Free Sea Lord by Virginia Kantra

tongue over her teeth. She wanted a toothbrush.
    Conn lifted a chair one-handed and set it upright. His head brushed the low ceiling. “Do not apologize,”
    he said. “This ship was furnished to withstand storms. The damage is less severe than it appears.”
    She felt a spurt of outrage, completely ridiculous under the circumstances. Like getting upset over a late
    assignment when the classroom was on fire. “I wasn’t going to apologize. I didn’t do anything.”
    One eyebrow arched upward. “Who else?”
    “Um.” She stared at him, stunned. “I was unconscious . I didn’t ask to be brought here. You need to
    take me home.”
    He righted another chair, holding it out from the table in invitation. “Come. Sit.”
    Lucy looked mistrustfully at the chair and then at his face. She didn’t want to go anywhere near him. But
    if she stayed on the bed, he might get the wrong idea.
    A hot flush swept her face. Yeah, like doing him in the dirt of her students’ garden hadn’t already
    convinced him she was a total slut bag.
    She clutched the blanket, the fur soft between her fingers. “Why?”
    Conn’s gaze rose from her hands to her face. “Explanations will take time. I want you to be
    comfortable.”
    “Then give me my clothes.”
    Something flickered in his eyes and was gone before she could identify it. “They are not here.”
    “Where are they?”
    “I had need of them.”
    She didn’t want to imagine what use he had for women’s clothing.
    “You promised to take me home,” she reminded him.
    Right before they’d had sex among the pumpkins. But she didn’t want to think about that either. She
    certainly wasn’t going to mention it.
    And he better not.
    “I said . . .” His voice was cool and precise. “I would take you where you need to go.”
    She stared at him in frustration. “What kind of a man are you?”
    “I am not a man.” He paused. “I should say, not . . . human.”
    The bottom fell out of her stomach. Fell out of her world. For a moment she was back in the dark, with
    the blood roaring in her head and chaos erupting around her.
    She took a deep breath, willing her mind to still, and felt everything inside her slide back into its proper
    place.
    The cabin was quiet. In the silence, she could hear the water rush and gurgle over the hull and the
    creaking of the rigging overhead.
    “Perhaps we should both sit down,” he said.
    Lucy forced another swallow. At least if they sat at the table, he wouldn’t be looming over her. She
    scooted to the edge of the mattress, reluctant to give up the sleek weight of her blanket. Not that the
    PETA people didn’t have a point, but there was something almost sinfully comforting about the silky
    brush of fur. And the cabin was cold.
    She dragged the blanket off the bed and stood, wrapping it around her like a beach towel or a bearskin
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    rug. The ends dragged on the floor.
    She hobbled to a chair. Not the one he held out for her. She didn’t want to get that close. Plopping onto
    the seat, she crossed her arms over her chest like a kindergartner refusing to join in circle time.
    Conn’s mouth tightened. His eyes darkened. Now that he had her where he wanted her— ha ha —he
    seemed curiously reluctant to begin. Unless this silence was his way of making her talk.
    “So.” Maybe she should humor him. Not a man. Not human , beat in her brain. “What are you?”
    “I am selkie.” Another pause thickened the air of the cabin. “Like your mother.”
    The thing inside her leaped, like a child in her womb, knocking the air from her lungs in a big fat whoosh.
    The blood drained from her head.
    The chair scraped behind her as she stood. “No.”
    His eyebrows rose. “You are unfamiliar with the legend.”
    “Um.” Her mouth was dry. Her skin felt flushed. Feverish. “There was a kids’ movie. The , um, Secret
    of Roan Inish. About a human woman who turned