitants had claimed the waters were infested with magical sharks that could transform into humans. But not really humans, she learned as she read. They only looked like humans, and they couldn't speak, and sometimes they had gills and triangular shark heads. They seduced the local women and were said to have "two male organs."

There was even a laughable drawing of a group of bare-chested, shark-headed men holding spears. Unfortunately, they wore loincloths.

Monroe decided the myth wasn't so far-fetched. People who settled in wooded areas had their Abominable Snowmen, so why wouldn't islanders have Shark Warriors? It made perfect sense.

Living in New York came with a badge of skepticism, and Monroe's was laminated and framed. Still, it was fun to imagine humans with big shark heads staggering out of the waves. The creatures would have toppled over.

Two organs, though... How would that work? It seemed complicated.

A laugh bubbled up in her throat. Why the hell was she trying to make sense of it? Or even thinking about it in the first place?

She looked at the picture again, and her giggles subsided. Other than the shark heads, the guys were hot. Broad shoulders. Muscles on top of muscles. _Yum._

Then she started crying.
**Chapter 2**

****

Several hours later, Monroe woke to pounding on her door. Her nose was congested, her mouth cottony. When she sat up, the veins in her head throbbed. Dehydrated.

"I know you're in there!" Tara sang out. One of Monroe's neighbors thumped the wall, and Monroe dragged herself out of bed.

She eased open the door, but Tara pushed her way in. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked Monroe.

"Too late to be screaming in the hallway," Monroe said as she closed the door.

"Time for you to tell me what the hell happened. The reception is over. Spit it out."

"Thomas had to work," she said with a shrug that was supposed to be casual.

Tara nodded. "And?"

"He's up for a promotion."

"And?"

Monroe shrugged again.

"So he dumped you?"

"He didn't dump me. By the way, isn't this badgering the witness? Can you get disbarred?"

Tara wasn't having it. "Then what?"

Seconds ticked painfully by. Finally Monroe said, "This couldn't wait until morning?"

"Nope."

Maybe it was because she was half asleep, or maybe she knew Tara would get the story in the end, but Monroe said, "He volunteered to take the extra load. Volunteered. He didn't _have_ to work."

"Oh, shit. That's awful."

"Yeah." And that wasn't the half of it, but she didn't feel like sharing more. She filled a glass of water from the bathroom faucet and drank it, then poured herself a second one. The throbbing in her temples receded.

"So you dumped him," Tara said.

"Well, no. We fought about it for an hour last night."

Terrible things had been said. Awful things that made her face burn with shame.

Oh, Thomas had given as good as he got. Better, even. If half the things he'd said were true...

"I think he didn't want to come." Monroe squeezed the words out quickly, forcing them around the lump in her throat.

"He's a dick," Tara said crisply.

"Wait... you really think he's a dick, or you're just being a good friend? Or you're drunk—"

"I can't fucking stand him."

Monroe suddenly felt completely awake. She swallowed hard. "Why?"

Tara pursed her lips and exhaled. "He's smug. Condescending. And he wears way too much cologne."

"He's not that bad," Monroe insisted. "He's really smart, and definitely ambitious, and he takes good care of himself."

Tara rolled her eyes. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you pretend that the guy you're dating is exactly what you want. You're twenty-six! You need to be pickier. Let me tell you what you want. A smart man who's confident but not arrogant. You want someone who won't play games. You want your intellectual and emotional equal, but you want magic, too."

Now it was Monroe's turn to roll her eyes, but she felt hysteria mounting, and she shoved it firmly down. "Everyone wants that," she said, her voice strained. "Can we change the subject? Please."

"No." Tara sat on the edge of Monroe's bed.

Monroe stared in surprise at her best friend. "No?"

"Tell me what happened."

"I told you already. We fought."

"And? Come on, Monroe. I know there's more to the story."

"You know how fights are."

"I don't know _you_ in a fight. You never fight."

"Apparently I do."

Tara kicked off her heels and swung her feet up on the bed. "This is me getting comfortable. I'm not leaving until you tell me."

Unfortunately, Monroe believed her. She sighed, then lowered herself to the edge of the bed. "During the fight, certain things came out."

Murder flashed in Tara's eyes. "For example?"

"Apparently, I'm boring," she whispered. "I think he meant it, cause when he said it, he got this look like 'whoops.' Like it was something he believed but didn't want to say." She had to blink her eyes to keep the tears at bay.

"Unbelievable." Tara's fingers wrapped around hers. "Listen to me. Thomas is a dick. You're shy, not boring. You're smart and you have that awesome subversive humor and you're definitely one of the most interesting people I know. You're amazing. Ok?" She strangled Monroe's hand until she nodded in agreement.

"He's been taking you for granted almost since the beginning. I'm glad things came to a head." Tara popped off the bed. "Forgive the timing, but I need to use your bathroom."

Monroe dug out her phone. Thomas hadn't called or emailed. He might have texted; texting didn't seem reliable on the island. But he wouldn't "get points" for a text.

She remembered the disgust on his face as he'd yelled, "You get no points for adventure. You're lucky you're kinda hot, because you're boring."

That had cut to the quick. She'd skipped right over the _kinda hot_. "I'm boring? You're the one who has Harvard-branded everything. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is? You look like a billboard with glasses. That's why I try to arrange dates so you're coming straight from work, but half the time you're wearing a Harvard tie!"

"I bleed crimson!" he'd screamed.

"It's pathetic. And your point system blows!" Then she'd stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

That hadn't stopped the fight though.

Was he right? Had he blurted out the truth that no one else dared tell her?

On the other hand, he'd also called her needy, and that was the furthest thing from the truth. How many times had she bitten her tongue when he canceled a date at the last minute? It wasn't easy in the investment banking industry these days, and she'd been understanding. Look where that had gotten her. No wonder he took her for granted.

Tara came out of the bathroom. "Think I drank too much," she said as she collected her shoes. "I'd better get to bed. Are you alright?"

"I feel better." The most awful fight of her life, and she'd had to pretend nothing was wrong. That had made everything worse. Later, she and Tara would dissect what was said in detail, of course, but she'd needed to get it off her chest. "A lot better, actually. Thanks."

Tara nodded and quickly left the room.

Monroe's stomach growled, and she realized she was starving. She hadn't taken a single bite of her dinner... hadn't eaten anything except a bag of pretzels since the fight.

She switched on the lamp next to her carryon bags and caught a horrifying glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her waist-length hair, light brown with blonde highlights, was completely mussed. The side of her face was red, a crease running from her mouth to her nose.

She yanked her hair into a ponytail and changed into jeans and a tee, then went looking for food.

The lobby was deserted, all the hotel's restaurants closed. Monroe stood looking at the darkened rooms.

There was a quiet noise, and she turned to see a composed woman in her sixties walk behind the receptionist's desk. "Can I help you?" the clerk asked.

"Are any nearby restaurants still open?"

The clerk twisted her head to consult the clock on the wall behind her. "Room service shuts down in ten minutes." The phone she set on the counter looked older than Monroe. "I can call in the order if you like."

"Grilled cheese?"

"Of course. Room number?"

"Is it possible for me to eat over there?" She pointed at the deserted breakfast buffet room. The clerk nodded, and Monroe went to choose a table.

She turned on the ancient overhead television and sat, pulling up another chair to prop up her aching feet.

"Do you want to transform your life?" a pantsuited woman boomed on the screen. She wore a mauve blouse with a glittering peacock brooch at the neck. Her fingernails were the shiniest Monroe had ever seen. "Do you want a better life? Let me hear you!"

"Yes!" the audience responded.

"Then what do you have to do?" the woman asked, her rings flashing as she gripped her microphone tighter.

"Change our minds!"

"That's right!" the woman enthused. "Change your mind to transform your life. We dream big. We want careers and families and to be healthy. You know exactly what I'm talking about, amiright? Am I?"

The camera panned over the audience, showing women—for the audience was 98% female—nodding their heads. Monroe wished Tara were there. They loved to poke fun at these kinds of shows. A wave of loneliness washed over her.

_"Change Your Mind to Transform Your Life... Order Now, Pay Later"_ flashed across the bottom of the screen, complete with a book and DVD case adorned with a perkier, blonder version of the speaker.

Monroe sighed and glanced at the clock.

"And what is the secret? Being _aware_ of opportunity knocking. Being open to change. Making your own opportunities. You're wondering how to do that. Well, guess what? You don't have to worry because I am here today to break it down for you."

Monroe laughed quietly as she turned down the volume. Great sales pitch. Teach people how to be spontaneous by prescribing a detailed plan. Tara would have been having a field day.

A skinny man in a long, crooked apron cautiously peeked his head into the breakfast area. He gripped a large plate with both hands. Golden onion rings threatened to spill over the sides. The sandwich was enormous, a triple-decker with fat slices of bread and slivers of tomato squeezing melted layers of cheese.

"You're my hero!" Monroe said, smiling, and the man placed the plate in front of her. She charged it to her room and left a big tip to make up for the late-night order.

He glanced up at the television. "My wife has that book."

"Really?"

He smiled. "It's a catchy phrase, no? She tells everyone about it. She's the kind of woman who likes to believe in things."

"Does she believe in the shark warriors, too?" Monroe asked with a laugh.

The man's face went serious. "There hasn't been a fatal shark attack near this island in over a hundred years. The warriors keep us safe."

Monroe's smile froze. "You don't think it's because overfishing has depleted the shark population?"

"There are mysteries in this life that we can never know." His expression softened as if he felt sorry for her.

"I'm... sure you're right. The food looks great." She hooked an onion ring on her finger, then dunked it in ketchup.

"Enjoy your vacation," he said formally, seeming to remember that she was a guest.

She wished him a good night as he walked out, then she took a big bite into the gooey sandwich. It probably wasn't half as good as her untouched gourmet dinner at Linda's wedding reception, but it was exactly what she needed. Comfort food. The bread was perfectly toasted, lightly browned and crunchy. She devoured the sandwich, then shoveled the spicy coleslaw into her mouth, alternating bites with the salty, greasy onion rings. When every last crumb was gone, she wiped her fingers clean and slumped back in the chair, relaxed.

That was probably two days' worth of calories, but she was on vacation. Only boring people stuck to diets on vacation. She wrinkled her nose. Did that count as changing her mind? Eating artery-clogging food was unlikely to transform her life in any positive way. Except she did feel better, so maybe that counted. She nodded. That definitely counted.

_Change your mind to transform your life._ Or was it the other way around? Transform your mind...? She didn't remember. And it didn't matter because it was all self-affirmation nonsense. It would never work.

Back in the room, her thoughts turned to Thomas again. _Kinda hot._ Jerk.

She was taller than average, a little heavier than average. She had a definite hourglass shape that had embarrassed her when she hit puberty before her friends. Her legs were strong, thanks to spinning class. No one would allow her within a hundred feet of a fashion runway, but she wasn't a troll, either. She couldn't really blame her bad luck with men on her looks.

New York was the problem. The male/female ratio sucked. There was a reason Linda had met Marco during a Chicago business trip.

Maybe she'd meet someone after the boat outing and have a sexy dirty _nasty_ fling before going home exhausted but wiser. Ignore phone calls from Thomas, then pretend not to recognize him if they passed on the street. _Thomas? Sorry, your name doesn't ring a bell. Where did you say we met?_ She smiled, imagining holding up her hand, thumb and forefinger only centimeters apart. _I'm getting a little memory now, a teeny, tiny one..._

She snorted out a laugh. Yeah, right. She'd never have the balls to do something like that. And despite what Tara thought, Thomas wasn't so very bad. Was he?

Funny, but now that she thought about it, she didn't miss Thomas __ so much as having a goddamn date. Someone to hold her purse while she snapped candid photos of the newlyweds dancing. A bringer of drinks and an opener of doors. And, ok, someone to share the bed with, but that sat sadly low on her list of regrets. But then, she and Thomas weren't exactly keeping the neighbors awake, and it had nothing to do with the size of his equipment.

Maybe that's what he'd meant by _boring._ Bad in the sack.

_Oh, god_. Now it made sense. Kinda hot but boring. She'd wondered why he'd said it like that, what one had to do with the other. No wonder he'd looked horrified after it slipped out.

What bullshit. _He_ was the boring one.

Forget him, forget him...

She checked her messages, which didn't take any time whatsoever because she had none. Tara was right. Thomas was a dick. Any halfway decent man would have sent at least one email apologizing again, asking how the wedding had gone.

"Screw you," she said, and tossed the phone onto the empty bed next to her. For some reason, the life coach's words suddenly bubbled to the surface. _Change your mind to transform your life. _

What would a transformed life even look like for her? All she did was work, and she couldn't walk away from her job. Well, there was one thing a transformed life wouldn't include, and she was going to fix that right now.

She retrieved her phone and wrote Thomas a very clear email, then hit send before flopping back onto the bed.

So. Now she was single. Again. She smiled. Better to be alone than to have a crappy, unreliable boyfriend... even if he'd given nice massages and made her laugh. He smelled nice. And the sex wasn't _terrible._

She scrambled for her phone, hoping the email hadn't gone through. But there it was, in her sent messages. She reread it, chewing on her lip. " _Thomas, this isn't working. We both deserve to be with someone who prioritizes us and the relationship above everything else. I truly wish you the best._ "

What was wrong with her that she felt equal parts relieved and nauseous?

Groaning, she slid down and pulled the covers over her head.
**Chapter 3**

At 7:40 the next morning, Monroe was frowning at her reflection. As if Thomas's lack of response wasn't hard enough on her ego, she hated the way she looked in a bikini. Or, at least, in _this_ bikini. It was brand new, purchased the year before at an end-of-season sale. She always washed new clothing before wearing it; she must have accidentally sent the swimsuit through the hot water cycle.

The bikini covered all the essentials... barely. She was definitely spilling out of it. And the floral print was brightly colored. Just her luck. The suit had gotten smaller but the colors hadn't faded. It was a _look at me_ thing to wear.

Thank goodness it was a halter top or her boobs would have been falling out the bottom.

Shaking her head, she pulled a yellow coverup dress over her head and slipped on flip-flops, then grabbed her beach bag.

She eyed her phone. Would she be able to enjoy herself if she brought it? No, she'd be checking nonstop.

When she reached the lobby, her friends were nowhere in sight. Her stomach twisted. She wasn't _that_ late. Was she?

She walked out onto the bright orange sidewalk and squinted in the morning sun. Gulls wheeled overhead, squawking. It was a lovely morning, the perfect day for an outing.

"Are you Monroe?" A tall and slender long-faced woman wearing a backward baseball hat tentatively approached.

"Yes."

The woman smiled. "Excellent. My name is Sosie, I'm from Dive Happy Caribbean, and I'll be your driver and lead guide. This way."

They approached an empty van with the company's name painted on the side, and guilt washed over Monroe. "I'm so sorry you had to hang back for me. Please tell me the others didn't wait before leaving."

Sosie pursed her lips and stopped walking. "Um, no. Your friends canceled. You didn't know?"

Monroe's stomach dropped, and her hands went cold despite the sun. "Canceled?"

Sosie squinted a little. "I didn't take the call but I think they're sick."

"Sick?" Monroe knew she sounded like a parrot, but Sosie wasn't making any sense. "That's not possible." She hurried back inside. "I need to call my friend upstairs," she said to the startled receptionist, who looked no older than sixteen.

"Um..." The clerk's eyes went wide in confusion. "I don't know..."

Monroe leaned over the counter and groped blindly for the phone. Another clerk hurried over and set the phone on the counter.

Hands shaking, she dialed, but no one answered. She was on the verge of sprinting up to Tara's room when a faint voice said, "Yeah?"

Monroe's hand tightened on the phone. "Can you hear me?"

"What's wrong? Shit. You don't have anyone to look after you."

Sadly true—though Monroe didn't see why it was coming up _now_. __ "Did you really cancel?"

"Food poisoning. Linda should have called you. Guess you're one of the lucky ones."

"I didn't eat at the reception." The news sank in. "Oh! I'm so sorry." She didn't dare ask how bad it was; Tara could be squeamish. But if Tara was answering the phone, there probably wasn't a need to call an ambulance.

"Not half as sorry as I am, believe me. Linda feels awful about it, and I think I'll need a divorce because I cannot be intimate with a man capable of some of the things I've seen and heard the last few hours."

Monroe could tell that her friend was pushing herself, forcing a cheer she clearly didn't feel. "What can I do? You need Pepto?"

"No. Enjoy the snorkeling."

"I'm not going alone!"

"Why not? The fee is nonrefundable. Thousands of bucks down the drain if you cancel."

Monroe frowned. Everyone knew she hated wasting money. She'd once sat through a football game in a quasi-hurricane because she'd learned the tickets had cost several hundred dollars. She didn't even like sports.

"You know what you can do?" Tara asked. "Go. Have fun. Take photos. Then I can Photoshop myself into them later. Ok? Do that for me? I'm serious."

_Damn._ She couldn't even yell about the blatant manipulation because Tara was sick. "Ok," she said. "Feel better, and I'll check on you when I get in."

"Don't," Tara insisted. "Let us have our dignity. HavefunIgottago—" She hung up abruptly, leaving Monroe wincing.

Sosie was waiting a bit off to the side. "Everything good?" she asked.

"Sort of. I need to grab my camera."

"You don't." Sosie smiled, her teeth a white flash in her freckled, tan face. "We've got two professional underwater cameras. We'll document everything. It's our deluxe package."

Sosie drove them about half an hour away. Monroe stared out the window at the brightly painted, squat Caribbean houses while feeling lonelier than ever. She'd really been looking forward to spending some quality time with her friends, sans menfolk. Never mind that she'd dragged her feet about coming along; she couldn't have passed this up. And, she realized, _this_ was what she hadn't felt about Thomas. She didn't miss him. She'd definitely made the right decision. People would be shocked when they heard how she did it, but a man who stood her up at the last minute and then couldn't be bothered to check in deserved an email breakup.

She wondered if he'd responded yet.

"Sosie, hypothetical question. In your opinion, what's worse: being boring, or being dumped by a boring person?"

"Being boring," Sosie said, not missing a beat. "It's harder to fix. A boring person dumps you, it saves you the trouble of having to dump them, right?"

"Right." So Thomas was probably celebrating being rid of her. Just great.

As they walked into Dive Happy Caribbean's shop, Sosie quizzed Monroe about her diving experience.

"None," Monroe said. "I can barely swim."

Sosie frowned. "I thought..." She shook her head. "We'll figure it out."

A strikingly handsome man with dark skin looked up as they entered. Monroe pegged him as being in his early twenties. "Hello!" he boomed. "What's this about no diving?"

"My friends are certified," Monroe said, feeling pathetic. "They canceled. I was just coming along to snorkel."

"No problem," he said, flashing that irresistible smile. Monroe wondered if he was in the habit of seducing single women on vacation. She could imagine he was very good at it. Too bad he wasn't a bit older...

"Take _Dragon_ ," he said to Sosie.

Sosie went behind the counter and flipped open a binder in which she recorded the time and then made some notes. She closed the binder and stowed it. "I thought _Dragon_ was out of play this week?"

The handsome man shook his head dismissively. "She only needed a little pep talk." He winked at Monroe, and she felt her knees go weak. This guy was way too smooth for her, but the attention felt damned good. "Sign here." He slid several forms over for Monroe's attention.

She filled out her address and phone number and scribbled her name and the date at the bottom. The man made the papers disappear into a bulging expandable folder. Sosie turned to her. "Ready to have fun?"

Monroe's mouth went dry. "Where exactly are we going?"

Sosie walked her to a wall map. "I have three sites to show you. We'll do some snorkeling by this island here. They have a nice coral reef. Then, over here... it's usually for divers, but I've been very lucky with the wild dolphins, if that interests you?"

"She's lucky. Has a three-week streak," the man boomed. "Wild dolphins are beautiful creatures. You will feel nature looking at you."

"What about sharks? Will they be looking, too?" Monroe asked, stalling. The truth was that she was terrified of deep water. She didn't like it above her waist, and she was a terrible swimmer. Not being a good swimmer made her avoid water... It was a vicious cycle.

"And then we'll do some more snorkeling here. The most beautiful fish you've ever seen, and tons of sea turtles. We call it Eden Underwater." Sosie wasn't getting Monroe's permission; this was the itinerary.

But Monroe could call it off. And she should, because frankly, she wasn't going to enjoy herself. The tour guides wouldn't care, not if the payment was nonrefundable.

"Ready?" Sosie smiled, apparently not noticing Monroe's discomfort.

"Enjoy your tour of paradise," the handsome man said with another wink. "One day here can change your life forever."

Monroe's excuse was on her lips, but his words lodged in her heart. _Change your mind to transform your life. _

The echo of the night before threw her off guard, so instead of admitting that this was a mistake, she found herself following Sosie down a little pathway and onto a dock. There were a dozen iguanas sunning themselves on an uneven pile of rocks. Monroe stared. They were stunning. Some bright green, others bluish. Some had spikes, others were smooth. She felt like she'd been dropped into a miniature Jurassic Park set.

"Whose iguanas?" Monroe asked.

"You must not have been here long. They're wild, all over the island. This way." Sosie led Monroe onto a boat the size of a city bus.

"Welcome aboard _Dragon_ ," Sosie said. "Dive Happy Caribbean is fifty years old, and she was Pietr's first ship. In 1980 he purchased a second boat, and now our fleet is nine strong. Eleven, if you count two boats that we occasionally lease during the high season."

"It's not very big, is it?" Monroe walked the width of the vessel, avoiding looking into the dark water. She would have felt much more comfortable on something the size of an aircraft carrier.

Sosie laughed. "Normally we do take a larger boat, but she'll do just fine," she promised.

"Because it's just me."

"That and because we're snorkeling, not diving. Divers require equipment. We'll make one stop to pick up Ralph because his car died—oh, there he is!" She began waving, and Monroe turned to see a short, wide man with brownish-orange dreadlocks hanging to his waist. His T-shirt read, "Keep Calm and Whip Yo' Hair." He was panting as he hurried up to the boat. "Had to borrow Luke's bike," he said to Sosie.

"He let you take the new scooter?"

"No, the bike. You attach your feet to the wheels via pedals and churn your legs." He rolled his arms and shoulders in a rhythmic circular motion. "It's torture, woman." He turned to Monroe. "I'm Ralph." He pumped her arm enthusiastically.

She liked him immediately. This was the right choice, she decided, and she was going to have fun. Day One of her changed life. She peeled off her sundress, settled onto a plastic chair on the boat's deck, closed her eyes and tilted her head back, enjoying the feel of the sun warming her skin.

It was a good thing she liked Sosie and Ralph, because forty minutes later they were floating in the sea, the motor refusing to engage, a burned, acrid smell in the air.

Sosie and Ralph apologized profusely, but Monroe didn't mind. Secretly, she was ecstatic. Now she wouldn't have to disappoint them—or herself—by not getting in the water.
**Chapter 4**

Although he was half a mile away, Koenraad was aware that _Dragon_ had entered his territory. How could he not be? It was an old thing, and it should have been retired years ago. It leaked oil through the exhaust and into the water. His water.

The temptation to swim up late one night and make off with a few crucial engine parts had never been stronger. It was time to have another talk with Pietr, and this time he'd make it official. Pietr, of course, wouldn't realize it was official. Like most humans, Pietr didn't know anything about the small but strong society that Koenraad belonged to, but that didn't mean he wasn't subject to its rules.

Koenraad had been following a lone, battered bottlenose dolphin for about twenty minutes. The dolphin was certainly aware of him, but it pretended not to notice, no doubt hoping he'd leave it alone. Koenraad knew it was running out of air but was afraid to surface, where it would be an easy target for a large and hungry shark to attack from underneath.

The dolphin was in luck; Koenraad had no intention of eating the thing. At first he'd wondered if it was a shifter because dolphins generally didn't travel alone, but his nose told him otherwise. It was old, perhaps sick. But still, something about its behavior bothered him, so he continued to follow at a distance, trying to pinpoint the reasons for his uneasy feeling.

The boat, Koenraad realized, had stopped. That was also strange. They weren't near any of the usual tourist diving grounds. He would have frowned if he'd had eyebrows.

So much for his relaxing day off. Unfortunately, he was the only shifter patrolling these waters. The backups Darius kept promising hadn't arrived and probably never would. Koenraad could deal with trouble now or it would be waiting for him later. Humans first; he'd pick up the animal's trail later. The dolphin could surface in peace.

He turned easily and sliced through the water, his body ideally suited for that purpose. In mere minutes, the smell of oil was making him ache to shift human. Actually, it made him wish he could shift into a real human because as a shifter, his senses were never dull.

Hyper-acute senses was the worst thing about spending so much time in his shark form. He'd commissioned an enormous outdoor aquarium in the space behind his formerly favorite home on Tureygua, and even though it was more than large enough for him to keep moving, to keep water flowing over his gills, it always felt like a prison after twenty minutes.

He shook off the thought. A confined space was better than being dead in the ocean.

Then there was the day his neighbor's delinquent teenage son had shown up with two girls for an unannounced swim.

Chuckling silently, Koenraad swam under the bobbing boat, cautious in case the motor roared to life. His thick skin already bore scars from an earlier brush with propellers. Not a problem as a shark, but he'd shifted back to human too quickly that day. With scars stretching from his neck to his lower back, there was no chance of him winning a beauty contest after that.

He couldn't make out the conversation. Not coming from that boat, built like a small, floating fortress. Times like this, he wished he were a true shifter. It would be nice to turn into a cute little porpoise.

Being a great white shark, and near these islands that depended on tourism... it was better to stay out of sight.

But curiosity got the better of him, and he swam closer to the side of the boat, where he could lurk in the morning shadows.

"Really, it's fine!" a female voice insisted. It wasn't anyone he knew. Must be the customer, then. Good. If _Dragon_ had broken down with a paying customer aboard, it might not be so hard to convince Pietr to dry dock her.

"The tow should be here in about forty minutes," Ralph said. "They're helping out someone on the other side of the island."

"I know. You told me, Ralph. Really, it's fine. I'm happy to float here and enjoy the nice weather."

Koenraad inched out, curious to see this woman who had paid thousands for a charter but yet was so agreeable about the unexpected change in plans. He caught a glimpse of her hands gripping the metal railing, holding on like she expected a tempest to upend the boat. A few more inches and he saw her arms, lovely, long. Strong. Her head was turned, facing away. He followed the lines of her shoulders down. His attention focused on the sight before him. She was wearing a scandalously small bikini covered in a busy print. In his pure shark form, he perceived colors differently, but he knew that bikini was bright. He couldn't help notice that she filled it out nicely. He yearned to see her face.

She turned toward him, and he froze. So did she. Even with sunglasses covering a third of her face, he knew she was stunning. High cheekbones, a fullness in her cheeks, plump lips, a delicate chin. Her eyebrows gathered together as she inhaled, those tantalizing lips parting in a seductive oval.

"Shark!"

Koenraad slipped around to the other side of the boat, his mouth open in a grin that would have stricken fear into the heart of anyone who saw it. The boat rocked as everyone on board—he guessed it was just three—rushed to see what the woman was talking about.

"There was a shark," the woman insisted, her voice shrill and breathless. "A shark. It was huge. A great white."

"Could be." That was Sosie.

"You know there are sharks here?"

"Sure," Sosie said. "You can get in a cage and dive with them. Really, they don't bother anyone."

"Well, I'm glad the trip is canceled," the woman said.

"Canceled? We're not canceling on you."

"Oh," the woman said. "I don't know..."

"Don't worry," Ralph said. "The sharks here are well fed and have no interest in munching on humans. Humans are too bony. They can't digest us."

"No. I think... I think I want to go back to the hotel when our tow comes." There was a determined certainty in her voice.

Koenraad felt a twinge of guilt. He'd frightened her, and now she was afraid to continue her vacation. And poor Ralph and Sosie would get blamed. He shook his head slightly. He was hardly the only shark in the water, but he understood how catching a glimpse of him would give a vacationer pause. At over twenty feet long, he was large, even for a great white. But then he was large as a human, too.

With a flick of his tail, he cleaved through the water, heading for his boat.
**Chapter 5**

Monroe felt trapped. After seeing that _monster_ in the water, she now had the perfect excuse not to snorkel. Sosie and Ralph tried to calm her, and she really didn't want to hurt their feelings, but she kept repeating that she wanted to go back. Poor guides. They'd done nothing wrong. But sharks plus deep water? Her frazzled nerves could only take so much.

"Here comes Koenraad," Sosie called out to Ralph.

Monroe's heart dropped. She hadn't yet convinced them that she absolutely needed to go back. "That tugboat was fast," she said, nervousness bubbling up again. She pulled on her sundress and grabbed her beach bag.

Ralph wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. "That's not a tugboat and they wouldn't send a tug out for something this size. That's Koenraad. Nice guy. Probably wondering why we're sitting here and figured he'd motor over rather than radio."

"Oh," Monroe said, feeling stupid. But then, how could she be expected to tell the difference between types of boats? To her, they were small, medium or large. She could tell a kayak from a canoe from a cruise ship, but that was the extent of it.

Though as the boat drew closer, she realized it was too fancy to be a tugboat. It was a sleek vessel, longer than _Dragon_ , and the hull gleamed white, almost too bright to look at. There were dark-tinted windows around what she believed was called the cabin, and a second smaller level above it, where a lone figure stood.

The boat silently drifted toward them, and she caught its name. _The Good Life_. She braced herself, sure it would slam into _Dragon_ , but it stopped less than a foot away. A man came down from the upper deck of the cabin.

For some reason, she'd been expecting someone in his sixties with weatherworn skin. This man was in his late twenties or early thirties. He moved with self-assured grace, and it wasn't until he was on his deck that she realized he was quite tall, perhaps 6'5". His hair was wet, swept away from his face, and she guessed it was a light brown when dry. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and she was shocked by how dark his eyes were. From where she stood, at least, she couldn't tell the iris from the pupil. They were freaky, and she shuddered lightly.

"She thought your yacht was a tugboat, man," Ralph said, laughing.

Monroe felt her cheeks heating.

The tall stranger turned and contemplated the bulk of his boat, his head cocked as if noticing it for the first time. "I can see it," he said, not sounding the least bit offended. He turned to her and winked, then, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his loose pants, he looked at Ralph, eyebrows raised. "Problem?"

"Engine seized up. Waiting for a tow," Ralph said. He smiled. "Don't suppose you want to trade places?"

"And give up my tugboat? Never." Those weird eyes turned back to her and she realized they weren't quite black, just an impossibly dark blue ringed in lighter blue, and his pupils were overly dilated given how bright it was. There was something about this man that completely unnerved her. Not just his bizarre eyes, or his height, or the fact that he was so confident. There was something _animal_ about him.

She wasn't even quite sure what that meant, but it was the word that came to mind. She suddenly thought of the ending to a Wallace Stephens poem she'd studied in college. The exact words eluded her, but the image stuck: a lion, snoozing in the sun, seemingly harmless. And then the last line— _that_ she remembered. _It can kill a man._

Faced with this stranger, she had the same chilling feeling, that danger lurked behind his graceful beauty.

"You're welcome to use my boat," he was saying. "Actually, if you like, I can take you. You're diving?"

"Snorkel," Sosie said. "But we couldn't impose, Koenraad."

He shook his head. "Nonsense. You've helped me out a few times. I'm happy to captain, especially if you'll try to convince your boss to either fix that thing so she doesn't pollute, or retire her."

"That would be awesome," Sosie said. "What do you think?" Sosie looked at Monroe, who stared back at her, frozen, not wanting to insult the handsome stranger's generous offer.

"I really don't mind just going back to the hotel," Monroe insisted.

"I insist, miss." His polite words made her heart skip a beat. Why oh why were polite men so sexy? "Hope your fenders are in better shape than your motor," Koenraad said to Ralph.

Ralph shook his head. "I wouldn't scratch up your baby like that. Swim platform?"

Koenraad nodded, then went back up the stairs. A moment later, his boat vibrated and began to reverse in a tight radius. The back of his yacht was flat, just like _Dragon_ 's. Swim platform. Made sense.

When the boats were almost butt to butt, Sosie tossed over a few bags of supplies, then she hopped over the narrowing gap, her movements agile.

Koenraad came down the steps and through a knee-high door. He didn't seem worried about falling off of the yacht's flat back. He came right to the edge and stepped one foot over, balancing perfectly across the gently rocking boats. He extended his hand, a smile on his lips.

Suppressing a resigned sigh, Monroe tightened her grip on her beach bag and placed her hand into the stranger's. The moment they touched, two powerful and conflicting sensations flooded her: she wanted to run, but she didn't ever want to let his hand go.

Fortunately, he made the decision for her. He held her hand tight and steered her across the flat part, but as soon as she walked through the little door, he released her. Monroe stared at the immaculate deck of his boat. Her gaze jerked to the tinted windows, the gleaming walls. Luxurious boat. She suddenly remembered where she was and turned and grabbed the railing.

"Thanks, Koenraad," Ralph said. "Beers on me next week."

"I'm counting on it." Koenraad climbed the steps, and a moment later, they slowly pulled away, the engine purring quietly. Sosie went up to have a word with their new captain, and Monroe looked around the yacht.

Straight ahead were darkly tinted windows, and she saw more steps leading below deck. She was tempted to bend over and cup her hands around her eyes, take a peek inside. But that would have required letting go of the railing.

"Let's get you in a wetsuit," Sosie said, coming down the steps.

"Wetsuit?"

"It'll keep you warm and help you float."

Monroe nodded despite the coldness in the pit of her stomach. Sosie grabbed one of the bags she'd hauled over from _Dragon_ and headed down the steps. "Are you coming below deck or what?"

Monroe lunged down the steps and immediately felt more secure with something more substantial than rails between her and the water rushing by. "Wow," she breathed as she descended. The boat's interior was nothing like she'd assumed. Windows allowed copious amounts of natural light to illuminate an elegant cooking area and plushly padded benches around a platform table. A carpeted hallway led off toward the back of the boat.

"Nice yacht, huh? All of Koenraad's are top of the line." Sosie had dumped her bags in the walkway and was already struggling into a wetsuit. Monroe picked up her suit, wondering if it would even fit over her ass.

She shucked off her coverup. "He has more than one? Boat, I mean."

"He loves the water," Sosie said. "I've heard that sometimes he doesn't go home for weeks on end, which is a shame because his place is sweet."

Monroe couldn't fathom choosing to spend so much time on the ocean. Sure, it was peaceful out there, with no one else around, but all that water? No, thanks. "You've been to his place?"

"He throws parties sometimes."

"His wife doesn't mind him disappearing like that?" Monroe asked, vaguely aware that she sounded kinda nosy.

"Koenraad?" She snorted. "Not the marrying type, if you know what I mean."

A strange disappointment overcame Monroe. "Oh." She should have known. Hot, rich guy who actually had good manners could have his pick of women. Guy like that could get women to accept any sort of bad behavior. "Guess men are the same everywhere," she said, wincing at how resigned she sounded.

"No, not like that. He's not a jerk. It's more like he's not into relationships or something."

"I see," Monroe said, though she didn't. She was able to get the wetsuit on, and Sosie pulled up the zipper for her, then snapped a few photos.

"Hope you don't mind if I join you?"

Monroe jumped at the masculine voice, her hand on her throat. She could feel her pulse hammering wildly underneath her fingertips.

"Actually, it's perfect," Sosie said. "I can get some overhead shots from the boat. Ralph better watch out or you'll steal his job." She handed Monroe a snorkel and mask, then stepped back and smacked her palm on her forehead. "Oh, Koenraad, I'm so sorry. I didn't think to grab an extra mask for you. You have one, right?"

"I don't need one."

Monroe found herself following Koenraad to the low end of the boat. He fitted a small, curved ladder into notches on one side of the swim platform.

"Normally I'd say ladies first, but I'm overheated, so forgive me for impatiently jumping in." He pulled off his shirt as he spoke.

Monroe almost gasped. It wasn't because of the perfection of his golden, broad chest. Or rather, it was that, and how it contrasted with thick, ropy scars that ran from the bottom of his neck, over his clavicle, and whipped around the right side of his torso.

He removed his loose pants and Monroe had to look away. She knew that serious swimmers wore Speedos, but it was one thing to see it at a televised competition and quite another thing to be an arm's reach away. And there was a bulge, oh, yes, a definite bulge under the tight, black fabric, and while that bulge behaved innocently enough—not standing straight up or anything—the sight set her cheeks aflame. The outline of his sleeping cock burned into her mind, and the image made her think of sex. Specifically, sex with Koenraad, who wasn't some hot movie star on a screen but was a living, breathing man who was going out of his way to do her a kindness. He deserved better than to be lusted after.

Koenraad strode to the end of the platform and dove into the ocean, his body elegant and perfect. Monroe watched the area where he'd gone in, waiting for him to resurface. She wasn't going to put a toe in the water until he came back up, that was for damned sure.

A moment later his head broke through the surface. A look of pure joy illuminated his face. "It's perfect," he said. "Wait until you see the coral reef. All the bright fish."

"I'd think that living here, you'd be numb to it," she grumbled under her breath. Koenraad laughed, and she frowned because she knew she hadn't spoken loudly enough for him to hear.

She reluctantly walked to the edge of the platform and sat, thrusting her legs into the dark ocean. The side of her knee brushed the silver ladder. Its solidity was in direct contrast to the churning water that sucked and lapped at her calves.

Her hands nervous and fumbling, she fussed with the snorkel mask.

"Have you been snorkeling before?" Sosie asked, her voice hesitant.

Monroe shook her head.

"Oh. I didn't realize. We would have practiced in shallow water. It's easy. Hold on, let me get rid of the camera..." Her feet padded away, fast. Not running, Monroe noticed. You weren't supposed to ever run on a boat. She'd read that in a children's book once, and as she recalled, there was a sailor who _did_ run and who ended up drowned. There had been a drawing of some kind of spirit in the ocean, its baleful eyes greedily waiting for the disobedient sailor to tumble into its domain.

Ok, maybe that wasn't the best thing to be thinking about at the moment.

Koenraad swam closer, his movements effortless. "May I?" Those weirdly dark eyes seemed to look into her soul, and she handed him her mask just to break from his intense stare.

He slid the mask strap up his arm and gestured to her. "Come into the water," he said. "It'll be easier."

Her eyes locked with his, and her body went stiff. "I..."

He moved even closer, a reassuring smile lighting his face. "Don't be afraid. You're going to have fun. Trust me." He held his hands out again. He didn't sound annoyed, like Thomas would have. Like she would have, probably, if she'd been faced with an adult acting like a big baby.

She wasn't sure where it came from, the courage to move, but she _was_ moving, her eyes still on his. The water was shockingly cold, but Koenraad's hands were touching her neoprene-covered forearms. Just gently, guiding her.

"It's ok if you wanna take Ralph's job, but don't steal my client!" Sosie said, laughing. Monroe could hear the snapping of a camera, the sounds faint.

Koenraad didn't respond to Sosie's joking. His focus was on Monroe. She was acutely aware of how strong and masculine his hands were. Enormous. Like they could wrap around her and keep her safe. Gradually, she realized that Sosie was right; the suit made her float easily. She smiled, and Koenraad smiled back. The expression softened his chiseled features, made him look almost approachable.

"Let me adjust you and I'll get the mask on." He moved her hands to his shoulders, and Monroe tried not to think about sliding closer to him. Under her palm, the scar was rough and inflexible. She wondered how he'd gotten it.

Her body, keyed up, was flooding with adrenaline. Her mind wasn't on sex, but her body sure was. Even though she was wet everywhere, one part of her felt wetter, getting slippery. And Koenraad's body was so warm that she wanted to press herself against him.

She stared off to the side, pretending to be engrossed in the expanse of water. Which was a mistake because she suddenly realized she was in the middle of the ocean, and there were probably miles of water underneath her. And even if it wasn't quite that much, it was more than enough for her to drown.

"I'm a certified ocean rescue lifeguard," Koenraad said, his deep voice steady. "We had some really crazy drills. Like diving to retrieve a golf ball in our mouths, our hands and feet bound." He smiled. "I set a record for fastest capture. That golf ball was barely wet and I had it up again. You're safe."

"It's not you... I'm afraid of water," Monroe whispered.

"I noticed," Koenraad whispered back, a little smile tugging the corners of his perfect mouth. "But thank you for telling me. Once you see the reef, you'll forget all about that. And I'll be right by your side the whole time. I promise."

She knew he was just reassuring a nervous, silly tourist, but she couldn't help feeling another rush of desire for him. Except this one didn't pass quickly, and instead lingered on her skin, alerting her senses, waking parts of her she generally didn't think about.

Or maybe she was having an allergic reaction to the neoprene.

Koenraad fitted the snorkel mask over her eyes and nose and adjusted the mouthpiece. "Put this into your mouth and breathe normally." He held it to her lips, and she blushed and looked away as she opened to accept it.

He eased the silicone into her mouth. "Good. How does it feel?"

She nodded. It was comfortable other than having this sexy man pressing something between her lips. That just felt _dirty_. In a good way.

"I'm going to move my hands to your waist, and I want you to bend forward and put your face in the water. Ok?"

She nodded and reluctantly removed her hands from his scarred yet perfect shoulders. To her horror, the skin where she'd gripped him was a little pale for a moment. She wanted to apologize—she hadn't realized she was gouging him, but she didn't dare open her mouth.

His hands were firmly on her middle, his palms so broad that they seemed to wrap around her, though she knew that wasn't possible.

"Go ahead."

She slowly leaned forward and placed her face into the water. She couldn't see very far, but there wasn't anything to look at. She started to pull her head up, but Koenraad said, "Not yet. Just breathe. You'll see how easy it is. When you're ready, we'll swim over toward Eden. Ok? Breathe for me."

So she breathed. The sound was strangely loud, like when people in movies had on scuba gear. She hadn't expected that.

"Thanks for letting me take you out today," Koenraad said. "I don't spend nearly enough time relaxing and exploring the ocean, and you're giving me the perfect excuse to do that." He explained how to blow water out of the snorkel and had her practice it a few times. "Good," he said finally, his voice warm and not the least bit condescending. "You're going to have so much fun."

His chatter served to further calm her. She felt comfortable enough to turn her head and look around a bit, and she saw Koenraad's lower body, his thick, muscular legs slowly moving. It was nothing like when she treaded water, arms and legs moving furiously as she tried to keep her head as far above the surface as possible. She relaxed even more, knowing she was in good hands.
**Chapter 6**

Koenraad tried not to think about the curvaceous body in his grip. Although he was in human form, he could perceive things that no human could. He felt the tattoo her pulse beat through her body, and he could smell her.

Heaven help him. He wasn't looking forward to the moment he put his face into the water. He could breathe underwater in human form, though he was careful never to do so in the presence of non-shifters. Still, he ached to shift, to inhale her.

She was perfect, he knew. Healthy. Strong. He wanted to rip away the fabric between them and plunge himself into her warm heat. If she were a shifter, they'd be fucking now. That would be something for Sosie's cameras.

To distract himself, he prattled on about the history of the coral reef and the types of marine life they were likely to encounter. Of course, seeing fish assumed he would manage to contain himself enough so that everything didn't scatter, sensing an agitated predator in their midst.

"You can come up now," he said.

She straightened and spit out the snorkel. "Ok, that was easy. You were right." Her voice had gotten higher with excitement.

He smiled. "It's not often a man hears those words from a woman. But then, you don't know me." He almost added _yet_.

One of her eyebrows raised. "Why do I get the impression that you think I'd be saying it _more_ if I knew you?"

He smiled, broader. "No comment." He liked that she'd trusted him and that she'd gamely given it a try. He knew better than anyone just how nervous she'd been, and still was, though her pulse was finally slowing.

Which he shouldn't know because there was no reason to have his hands on her hips right now. And in a moment, he'd have to let her go completely.

With great reluctance, he said, "So we'll try it floating."

"Back or stomach?" she said.

"You're so funny," Sosie said, breaking the spell. "Don't swim off right away. I want to get a few more photos from above."

"Ready?" he asked Monroe.

She nodded and put the snorkel into her mouth. Her hands tapped along the long tube as if she wanted to reassure herself that it was still there and still pointing in the right direction, and Koenraad felt his cock stirring. He shoved impure thoughts from his mind.

"Same thing as before, and this time I'm going to let you float. I'll be right next to you."

When she was breathing, her body relaxed enough, he reluctantly let her go. He'd been holding her down, in fact, and the moment he released her, she stretched out flat, the luscious curves of her body, wrapped in black, tantalizingly close. He marveled a moment at the small of her back and how it gracefully gave way to the perfect round globes of her ass.

His cock appreciated it, too.

Now, that wouldn't do... If she turned her head, she'd have an excellent view of his growing erection. He stretched out, his hand patting her shoulder, then traveling down her arm.

She quickly grabbed at him, clasped his hand desperately in hers. He laughed, huge bubbles of air escaping from his mouth.

"Stop that," Sosie said. "You're ruining the shot."

When he felt that Monroe was ready, he gently steered her toward the coral reef. If she were more comfortable, he would have dived with her, would have taken her to a hidden world. He longed to share it with someone. But most of the shark shifters he knew were much older, the age of his parents.

Shifters around his age made him consider moving to another ocean entirely. But everywhere, shifters were dying out. He knew there were some places in the States where lupines flourished, but that didn't help marine shifters. And humans... better they never know that shifters existed. The ridiculous myths about Tureygua were bad enough, but at least no one believed them. He'd had human girlfriends, but he'd never been able to reveal who and what he was.

And because of his considerable duties, he'd been unable to sustain the relationships for long. Women tended not to appreciate the late night calls he got from the Council, and they liked it even less when he was forced out of bed and into the water to take care of a marine problem. In the end, he'd always needed to break things off.

He'd wondered if things might have been different if they'd known his reasons for leaving. But it was better to let them assume he was uninvested in the relationship than to tell the truth: he patrolled this island, keeping away the most dangerous animals, maintaining the respect for shifter laws, and keeping the humans who came into their world safe from both shifters and wild animals alike. Darius had thoroughly ensnared him, but Koenraad had to admit that it had been a kindness, giving him problems that he could fix.

He knew that Sosie was going to jump in moments before she did it; he felt the small shift in the water as she backed up a few steps, then raced over the swim platform and cannonballed, laughing. In some ways, the entire ocean was an extension of his body.

A Nassau grouper appeared in his peripheral vision. He waited a moment until it was closer, then squeezed Monroe's hand and pointed out the large, striped fish.

He felt the flash of excitement pass through her as her attention shifted to the fish. She began to follow it, and her grip on his hand eased from strangling to merely clutching.

Behind him, Sosie dove down, taking photos. He liked Sosie, but she should have known she was bringing someone terrified of the ocean out for snorkeling. With only one passenger, there was no excuse for not having taken a full history.

When they reached the reef, Monroe let go of his hand. He swam beside her, pointing at things he thought she'd enjoy. He was attuned to her, to the tensing in her body when a slightly bigger wave passed, to the way her heartbeat picked up when his shoulders brushed hers.

He wasn't an egomaniac. There were a million reasons that a woman might react to the nearness of a large, mostly naked man. But he knew the truth because he could smell her. In fact, it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. It was like when he hunted... when he was close to surprising his prey and the rest of the world fell away.

She was attracted to him, her body ready to mate. He didn't often think of it in those terms, but now he did, with this woman who intrigued him with her dark humor and bravery. She blithely swam next to him, stirring long-repressed urges that he knew that she, as a human, could never wholly fulfill.

After an hour, he sensed she was getting hungry, and Sosie, too, so he suggested they head back to the boat for lunch.

Until Monroe unzipped her wetsuit, he hadn't really realized just how sexy her body was. The bikini was an explosion of color, accentuating her wide hips and full breasts. His fingers burned to touch her skin, especially her lower stomach. It looked soft, barely dusted in downy hair. He wanted to kiss her there, to lay his head on her as her skin warmed in the sun.

"I'll get us bottles of water," he said hoarsely. He almost stopped to grab his linen pants on the way into the cabin but didn't—getting dressed would draw attention. Better to find a way to control his reactions to Monroe. If such a thing were even possible.

Sosie had brought an assortment of food to munch on, and they sunned themselves on the front of the yacht as they ate.

"What do you do?" Monroe asked him. "When you're not boating?"

"He's _always_ boating," Sosie interrupted. "What do you do?"

Monroe sighed. "I'm regional manager for Pet Palace. It's a pet supply company."

Such a short answer. Pity. He found her voice sexy. "You like animals?" Koenraad asked, hoping to spur her into a longer discussion.

"Sure. But I work such crazy hours that I can't have one. Don't even ask how much unused vacation time I have. I sometimes pet the dogs and cats in the Salon when I visit the stores. Does that count?"

"What about a fish?"

She shrugged. "You pour your heart and soul into them, then one day you come home and they're working on their backstroke. Too much guilt for me."

He repressed a laugh, and she flicked her gaze toward him. He liked her eyes very much. They were brown, slightly striated. He supposed some might liken them to milk chocolate, but the color reminded him of banded miter shells.

"Maybe you had the wrong fish," he said.

"That wouldn't surprise me."

"Do you get to dress up in heels?" Sosie wanted to know.

"Get to? Do I _have_ to is more like it. And yes, unfortunately. It's an ok job," she said. "Not what I dreamed of when I was a little girl, but no one gets what they want, right? Probably the same with leading scuba tours."

Intrigued, Koenraad quickly swallowed the hunk of cheese he'd just popped into his mouth, not bothering to chew it. "What did you dream of—"

Sosie jumped up. "Ralph is here."

Koenraad reluctantly acknowledged what he'd been ignoring: a boat was approaching. Now he knew it was Ralph, come to take Monroe away from him. It was too soon. He couldn't let her go, not yet.

Sosie had gone toward the back of the boat, and Monroe was brushing crumbs off her hands.

"Monroe?"

She looked up at him, her brow furrowing cutely. He imagined her doing that as he brought her to orgasmic bliss—

"What?" she asked, clearly confused.

"Do you think you'd like to spend a few more hours with me? I can take you to the other sites if you like, or to another island."

Her cheeks, already lightly sun-kissed from her time in the fresh air, turned pink. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I'm enjoying spending time with you."

She smiled then, her lashes lowering shyly as she pretended to focus on wrapping up the crusts from her sandwich. But Koenraad wasn't fooled. He felt her attraction in tempo with his own.

She wanted him.

He wanted her, too.
**Chapter 7**

Monroe waved again at Ralph and Sosie. She'd given them a generous tip, and Sosie had snapped a few more photos and promised to deliver them to the hotel before Monroe's airport shuttle left the following afternoon.

It saddened her to realize the short vacation was already half over. When she'd booked her ticket, she'd considered staying longer for all of two seconds, then had decided she'd rather take extra pay instead of her vacation.

Thomas really was right. She was boring.

Thinking of Thomas made her feel a little sick. What if he'd sent a reply, begging her to reconsider? Not that she would, but things would feel unfinished until he said something back. Yet here she was, flirting openly with Koenraad all afternoon.

And they were flirting, weren't they? She wasn't a clueless schoolgirl. Koenraad liked her. Or, rather, he liked the idea of fucking her. How could he _not_ be thinking about it? She was sitting there in a socially acceptable bra and underwear. And his swimsuit was...

She felt herself blushing, and when she looked up, she realized that Koenraad was watching her, those peculiar eyes unreadable.

"Your name is unusual," she said.

"It's Dutch."

She studied him. "Where are you from?"

"Here. Though I was born in Florida. My father's from here and he attended college in the States. After he got his doctorate, he joined his university's marine biology department. He met my mother during a conference in Europe and was surprised to meet another... to meet someone he had so much in common with. Dad says it was love at first sight."

"That's romantic."

"You're getting the short and clean version," he said. "My mother was pregnant."

That made her laugh, and she covered her mouth, embarrassed. Koenraad flashed a smile.

"Mom is from South Africa—that's where my parents spend most of their time now—but she'd been working in Florida. Dad decided to join her, and when his parents got sick, he took early retirement from teaching, and we moved here."

Monroe fought a smile. A hot, rich guy who clearly got along with his parents. He was a unicorn. "So you grew up in paradise."

He nodded and gestured for her to walk ahead of him toward the front of the boat, where the remainder of their lunch awaited.

Things had been different when Sosie was there, even though she'd been more in the background, taking photos, talking about some of the crazy things she'd seen since she started working at Dive Happy Caribbean, and asking questions that kept the conversation moving easily. Now, Monroe's tongue felt clumsy and thick, like she'd had a shot of Novocain hours earlier that hadn't quite worn off yet.

When she was nervous, she had a tendency to run her mouth, but with Koenraad, it was different. He intimidated her into silence. Which made no sense because he seemed like a genuinely kind man, though she supposed anyone could pretend to be nice for a few hours.

"I saw a shark earlier," she blurted out, grateful to have something to say. Koenraad was looking off into the distance, almost like he was concentrating on something else.

He swung his head back toward her. His hair had dried to a light blond, and while it was still pushed away from his face by the sunglasses atop his head, a few disobedient locks now brushed his cheekbones, highlighting how angular they were. "Did you?" he asked, sounding amused. "Are you sure it wasn't an angelfish?"

"Yes, I'm sure, smartypants," she said. "It was huge."

He narrowed his eyes. "You'd be surprised how often people tell me they've seen huge fish or sharks. Are you sure it wasn't a whale?"

She smacked his arm playfully. His muscles were so solid, and she remembered how it had felt to hold onto him in the water. Suddenly, she wanted that again.

Maybe she was doing all sorts of things outside of her admittedly narrow zone of comfort, but straddling this hunky sailor and forcing her tongue into his mouth wasn't going to happen, at least not unless she downed a few drinks first, and it was still too early for that. So she aimed for the next best thing. "Think I'm ready for more snorkeling," she said.

Koenraad reclined, resting on his elbows, stretching out his long body. "I'm not going to insist you wait an hour, but how about thirty minutes?"

"Why?"

He smiled. "Because it'll take twenty to get to the next place I want to show you."

She flicked at some crumbs, then pulled her legs in. Immediately she stretched them out again, not wanting Koenraad to see her legs all bunched up and looking stubby. She should have put her coverup back on, but she'd wanted to dry off first.

She lay on her back next to him and cradled her head in her laced fingers. The boat underneath her was so deliciously warm on her shoulders and the backs of her calves and thighs, and the sun's heat felt wonderfully sensual on the front of her body. So _this_ was why people went on vacation. What a change of pace from cold New York.

The slight rocking of the boat lulled her into a half-sleep where thoughts darted through her mind in no particular order. She drifted off completely, then woke, filled with an unfamiliar but welcome calmness.

She thought of her friends at the hotel. Hopefully Tara and everyone who'd gotten sick were feeling better. Maybe they were all at the pool now, or shopping. They were going to be so jealous when they saw the photos. Especially of Koenraad. She peeked at him through her lashes and saw that his eyes were also closed, and he was breathing evenly. Asleep.

The bronze of his skin begged to be licked. He'd probably taste salty, like the ocean. Her gaze slid down his perfect chest and torso, the rigid lines of his abs. There was a perfect whorl of golden hair running from his navel into his skimpy swimsuit. And the bulge... She could see the outline of his cock and balls.

The urge to mouth that bulge was surprisingly strong. She didn't even like giving oral sex, so why was she thinking about it now...?

She glanced back at Koenraad and was relieved that his eyes were still closed.

With a sigh, she relaxed again, enjoying the sounds of the water lapping the boat, the wind stirring her hair, and an occasional, almost imperceptible splash.

"You like your job?" Koenraad asked, his voice a low, lazy rumble that thrilled her. He was so _masculine_. He made the guys she'd dated seem like women in expensive suits.

"It's ok," she said. "No one fantasizes about being middle management."

His laugh rolled over her body, making her tingle, and she remembered again the steady warmth of his skin under her palms. "I guess not," he said. "You have plans to change careers?"

"This is already my third career. The first two didn't end well."

"I'm listening."

She hadn't intended to pique his curiosity. Her employment history wasn't very flattering. "As an undergraduate, I worked part-time filing papers in a real estate office. They offered to bring me on full-time after graduation. It was supposed to be a semi-internship, the idea being that I'd make less but learn the ropes. But after a year, it was clear they had no intention of paying me a real salary." She stopped, remembering the day Tara had sent her an advertisement for more "interns" at the company. Tara had insisted she confront her boss, which Monroe had done. "I asked for a raise and they fired me."

"Is that legal?"

"Probably not. I'm glad, now, but it took me six months to find another job. It wasn't easy." And in that time, she'd maxed out her already strained credit cards, and had gone into debt to Tara and Nya, who were the most understanding roommates in the history of the world.

"So first career was real estate. Second?"

"Waitress. By the time I got the job at Pet Palace, I was working at three places. A pizza franchise four nights a week, another pizza franchise three nights a week, and a local brunch place Friday, Saturday and Sunday mornings." She opened her eyes and blinked, the bright sun pricking her eyes. "I'm going to grab my sunglasses," she said.

"Take mine." Koenraad sat up and handed over his. "Why did you have to work so much?"

She shrugged and put on his glasses. The tint made the blues of the sky and ocean more vivid. "These are nice!"

"Then they're yours," he said, leaning back onto his elbows.

"No, I couldn't—"

"It's the only brand I like, and I tend to break things, so I've got plenty more." He studied her. "They're a lot sexier on you," he said.

It didn't feel like a knee-jerk compliment, designed to flatter, and she felt herself blushing even warmer in the noon sun. "Thanks," she murmured, embarrassed. What had he asked her? Oh, right. Her jobs. "I had a lot of student loans, and my mother had taken out a second mortgage to help with my tuition, and I'm paying that, too. Unfortunately, not really an unusual story."

"Have you always been so responsible?"

"Boring, you mean," she said quietly, remembering what Thomas had said.

"I wasn't aware that responsible equals boring," he said. "Is that a New York thing?"

She blinked. "No. My boyfriend. My ex, I mean. He said I was boring."

"He sounds like a jackass."

She turned her head so he wouldn't see her amusement, but when she spoke, the smile colored her voice. "He is." She paused. "But maybe he had a point, too. The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"I don't know you well, but you don't strike me as boring. You were terrified of the water, yet you jumped in anyway. A boring person would be sitting next to the hotel pool."

She decided not to tell him how close she'd come to choosing that route. "How did you know I was scared?"

He merely smiled, and at that moment she felt like his gaze penetrated her soul.

"What about you?" she stammered out to fill the silence. "Do you really race boats?"

"For fun. I provide private security for an organization. It's something I fell into, but it turns out that I enjoy it."

"Really? Wow. Though... actually, that doesn't surprise me." All those muscles, and the fast reflexes.

He turned his head toward her. "Why is that?"

"You... ooze confidence."

"Ooze?" He made a face.

She found herself laughing again. "It's a compliment."

"In that case, thank you." Something about the way he said it was sexy as hell. He was so polite but sincere, which was incredible because if she'd ever met a man who could get away with being an arrogant jerk, it was someone as attractive as Koenraad. "You never told me your ideal job," he said.

"I wanted to be a real estate agent," she said with a laugh. "My aunt is in real estate, and I thought she was so glamorous, always dressed up when she came over for dinner. I loved going to open houses with her. I have this knack for knowing how to match people to their perfect homes. When I worked at Hahnmanner Realty, the agents asked me to sit in on the interviews, and then they'd quiz me afterward. My recommendations were always right." She smiled, still proud of that.

"But you didn't get commissions?"

She shrugged. "Technically, I wasn't selling the houses. Too busy making coffee, troubleshooting computer problems, and updating the website with listings."

"Still," he said, his voice bordering on a growl.

"One of the agents always gave me gift cards to local restaurants. Actually, that's how I got the first waitress job. I was there with my roommates, using the last of the gift cards, and the food took forever to come out. The waitress said they were understaffed. I joked that it was a shame I wasn't a cook. Of course, it wasn't a joke. I needed a job, and the waitress said they were hiring servers, too." She glanced at him. "What's security like?"

"Mostly boring." He stood gracefully and held out a hand. "Ready to explore?"

She placed her hand into his and allowed him to gently pull her to standing. He really was quite tall. She'd have to go up on her tiptoes just to kiss his chin.

He was very careful not to let go of her as they picked their way through a cutout in the lower cabin's windshield. Then he escorted her to the upper cabin via an internal set of stairs. She was relieved that he went first, that she didn't have to worry about her ass being eye-level.

"Where are we heading?"

"My favorite place," he said with a smile as he flipped up the seat so that there was room to stand. He toggled two levers and pushed a button. The boat's motor hummed awake. If there were fish innocently hanging out under the boat, they had probably gotten the scare of their lives. He pushed another lever and the boat smoothly cleaved through the water. "You want to steer?"

"The boat?" she asked, wincing at how stupid the question was.

"Sure."

She started to shake her head, but Koenraad was already moving her hands to the steering wheel, which seemed quite small in relation to the boat. But then, her knowledge of boats had flatlined somewhere around old Popeye episodes. Koenraad stood behind her, his body wrapped around her yet barely touching. Too bad. She felt him, though, an invisible force like two magnets slowly pulling together. But then he leaned forward and pulled down a lever, and the boat moved faster. She fell back against his solid chest.

"I think that's enough driving for me," she said, already sidling away. "See? Boring."

He allowed her to slip to the side, but she didn't go far. Already she missed his smooth skin.

It was hard to judge how fast they were going now that there wasn't anything stationary nearby, but from the steady vibration of the engine, it felt fast.

He pulled the seat down, then sat. The bench was wide enough for two, but she didn't feel comfortable just plopping down there. She stayed where she was, trying not to look at the tantalizing bulge in his swimsuit, trying not to imagine what his muscular waist would feel like gripped between her inner thighs.

About twenty minutes later, he slowed the yacht. They weren't very far from what looked like a small island. Two other boats were docked at the tiny pier, and there were a few small, rather rundown buildings near the docks, too. Otherwise, the area looked deserted.

"That's where we're going?"

He nodded. He toggled levers, worked a joystick, and the boat rotated. Monroe stared at a scrawny mutt that was nosing through the rubble of what might have been a very small shack, perhaps a tollbooth, though whatever it had been guarding was long gone.

Then she had the pleasure of watching Koenraad tie the boat up. His muscles rippled as he worked, and she stared openly, taking advantage of his distraction. There hadn't been many times in her life when she'd wanted to fuck a guy she didn't know. She wanted this man. He would be good in bed. She was sure of that... he was too perceptive not to be. But even if he just lay there like a lump, he'd still be more fun than Thomas.

Koenraad came back aboard and lowered a walkway. "Ready?" he asked.

_For dry land? Absolutely._ "Don't you need keys or something?"

"Everyone knows everyone else here, and people are nosy as hell," he said with a laugh.

She grabbed her bag, and as soon as she was on the dock, she yanked the yellow coverup over her head. Perfect. No more sucking in her stomach and trying to keep Koenraad from standing behind her.

They walked along a short boardwalk, then into soft sand. The houses were connected by a packed sandy road. Koenraad led her past all of that, and through an arid area. A woman on a bike pedaled by, mumbling a greeting to them as she passed.

"Everyone here is so friendly. Are people happy, or is it a government conspiracy to keep the tourists coming back?"

Koenraad arched an eyebrow. "So you wanna come back?"

She felt herself blushing. Thankfully, Koenraad asked another question. "Is it really so bad where you live?"

"No. It's... different. You've never been to New York?"

"I have, years ago. I liked it, but I need access to the ocean."

Insects buzzed in the air, and unfamiliar black and orange birds swooped overhead. "This way," Koenraad said. Their path had risen, though Monroe wouldn't have considered it an actual hill, and now they were certainly going down, down, down.

"Ready?" Koenraad asked. He grabbed her hand and steadied her as they approached a steep bit. The sand had turned to rock, and Monroe's sandals were most definitely not up to the challenge.

A moment later, her breath caught in her throat. There was a crystal-clear lake in front of them, the water still as glass. "What is this place?"

Koenraad swept an arm in a wide semi-circle. "See how it's round?"

"Volcano?"

"Meteor."

"Where does the water come from?"

He smiled. "If you can hold your breath for thirty seconds, I'll show you."

Her heart stopped, and her feet slowed. Koenraad turned to look at her.

"Um... how deep is it?"

A smile stretched across his handsome face. "Not nearly as deep as the ocean."

She cast him a dubious look.

"And there aren't any penguins or seals or whatever attacked your tour boat."

"It was a shark."

He tugged her beach bag off her shoulder and carefully set it on a rock. "You are safe with me, Monroe."

"It's not you I don't trust."

He shook his head, his brows drawing together. "Then what?"

"I..." How to explain a fear of water to a guy who'd grown up next to the ocean? "I'm not a strong swimmer."

He squinted up at the sun, and she held his sunglasses out to him. He shook his head.

"What?" she asked, worried that she'd offended him. She shoved the glasses on top of her hair.

"I wonder... do you trust your instincts to lead you to joy? Or is fear the sole instinct you obey?"

She'd never thought of it like that. "Well, I'm here with you, trusting you not to murder me. Or throw me into... that." She looked at the lake and repressed a shudder. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. You're probably not afraid of anything."

His gaze traveled slowly from her eyes to her lips, and her skin heated as if he'd physically touched her. "I'm very afraid that you'll go home and kick yourself for not coming into the water with me. The tourism bureau would be furious."

He took her hands and led her forward a few steps, until the cold water had swallowed her ankles. The bottom was a little pebbly, but mostly smooth rock.

"This water is supposed to have magical powers," he said. "If you submerge in it, your next wish comes true. You up for it?"

She nodded.

"Your dress. You might want to take it off."

She laughed. "Anything to get a woman naked." _Wow, that was a little forward._ She blushed. But he didn't seem to have his mind in the gutter like she did. She stepped out of her dress and tossed it so that it landed near her beach bag.

Koenraad walked her in deeper, to her chest. He was only mid-waist, though. "You're really tall," she said.

"You're really beautiful," he said. "Stunning."

She inhaled sharply but managed not to spoil the moment by refusing his compliment. His thumbs massaged the backs of her hands and he pulled her in a bit more. When she hesitated, he responded by wrapping his arms around her. She began to breathe heavy and fast, and not only because of the _water_ everywhere, but because she had never been held by a man she was this attracted to. His muscular arms cradled her, his chest a protective wall.

"Monroe, please trust me. Can you do that? Monroe?" Those mysterious dark eyes probed hers.

She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded, bracing herself. But she squeaked when he floated back, easily holding her, and all she could think about was what would happen if she slipped out of his grasp.

"No," she gasped. "I can't." She had to force the words from her constricted throat, and she hoped he realized she wasn't playing, wasn't being coy.

"Ok, love. I got you." He took her back to shore faster than she would have thought, and she opened her eyes the moment her toes touched the bottom. She scrambled up toward dry land, doubled over, choking back a sob of humiliation.

Koenraad was behind her, pulling her arm, forcing her to turn and face him. He seemed conflicted, like he wanted to tell her something. Then he pulled the sunglasses off her head, folded them, and hurled them far out into the water.

She felt her face draining of blood. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm going to put on a blindfold, then I'm going to get them."

She watched, stunned, as he pulled the lightweight towel out of her bag and tied it around his eyes.

"Don't." She pulled uselessly at his arm. If he started drowning, there wasn't anything she could do. A desperate glance around confirmed that they were truly alone.

He dove into the water, his body a long, tanned arc that sliced cleanly into the glassy surface. Monroe covered her mouth with her hands. It was probably some lifeguarding trick. He'd surely be fine.

But time passed, and he didn't come back.

She walked forward, straining to see farther into the lake, her hands pressed to her knees as she peered into the darkness. Trying to see him was pointless; there wasn't anything she could do if he was in trouble.

But even as she thought that, she knew that she would try her best.

Without a watch, she had no idea what time it was, but she guessed a minute had passed.

Then two. She screamed out his name.

Then three. And there was no sign of him.

She sank onto her hands and knees and fought the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. And then he was there, the sunglasses in his hand. He came out of the water, not even breathing heavily, and walked right up to her. He was still blindfolded. She gaped at him. Dripping water streamed off his body, reflecting the sun.

"How..." she gasped.

"Don't ask how." He pulled her up and handed her the glasses. "Sorry it took me so long. Guess I have a better arm than I realized. I should have been a baseball player." His weak smile didn't fool her, though; he hadn't miscalculated.

"It felt like you were gone forever," she said as he turned, giving her access to the blindfold's tightly knotted fabric. She worked the snarl out, her mind reeling.

"Four and a half minutes. I can hold my breath much longer."

"But—"

He turned and took the damp cloth away from her. "Please, trust me." He stared into her eyes as if trying to reach a decision. "I trust you," he said, the words sounding like they meant so much more. But that didn't make sense. He was the big, strong one. He didn't need her trust.

She needed a few minutes to sit, to think things over. She felt like she was losing her mind. Koenraad... there was something different about him. It played just at the limits of her comfort level.

She suddenly remembered the shark warriors. Her heartbeat skittered to a stop, then raced, the sound deafening in her ears.

"Monroe?"

All that mattered was the answer to his question, and to her surprise, she did have an answer for him. "Yes," she said slowly.

"You trust me?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I do. And... I'm kinda freaked out, too, to be honest, but my instincts are telling me yes." Her instincts and her curiosity were waging out-and-out war with her fears of the water, of the unknown, but he obviously knew that.

He was the unknown. He wasn't...

Shark warrior. The words hung on the tip of her tongue. Was she going insane? Funny, but this certainly felt real.

"I'm glad you changed your mind," he said.

_Change your mind, transform your life._

She took a deep breath and licked her lips. "Hurry, before I wimp out," she said, offering her hand to him.
**Chapter 8**

He knew he shouldn't have done what he did. When he'd first thrown the sunglasses into the lake, he'd intended to dive in, get them, and alleviate her worry about his capability in the water. But then he decided it'd be better if he didn't come right back up.

Apparently he'd timed it just right. A bit longer and she would have been making the sign of the cross and backing away. Any less time and she wouldn't have appreciated how much control he had.

Still, it was a stupid thing to do. But he needed this woman to know that he could, and would, protect her. The urge had come out of nowhere, earlier, on the boat, and he was still in its grip. It simply made no sense, but he wasn't one to reject it for that reason.

He wasn't the type to mate, to settle down. He'd never had trouble seducing the women he wanted, and he was always careful to choose his partners wisely, preferring either shifters who understood how things worked, or women who were averse to long relationships. Vacationers did the job nicely. They weren't looking for anything but a good time, and he was certainly able to provide that.

Monroe was holding her hand out, waiting for him to take it. Poor thing was overwhelmed but so very brave. She clung to him as he led her to the water. This time, instead of immediately wrapping her in an embrace, he let her set the pace. She chose to face him, and soon her curvy body was pressed up against his. He looked down at his charge. She was shivering, taking in shallow breaths.

"You should learn to trust yourself, too," he said. "I wish you were here longer. I mean in the Caribbean." Teaching her to trust the water would bring him so much pleasure.

And there were other things that they could explore, as well. Things to bring another kind of joy and trust.

He forced the titillating thoughts out of his mind. He needed to be perfectly attuned to her every thought. He could feel her tension in the way the water moved. Such little things were like a flashing road map to her state of mind. If she panicked again, he wasn't sure he'd be able to convince her to give it another shot. For starters, the rest of his tricks were more likely to send her screaming away than to entice her back into his arms.

He swam them toward the middle of the lake, keeping his movements as steady and imperceptible as possible. Monroe had her eyes squeezed tightly closed, her dark lashes like ink on her sculpted cheekbones.

"Open your eyes."

He had to smile as she raised her eyebrows first. He felt the muscle tremors. She wanted to do it, but she was afraid.

"Look at me," he said.

With a halting little sigh, she managed that, anchoring her gaze as if doing so would keep her afloat. She took in sharp little breaths, but she was much calmer than before, and eventually she managed a tight smile.

"I'm such a dork," she said.

"Thank you for being a dork."

Her smile almost turned genuine. "You were right, again," she said. "I would have kicked myself later."

"That's twice in one day."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Never." He turned her in his arms, moving slowly so she wouldn't freak out, then he stretched back in the water. To his surprise, she was rather relaxed, and she floated easily.

"You're doing very well," he said.

She was quiet, and he could feel her body adjusting. This was what he'd been after. Water was transformative for him, literally, but he knew it held incredible power over non-shifters as well.

"I think I'm ok," she said.

"You want to try turning over?"

"Not really." But she did it anyway, her movements measured. Her smooth calves and thighs brushed up against his legs, and her chest pressed into his. "I'm really ok. Having you here, I'm relaxed. You're magic or something."

He nodded, then caught her face in his hands. She stiffened a little, and her pulse rate shot high. She smelled delicious, of fertile female, and fear, and sexual excitement. The combination made his cock swell, the shaft pushing away the elastic waistband of his swimsuit.

She deserved this kiss.

Who was he kidding? _He_ wanted it every bit as much as she did.

Her beautiful eyes fluttered closed as he tasted her lips, salty from the ocean. His ocean. A little moan escaped her throat, and he pressed his tongue between her slightly parted lips.

She was pushing herself against him, her hands sliding up his arms, one hand tentatively touching his hip, the other flat on his chest, right over his scar. Her leg brushed over his erection, then pressed down on him.

What had started as a small, feminine moan was building in intensity. It made his cock throb. All of his senses were stretched to their limits, trying to breathe her in, taste her, smell her, feel her. He interrupted the kiss to pull back and study his catch. Her lips were slightly swollen and trembled almost imperceptibly. She was gorgeous. So alive. So real, not pretending to be anything other than what she was.

"I want..." she said, her voice so faint that a human wouldn't have caught the words.

"What do you want?"

Her eyes opened. "To hold my breath for thirty seconds."

For a moment, he thought she was suggesting underwater frolicking, but then he remembered that he'd offered to take her underwater. "Sure. Do it here, then I'll take you down."

She turned in his arms and pushed away. Knowing that she was comfortable in the water was rewarding, but he did regret no longer having her captured and close to him.

Even without touching her, he could feel the slight vibrations of her muscles as she held in the air. She was a little too tense.

"That's thirty," she said, laughing. She was sculling the water now, no longer afraid in the least. "So what are you going to show me?"

"Where the water comes in," he said. If only he had an oxygen tank to lend her. Then he could show her the tunnels. And he ached to do so, to share them with someone. It really was a shame she was leaving him so soon.

Who was he kidding? Shifters almost never revealed themselves to humans, and for good reason. Even if she were staying for a longer vacation, it wouldn't have been enough time. That sort of connection and trust took years to build.

"Sure you're ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "I really feel fine," she said. "But promise you won't swim off and leave me."

"Never. Over this way."

They swam together. The maddeningly slow pace didn't bother him because he wanted this moment to last forever... Monroe next to him, his world full of the smell and taste of her. Her long hair streamed out on the water behind her, and he wanted to wrap the length of it around his fist until she was caught. Then he would kiss her, pull more of those sexy moans from her delicate throat.

"You look like a mermaid," he said. Siren was more like it. He struggled to keep his physical reaction to a minimum. "Ok, here is where we dive."

She looked down. "Thirty seconds is enough?"

"Yup. I'll pull you down. So you aren't surprised, there's a dark area we'll go through. That's normal."

She nibbled on her lower lip.

"If you get worried, tap me with your free hand, or scratch me." He would recognize her nervousness probably before she did, but she didn't know that, and he wanted her to be confident that she had control.

"Wait. What about... Don't people pass out sometimes? Isn't there some... I dunno... with the water pressure? The ears..."

"Nothing's going to go wrong." He smiled and moved wet strands of hair from her face. Thank goodness his cock was behaving now; the last thing he needed was to terrify her by looking like a desperate pervert when she was worrying about passing out. "When you're ready."

She took a deep breath, then nodded.

He had planned to pull her hand, but he liked her too much in his arms, so he cradled her, then dove.

Her body was so alive, thrumming with excitement and, yes, fear. He was ready for her to tap him, for her mind to abort the dive even though her body was coping perfectly well—although she was burning through her air faster than he would have liked.

Of course he saw perfectly fine. Not as well as with his shark's eyes, but well enough.

_Five seconds._

They were through the dark bit now, and the patch of light was just ahead, illuminating a vivid array of fish that had made this strange little reef their home. He couldn't take her all the way, but he wanted her to see it closer up, to know that this existed, and he felt her surprise as they stopped. She looked at him, a question in her eyes, and motioned for him to go closer.

_Ten seconds._ Time to turn back. He shook his head. He would take her up for air, then bring her down again.

A loose school of bar jacks passed near them. He knew they were there, but one fish broke from the rest and darted past Monroe's leg.

Startled, she screamed, the sound almost immediately drowned in the water. She clamped her mouth shut—he sensed it—and scratched at his arm to get his attention, exactly like he'd instructed.

It didn't matter how long they'd been down there. She was completely out of air, and there was no way to get her to the surface fast enough. Only one thing _to_ do, and he didn't hesitate. He turned her, wrapped his legs around hers, locking her knees to keep her steady. Her brown eyes were open wide, and she'd gone completely stiff in panic. Her heart felt like a trapped hummingbird trying to break free of her chest.

He nodded, hoping she'd realize he was telling her it was ok. Then he pressed his mouth on hers and forced breathable air into her lungs.

After a moment of resistance, her body greedily took it. "Exhale," he said, even though he wasn't any better at speaking underwater than any human. "Relax. You won't drown."

She exhaled, and he cupped his mouth over hers and fed her more air. Then again and again, until he was reassured that she was out of the danger zone.

"Can you hold that one?" He held his nose and raised his eyebrows questioningly, hoping she'd understand.

She nodded and looked up, her brow creased with worry... for him. In her confusion, she seemed to think his lungs were the size of a whale's. When the panic wore off, when they were on land again, her rational mind was going to take over and demand explanations for the unexplainable.

"I'm fine," he said, miming, giving a thumbs up. He pointed to her. "Are you ok?"

She nodded, and he took her in his arms again, and before he could talk himself out of this folly, he dove deeper, heading for the tunnel's mouth. She was yielding and compliant in his arms. In shock, perhaps.

He gave her air again when they reached the opening, then they pushed into it together. To his relief, she stayed calm.

They passed through the long tunnel. It would seem pitch black in there, for her, so he squeezed her tight. She had handed all of her trust to him, and he refused to let her down.

Revealing himself like this was something he'd never done before. It wasn't technically forbidden because it didn't need to be. Shifters were naturally secretive. No human knew what he was, and he didn't know if he was prepared for that to change.

Now it didn't matter if he was prepared.

It had been selfish of him to take her deeper. He could have brought her to the surface. He could have told her that she'd passed out or something.

But so far, he hadn't lied to her about who he was, and he didn't want to start. That felt important to him for reasons he didn't understand. Assuming she didn't plug her ears and demand to be taken home, she was going to have a lot of questions. He just hoped she could accept his answers.

They came through the tunnel and into a second, smaller pool. He gave her air several times until she was relaxed, then he pulled her up toward a smaller tunnel that led to the surface—the ocean—which he knew would be choppy.

They emerged in a rocky area. Waves pounded at them. It wasn't the easiest bit of water to navigate, but he needed to get her into the air and didn't have time to swim underneath the activity, not with the tide coming in and a strong whirlpool just on the other side of the rocks.

He protected her with his body, ignoring the sharp rocks scraping at his skin. They wouldn't hurt him. When he swam alone, it wasn't a problem. How fragile the human form was, he realized. So easily torn, so easily broken.

Just a little higher and they were in the spray of the air. Monroe gasped, and the spell seemed to have broken. She grabbed at him, panicking.

"Hold your breath," he yelled. He hoped she'd heard. There was a large wave coming, and he dragged her underneath so it wouldn't dash them both against the rocks.

Now things were calmer, and he surfaced. Monroe was sputtering, coughing. He swam her to the closest beach, a bit of untamed beauty, white sands lapped by light blue water. When he could stand, he looped his arms under her shoulders and knees and carried her onto the perfect sand, where he carefully set her down and backed away, wanting to run. But for him, running would be into the surf, not on the beach.

Suddenly aware of what he'd done, he sank onto the sand, something like grief welling up inside him. He was putting off the moment when he'd have to face her... and himself.
**Chapter 9**

Monroe stayed where Koenraad had placed her. She felt like she had come through some strange dream, or perhaps was still in it. There was a stretch of empty beach to one side, and to the other, a sort of cliff, though not extremely high. The ocean thrashed loudly around her, mucking with her disjointed, racing thoughts.

_Am I dead?_ She didn't feel dead. In fact, some strange part of her felt more alive than ever. It was like she'd been going through her days with blinders on, and they had been ripped away.

Koenraad had ripped them away.

She slowly turned, expecting to find herself alone on the beach, perhaps some empty tequila bottles nearby. But he was there, his tanned skin glistening, beads of water dripping off of his sopping hair. He was staring out at the ocean.

_How?_

Even though she hadn't spoken the word aloud, Koenraad turned to her as if he were reacting to her voice, to her question.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was hoarse with regret.

She scrambled in front of him. She'd _known_ there was something different about him. "What are you?"

"I'm—"

"And don't say a lifeguard." She was almost giddy, full of nervousness and excitement and dreadful curiosity.

"Shark. A shifter," he said. He wasn't ashamed, but she could tell he was worried. He thought she was going to... what? Reject him? Call the authorities and have him... what? Put into a tank?

Shark warriors. "It's true," she whispered.

She sat back on her heels and looked at him, really _studied_ him. That lean, lithe body that was pure power. The size of him. The sculpted muscles. And his face... the midnight eyes.

She had known.

He turned his attention to her, and she felt it again, that uncontrollable shiver she'd had when they'd first met, when he had taken her hand. He was a predator, and some primal part of her had recognized that from the beginning.

But she wasn't afraid of him, not right now.

She shoved her wet hair out of her face and studied him closer. "Show me."

He laughed silently, shaking his head.

"Why not? I'm not afraid of you, Koenraad."

He drew the heel of his hand across his lips to his jaw, pretending to scratch an itch, buying time, she guessed. "Because if I tell you something, you can forget it, or discount it. If I show you, you can't un-see it." Those predator's eyes were now studying her. Apparently, he had a whole second set of mannerisms. She suppressed the urge to squirm, to wriggle backward, out of his reach. It was just a reflex, nothing more.

"There are already a lot of things I can't un-see," she said. "Is fear the only instinct you allow to control you?" She threw his earlier words out there, but she wasn't trying to pressure him. And damn, what he had taken her through... "That was amazing," she said simply. "I'm glad I trusted you. You... saved my life. I would never tell anyone." She suddenly remembered when he'd said he trusted her. Now she realized how much he had at stake.

She stood and brushed powdery sand off her ass, planning to walk up the beach, give him some space.

Koenraad grabbed her wrist as she passed in front of him. "Wait."

She turned and looked down at him, but he was staring at the sand. "Yeah?" In his grip, she could feel that he wanted to say something, but he was holding back.

"I should get you to the hotel," he said. He didn't let go of her wrist, though, and she didn't try to pull away.

They stayed like that for over a minute, until the sun disappeared behind a cloud and she began to shiver lightly.

Koenraad stood without letting go of her, without looking at her. Then he turned, his movements smooth and fast, and she instinctively took a step backward.

"You're not afraid of me?"

Well, now she was. "I am, but a little less than before."

"Less than before?"

She shrugged, though she didn't feel quite so casual about it. "You've got a secret. It makes you... I know this is going to sound silly, but it makes you more human."

Amusement flashed through his dark eyes. "More human."

"Yeah." She choked back a laugh. It was the result of being so tense for so long.

She didn't even see him move. One moment he was smiling, the next he was kissing her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up against him, wanting more of that closeness she'd felt earlier, when his kiss had given her life-sustaining air.

Back then, she'd been sure that she was going to faint. That it was over, and if she woke up, it would be with Koenraad giving her CPR on a beach. Koenraad had looked so calm, and then he'd put his mouth over hers. She had felt like they were one being. He had poured life into her lungs. She had never been so close to anyone before, so completely in sync.

A very large and greedy part of her hoped that this secret would bring them closer together. It was an awful thing to think, to wish on this man she didn't know and who didn't deserve to be saddled with any of this. She just couldn't imagine voluntarily walking away. Anyway, it wasn't her decision.

His large palm skimmed along her back, then pressed, and he was supporting her as he lowered her onto the sand. When he stopped kissing her, she decided she could be brave at least once more.

"I want you inside me," she said.

A noise, half moan, half growl, ripped from his throat. He was breathing hard, and she felt his cloth-covered erection against her thigh. His body was hot, almost feverish.

"Take me," she continued. "Please. I want you so bad—"

He kissed her, fingers sliding around the swell of her breast, slipping underneath the damp, clinging fabric of her bikini top. The fine sand abraded her flesh slightly as he filled his hand with her. He pulled back, his eyes closed, his breath almost singeing her lips.

"Not here," he whispered, and kissed her again, his kiss saying the opposite, that he wanted her right here and now. His tongue licked between her parted lips, and she felt it up and down her body.

"Not like this." He kissed her again, harder, like he was taking something. "Not for you."

She moaned a little in disappointment, and he kissed her again, hungrily, gently but then biting, nibbling, tasting and returning to gentleness, all soft lips and tongue, but forcefully enough to press her into the shifting sand.

Finally he pulled back, his eyes glazed, and helped her to her feet. His hand took hers, and he led her down the beach, then down a road that cut inland. It was a long walk, mostly silent. What was there to say when the energy of their attraction burned between them? Words were useless here.

He held her hand the entire time, and she couldn't help but compare it to how that _other_ man, her stupid, selfish, insulting ex, had acted like he was doing a favor if he _allowed_ her to hold his hand. In the dark, in the movies, that was one thing, but in public? Forget it.

But Koenraad never let her go. The man seemed to need her touch as much as she needed his.

_Man_. If that was the right word for... whatever he was.

_Shark_.

The silence gave her plenty of time to think that over, too. She was bubbling with questions. How did it work? Was it magic or science? Had he been bitten? Were his parents also sharks? She remembered him saying his father was a marine biologist. Had the professor made an experiment of his son?

And then there were other questions that burned inside her. Were there other types of shifters? And how many?

But now wasn't the time to talk about it. That much was clear. And it wasn't really any of her business. Just as well. She could hardly process what little she did know.

He swung her onto the boat, which was, as predicted, exactly where he'd left it.

"The head... I mean, the bathroom is down that hall," he said, pointing. "There are towels in the cabinet."

"Towels?"

"You'll want to shower, I think. All that sand. Unless you're into pain." Was it her imagination or did a flash of interest cross his features?

She blushed and hurried down the hall.

"Lock the door," he called out. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

That amused her. He wasn't worried about locking up his boat... unless she was on it.

The bathroom wasn't large, though it was spacious compared the one in her apartment. And it was well organized and quite clean. After thoroughly rinsing off her bikini, she made good use of the hot water and very male, woodsy shower gel.

The idea of a shark smelling woodsy amused her. The whole thing was so very _weird_. Surreal. She wasn't the kind of person who went with the flow. Who accepted things. Zen? Hardly. Yet the day's events weren't sending her screaming for help.

And she didn't understand that. Why did this all feel so _right_?

She squeezed more gel into her palm and smeared it over her shoulders. A slow smile spread across her face, then turned into a light chuckle. Apparently, she didn't know who she was. Her whole life she'd thought she was the responsible one. The level-headed, reasonable person. The oldest child who didn't have any siblings.

Learning that everything she'd taken for granted about biology and physics was wrong hadn't reduced her to a quivering, fearful mess.

The smile faded. Maybe she was so logical that she accepted facts as presented, and dealt with them.

So be it. All she knew for sure was that this was the most excited she'd ever been. This was an adventure. Something she'd never forget.

The soap rinsed away, she shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around her torso. She had rinsed but not shampooed her hair—no way, not when there wasn't any conditioner in sight. After toweling off, she squeezed the excess water out of her bikini and carried it into the fresh air to dry.

Koenraad was coming up the dock, her beach bag over one shoulder. Wow. A man who held her hand and who didn't mind carrying a woman's bag around. She cocked her head and took a moment to appreciate the way his muscles rippled as he walked.

She hadn't realized that the boat was now floating a good six feet from the dock. Not until Koenraad took a running jump at it. He easily landed on the deck, set down the bag, then pulled back the ropes.

"Suppose I'd drifted off to sea?"

"Even if you'd climbed up top, started the motor, and driven off, I would have caught you. No one else could have, though." There wasn't an ounce of boastfulness in his voice, which had the unexpected effect of chilling her.

He went up to the top level, and she dug the yellow dress out of the bag and pulled it over her head. Her breasts bounced under the fabric as she climbed the inside stairs to join Koenraad. The boat pulled smoothly away, but she grabbed onto a handle, just in case.

"What are your parents like?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "Good swimmers," he said without a trace of irony. Was she supposed to read between the lines? "Yours?"

Behind them, the island was quickly getting smaller. She wondered if she'd be able to find it on a map. "My father died when I was little. My mom is... a lot like me. Responsible. Predictable."

Koenraad laughed. "You are not predictable." He moved over a little. "Sit."

She did, but she wanted to leave him plenty of room, so she perched on the end, at an angle, and she had to balance her weight between her butt and her feet. She became aware that without the bikini top acting as a buffer, the outlines of her nipples were visible through the yellow dress.

Hunching her shoulders forward, she lost her balance a little and grabbed at Koenraad's leg. She found herself surprised again by how warm he was, and how solid.

"Are there a lot of others like you?"

Koenraad shrugged. "Not anymore." The yacht picked up speed. Monroe braced an arm against the cabin's back wall and abandoned the questions. The sun was sitting low in the sky, and the waves on the ocean seemed choppier than earlier.

"Can I take you to dinner?" Monroe found herself asking.

Koenraad looked over at her, then brought the boat to a stop. He killed the engine.

A light frown furrowed his brow, and he cocked his head, almost as if he was listening to some barely perceivable sound.

She didn't know where the impulse came from, but she found herself moving, sliding a newly tanned leg across Koenraad's lap and straddling him, one knee on the seat, her other foot on the floor. The steering wheel was in the way, so she stayed off to the side.

He was still a moment, then turned his attention to her. He dragged one hand slowly up the back of her straightened leg, and when his fingers reached her mid-thigh, they squeezed, kneading her soft flesh until his hand was against the swell of her buttock and holding her tight.

Her pussy seemed to throb. All day long, she'd wanted him inside her, and now there was nothing stopping it from happening.

Koenraad leaned over, the side of his face pressing into her upper abdomen, and fiddled with the knobs and levers. His movements were deft and fast, and the way he attended to whatever mysterious ritual he was doing while slowly massaging her ass turned her on even more.

Finally he sat back and looked up at her. He repeated the earlier journey with his free hand, and when his hands were full, he slid his hips over and pulled her onto him.

"No underwear?" he murmured. "Maybe I should reconsider New York."

She couldn't hide her smile. When was the last time a man had made her feel like this? _How about never?_ came the answer. No, she didn't know him, but she felt like she did, and heaven knew she _wanted_ to.

He traced his fingers lightly over her buttocks, pressed into the small of her back and urged her forward. Her nipples had hardened, making twin peaks under the dress. There was no way he hadn't noticed.

She ground her hips down, expecting to rub her bare sex on his covered erection, but instead felt a stretch of warm, hardened skin. She rocked her hips, surprised, and realized that several inches of swollen cock were now poking out of his Speedos.

With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled back. "Sorry," she said. "I don't have anything... I mean, I didn't realize that your, um, that you..." What was wrong with her? She was acting like this was her first make-out session.

"It's ok," he said into her neck, his voice whispering across her sensitive skin. Her neck was probably her most erogenous zone, and as his lips grazed over her throat, she felt herself getting wetter.

He stood, his hands under her buttocks. She wrapped her legs around him, trying her best to avoid rubbing her clit on his exposed, pulsing cock. But damn, she wanted to. She tightened her arms around his neck and buried her face in the shadow where her elbow and his broad chest met.

She could feel the thick scar down the right side of his body, and she wondered if it hurt him.

"I'm going to take you downstairs and make love to you," he said gently. "If that's ok." It wasn't exactly a question, but she nodded anyway, holding her breath as he descended the steps.

Lights now illuminated the steps and the deck's walkways. Beyond, the sea was quickly darkening, and a cool wind made goosebumps of her skin... at least, the areas where she wasn't pressed up against Koenraad.

He easily carried her through the little hallway and opened one of the doors and stepped into a bedroom. The bed itself took up a third of the space, but other than one bedside table, there really wasn't any furniture. A series of mirrored doors and drawers lined one wall. It made sense; furniture that moved could become dangerous in rough seas, she supposed.

With one hand behind her head, he gently laid her on the bed.

He went to a window and cranked it open.

She couldn't stop staring at him. He definitely didn't have two male organs. Twice the size, maybe... "I had no idea sharks were so well hung," she said.

"Completely different anatomy." He shook his head and made a face that was half sexy, half laughing. "I don't think we want to talk about that." He crossed his arms and scratched his thumb over his chin. "I don't suppose you're on birth control?"

She nodded. "Why?"

"I'm clean, and I can't give you anything. Except for—"

"Oh," she said. "We're good."

He came down on one elbow above her. Somehow, her yellow dress had gotten hiked up around her hips when he'd set her down, and he cupped his hand over her exposed sex with a light, teasing touch, grazing her slit. She was already slick.

He kissed her again with a single-minded focus that was both flattering and scary. She rocked her hips lightly side to side, wanting him to press into her, but he seemed intent on taking his time.

So she set out to change his mind via her fingers snug around his cock. His kiss grew harder as she squeezed him, trying to work the rest of his length free of the restrictive fabric.

She tilted onto her side, but he pushed her back with a hand on her knee, then he knelt over her, his palms pressing gently but resolutely on her inner thighs. She looked down and realized that her chest was rising and falling too quickly, that she was breathless.

He carefully peeled her out of her dress, and she fell back onto the bed, surrendering, her arms flung wide, her legs bent but flattening again as he spread her thighs. She was self-conscious of the way her breasts had bounced, but she didn't try to cover herself, hoping not to bring attention to her nervousness. Though it wasn't like he hadn't already seen her at her worst.

And anyway, it was getting dark and the only illumination filtered in from the lights he'd turned on outside. He wouldn't be able to see anything in detail.

He came down over her again and seemed to be carefully keeping his cock away from her pussy. So very close. She wished he would at least rest the pulsing weight of it on her aching clit.

"You're beautiful, you know," he said. He carefully smoothed her hair away from her face, and she closed her eyes, nervous under his scrutiny. "Hey," he said, his voice a tease. "I'm not so bad to look at, am I? Or maybe you don't want to remember this?"

_Remember._ Because she'd be going home the next day. She forced her eyes open, strained to meet his gaze in the waning light. "You're beautiful, too," she blurted out. "I wish I didn't have to leave tomorrow. I mean—"

The rest of her words were cut off with another of his heart-pounding kisses. He was more forceful in bed than she was used to... and he hadn't done anything yet. It was the way he touched her. He knew his way around a woman, that his touches brought pleasure. He knew what he wanted.

For once, she wasn't going to have to take the lead. With Koenraad, it wouldn't have been a chore, but she was relieved because she knew she'd be an awkward, clumsy mess.

He kissed and licked his way down her neck, over the flat spot between her breasts. She arched her back, and he licked the crest of her ribs and then lower. She dropped her hand to his head as he descended, and worked her fingers into his thick hair.

The bed seemed to vibrate as he growled, his face moving between her legs. She hadn't noticed he had stubble, but his jaw was scratching her thighs raw. For all that, he was careful where it counted. He licked between her folds and she arched higher, moaning, her toes pressing against the soft sheets.

It wasn't just excitement that ripped her breath out of her chest. Koenraad was now flicking his tongue around her clit, and even though her mouth wasn't begging for more, her body certainly was, thrusting rhythmically at him, knowing only he would bring her pleasure.

But it was relief, too, and gratitude. The night before, she'd realized she needed to change her life, but she'd never expected that someone else could change it for her. That wasn't how it was supposed to work. She was supposed to save herself. But here Koenraad was, protecting her, making her laugh, and now, his arms locked around her thighs, he licked and kissed and tongue-fucked her pussy with a hunger that she hadn't thought possible.

And the noises he was making, like she was satisfying a deep hunger in him. Like he was the grateful one.

"Oh—" It was all she could get out before bliss exploded throughout her body. The hours of Koenraad's tormenting closeness had made her too excited, too sensitive. Her orgasm bordered on violent, and she felt like all her pieces might go flying out in a million different directions. But Koenraad was still there, his mouth pressing on her as shudder after shudder rolled through her body.

As she came back to herself, Koenraad slowly relaxed his grip on her. His face was still buried between her legs, and he didn't move away until she was completely still. Only when he sat up and pushed her arm away did she realize that her fingers had been clenched in his hair the whole time.

"Sorry," she said. Her voice was weak and sounded far away.

He caught her hands and pressed her wrists onto the mattress, pinning her in place. "If we're going to apologize for being rough during sex, it's going to be a very long night."

With that, he reached between their bodies and dragged the head of his cock along her wet slit.
**Chapter 10**

Monroe in his bed was giving him sensory overload. He'd never tasted a woman half as delicious. He'd known, just from her smell, that they were compatible, but he hadn't anticipated all the subtleties of her honeyed excitement.

It had taken every scrap of willpower he possessed to tear himself away from her. He would have been happy to hold her there for hours, just inhaling her intoxicating feminine musk until it was as familiar and easy to recall as the scent of rain on the ocean.

So far, she'd been surprisingly accepting of all the weirdness, but he doubted she'd be willing to put up with his face buried between her thighs. Pity she lived so far away. If he had more time, he could win her over, make her his, teach her to put up with, or even enjoy, his eccentric sexual obsessions and needs. There were things about his anatomy that he was hiding from her, but he wished he didn't have to. How to explain to a human about the spurs on his cock? Or how dangerous his blood and semen were if ingested by a non-shifter? As afraid of the water as she was, she would probably jump off the boat and swim for shore.

For now, she was here, and the taste he'd gotten would have to be enough. His cock throbbed and his balls ached, and Monroe was pliant and accepting underneath him. Still, he wanted to turn her over, rake his teeth over her back until she tilted her hips toward him, then clamp her shoulder in his teeth to hold her still while he thrust himself home. He wanted to let go, to anchor her to him.

He groaned. It was too much to expect a non-shifter to endure. He knew that, but now his instinct was fighting hard to take control.

He turned her, trying to be gentle. Heaven help him. Her back curved and her lovely round ass tilted up so provocatively. The mass of her hair spilled along the bed, and her skin was sinfully soft.

There was only so much a male could take. He pushed up on her ass, opening her legs and exposing the slick, swollen folds, her hard little clit like a pearl. Not caring what she'd think, he leaned forward and inhaled her, licked her. She was dripping after her forceful orgasm, and already she shivered, practically vibrating. He slowly sat back and saw her pussy tighten hungrily.

He pulled her legs down so she was flat on his bed, and he spread her thighs. He tried to be gentle, really he did, but he sensed he was scaring her.

"It's ok," he soothed. "I won't hurt you." Even if holding back might feel like it was killing him.

There was a strange splash in the water, not far away. It reminded him of the weird feeling he'd had right before Monroe had straddled him. The splash didn't sound quite right. He would investigate later, when this gorgeous woman wasn't waiting, legs spread, for him to fuck her.

Her buttocks, thighs and pussy glistened. He leaned over her and slowly lowered his straining erection toward her heat. She twitched and hitched her hips up, rolling them slightly as if afraid to vocally express her need for penetration. If he had time, he'd free her from that shyness, too. But he didn't have that luxury. He had this night.

He didn't just want to fuck her. He wanted to truly mate with her. Except that wasn't something a shifter did with someone unless it was meant to be forever. And with a human? That was trouble. And where had this come from, anyway? He'd been with many women over the years, shifter and human alike. Some he'd been intellectually connected to, some he'd had a powerful hormonal attraction to. All of them he'd enjoyed, or he wouldn't have wasted his time.

But nothing had been like this. He didn't even really know the woman quivering in his bed. But what he did know, he liked very much. And then there was the physical allure that enthralled him.

He wanted to mate. Not sex. Mate, as shifters did. He could stop at the last minute, before it was completed. He gritted his teeth. The thought was unspeakably stupid. He knew that. And he could seriously hurt her. Assuming he was able to keep the spurs on his cock retracted, it would bring suffering nonetheless.

"Do you wanna turn the light on?" Monroe asked, her voice tentative. She wasn't innocent, no way, but there was somehow an innocence to her. Of course, she couldn't truly understand that between the soft lights in the hall and the moonlight coming through the window, he saw every inch of her as clearly as if she were under a spotlight.

And she damned sure didn't suspect that he was trying to stop himself from making a bad decision that would change their lives forever.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, and he remembered the expression on her face earlier on the beach, when she'd stared him in the eye and told him she wasn't afraid. He'd almost laughed. Him. An apex predator and inches from his habitat... he could have shifted and dragged her into the water between his jaws. Yet she was unafraid.

And she had been telling the truth.

"Koenraad?" The sound of his name on her lips made his cock twitch. She didn't pronounce half of the vowels and a third of the consonants, but he loved the sound of it.

"You are too damned sexy," he said. He traced his hands over her shoulders, tensed from the effort of holding herself twisted around to look at him. If he'd allowed himself to really touch her, he'd lose control. "Hold onto something, baby," he said softly.

He looked down at the supple, round curves of her gorgeous ass. Even though it almost killed him, he left her arms alone _(don't pin her down)_ and her shoulders ( _don't rake your teeth over her flawless skin)_ and that perfect handhold where the flare of her hips tucked into a soft, lovely waist.

Instead, he grabbed handfuls of his sheets. She sensed his struggle for control. He could smell her fear, could feel the almost imperceptible change in her body temperature. To mate with her would be committing to her for the rest of their lives. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't subject her to that, and so he drew a line far on the side of safe, and he eased his cock into her slippery, clutching heat.

Oh, she was snug around his girth. And sopping, dripping wet. How was he supposed to control himself? He dug his fingers into the mattress, gathering up the sheets in his fists, and leaned his shoulders back, away from her, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling so he wouldn't bite that delectable skin where her shoulder and neck joined. Her tight muscles were already clenching around him, squeezing him, sucking on him rhythmically.

"God, oh god oh god oh god," she chanted, sounding out of her mind. Her voice had lowered, gotten breathy. "Koenraad, you feel... it's like..." She sucked in air—he loved that particular tic of hers—and bit down on the pillow.

Biting. He wanted to bite her. To mar her skin with his lust. Every shark shifter who ever saw her would know that she was mated and claimed.

He could restrain himself. He could lightly drag his teeth over her body. Harmless. Innocent.

He came down over her and opened his mouth wide, pressed his teeth onto her shoulder. His cock swelled, and her sweet, sweet pussy squeezed him. She was so wet. So receptive.

She whimpered, nearly sending him into a frenzy, but some deep reserve of prudence made him rock back before his jaws could clamp.

His erection, though, plowed deeper into her velvet heat. He could feel every muscle in her body, and he adjusted his rhythm so that each thrust stroked the most sensitive spots of her pussy, and every inch of his length rubbed the skin closest to her clit.

She unleashed a torrent of desperate pleading. He slid a finger into his mouth and then bent his hand under her damp hip. The sheets underneath them were soaked, and he knew that even after he changed them, he would be able to detect her scent for months to come. Once he had his finger on her clit, he pressed in deep and pounded into her, hard and fast and relentless, his sweat-damp hips slapping against her soft thighs.

Feeling her orgasming around his cock and hearing her excited, unintelligible pleading made him see stars. Heaven knew he wasn't a screamer, but that night he did, an animal grunt tearing from deep within as his balls tightened and sent uncountable spurts into Monroe's perfect, gorgeous body.

His pulse finally slowed. He took a deep breath and shook his head. Now that the flood of hormones was clearing, he was grateful that he'd managed to hold back. Monroe deserved better than to be pulled even deeper into his world. She had her own life to lead, and it was unfair of him to take that away.

He should have regretted revealing what he had, which was far, far too much. But he didn't.

He kissed the damp, curled hairs on the back of her neck, enjoying how clean and healthy she smelled. He shuddered as he reluctantly pulled from her pussy's grip, then fell onto his back next to her.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," he said with a yawn.

She laughed. "You're sending mixed messages here, 'cause you sound like you need a nap."

"Ok, I'm tired, too," he said as his stomach growled, and they both laughed. He sensed that she'd curled her hands into fists and was drawing her arms in, and he realized that she was getting cold, so he pulled her back into his chest and draped his arms over her.

"You're so warm," she murmured.

There was a reason for that, but he wouldn't explain it to her. He felt her breathing grow slower, then even, and he felt the moment when she passed from dozing into true sleep.

He wanted nothing more than to stay curled up with her, but those strange noises he'd ignored earlier were now again nagging at him, and there was something else, a strange sensation that worked on his nerves. Maybe it was technically his day off, but there weren't any other sharks patrolling his waters. That splash had been weird... needed looking into.

Reluctantly, he eased his lover out of his arms and went into the hallway on feet as silent as death. Concentration made his senses hyper acute. No strange noises, but an unidentifiable sensation made his teeth itch.

He passed onto the deck, sniffing, then dove into the ocean, shifting automatically when the water touched his skin. Immediately, he felt like something had slammed into him from all directions at once. He forced himself to come back to the task at hand, and he swam fast, tasting the water, smelling, sensing, trying to tease out the identity of that unnameable sensation.

_Sick._

No theory as to its provenance, if it was a smell or a taste or a goddamn electromagnetic disturbance. His brain was simply overwhelmed. Every cell in his body told him to get out of the water and do it now.

If he were any other shark shifter, he would have circled back to the boat, climbed back aboard and gone somewhere else for a few days, hoping that whatever was wrong would blow over. But this was his territory, the ocean filled with his charges, the beaches full of people who, while they didn't realize it, depended on him for safety. Protecting Tureygua was his job, but it was also his calling. And so he forced himself to head toward the _sick._

As he swam, he tried to break the sensation into components. It was mostly a smell, and not a remotely familiar one, yet his brain assigned it a word. _Sick. Very sick._ It was jumbling his senses, making touch and smell and feel and vibration... all of it was confused. He remembered, suddenly, the dolphin he'd been following when he'd gone to investigate the stalled _Dragon_.

The dolphin had emitted the faintest of traces of this _sick_. It hadn't registered, then, this new smell; it had been barely detectable, and he'd lacked a framework for it. Now it hammered at him, seemed to have gotten deep inside and lodged there. He knew that even when he shifted back to human, when he closed his eyes to sleep, it would return and plague him until he discovered what it was and then fixed it.

It wasn't the right time to investigate this. Not with an innocent woman sleeping on his boat. She could wake up at any moment, and if she found him gone, with nothing but dark seas around...

Reluctantly, he turned and headed back. He didn't need to consult Darius, but contacting one of the sharks who patrolled a nearby island felt like a good idea. The last thing he needed was to go headfirst into some new toxic sludge. Though this didn't feel like chemical runoff from an unmonitored factory.

He hoped there was an easy explanation, but his instincts said otherwise.
**Chapter 11**

Monroe pulled the sheet around her shoulders and stepped into the hallway. Koenraad must have stopped his boat far from the inhabited islands because she didn't see even a sparkle of manmade light, no matter which direction she looked.

"I'm out here."

Even those three words set her to tingling again. Koenraad had been the most amazing, mind-blowing, incredible... every superlative she could muster up, it applied to what the man had done to her body.

She carefully walked out to the boat's deck where Koenraad sat, naked in the moonlight, elbows on his knees and staring intently at nothing she could see. He looked up at her and seemed almost surprised. She wanted to tease him a little, but the slightly worried, concentrated look on his face made her think better of it.

"Hi," she said shyly.

He seemed to snap out of it, or mostly. "You make that sheet look good."

_Charmer._ She touched him, feeling self-conscious, like she had no right to be so familiar with him. But wasn't that how it always was with someone new? Except it was an order of magnitude greater with Koenraad. Despite his perfect manners and attentive consideration, there was still something wild and uncontrollable lurking under the surface.

She couldn't keep Thomas interested. There was no chance in hell that someone like Koenraad would consider her as anything more than a fling.

Not that it mattered. Her life was in New York, and Koenraad's was here. And then there was that other thing... which, after her nap, felt even more like a really bizarre dream, or perhaps the result of undiagnosed heat stroke or something. But at the same time, she accepted it. He was... a shark. That's what he'd called himself. When she got home, she was going to be researching the hell out of it.

"Your hair is wet," she said.

"I went for a quick swim."

"Before we got distracted earlier, I asked about dinner..."

He stood easily, gracefully. "I would love to take you to dinner, but I've got something to deal with." He frowned. "Forgive me. I would love to. Yes."

"Ok," she said, surprised. "I'd like to treat you, to thank you for ferrying me around—"

"Not gonna happen, but if you insist, we can flip a coin for the privilege. So you know, I always win." He cocked an eyebrow. Despite his flirting, he seemed a bit tense.

She put on her bikini, which had dried and was now cool, then slipped on the coverup dress and the sandals.

"Which hotel is yours?"

She dug the room key out of her beach bag and was relieved to find the name printed on the side. She held it up for Koenraad to see, and he nodded. "Are you cold?"

"Just a little," she said as she followed him inside the lower cabin. She stared at the steering wheel. "What would happen if I went up and turned the other steering wheel while you were down here?"

He shot her an amused look. "I have no idea. Maybe we can try it tomorrow. What time is your flight?"

_Try it tomorrow._ She liked the sound of that. "Two-thirty."

"You have plans in the morning?"

She shook her head although she didn't know if it was true or not. She'd make time for him. It wasn't that she'd forgotten her friends, but first, she saw them often in New York—even Linda, who had moved to Chicago when she got engaged, still returned several times a year for big company meetings. Plus her friends all had someone to keep entertained. She was the only one who'd come alone.

To her surprise, Koenraad took his boat right up to the beach near her hotel. Well, not _right_ up to the beach. She didn't ask how he intended to get her onto dry land, but she had a pretty good idea what he had in mind.

"Don't let your bag get wet," he said as he scooped her up. She held it over her head, and he easily ferried her onto the shore. His hands slid up her body when he set her down. "Sorry that I got your dress wet."

"It's fine. Um... what should I wear for dinner?"

"Dress comfortably. I'll be at your hotel in an hour. In a car." His eyes were reflective in the darkness. Eye shine, like a cat.

She thought about that as she walked through the cool, shifting sand. It was definitely real, no matter how dreamlike it felt.

By the time she reached the paved hotel sidewalk and turned around, Koenraad was gone, his boat nowhere to be seen. It was like she'd imagined the whole thing.

A little twisty feeling in her gut whispered that she'd never see him again. It was silly and unfounded, but as she walked through the bright lobby, she became more and more anxious. She didn't have his phone number or even know his last name.

There was a new clerk working the desk, a dark-skinned man with an obviously dyed black handlebar mustache and a shiny cue ball of a head. He did a double take when he saw Monroe. _I'm on fire today,_ she thought. Maybe it was the new tan.

"Are you Monroe?" he asked.

She nodded, repressing a smirk; so much for having become magically irresistible to all men.

"I have a message for you." He handed her a folded note, her name on the front in Tara's perfect handwriting. Inside, it said:

_Been trying to call you all day. Maybe your phone fell into a coral reef. Everyone's feeling better. Went to Club Carrib, dinner reservations at 9:00, having drinks first. Join us!_

She shoved the note into her bag. "Where's Club Carrib?"

The clerk came around the desk and walked out the front door. She assumed she was meant to follow, so she did. "See the orange building? One block beyond that. You can't miss the sign."

"Ok. Thanks." She headed off the way he'd indicated, walking quickly. She would reassure everyone that she was ok—even though Tara hadn't said she was worried, Monroe knew her friend well enough to read between the lines—and then get back, take a quick shower and change into something appropriate for dinner with Koenraad.

A little thrill ran down her back as she remembered him asking about her flight. It sounded like he wanted to spend the night and next morning with her. More Koenraad was definitely a good thing.

Despite the restaurant's name, Club Carrib was about the tamest, quietest place she'd ever seen. Most of the diners were older couples, and little tea lights flickered on all the tables. She spotted her friends off in one corner.

Tara had said they were feeling better, but they seemed subdued. Monroe caught Tara's eye and waved her over.

"Are you ok?" Monroe asked.

Tara shrugged. "Not much worse than lunch at Paco-Paco's Taco Truck on a hot summer day. Of course that's easy to say now, but this morning..." She shuddered. "Where were you? Some girl at Dive Happy Caribbean said you were off with a guy named Koenraad?" Tara let her raised eyebrows ask the rest of the questions.

"Yes, I met someone, and—"

"Whoa. Back up, girlie. Unless you finish that sentence with 'I met someone who sold me a timeshare' you're going to have to go into a lot more detail."

"I know I'm being antisocial again, but I only have a minute. He's coming to get me for dinner. I promise I'll make it up to you in New York."

"Wait," Tara said, grabbing Monroe's arm even though she hadn't started to walk away yet. "Who is he?"

"Really nice guy who rescued me when the boat broke down."

Tara's eyes went huge. "The boat broke down? Did it capsize? Were you shipwrecked?" Tara was speaking loudly, trying to draw attention. Now their other friends were looking over, curious as hell.

Monroe realized she'd never get away. Not until she divulged enough information to satisfy her best friend. She allowed Tara to lead her to the table.

"Guess who met a local hottie?" Tara asked the group.

Monroe sighed. So much for giving Tara a fast rundown and then making an escape. "Everyone feeling better?"

They nodded enthusiastically, but she suspected that was to spare Linda's feelings. "We're fine," Nya said. Her fiancé held her hand in both his. "Who's this hottie of yours?"

"Local guy with a boat." Better to say boat than yacht. She shifted uncomfortably. She'd give up the details, or at least the non-shark details, later, but she didn't want to go into her plans for the night. She didn't want to talk about her love life with the guys listening, though probably they knew more about her dating misadventures than she would have liked.

_Oh, screw it to hell._ "I'm going to have dinner with him," she said. "And breakfast."

Linda's eyes went wide. "Look at you getting over Thomas so fast. Maybe, when we get back, you can meet Marco's buddy who just moved to New York?"

Marco shifted uncomfortably.

Monroe shot Tara a dirty look and received an innocent shrug in return. Next time, Monroe was going to swear her to secrecy. She sighed. "Anyway, I need to change, but I wanted to check in."

"Bring him here!" Linda said.

"Yes!" Tara insisted. Nya nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"I... I'll ask him." Monroe stood, gave her friends quick hugs, then hurried back to the hotel.

When she walked in, the clerk waved her over. "Monroe?"

"Still Monroe," she said, smiling.

He handed her another note. Frowning, she opened it. _Work problem came up. Have to cancel dinner. I'm really sorry. I'll come by tomorrow around 9ish and see if you want to have breakfast. Leave me a note if you go out and I'll find you. Love, Koenraad._

It felt like someone had dumped icy water over her head. He'd canceled. Seemed like a running theme in her life.

She couldn't be angry at him. After all, she'd monopolized his day. Still, it sucked. And it hurt, though it shouldn't. She blamed Thomas for the raw, vulnerable edges.

Numbly, she thanked the clerk and took the elevator to her room, which had been cleaned in her absence.

After a hot shower, she ordered room service because she didn't feel much like showing up to dinner and explaining why she was alone. Again.

Only after she finished eating did she check her cell phone.

There were three emails from Thomas.

Her heart in her mouth, she read the first one. _What? Where is this coming from? Can you talk?_

Nervously, she opened the second one. _Please don't do this, Monroe. I'm really sorry that you had to go to the wedding alone. When I said I'd make it up to you, I meant it. How was the wedding anyway? I bet Linda and Mark made a beautiful couple._

"His name is Marco," she said through clenched teeth and moved to the third email. _You are too special to lose. I've been soul-searching all day, and you're right. I screwed up. This is 100% my fault, and I'm going to fix it. If you don't want to talk to me right now, I understand. I don't want to ruin your vacation. We'll talk when you get back._

She read the email over and over, conflicting feelings brewing inside her. Thomas wasn't the kind of man to apologize at all, let alone so profusely. She'd never heard him express anything like what he was saying in this email. Was that a sign that he meant every word or that his ego was bruised? He must have meant it, though. What would be the point of begging her to reconsider if he wasn't willing to change the things that had upset her in the first place?

She flopped back onto the bed. How could she even consider getting back together with him? Tara had given him a failing grade and Monroe hadn't missed him at all.

Plus she'd already slept with someone else. Without protection.

"I am such a slut," she said, giggling. Boring women didn't sleep with hot guys while on vacation.

Poor Thomas. Too little, too late.

She read the emails again. Funny how he'd shown more caring since she'd said she was through with him than he'd demonstrated in a typical month of dates. If only Thomas could be more... well, like Koenraad, actually.
**Chapter 12**

Koenraad paced in his kitchen, waiting for Darius to call back. He considered himself fairly reasonable, but the bad turn his evening had taken was making him want to rip something apart.

When he'd gotten back on the boat, there was a message from Darius saying to call back immediately. He did, and Darius said he'd need Koenraad overnight. Then he'd said he would call back and hung up abruptly.

Going back to the hotel and leaving a note for Monroe had made Koenraad feel awful. It was funny... all the women he'd canceled on, run out on, and this was the only time it had bothered him.

He'd caught Monroe's intoxicating scent—mixed with his—and followed her to the restaurant, but he had decided against interrupting. The note was his only alternative, but it was less than ideal.

When he took her out for breakfast, he planned to suggest she stay a few extra days. She'd said she had the vacation time, and he was happy to buy her a new ticket, first class and with no layovers. But she might say no. Even though he knew she'd felt their connection, she didn't strike him as the kind of woman to change her plans for a man she barely knew.

He wasn't on the boat for five minutes before Darius called again. There were problems off the coast of Bonaire, and Wardell had disappeared several days earlier. Darius thought he must have fallen off the wagon.

Wardell's wife, who probably hadn't shifted shark in three decades, finally convinced Darius that something was wrong, and he'd reluctantly sent three dolphins to investigate. They had returned around the time that Koenraad and Monroe were discussing dinner plans. The dolphins had reported no trace of Wardell, but there was something wrong with the water around the island.

Koenraad immediately knew it was the _sick_ , that strange sensation that had scrambled his senses, and he told Darius everything he knew, which wasn't much. Darius didn't say what they were both thinking: the _sick_ had contaminated the open ocean between Tureygua and Bonaire. That was a staggeringly large amount of water.

Koenraad leaned against the counter and stared at his empty kitchen. He wondered what Monroe was doing. He hoped she'd gone back to the restaurant to eat with her friends.

The phone rang, and he jumped on it.

"They're in comas," Darius said, his gruff voice laced with anger.

"Who is?" Koenraad asked.

"Bria, Taylor and Hera."

_The dolphins?_ "Since when?"

"It might be something they ate, or it could be whatever was in the water. They weren't feeling well and went to lie down in my back room. I went to ask Hera a question and found her unresponsive. The doctor says he can't explain it." Darius fell silent, letting the bad news sink in. "I hate to ask you to do this, but I need you to go investigate Wardell's territory. Victoria will join you."

Koenraad balled his hand into a fist. "I would work better on my own."

"Better, maybe, but not faster. She was in the area and she agreed to help."

What the fuck was she doing in the area? But, damn. "You'd better find someone new to partner with her."

"I'm working on that. I want you over there by dawn at the latest. And Koenraad? Be careful."

Koenraad slammed down his phone and walked toward the rear of the house. _Dawn?_ It would take him several hours to get to Curaçao, but he could have taken Monroe to dinner. Frustration unfurled in his chest.

He stared outside at the ocean. A nice swim should make him feel better.

But the ocean wasn't safe. And to think that he'd started the day worrying about one leaky old boat.

He stripped down and walked outside, jumped into his pool and floated on his back. Looking up at the stars and feeling weightless usually took the edge off, but not this time. Victoria had that effect on him.

She was sneaky and mean. And since he was one of the few young, single, and wealthy shark shifters in the area, she assumed that they were meant to be together. He would never get over what had happened to Brady, and he'd been relieved when Victoria moved to Brazil. It wasn't far enough because he still crossed paths with her a few times a year, and each instance was like a knife in the gut.

Relaxing wasn't happening. Not here.

He heaved himself out of the pool and headed back inside, water dripping off him, only stopping to grab his discarded clothing and his keys.

He'd take his nap on one of his yachts. Not just any boat either. There was one particular bed he wanted: the one Monroe had been in. He would sleep well there, surrounded by the exhilarating yet soothing scent of the woman who had made such a strong impression on him.

He woke an hour later, still in a foul mood. After quickly fueling up, he set course for the rendezvous point, which Darius had texted. With a little luck, Victoria would be there already. Maybe she would have gotten to work. As much as he disliked her, he couldn't fault her work ethic. She was stubborn like that. Just look at all the different ways she'd tried to get her hooks into him.

The sooner they started, the sooner he could get back to Monroe.

Still, when he saw a boat was already waiting, he only felt dread. As he pulled closer, a slender but curvy figure stepped onto the deck, hands on hips. The wind blew her dark hair around her body, making her look like a model at a photo shoot.

He came up close, but not too close. He didn't want her deciding to board his boat.

"Why so far away, Koenraad?" she called out, the edges of her voice curling with laughter. It sounded real, but he knew it was fake, just like everything else about her.

"Let's get this over with," he said. "What have you found out?"

"You used to be a lot more fun."

"What do you have?"

She crossed her arms over her considerable chest and pouted a moment, then said, "Water samples. From what I can tell, the changes seem to be stable, not spreading. There are clear lines of demarcation, so whatever it is, it's not diffusing."

Koenraad felt a little of the stress leave him. Stable was good. Though what the hell resisted diffusion?

"I also asked some questions, and a guy in a bar says he saw a dead shark washed up on a beach on the other side of the island."

Despite how much she irritated him, he had to admit she was good at her job. Darius wouldn't have called her in if she wasn't. "Did you check it out?"

"Thought I'd wait for you. It'll be like old times again, the two of us running the show." She was goading him, but he refused to take the bait.

Victoria glanced at her watch. "There's not a lot of room at the docks, and the water isn't safe to swim through. Hop over. I've got Arnie inside. I'm sure he won't mind watching your boat if you're worried about drifting into a shipping lane."

He hesitated.

"Or I'll come over there," she said, her voice turning seductive.

That was the last thing he wanted. He grabbed his phone and easily jumped the space between the boats. She sniffed, then wrinkled her nose, no doubt smelling traces of Monroe on him. "New fuck buddy?" she asked.

He ignored her, instead turning his attention to the slight, redheaded shifter who had appeared beside Victoria. "Take good care of my baby," he said. Arnie saluted casually and jumped onto _The Good Life._

"I used to be your baby," Victoria purred.

"No, you didn't."

Two hours later found them walking along a deserted beach, a long trail of footprints behind them. Victoria was a bit ahead of Koenraad; she'd run through all of her usual tricks to goad him into a reaction, and she'd finally gotten bored.

They had found an area that smelled faintly of shark, but there wasn't any proof that it was Wardell. The befuddling effects of the _sick_ made it impossible to tell for sure.

Wardell wasn't a bad fellow. He had his demons, but he'd been sober for years now. Even though he was approaching seventy, he continued to fulfill his obligations, knowing that if he retired, there would be no one to pick up the slack.

Victoria whistled, and when Koenraad looked up, she frantically waved him over. He took off at a jog. He was more than ready to wrap this up and go home.

"There," she said, pointing a few feet away, in the water. A wave had just rolled in, covering everything foamy white, but when the wave receded, he saw it, a waterlogged cowboy boot. Not many people wore cowboy boots in the Caribbean. In fact, Koenraad couldn't think of anyone who did except Wardell.

They looked at each other, then Victoria resolutely stepped into the water. Koenraad grabbed her, pulled her back. "It's not safe," he said.

She looked up at him in surprise. "I'm not some old man," she snarled. "Though I'm happy to see you care." She went into the surf and fished out the boot, turning it upside down and letting the water drain out of it. She tossed the boot to him. "I'm going in," she said as she walked backward, a dangerous grin on her face.

A wave rolled in and she lifted with it, but then she faltered, her eyes rolling back in her head. Koenraad's instinct kicked in, and he caught her before she fell. Much as he would have preferred to push her deeper into the water, he dragged her up on the beach.

Her eyes fluttered open. "I'm fine." She turned and retched, and Koenraad stepped back. He'd warned her, and she'd ignored him. Victoria might be a good investigator, but she slowed him down.

She rolled over and heaved herself to her feet. To her credit, she hid her discomfort well, like any proud shark, but Koenraad could smell the _sick_ on her skin and hair. __

He sniffed, frowning. The sensation was one thing in the water, but it changed when it touched a living creature. What was strange was how little effect it had on him, comparably.

The edges of the sky were turning pink.

"I need to leave," he said. "Think you can stay out of trouble for a few hours?"

She shrugged and picked up the boot. "I'll take this to the widow—"

"We don't know that it's his, and even if it is, we don't know that he's dead."

"When did you get so soft?" She staggered off, making up for her lack of coordination with attitude.

He followed. "Hey. Take me to my boat."

"I'm not ready to leave, and you're supposed to be helping. You wanna sneak off, then swim out there."

There was no point in asking a second time. He cut away from her and headed up the beach.

It was full daylight by the time he got to the other side of the island and found someone with a motorboat willing to take him offshore. In the interim, he'd realized something puzzling. The water didn't seem to be bothering the tourists on the beach, either. If not for the smell, he would have thought that the _sick_ had dissipated, though he wasn't going to stick his arm into the water to find out.

So why did it put the dolphins into a coma? Dolphins were more closely related to humans than sharks. It made no sense.

He paid the motorboat's owner, who happily roared off with Arnie on board. Now it was 9:15. He called Monroe's hotel and was told that she'd already checked out.

"Did she leave luggage with you?" he asked, frustrated.

The girl on the phone sounded very young and inexperienced. "I can't tell you that."

"I'm not asking for personal information."

"I'm sorry. It's against the rules to give out information about guests... but I can tell you that there aren't any suitcases in the storage room." She seemed quite pleased with herself.

Koenraad tapped a balled fist against his thigh. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. "Take a note for me. Tell her I got stuck but I'll be there in a few hours. And that I'm sorry."
**Chapter 13**

Monroe pushed her hair back from her face as she leaned over the display case full of shell jewelry.

"What do you think?"

She looked up and saw that Tara had tried on yet another dress. "You look gorgeous," she said.

"A very pretty dress," the shopkeeper said, smiling. "You have a nice figure." The shopkeeper turned to Monroe. "You, too."

"I don't have anywhere to wear it," Monroe said, cutting the woman off before she could rope her into buying something.

Tara pivoted, looking over her shoulder at the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "It's kinda... sheer."

"Good for the beach," the shopkeeper said. "But if you want something more modest..." She went through the rack of dresses and pulled out more for Tara to try on.

Monroe sighed and reached for her phone. It was 11:30. It wasn't fair to keep calling Nya, but with the texts so unreliable, she kinda had no choice.

"No tall, handsome men sighted, doll," Nya said by way of greeting.

"You're—"

"I can see the lobby from the pool. I haven't even gotten up to pee, you know. And I told the girl at the desk to let me know immediately if he shows up."

"I'm sorry to be a pain," Monroe said.

"Don't be. We're happy by the pool, and I've got four more days to get sand in my crack. You should be out seeing the sights, not sitting around waiting for some bozo."

"He's not like that," Monroe said. But maybe he was.

"If he can't make time for you, he's that and a whole lot worse. I'll call you the moment he shows up."

Monroe touched the top of her head, checking that the sunglasses were still there. Yesterday felt like something she'd dreamed. "Ok. Thanks, Nya."

Tara stepped out in a pretty, ankle-length dress covered in a cheery sunflower print. "Yes or no?"

"It's hideous," Monroe said, trying to keep a straight face. "Villagers will lob moldy tomatoes at your head if you go out in that. Have you considered plastic surgery?"

"No!" the shopkeeper exclaimed, scandalized. "Your friend is blind. It's the prettiest one so far."

"I think I spotted a café across the street," Monroe said, edging toward the door. "I'm going to get a lemonade or something. Take your time."

"Just ten minutes," Tara promised.

"Seriously, take your time. I just want to sit and relax a bit."

The café was empty except for an old man wearing sneakers that he'd turned into flip-flops by walking on the backs. Monroe bought an iced tea and carried it to one of the plastic white tables on the sidewalk.

So Koenraad had changed his mind. Apparently getting a man to commit to breakfast was a stretch for her. Maybe it was time to think about joining a nunnery. She replayed the night before. He'd seemed preoccupied after sex. Maybe he'd been anxious to get rid of her. When she'd first asked about dinner, he hadn't answered. The second time, he'd said no, then had changed his mind.

What had she missed? The sex had been hot. It had definitely been effective. But as she thought about it, he'd been a little weird even during the act. Like he was thinking about something else. Fantasizing about someone hotter?

And that was the problem with new relationships. You didn't know the other person, even if you thought you did.

Her whole body went cold as sudden realization hit her.

He'd gone down on her—enthusiastically and for a long time—and she hadn't offered to do the same.

She groaned and slid down in the chair. She was such a freaking idiot. Koenraad probably had a dozen women on speed dial who would be thrilled to drop to their knees and suck his big dick without expecting anything in return.

And she hadn't even pretended to return the favor.

If, by some miracle, he did show up, and _if_ he had a good reason for disappearing, she was going to get on her knees and show her appreciation. Hell, she'd wanted to. She'd thought about it. But then she'd been so anxious to feel him inside of her that she'd forgotten all about etiquette.

Maybe that worked if the relationship was established, but at the beginning...

Her phone rang, and she jumped, startled.

"Is he there?" she croaked out.

"No," Nya said, "but a tall, skinny chick dropped off a DVD of photos for you. That kid at the front desk today is useless. She was sending the girl away because you'd checked out. Good thing I went out there. Anyway, I called because there are some prints, too... Can I look?"

"Sure. You're going to anyway."

"You got that right. I'm so sad that we were all sick." There was a rustling sound, then Nya said, "I love your bikini! Spinning class is doing good things for you. Oh... is that the guy? Damn. He's fucking hot." She paused. "Not as hot as you, baby," she said, her mouth away from the phone, and Monroe wrinkled her nose as she heard Nya and Jerry smooching.

"Um... Nya? Hello?"

"I'm here," Nya said, her voice full of laughter. "Looks like you had a great day yesterday. We're trying to get into a dive tomorrow, but they're booked up and short a boat."

Monroe knew Nya would talk nonstop if she let her, so she politely got off the phone.

So now she had two bits of proof that she hadn't invented Koenraad. She dreaded having to look at the photos. That was going to hurt.

Tara hurried out of the boutique carrying a large shopping bag. "Shopping is exhausting," she said as she collapsed into the chair next to Monroe. She helped herself to Monroe's iced tea. "Ooh, that's good. You want a salad or something? It's lunch time."

"Yeah, fast. The airport shuttle comes in forty minutes."

"I can't believe you're going back already. Crazy."

Monroe's stomach lurched. "I've been here long enough," she forced herself to say. "Island life isn't for me."

Shaking her head, Tara went into the café to order.

After a hasty lunch, they walked back to the hotel pool.

"Good timing. Jerry and I need to, um, go for a walk," Nya said with a wink when she spotted them.

"Where's everyone else?" Tara asked, sliding onto a seat. Monroe plopped down next to her, too dejected to be graceful.

"Beach," Nya said. She stood. "Have a good flight and see you at spinning class," she said to Monroe, handing her a stiff envelope before dragging her smiling fiancé toward the elevators.

"Wrong direction to take a walk," Tara called out loudly. Several other hotel guests looked over at them. Tara stood. "I'm going to drop my new dresses in my room and then I'll bring your stuff down."

"I can do it," Monroe said, starting to stand.

"Nah. You relax." And off she went.

Monroe turned her attention to the envelope. Her heart pounding and her mouth dry, she pried open one corner, then pressed the flap closed again. She'd look at the pictures later.

Taking the shuttle away from the resort sucked. Even though most of her Caribbean trip had been spent nursing a broken heart, when she got home, she'd be sulking under gray skies and jostling crowds of busy people. She watched the blur of colorful houses pass and wondered how she'd managed to get things so messed up.

She toyed with the phone sitting in her lap. She was hoping to get a last-minute phone call, though no one was looking for Koenraad now. And there wasn't much that could be fixed at this point. When her phone buzzed, she almost passed out.

Sadly, it was another email from Thomas. _I know you're coming home today, and I wanted to wish you a pleasant flight. Don't be surprised if you see me waiting for you at the airport. I'm serious about us, our relationship. I'll take you to dinner and we'll talk._

"Relationship?" she murmured. With a resigned sigh, she settled against the seat. Thomas was like a whole different man. If she'd known, she would have dumped him much earlier.

She carefully weighed what she liked against what she disliked. Thomas was smart, funny, and loyal. They didn't have great sex...

If they were going to make a serious try of it, she would need to confess about Koenraad. If the situation were reversed, could she have forgiven Thomas? She thought so... if she'd treated him so horribly.

And she _had_ broken up with him before she'd even met Koenraad.

His image came to her, vivid and unbidden. He'd seemed so into her. She shook her head to dislodge the thought. She had tried to be spontaneous and carefree, and she'd gotten her silly heart broken. Now she was going back to being responsible.

The shuttle parked in front of the airport. She got her two small carryon bags and slowly walked into the terminal, enjoying the last moments of warm sun. After she checked in, she waited in the ridiculously long security line and thought about the emails Thomas had sent the last two days.

She reread the newest one, then typed a reply. _Thank you for your messages. Sorry I didn't answer, but I'm wasn't sure things between us could be fixed. I'm still not sure, to be honest, but I guess we can talk about it at dinner tonight._

The security line inched forward, and her phone vibrated. It was a text from Tara, sent from Lee's phone. _Lover boy at hotel 10 min ago! He tore outta there when I said you're at airport. Hotttttt!_

Monroe's mouth went even drier. It was a twenty-minute ride in the shuttle. He wouldn't get there in time. And really, why did she care? It was just a fling that had gotten cut short.

But she did care. She wanted—needed—to see him once more before she left.

A second X-ray opened. It figured.

The line halved, and she moved forward. Just ten people ahead of her now. She wondered if she should duck out, go to the end of the line. She could spare twenty minutes, even though she knew she'd feel pathetic. What were they possibly going to say to each other? _Thanks for the hot sex. Have a nice life._

"Monroe?"

She turned, already recognizing that seductively rumbling voice. "Koenraad," she said, smiling despite herself. His hair was tousled, and his clothes wrinkled. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, in fact. But god, he was so sexy that she felt her knees actually tremble. "Your timing is impeccable," she said weakly.

"No, it isn't." He stepped forward, his eyes piercing hers. "You said you've got vacation time. Take it. I'll change your ticket." He took her hand, and tingles shot through her, making her skin tighten and her breath catch. "Stay."

She desperately sucked in air, ignoring the people around her who were openly eavesdropping. This felt like the end of a movie, but things like this didn't happen to her. Men didn't ask her to stay, and anyway, she couldn't accept. "I have work tomorrow."

Koenraad's face dropped. "Really? You can't..." He shook his head, then his handsome features hardened into resolve. "It wouldn't be fair to pressure you if it jeopardizes your career. But... are you sure there's not a way we can figure something out? I want to spend more time with you. There's nothing I can say to change your mind?"

_Change your mind._ Except she knew it didn't work quite like that. "And then what?"

"We spend time together." He ran a hand through his blond hair. "There's a bit of an emergency at work, so I'll need to spend time on that. What I mean is that you'll have plenty of space. It doesn't have to be complicated."

"I'm thinking about getting back with my boyfriend," she said dully.

"The one who called you boring?" Koenraad asked, incredulous. His eyebrows gathered together and the corners of his mouth turned down.

She shrugged. "He wasn't the only one who got personal."

"Ok." He dropped her hand and dug into his pocket, pulling out a wallet. He handed her a card. "As soon as you have time, I'm happy to fly you back down, no strings attached." He stepped in and gently kissed the top of her head. "I think... it could be worth it," he said carefully. "I know it would, at least from my end. You're... I've never met anyone like you."

That surprised her more than anything. He was the supernatural, secretive creature. What did she offer in comparison to that?

He brushed a kiss against her cheek. It was chaste, but the heat that surged between them made her head spin. "Take care of yourself," he said, his deep voice a whisper.

Monroe watched him walk away and felt that her happiness was leaving with him. He turned at the exit, his head cocked, and studied her a long moment, then he was gone.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she went through security. After collecting her things, she walked directly to the departure gate, ignoring the duty-free shops bursting with bargains. There was an open seat in front of the window. She took it and stared out at the runway.

She sat there feeling conflicted and sick, ignoring the texts that came in—of course texting was working perfectly now—knowing they were from her friends who were surely dying to know what Koenraad had said.

To hide her tears from the growing number of passengers crowding at the gate, she busied herself with digging for her lip balm in the bottom of her tote. The envelope from Dive Happy Caribbean seemed to take up half the bag. It also seemed to be taunting her.

She was out of self-control. She opened it.

Sosie's camera was spectacular. The blues and whites were so crisp that Monroe could almost feel the cool spray of the water. There were photos of her sitting on the edge of the boat, her legs dangling in the water. Koenraad was in the ocean, a few feet away, looking at her with that devastating smile. Then she was in the water, her eyes closed—surely she hadn't looked _that_ terrified?—and Koenraad was watching her. There were photos of her snorkeling, Koenraad holding her hand. Lots of shots of psychedelic colored fish, a placid sea turtle. A picture of Koenraad just behind her, looking at her.

He wasn't leering. Just... watching. Making sure she was safe. That she was happy.

She remembered the expression on his face right before he'd finally walked away. The way he'd studied her.

"He changed my life," she said softly. He was the opportunity, the change, the magic. If she wanted to be happy, the next move was up to her. "I'm such an idiot."

The woman sitting next to her leaned away.

Monroe stood, picked up her bags, and headed to the exit. The security people there gave her a funny look, but no one stopped her. As soon as she was out of the airport, she pulled out the card Koenraad had given her and dialed his number.

He answered on the first ring.

"I..." She didn't quite know what to say.

"Where are you?" he asked.

She chewed on her lower lip. This was completely crazy. "Standing in front of the taxi stand."

"Don't move."

A few minutes later he pulled up in a white convertible Audi with the top down. He jumped out without cutting off the engine and came up to her. She nearly took a step back, suddenly aghast at what she'd done, but he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her close.

He didn't say anything, just held her a few moments, seeming to sense that she needed physical reassurance more than anything else. In his arms, her breathing slowed, evened out, and then her body went soft.

Only then did he release her, and slowly.

He opened the door for her to get in, and he put her luggage in the trunk.

His hand rested on hers as he drove away from the airport, but he still didn't say anything, and neither did she. Even though she was nervous and still stunned by the impromptu decision, she also felt strangely comfortable. Like she'd reached the moment when she actually started living her life instead of just observing, waiting for the right moment to jump in.

He stopped the car to let a woman walking several dogs of assorted sizes and breeds meander across the road. Dog walker, Monroe guessed.

That reminded her of her own job. "I guess I'd better contact my boss. If I can get a week off, is that too—"

"Too short?" he said with a dazzling smile. "Yes. But I'll take what I can get."

Blushing, she dug her phone out of her bag and called her boss, who was thrilled to give her the extra time off. When she hung up, a new email from Thomas popped up. _I look forward to it. Thanks for not giving up on us. You won't regret it._

Oh. Crap.

In the rush of seeing Koenraad again and trying to decide if she should leave the airport, she had completely forgotten about Thomas. That alone spoke volumes about how she truly felt. She fidgeted, trying to decide what to write. Finally, she started tapping the screen. _Thomas, I've decided to stay a bit longer on vacation. I shouldn't have written my last email. It was a mistake. I was right the first time. You and I really aren't right for each other, and I think you know that, deep down. Please don't contact me again._

After she sent it, she gripped the phone nervously.

"Everything alright?" Koenraad asked.

She nodded. Fifteen minutes later, Thomas hadn't replied, and Koenraad was pulling into a gated estate. Tall palm trees swayed overhead, their fronds like exploding fireworks.

"Where are we?" Monroe asked as the gates closed behind them.

"Home." He cut his gaze to her. "I wasn't thinking. Maybe you'd prefer a hotel?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You said your friends are still here. Maybe you'd prefer to be with them?"

She repressed giggles. This was so naughty and irresponsible. So unlike her. "I'm sure," she said.

"Good. As soon as we get settled, I'll rebook your ticket."

"You really don't need to."

"I want to. I'm the one who backed out on you last night and this morning. Picking up your ticket is the least I can do. Ok?" He leaned out the window and punched a code into a keypad—a _second_ set of gates?—and the gates slowly opened.

"You can use one of my cars," Koenraad was saying. "I've got a sporty convertible in the garage that I think you'll love."

She looked around. She didn't even see a garage. But then, she couldn't see the entirety of the mansion, either.

New email from Thomas. _You're upset. Let's talk about this._

"What's wrong?" Koenraad asked.

This was embarrassing. The way Koenraad had said, at the airport, "The one who called you boring?" now made her feel like a fool for even considering getting back together with Thomas. It made her seem pathetic. "My ex," she murmured. "He wants to make amends."

"What do you want?"

Monroe looked away. "I'm done with him," she said. "I told him not to contact me again."

Koenraad held out his hand.

"What?"

"Your phone," he said with a smile. She handed it over, her heart thumping. He tapped out a message, then handed it back. "Problem solved."

"What did you..." She looked at her emails. _Our incompatibilities aside, I met someone else, and I'm going to explore things with him. Sorry and best wishes. _

It was certainly direct.

"He's going to be pissed," she said, but she was wondering what "explore things" meant. That sounded like Koenraad was interested in more than sex. Which didn't surprise her... Why else invite her to his home? But she was shocked that he could be so open about it. It seemed like a good way to end up with a broken heart. Maybe Koenraad had never had his heart broken.

Koenraad shrugged. "Better to tell a man the truth, no matter how unpleasant, and be done with it." He grabbed her things out of the trunk, and she followed him across the bright white gravel and up six long, flattish steps. He swung the door open. "After you."

She stepped through the wide doorway. The entrance was... grand. A curving staircase went up to the right, and a crystal chandelier hung overhead. Other than a delicate table with a Ming-type vase on it, the entrance felt empty. No junk mail, no piles of shoes, no spare keys or loose change. "Did you just move in?"

He laughed. "Guess it's not up to snuff, then. I've owned it for a few years but only moved in six months ago."

"I can see why the parties are such a hit." When Koenraad frowned, she added, "Sosie mentioned them."

"Not here... I keep this place private. I've needed to be a bit more secretive lately for security reasons."

Before she could ask why, her phone vibrated with another email from Thomas. _You met someone the last ten minutes?_

"I'm happy to talk with him," Koenraad said, his tone a little short.

She quickly shut off the phone, then dropped it into her tote, which Koenraad still held.

"Tour time." Koenraad put down her bags.

The mansion was large but not obscenely so. Sure, it could have comfortably housed a large family plus their servants, but it wasn't like he had an indoor tennis court.

Or maybe he hadn't gotten to that wing yet.

"You need an 'in case of fire' map," she said as they passed the ninth bathroom that looked like it had never been used.

Koenraad swung his gaze toward her, his brows dipping together. "I really only live in the bedroom and kitchen," he said. "Plus one of the libraries in the back. It's definitely more house than I need, but it's secure. Tell you what. I'll do the abbreviated tour." He smiled, and Monroe's thoughts pivoted from shock at how rich he was to heated desire for him, for his hands on her body.

He led her to the back of the house, and Monroe was so stunned that she simply stopped walking.

She hadn't been aware of where the mansion was in relation to the water. Outside was clear access to beautiful ocean. The beach was empty, and while she couldn't know if it was spoiled with footprints, the white sand looked pristine, like a travel brochure.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Don't let the gentle waves fool you. Nothing but rough water underneath," Koenraad said. "There's a strong current, so swimming is unadvised. Even for... strong swimmers."

Monroe assumed "strong swimmers" meant "sharks." She shivered. "You don't have to worry about that with me. I don't plan to ever go in the ocean again."

"We'll see about that," he said, his rich voice sliding over her skin like silk. She remembered floating, his muscular arms around her. Yeah, she'd get back in the water for that. Hell, she'd get into lava.

He showed her the library—large but not huge... that's what she kept telling herself—and the kitchen, which actually wasn't enormous. She suspected there was a larger kitchen elsewhere. One with plenty of room for the professional chefs that such a mansion required.

How much was Koenraad worth, she wondered. Millions, obviously. Hundreds of millions... if he had multiple mansions and multiple boats. Billions? She didn't care about money. Well, she did in that she needed it to survive, but a man's wealth, or lack of, had never figured into the dating equation for her.

She wondered if his money made Koenraad a target for schemers. Probably. Was that why he'd moved out here? Extra security, he'd said. Security from what? He could turn into a shark. What did he have to be afraid of?

Then they went up a set of back stairs and down a curving hallway. They passed uncountable closed doors, two intersecting hallways, and finally an open bedroom door. Another set of stairs lay just beyond it. "If you go down those steps and walk straight, you'll be back where we started."

The bedroom contained an enormous bed, the linens pure white, and sliding doors that were partially open, giving access to a spacious balcony. Sheer white curtains fluttered in the ocean breeze.

The bed was partially made, and Monroe suspected it had been some time since a woman had been invited over. Maybe she was the first. There was something charming about the lack of pretension. As ridiculously huge and expensive as Koenraad's waterfront mansion was, it didn't feel like a status symbol.

"Can you swim in that water?" Monroe walked across the bedroom and onto the balcony. It curved over the stone terrace below.

The air was so fresh and warm, and it smelled _clean_. Suddenly, she didn't want to go back home, and it wasn't just because of Koenraad, either.

"It's not easy," Koenraad said. "During storms, I come ashore elsewhere, where it's safer." He had followed her outside, and when he put his arms around her, she leaned back against his solid body. The beautiful view had little to do with how she felt at the moment, in Koenraad's arms. She closed her eyes to better savor the moment.

She felt secure with him. Safety wasn't something she lacked in her daily life. Despite all the stereotypes about New York, she loved the city and felt perfectly comfortable being a single woman and living alone... so long as there weren't any weddings on the horizon. However, being around Koenraad was something else entirely.

Koenraad made her feel like everything was right in the world.

Calm filled her. Her limbs had never felt so light or her soul so at ease.

"My phone is ringing," Koenraad said softly, reluctantly. He released her. "I'll be back in a moment."

She turned to watch him cross the room with long strides.

Sighing, she moved forward and leaned on the balcony's railing. To the right, coconut palm trees swayed in the breeze. Small, manicured bushes seemed to grow out of immaculate white stones. A large iguana moved across the path, its body graceful, and she tracked it until it disappeared into the bushes.

The house itself extended to the left, but she couldn't see the end of it because more trees blocked the view.

She looked up and saw hairy, brown coconuts hanging from the trees. She wondered if they were edible or if this was some kind of decorative species with tasteless fruit. She'd bought a coconut once. The directions had said to bake it, but she'd still had a hard time getting it open even with a hammer and a screwdriver.

"Monroe?"

She jumped, her hand on her chest. Koenraad stood so close that she could smell his warm, masculine scent, and her pulse spiked. He had changed into knee-length board shorts and a white cotton shirt that stretched over his sculpted muscles. She suddenly wished for a downpour of rain to drench him. Or for him to just take off the shirt...

His eyes, serious, bored into hers. "I need to take care of something, should only be gone about two hours. I can drop you off in town, or I can get you car keys now."

"I don't mind staying here."

He frowned, and she couldn't tell if he disliked the idea or if he thought she was being polite. She finally settled on the latter.

"Really." She touched his arm. He was rock solid under her fingers. It made her remember being underneath him, in bed, and she dropped her hand. "I didn't get much sleep last night, and I already spent the morning shopping."

"What about food? There's not much here."

"I had a big lunch."

He still seemed hesitant. "I'll be back soon. Stay out of the water."

"I doubt I'll get much farther than the bed. If that's ok."

This seemed to reassure him. "That's quite fine." He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, then turned to go.

He turned back, caught her around her waist. His eyes stared into hers, then he crushed his lips onto her mouth. It took her breath away, and she closed her eyes because the world was spinning. His tongue danced over her bottom lip. He nibbled her, then swept deeper into her mouth. She couldn't keep up with him. She felt awkward, like it was her first kiss.

When he let her go, she was still reeling. He smiled, and her entire body felt like it had been set afire. "Until later," he said.

Monroe stayed on the balcony for another five minutes, but she didn't really see the ocean in front of her. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. They still tingled from his kiss.

Finally she undressed and tried to nap in the bed, which was, incidentally, the most comfortable she'd ever been in. But she was too overstimulated to sleep. All of this... it was new and exciting, and whenever she was about to drift off, she'd come fully awake with a start.

She swung her legs off the soft bed and slipped into a blue cotton dress that she knew would swirl around her calves when she walked.

Might as well check out the house, and then, maybe, the beach.
**Chapter 14**

An hour later, his sleek yacht plowed determinedly through the waves, but Koenraad felt pulled in the opposite direction.

He wanted nothing more than to blow everything off and spend the entire week with Monroe. He'd told her that they'd have plenty of space, but he didn't want to be apart from her, and he knew the feeling was mutual. He wanted to do this right. Take her island hopping during the days. They could live on the yacht, making love while the ocean gently rocked them.

He liked her. A lot. She was comfortable in her own skin, and she seemed to be handling the shapeshifting thing well, but she hadn't seen him shift.

Maybe it was better if she never did. If she was going home again in a week, what did it matter?

He rubbed his chin and smiled. If things went the way he hoped they did, there wouldn't be any permanent goodbyes for a long time. After all the misery in his life, Monroe was a breath of fresh air. He liked her little sarcastic remarks, and her open heart, and the way she melted when he touched her.

She had an unselfconscious frankness that he liked. Her honesty about her ex, for example. She'd admitted what her ex had said, and she hadn't tried to save face. She hadn't let it diminish her, and most importantly, she wasn't bitter. A little wounded, sure, but who wouldn't be?

Maybe some men didn't like that kind of honesty, but Koenraad appreciated it. Human women couldn't successfully lie to him. Not unless they were sociopaths, and if he wanted that, well, there was always Victoria.

His afternoon and evening with Monroe had been the first time he'd truly relaxed since the day Brady went missing. He hadn't even realized how tense he was until the stress left him.

He liked Monroe's body, too. No, he _loved_ it. Curvy and soft and strong, and stunningly beautiful. She had healthy sexual appetites, too, and he loved how she clung to him like a drowning woman.

Just thinking of her curves pressed against him made his cock stir, and he remembered how she'd felt, arching on his bed, her sexy body writhing as he devoured her. He couldn't wait to get back and taste her again.

He hoped she'd still be in bed when he got back.

His cock was throbbing against the confines of his shorts, and he didn't need to look down to know that there was one hell of a tent situation going on.

Enough sexy thoughts. He needed to focus.

Something was happening. It seemed his whole world had decided to go to pieces all at once. The dangerous _sick_ ... Wardell missing... Victoria back in the Caribbean.

Plus he had his own reasons for worrying about the water. Well, one reason. Brady. Koenraad believed his son was safe, but only as long as the _sick_ didn't spread again.

When Darius had called, Koenraad had wanted to throw the phone into the ocean. Funny how Darius could get other shifters to Tureygua and Curaçao when it was an emergency. Maybe, if Koenraad and Wardell hadn't been shouldering so much work on their own, the situation never would have become urgent in the first place.

Darius wanted samples of the water, and he'd tasked Koenraad with gathering some from near where he lived, or, rather, where he used to live. Darius didn't know that Koenraad had relocated, and Koenraad planned to keep it that way.

The process of collecting samples was being repeated on all the islands in the area, with special attention being paid to Curaçao and Tureygua, of course.

Koenraad had decided that testing the water was a good idea, and he'd made backup samples for himself. Darius could conduct the official investigation, but Koenraad was damned sure going to run his own analysis.

Getting help from a top-notch lab that didn't answer to other shifters wouldn't be easy. Especially on short notice. And Koenraad's lab was still getting up to speed. Hell, his lab was focused on genetic diseases in shifters. The scientists he'd hired were biologists. He needed chemists.

His parents knew chemists, so Koenraad had phoned his father after leaving Monroe. He'd gone right to voicemail. His parents spent most of their time in shark form. They loved to migrate, loved to hunt in the deep oceans. It could be weeks before they even learned he'd been looking for them.

Reaching out to his parents hadn't been easy. If they started making phone calls on his behalf, it wouldn't be long before they learned what he'd been up to the last six months. And when they found out, they'd connect the dots quickly.

They were unlikely to be supportive of his decisions, and things could go downhill quickly. His wealth was his own, had been since his eighteenth birthday, but if motivated, his parents could make the research difficult.

He docked his boat and grabbed the large cardboard box containing a dozen quart jars. It had been over an hour since he'd left Monroe standing barefoot and lovely on his balcony. The thought of her in his bed was the only reason he didn't scowl when he caught Victoria's scent.

The office that Darius used to oversee his various businesses as well as island matters was a five-minute walk from the ocean. Koenraad covered the distance quickly.

The door to the square white building was ajar, and Koenraad pushed in. Nine shifters, all sharks, were crowded into the waiting area, deep in conversations on the same topics: Wardell and the _sick_. They were calling it "the contaminant." Like it was sludge from one of Curaçao's oil refineries. Like it hadn't put shifters into comas.

Some of the sharks Koenraad hadn't seen in months, but he didn't have time to catch up. Darius sat atop his secretary's desk. There was a large map spread next to him, and he was taking careful notes with a pencil.

"Drop them in the back," Darius said, jerking his head. "I assume they're labeled?"

Koenraad nodded and crossed the room. A few shifters acknowledged him. He grunted in response.

Just as Koenraad reached the entrance to the hallway, Darius frowned and stabbed at the box with his pencil. "Those samples are bigger than I need. If it's no trouble, could you pour them into the plastic bottles?"

"I'm in a hurry," Koenraad said, irked. "Dump what you don't need."

He went through the building until he reached the back room. To his relief, it was empty except for a shark who was finishing pouring off his samples. He nodded a greeting at Koenraad and left.

Koenraad didn't know the shark's name, but he'd encountered him a few years earlier in the ocean. He lived in the states, off of the Florida coast, and had come down ahead of a tropical storm along with several dozen other sharks who weren't willing to move inland.

Victoria's odor was faint. She'd probably been one of the first to drop off her samples. If he moved fast, he might be able to get out before she returned from wherever she was.

The small room was filled with boxes, most of them labeled _Falcon Tubes, 50ml._ Some were sealed and stacked neatly, but many more had been opened. He glanced inside one and saw the tubes were filled with water.

He used the side of his foot to do some gentle but fast rearranging until he had an empty bit of floor space large enough for his box. He carefully set it down and was about to leave when his gaze caught the samples marked _Zone 1-12, Curaçao_. Zone 3 included the beach where they'd found Wardell's cowboy boot.

Curious, he opened the box. The samples were in larger containers, the exact locations marked, and not in Victoria's messy scrawl. Darius must have sent her a new partner.

Good. Darius was finally catching on.

Frowning, Koenraad did some quick calculations. He planned to investigate this on his own, right? So why not save himself a long boat trip? With Victoria working that area, he wasn't going to take Monroe anyway, so going to Curaçao would just be a waste of time.

Working quickly, he helped himself to parts of those samples and quickly labeled them. He put them into the box he'd brought, then made the smaller samples as Darius had requested. He moved fast but his hands were steady. If someone asked what he was doing, he could always tell the truth, that he wanted to check his own samples, but he preferred to keep this to himself.

When he was finished, he flipped the box's flaps over the top to shield the contents from casual observation, then picked up the package and headed back the way he had come.

"Leaving already?" Darius asked.

"I've got company waiting," Koenraad said. "You need me, you have my number."

He smelled Victoria as he approached his boat. While objectively her scent was pleasant, Koenraad's lip curled in disgust. If she had boarded _The Good Life_ , he was going to throw her into the water.

"Nearly missed you." Her voice, falsely warm, made him grit his teeth. She had come up behind him, and he turned; Victoria wasn't the kind of woman he felt comfortable leaving his back to.

"I don't have time for this, Victoria."

She inhaled, her delicate nostrils expanding slightly. Her large pupils went wider. Koenraad expected her to make a comment about Monroe, but instead she lowered her head with a little smile. "You can spare five minutes for the mother of your son."

Her words knifed through him. She stepped closer. "That's what I want to talk to you about," she said. "Brady."

"Nothing to discuss."

"I think I know where he is."

"What?" he asked hoarsely. A hot surge of adrenaline shot through his veins, and he struggled to control his physical reaction. He needed to be careful. "No," he said. "You don't get to come out here and use Brady against me."

"You're so vain. Not everything is about you." Her cool eyes roamed over his face. "I think he's still alive, and I think he might even be in the area."

"Did you catch his scent?"

"No," she admitted. "What I'm saying is that so long as I'm here, I might as well help in your search."

"It's been two years. What makes you think I'm still looking?"

"You were a few months ago."

"Well, I've stopped." He stared into her eyes. "I've gotten on with my life, and so should you." He was referring to the impossibility of a future for the two of them, but she clearly took his words to mean something else.

"I'm his _mother_ ," she said. "And I know he's alive."

Koenraad clenched the box tighter. "Based on what?"

It seemed like an eternity before she answered, and that pause played with his peace of mind. "Female intuition," she said finally. "A mother can feel these things."

"Three weeks after you lost him, your mother's intuition told you he was dead."

Irritation flashed in her eyes. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Stay away from me."

It wasn't until he was well out of sight and scent of the dock that his shoulders finally relaxed. Victoria was playing games. She'd finally learned that she couldn't lead him around by his cock, so now she was sinking her claws into his emotions. She didn't know a damned thing, but she'd managed to rattle him nonetheless. The last thing he needed was her shadowing him under the pretense of looking for Brady.

With the _sick_ in the water, it would take her more than a few days to track him down, but if she was determined enough, she'd be able to do it.

All the more reason to get this mystery solved so that she could be on her way.
**Chapter 15**

Monroe walked around the six-foot-long model ship in the middle of Koenraad's library. She wondered if he'd made it, and if so, how long it had taken. She stretched out a hand and touched one of the white sails with her fingertip, then drew her hand lightly over the delicate rigging.

The detail was staggering. The ship's decks gleamed. In fact, she almost expected tiny, sunburned sailors to come above deck and start lowering the sails.

She straightened and looked around the library again. There had to be several hundred books on the built-in shelves, and in one corner was a wooden ladder that was connected to the second level. The theme was clearly nautical, and this was the most fully furnished room that she had discovered in the mansion, though there were several sections she hadn't explored at all.

She passed through the kitchen, got a glass of cool water, then wandered out the back.

An ocean breeze played with the ends of her hair as she stepped from the stone onto the warm, shifting sand. The architect had designed the building around the beach, she realized, because there was a sharp turn to her left that mirrored the shape of the mansion's hallways.

She wandered over that way, passing an enormous and immaculate pool. The point of maintaining a pool when the ocean was a stone's throw away eluded her. Status symbol, probably. Good for parties. She wondered if chlorine irritated shark skin, then laughed aloud when she realized how crazy it was to even think about that.

Continuing on, she saw that the ocean here actually formed an inlet the size of a city block. A frown settled on her face as she stared at the rocks heaped on both sides of the inlet's entrance, and she discerned the outline of an open gate. It was so well disguised that if she hadn't been staring directly at it, she never would have seen it.

So the architect had caught and tamed a part of the ocean. Impressive. She made her way down the beach for a closer look.

The calm water was so clear and blue that it nearly broke her heart. The Hudson wasn't going to be a good substitute, that was for sure.

She took another sip from her glass as she waded out, ankle-deep, then deeper, up to her knees, the bottom of her dress clutched in the same hand that held the glass.

The water didn't seem deep, and it was so beautiful. Small fish darted just a few feet beyond where she stood.

She considered going inside, changing and coming out for a swim. Salt water was a lot more buoyant than the pools she was used to lounging beside. And there weren't really any waves in this corralled bit of ocean.

She felt safe here.

Because of Koenraad.

Hell. She was going in. This was a private beach, and she hadn't heard a single boat or seen any signs of other people since she'd arrived. She didn't need to bother with a swimsuit. She emptied the glass into the blue water and watched as the wind carried the last few drops so that they fell in an arc.

A flash of movement caught her attention.

For a moment she couldn't make sense of the dark shape in the water. A mass of seaweed? No, a fish. Maybe a Nassau grouper. But too large even for that.

Coming toward her now.

Her body froze, and she stared wide-eyed at the dark shape. The triangular dorsal fin and tail emerged from the water, the animal's silhouette now unmistakable.

It was a shark, no doubt about it. Not a gigantic one, but four feet long was big enough that she shouldn't be in its domain.

Large enough to kill a woman.

Her feet came unglued from the sand, and she backed up until only her ankles were in the water. The beach here sloped so gently that she knew she was safe, out of reach.

She shaded her eyes with her hand and furrowed her brow, trying to see clearly. Now that she knew shark shifters existed, she had to wonder if this was a shark or a shifter.

The shark was now clearly visible, and while it was hard to tell what its dark eyes were tracking, she felt it was watching her.

Of course it was. There wasn't any other reason for it to be in this exact location.

She walked a few feet to the right, and the shark followed. It never stopped swimming, she noticed, and she remembered hearing something about certain shark species being unable to breathe if they stopped moving. That they needed to force water over their gills.

She went back to the left, and the shark mirrored her movement in the water. The creature was graceful, beautiful.

There wasn't anything predatory in its actions. It seemed... curious, like it wanted to come closer. If it had been a dolphin, that would have been her conclusion.

Maybe it was a young shifter? But if so, why not change shape?

"Hi," she said. She waved at it, then dropped her hand because she felt incredibly stupid.

The animal rolled a bit, its huge, dark eye studying her. Its tail thrashed and it swam out, circled back. Every time it turned its head, the skin over its gills rippled. It seemed... delicate. Monroe had the unsettling impression that for all those razor-sharp teeth, the animal was fragile.

It abruptly swam away, quickly disappearing into the clear water. Either it had gone out toward the sea, or it was so well camouflaged as to be invisible. A shiver ran down her spine.

Probably it had hoped to take a chunk out of her leg. Sharks weren't dolphins. They weren't known for being playful.

She waited a few minutes to see if it would visit again, but there was no sign of the animal, so she headed back inside.

As she passed the pool, she smiled to herself. Well, she'd discovered one reason to have one next to the ocean.

There were many doors leading back into the mansion, but she'd had enough exploring for the day, so she retraced her steps and entered the way she'd come out, near the library.

A dark shape moved toward her, and she jumped before she realized it was Koenraad.

"Were you out there long?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

"Not really," she said, blinking as her eyes struggled to adjust to the relative darkness. "I saw a shark. It..." Her voice trailed off at the look on Koenraad's face.

"That's very rare," he said carefully as they walked past the library. "I think it's better if you stay away from the water here. It's really not safe. I should have been clearer."

"I did wonder if it was a shifter. Is there any way to tell?" she spoke with too much enthusiasm, trying to cover her embarrassment.

"No." He took the empty glass from her hand and pulled her into his arms, and she could feel that his body was completely tense.

Oh, god, suppose he'd changed his mind about her staying? "Is... everything alright?"

"Work problems," he said. A non-answer. It wasn't her business, but there was something she could do to make him feel better.

They were in a hallway, standing next to a sturdy wooden table with a built-in shelf that ran the length of it. She imagined it was for books, but it was bare. No dust that she could see, though. Maybe it had something to do with the ocean breeze that came in through the windows.

Above the table and shelf, the elegant blinds over the windows were partially drawn. They were upside down compared to normal blinds, and light poured in over the top. Koenraad seemed to glow in the pool of yellow that slanted over him.

Monroe slowly sank to her knees, her hands fumbling with the thin, rope-like drawstring of his board shorts.

"What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely.

She smiled up at him and slowly flicked the tip of her tongue along her lips. "Returning the favor," she said. She tugged the shorts down. It wasn't easy because the waistband was getting hung up on something large and hard.

Koenraad's cock sprang free, and she nearly gasped at the sight of his hard, smooth shaft. Was any part of this man not perfect? Even his scar was beautiful.

She sighed as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft. She could feel the kicking pulse of his heartbeat in her fist. So steady and warm.

Squeezing the base, she directed the swollen head toward her mouth. She licked the warm skin, slid the tip slowly and sensually into her mouth, more for her own pleasure than for his. Oh, he tasted sweet. If all men tasted like this...

He groaned, and she had to pause until she mastered her smile.

Being on her knees in front of Koenraad felt good. Felt right.

She began to bob her head up and down on his length. His hand came to rest in her hair, and a little groaning sigh rumbled out of his throat.

"That's good," he murmured.

If he could still talk, she needed to kick it up a notch. She slid her hand down the base so she could take more of him. She gave her head a twist at the end of each bob, swiveling up and down on him. He pulsed in her mouth, growing even harder.

"That was nice," he said, his voice choked as he pulled away. She reached for him, and he gripped her elbow and pulled her up to standing. Clearly, he wanted her to stop.

Her heart sank. "Nice?"

He set the glass on the table, then trapped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "You know what you're doing, don't get me wrong, but I'd much rather be inside you."

Then he crushed his mouth against hers. There were no gentle nips this time. He urged her lips apart and kissed her deeply, almost violently.

Like he needed her and couldn't wait another second.

He kissed like he fucked. Deep. Urgent. Like he was barely clinging to self-control. His kiss tasted of black licorice, dark but almost sweet.

Then he pulled away, leaving her gasping.

In a smooth motion, he turned her and pressed her upper body flat on the wood table. The surface was wider than she'd realized... her head wasn't in danger of hitting the shelf, which was a good thing as she was pretty sure the shelf would win.

Koenraad's warm hand was firm on the middle of her back, keeping her bent over. The barest trace of citrus furniture polish wafted in the air.

One of his massive thighs thrust between her legs. With a shudder of pleasure, she tilted her hips and pressed her core against him.

The way he'd pinned her made breathing a challenge, but she didn't mind. She liked that he took control, that he knew what he wanted.

She was happy to accept this mild discomfort for him. In fact, that made it even hotter.

Moaning, she pressed her palms against the smooth wood and arched into him, riding his leg.

All that muscle. All that strength. Dry humping had never gotten her this worked up before.

She met his thrusts eagerly, their bodies coming together in short, violent clashes, each one driving the breath from her lungs. Her empty glass rattled and danced on the other end of the table, which was banging into the wall

She was ready to come, close to coming. She was...

Koenraad's hand slid underneath her dress. She barely felt the air on her bare skin before he was heating her with his touch.

He yanked her panties aside and plunged a large finger into her. Euphoria set her muscles trembling as her pussy clamped around him. She gasped and closed her eyes.

_So this is how dominant men fuck._

She'd known the night before, when he'd fucked her on his boat, that he might be a little kinky, that he might smack her ass and pull her hair. Now she wondered how far a man like him would go.

A shark like him.

He hammered his finger into her. Thank goodness for the sounds of crashing waves that floated through the open window. Otherwise her pussy's gushing excitement would have been audible.

Koenraad's hand slowed. "I want you to stay right where you are," he said. "Don't move an inch."

He removed the hand from her back, and she missed the firm heat of him. Then he took out his finger, very slowly, making her body clench as he withdrew. Without Koenraad holding them aside, her panties slipped back over her pussy.

She wanted to reach back and pull them away again, but he'd told her not to move, and she liked being ordered to stay still while in this sexy position. It turned her on.

His fingers splayed across her buttocks, then his hungry mouth was on her sex, mouthing her through her panties.

He pulled the drenched fabric aside with his teeth—she thought she heard the cloth rip—and he sucked her slick folds into his mouth.

She cried out. Staying still was torture, but his mouth was heaven.

He ate her pussy like he couldn't get his fill. It wasn't about finding her clit and making the minimum contact with the tip of his tongue. He licked into her slit, lapping her up. He ate her greedily.

His irresistible combination of enthusiasm and skillful technique set off tremors between her legs. Koenraad wasn't doing this to be nice, and he wasn't pretending to be into it.

The man took sex and pleasure seriously.

Then his thumb, slick and warm, pushed into her ass. Her head and shoulders came up off the table.

"I'll stop if you want me to, but otherwise you need to be still," he said. There wasn't a growl or a warning in his voice, but something about the way he said it, so calmly, made her lower her face back to the table. She pressed her cheek against the wood. It felt cool now, probably because her face was supernova hot.

He slid a finger into her pussy, and she sighed and relaxed for him.

"Sexy woman." His thumb jabbed in her ass as he continued to devour her sex. The penetration didn't hurt in the least, but it felt unnatural.

The contrast of sensations—the tight feeling in her rear versus the warm, wet fullness of her pussy—made her head spin. Her ass was clenched against the intrusion, but her pussy throbbed under Koenraad's attention.

She had never had anal sex. Not even close. One guy had once rubbed his finger over her pucker. Once. That had been enough. She'd found it humiliating and had made him stop.

If Koenraad had sat her down and asked if she liked it, she would have told him it was off the table. But now... it was very much on the table. Literally.

She gave in, yielded to him, and suddenly his thumb in her ass felt intimate in a nice way. And she had a feeling that there were a lot more surprises in store for her. She just hoped he'd spread them out a bit so as not to overwhelm her.

As if sensing her growing comfort and wanting to reward her for trusting him, he began to flick his tongue over her clit, playing with her, torturing her. She cried out as he slowly drew his tongue in a circle around her nub.

Her nipples ached for his touch. She wanted everything at once. She needed him inside her, and at the rate he was going, she would be worn out long before he got around to it. "Sex," she gasped. "I need you."

Koenraad moved away just enough to speak. "This _is_ sex." His deep voice rumbled over her skin. Then he sucked her clit into his mouth. Her eyes flew wide open, she arched off the tabletop, and her face flushed even hotter.

"Don't you want..." The words turned from a whisper to panted, voiceless breaths. It was impossible to speak with Koenraad doing this to her. If he didn't care about getting some pleasure for himself, that was his problem.

But she wanted to feel him inside her while she came. She needed to be penetrated, to be stretched open and claimed by him.

Rhythmic clenching started deep in her body, radiating out. They met the small, violent spasms elicited by Koenraad's skillful ministrations, and then she knew she was going to come.

His thumb pressed deeper into her ass—she'd assumed he was all the way in, but apparently he had only been at the entrance.

Ass play and sex. She wasn't that kind of woman.

The hell she wasn't.

Her fingernails scraped the table as she orgasmed, and only one word spilled from her lips in a long, throaty moan: the name of the man who had just ruined her for all others.

Even before the tremors passed, she felt slick hardness nudging at her slit, then Koenraad was deep inside her, one large hand gripping her shoulder, the other curled around her hip. His hard thighs rhythmically slammed into her, forcing her into the unyielding table.

Thank god she was still clothed up top, or the friction would have turned her nipples raw and sore.

She glanced back and saw his rock-hard thighs flexing. The powerful man was half squatted because of their height difference, but it didn't seem to be slowing him any.

But then, he wasn't just a man, was he?

The hand on her shoulder moved to her hair, wrapped around her tresses, and he pulled up, rough enough to get her attention but gentle enough to make her feel safe. She whimpered. Cool air licked at the exposed sweaty skin of her nape.

Then she felt his teeth rasping over her back, her shoulder, leaving a burning trail behind.

"Monroe," he grunted, nearly breathless. "Please. Don't be frightened." He had slowed, and now he fucked her fast, frantic; she felt like she was being bounced down a bumpy road. It was almost too much, but her body responded even if her mind would have preferred that he slow down.

He hunkered over her. Strangled groans escaped his throat. "Its... ok..." he said. His hips drove faster, and the jittering water glass crashed to the floor.

Koenraad didn't even seem to notice.

His grunts turned to growls. His teeth grazed the bottom of her neck, then he suddenly clamped the thick wooden shelf in his teeth. His groans deepened, awakening a primal female lust in Monroe.

Koenraad's jaw flexed, and the wood splintered with a mighty crunch.

It was definitely freaky. She'd been expecting spankings, not... whatever had just happened.

If she hadn't been so close to orgasming... but a blinding hurricane of pleasure swept her up and threw her over the edge, and instead of pulling away from her lover, she arched into him, knowing that as dangerous as he was, she should trust him.

Not that she could have gotten away. Not when he had that iron grip on her hip and she was trapped against the table by his long, powerful legs and his pistoning cock, which was finally growing softer as his movements slowed.

"Sorry," he gasped. Even though he had clearly come inside her—she felt warm heat seeping out—he was still in the throes of... something that made his body spasm.

He braced one hand on her lower back. "Sorry," he repeated.

"For what?" she asked. She pushed her hair out of her face, which gave her a very good view of the ruined shelf.

Her trembling came out of nowhere, and she tried to pull away.

"Not yet," he said. "I can't let you go."

That was fine because she didn't want him to, not now, not ever. But she did want to turn around so she could look at him. "I just want—"

"I _can't_ ," he said. "I don't want to hurt you by pulling out too fast. Just... give me a second." He stroked from her shoulder to her waist, his fingers slowing as he passed the burning places where he'd nipped her. His touch was soothing, but she felt her trembling reflected in his body, and she realized that he was fighting for control.

She went very, very still. "Different anatomy," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. "Did I... hurt you? Not physically, I mean... are you ok?"

"I'm... great, actually." She sighed softly and wondered how he'd known she was physically fine. Experience, maybe? "The table might take out a restraining order, though."

Koenraad laughed, the sound ripping out of him like it had caught him off guard. It made her laugh, too, and the tension between them ebbed.

"I'm pulling out now," Koenraad said.

He withdrew slowly and quickly tucked himself away. The night before... it had been dark. She hadn't seen him then, either. But there wasn't anything strange about his cock. She'd had an up-close-and-personal view not so long ago. So why the secrecy now?

_Two male organs_ , she thought, remembering the guide book. Except she definitely would have noticed if there were two of them. She wanted to ask him about that, but now didn't feel like the best time.

"I'm going to clean up," she said.

Koenraad nodded. "We'll get dinner after. I know a nice Thai place, if that's ok for you? It's casual."

"Sounds great," Monroe said. She glanced up into his eyes and immediately blushed when she saw his expression, equal parts tender and hungry—and not for food, either.

He tilted her head back and nuzzled her neck, finding the spot that made her go weak all over. How did he know? She felt dizzy, overwhelmed.

"Are you... psychic?"

He laughed. "No." He laughed again, pressed a final kiss to the underside of her chin, then straightened. "Take your time," he said. "I'll wait in the back."

In a bathroom the size of her apartment, she learned that her panties were completely shredded. She held the black scraps up in front of the light and stared at them.

"Holy hell," she breathed. She stuffed them deep into a trash can and backed away.

_Shark_. It was really sinking in. Koenraad wasn't like anyone she'd met before. Different anatomy? Different brain? Different... everything?

Though that wasn't something to talk about at dinner. Maybe after.

No woman ever needed a drink as much as she did right now. Except she already felt intoxicated.

She dug fresh panties out of her carryon bag and stepped into them, pulled them up and fixed her dress.

She'd never told her friends what had happened, she realized. She found her phone in the bottom of her tote bag.

Several texts, several emails. Monroe frowned as she realized that most of them had come from Thomas.

It was the latest one, sent twenty minutes earlier, that made her breath catch. _I'm in Atlanta, about to board my plane. See you soon._

"No," she whispered. She jabbed at the phone, heard it connect and start ringing. To her relief, Thomas picked up.

"My plane just started boarding," he said. "I'm stuck in coach, no room in first class—"

"Thomas, no. I really did meet someone else. That's why I stayed. To spend time with him."

"You're... serious?"

"I'm sorry. It just happened."

"No." He sucked in air, and Monroe winced. "No. I do not accept this. You don't meet someone else. _You_ don't, Monroe. You're just confused."

That irritated her, but she stifled the retort that had risen to her lips. "I am begging you not to come. For your own good, too. You'd be wasting your time because I'm not going to see you."

He was quiet for so long that she looked at the screen to see if he'd hung up. "Thomas?"

"This is bullshit." He disconnected.

Monroe's hands trembled slightly as she quickly responded to her friends' texts. _Staying another week with boat boy._ The responses started coming in before she got through all her replies, but all she could think about was Thomas.

Was he really going to get on that plane? He wasn't rash. Once he thought about it for thirty seconds, he'd realize it was a waste of time.

And if he did come down?

Then that was on him, she decided. He wouldn't be able to find her in any event.

She dropped her phone back into the bag and went downstairs and through the many rooms that separated the front of the mansion from the rear.

The door next to the library was open, allowing a cool breeze into the halls. She paused at the threshold.

Koenraad stood at the surf line, staring into the ocean. He was shirtless, the board shorts low on his hips. The muscles of his back, shoulders and calves looked like carved stone. The rigid way he held himself, it seemed like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. _Work problems._ She sensed it was much more than that.

She wished she could help him. Maybe she couldn't fix anything, but she was a good listener. It might make his troubles easier to bear.

He turned, his gaze going directly to hers as if he had known she was there all along. It was the stare of a hunter, a predator.

Her heart pounded so hard that she thought it might bang a hole through her chest. He was gorgeous. Untamed. And yeah, incredibly scary. The wildness inside him was dangerous, no doubt about that.

But nothing felt so right as being in his arms.

She stepped through the doorway.
~ ~ ~

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