They played, diving, leaping, splashing, gliding.

Then floated.

“Does this hurt your arm, your side?”

“No. Almost a hundred percent all around now.”

“You’re strong.”

“Getting there.”

She turned in the water, put her arms around him. “You’re strong,” she repeated. “Sasha and Bran are strong healers. So you can be well again. I was afraid. In the cave, even after.”

“Me, too. But here we are.”

“Yes.” She brought her lips to his. “Will you touch me? I miss having you touch me when you want me.”

“I always want you.” He ran his hands over the sleek hair that fell past her waist, and under it to skin, over the strange and marvelous transition from skin to scale. Both smooth, both beautiful.

Automatically, he kicked his legs to keep them above water, then her tail curved around him and kept them both afloat.

“I wanted you the first time I saw you.”

She stroked his cheek. “This is truth?”

“Absolute truth. You were just a drawing in Sasha’s book, but I wanted you.” He found her lips again. “And when I saw you on the beach in Corfu, in the moonlight, in the white dress, I wanted you.”

“But you were only my friend.”

“I am your friend, but it wasn’t easy to stay only your friend.”

Her heart sighed, her body shivered when he cupped her breasts. “Why did you?”

“I thought it was the right thing for you. You had so much to learn. I didn’t want to confuse you.”

“I’m not confused.”

She rose higher in the water, offered her breasts to his lips. When he took them, she let her head fall back. Her hair flowed over the water—a black silk pool over the dark sea.

Strong, she thought again, and how she’d needed those strong hands on her. His mouth tasting her, feasting now in a way that showed her he desired.

The thrill poured into her, had her streaming up with him, to circle and spin on the surface.

She clung tight, pressed his head to her, spilled down again on a sighing moan. There she circled, circled slowly so the water flowed around them while their lips met, their tongues met, in a kiss gone suddenly urgent.

Her hands ran over him, her fingers tracing the healing wounds. “Does this hurt?”

“Nothing hurts.” But his blood pounded everywhere. “We need to go in to shore. I want to cover you. I want to fill you. God, I have to have you.”

“Would you have me here?”

“Yes. Yes.” Half mad for her, he ravaged her mouth. “Closer in. I need to be able to stand.”

“No, here.” She took his face in her hands to draw him back. She read the desire, the need, a mirror of her own. But . . .

“Would you want me, like this? Would you have me in my true form?”

“I want you, Anni. It’s you.”

“I can open for you.”

“Open for me.” Over his head, out of his mind, he pulled her back to him. “Take me in.”

It was a gift, a truth. She looked into his eyes as she opened. Looked into his eyes as she took him in. And then the meaning of the moment, of the gift, was so radiant, she let her eyes close as the light pulsed against her lids.

It ripped through him, that stunning, sumptuous sensation of sliding into her. Of feeling her close around him, tight, for a moment, tight like a fist.

She trembled against him, and still they floated, lovers cradled in the sea.

He moved in her, slowly, slowly, aware of the wonder of her belonging to him—absolutely—the magic of that beat of time. A time not to be rushed. Buoyed by her, he brushed kisses over her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips, all the while stroking, stroking, matching his rhythm to the easy dance of the sea that held them.

Love swept through him, a warm breeze scented with her.

Trapped in her own bliss, she rose up again, circled with him. And down, taking him under, her mouth fixed on his to give him her breath with the kiss.

Covered by the dark sea, he moved in her, felt her peak, drew her breath into him to give her more. And knew, when love all but shattered him, if he could find the miracle he would have stayed with her, would have made her world his own.

Then she took him up, into the air, into the light of moon and stars, into the sounds of water rolling to shore and back. And there, caught between worlds, she once more tightened around him. Said his name against his lips.

And there, did shatter him.

She held him close, her head on his shoulder, the marvelous symmetry of her body pressed to his.

“You’re not disappointed?” she murmured.

“Annika, I’m . . . I don’t have the words, but I’m everything that’s the opposite of disappointed.”

“There is more to do with legs.”

“Annika.” Once again undone, he brushed his lips over her hair. “You’re a fantasy come true. More beautiful, more miraculous than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“You’re the same to me. The same.”

Rolling onto her back, she smiled up at him all the way to shore.

When she stood with him in the shallows, she laid a hand on her heart. “You brought a blanket, and candles and wine, even flowers. It’s so pretty.”