Free Mermaid by Judy Griffith Gill

tire, I’m likely to have a lug wrench in my hand or at least nearby. But thank you for caring.”
    He didn’t speak, just lifted a hand and brushed her hair back from her face, lightly stroking the healing cut on her temple. He remembered his first sight of her, the elation he’d felt as he gathered her up and held her out of the cold water, the magic, their kiss. He ached to repeat it but...
    “You were—are—so beautiful, Jillian. Every man there tonight wanted you.” She knew that meant he had been there, and her heart beat high in her throat even while she felt ill with disappointment. He was one of those men. One of the customers. One of the fantasizers. Only...wasn’t it best for him to go on seeing her as a mystical being rather than a real woman, when the reality was so much less?
    “I hated them all for their thoughts,” he confessed. “Even though I was sharing their thoughts. What are you doing to me, Mermaid? With your magic, with your beauty? I’m supposed to be in town, but I hired someone to stay with Chris and drove up after work because I had to see you again.”
    She wondered if he was going to kiss her again, and if he did, what would it be like? She remembered the way his lips had felt—hard, almost bruising in their urgency—and deep inside her something grew hot and liquid. But fear rose up as she thought of trying to cope with the kind of relationship Mark Forsythe probably had in mind. Oh, who was she kidding? When she thought about a relationship with him, what he had in mind was exactly what she did too. But it wasn’t to be.
    But oh, how she wished it were otherwise.
    “I had to see you again,” he went on, breaking into her thoughts. “I had to see if you were real or I had only imagined you and your incredible Beauty.”
    “It’s not real. It’s only an act,” she whispered. “A fantasy I create for my audience. And only there in my tank am I beautiful.”
    She wasn’t asking for compliments. She knew her own limitations. She had a nice nose and mouth and an ordinary pair of eyebrows, but her eyelashes were much too pale. When she wasn’t working she wore mascara, but even the most waterproof product she could find couldn’t withstand the test she put it to each night, so she didn’t wear it at work. She knew that without it, other than when she was in her mystical mermaid environment, her eyes looked almost lashless, unfinished, plain.
    “You are beautiful in or out of the water, in or out of your costume.” His voice was soft. His eyes held the same look they had when he had gazed upon her mermaid shape by his pool. He had wanted her then, too, even as realization dawned that the whole thing was a hoax. She had been aware of his wanting her, but she knew it was because he didn’t know. He may have visualized her without her costume, but his vision was so terribly, horribly wrong.
    He didn’t even know what he was seeing now, as he looked at her, as he touched her. His hand as it slid down the side of her face to her neck was warm and ruggedly callused. His nails, she had noticed earlier, were neatly cut and were pale against his skin. He had nice hands. She liked the look of them. Even more, she liked the feel of them—on her.
    “I want to see more of you,” he said, and she shuddered at the thought, nearly weeping at the feeling that welled up in her.
    Why? Why? Why?
    She was certain he could feel the pulse hammering hard under the heel of his hand. How could he not be aware of it? How could he not be aware that his touch was the cause of her increased heart rate? She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself, shaking her head. “No.”
    “I passed an all-night restaurant not far back,” he said. “After all that work, aren’t you even a little bit hungry? I remember your saying last week that swimming always makes you hungry. What about some bacon and eggs? Or a sandwich, or whatever?”
    She smiled, remembering her thoughts in her dressing room the