“We’re teammates.”

“Yes. Bran and Sasha are teammates. I don’t think that’s the why.”

“It’s part of the why,” he insisted. “And look, you haven’t been on—in . . . You haven’t been in this world very long. You’re still learning how things work.”

Her chin jutted up; her shoulders shot straight. “I know how kissing works! Have you stopped learning how things work? I think it’s never okay to stop learning.”

“Okay, that’s true. Even profound. But we’ve got a lot going on, and . . . priorities. And it’s like Sasha said once, there’s this purity to you, so I don’t want to change, you know, the balance of things.”

“None of these are real answers. And I’ve made you awkward,” she said, stiffly now. “I’m apology—I’m sorry. You were kind to bring me to the sea. We should go back now.”

“Look, look, look. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Not giving true answers is hurtful.”

Frustrated, he shoved his fingers through his hair. What was he supposed to say to a hurt, pissed-off mermaid? “I’m trying to give you true answers. And I’m trying not to hurt your feelings, or anything else. I didn’t expect the question.”

“So you couldn’t think of better answers that aren’t real?”

And sometimes she got things entirely too well. “Not exactly. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, it’s—”

“How do I understand that?” she demanded, and faced him with eyes of stormy green. “Does ‘not-that-I-don’t-want’ mean ‘I want’?”

“No. Maybe. Yes. Hell.”

He grabbed her shoulders, managed to rein himself in enough to touch his lips very lightly to hers.

The storm died out of her eyes as she nodded. “You want to kiss me like the brother of my father. This is an answer. Thank you. We should go back now.”

Before she could slide off the rock, he tightened his grip on her shoulders. “It’s an answer. It’s not the truth.”

“You can’t tell me the truth?” Distress moved over her face as she touched a hand to his heart. “It’s an oath? I would never ask you to break an oath.”

“No. No, it’s not an oath. It’s a . . .” Hang-up, a situation, a . . . “Mistake, maybe a mistake. Or maybe this is. I guess we both need to find out.”

His hands glided up from her shoulders to cup her face. She drew in a breath, held it with her heart drumming as for a moment, forever, he just looked into her eyes.

And he looked into her eyes still as his lips touched hers, lightly as before. But not as before. Soft, so soft, light as the butterfly on the flower.

She wondered if the flower felt this stirring, this yearning.

Then his lips rubbed hers, pressed. And worlds opened.

Her breath released; her eyes closed as he took her so slowly, so gently into those worlds. Worlds of sweet pleasure, of new tastes, of quiet wonders.

Her lips parted, answered his, and it was like sliding deep and deeper into the warm and the lovely.

He’d known, somehow known, he’d be lost if he ever took this step. No compass could ever guide him back to solid ground again. She gave, absolutely, her hand pressed to his heart as if to hold it, her mouth, her tongue gliding with his as if created for him.

The scent of the sea, her scent, mixed together, enchanted him. And always would. The sound of water against rock—that constant mating—the sound of her sighs, blended like one. Bewitched him, and always would.

Everything good and right and worth fighting for coalesced in that single kiss. And still, he wanted more.

But he remembered what he could never allow himself to forget. Honor. And so he eased back.

“Annika.” He kept his hands on her face because, oh boy, how they wanted to wander down. While he struggled for the right thing, the honorable thing to say, to do, she smiled. All but blinded him with the light of it.

“Now I can kiss you.”

“You just did.”

“No, no—first. Before I couldn’t, but now—”

Her arms came hard around him. Her mouth took his in an explosion of passion that blew the sheer concept of honor all to hell.

She burned against him, a torch on the water, impossibly hot and bright. He dived into the fire, letting himself take, be taken. Her skin, soft as velvet. Her breasts, firm and perfect and finally filling his hands. The miracle of her tail, sleek and wet and fascinating as the texture changed.

He knew he should slow things down, knew he should stop, but she coiled and curled around him while her upper body arched to offer until all he heard was the beat of his own blood.

Desperate now, driven to taste those perfect breasts, he shifted to lie her back on the rock. She turned with him, just as eager, and they slid off the rock, into the water.

Dazed with lust, he went under, started to push to the surface. She pulled him straight up, laughing.

“I got too happy.”

Once more she curled around him, and with her arm circling his neck, kept him afloat without appearing to move at all.

It struck him he was in over his head, in more ways than one.

She laid her head on his shoulder, nuzzled there.

Lust didn’t cool so much as melded with affection so he found some balance.