And a sigh out of her. Which, thankfully, she man-aged to keep very soft.
“Cool! Let’s go see the manatees.”
“Manatees?” That got her wayward thoughts off things they weren’t supposed to be considering anyway. While Angel loved the gentle creatures—especially this coastal contingent who were the ones responsible for discover-ing the coup attempt against Rod a few selinos ago—she couldn’t risk even one drop of saltwater reaching her legs. Not in front of Logan, and definitely not in public.
“Michael, I think I’d like to steer clear of the ocean for a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“Actually, Angel…” Logan addressed her directly, and silly her, she couldn’t hide the shiver that action sent through her.
Good gods. What was wrong with her? She was a scientist, for gods’ sakes. She should have some control over herself.
Yes, she’d proved that so well last night in this very kitchen … “The refuge is on the river,” Logan contin-ued as if there were no inappropriate thoughts diving through her mind. “The manatees are brought there for rehabilitation before being set free to find their way back to the open sea. We won’t be anywhere near the ocean, and there aren’t any sharks.”
Sharks were the least of her worries now, but a river changed everything. Manatees could swim in both saltwater
and freshwater, but freshwater wouldn’t make her tail return. “Well then, that sounds like a plan. I’m in.”
She would, however, have to make sure the manatees didn’t blow her cover. The last thing she needed was them crowding around her and cluing the Humans in that something odd was going on.
Speaking of odd…
A quick flash of pink made her glance out the win-dow. Ginger stared back with a pointed swish of her head toward the refrigerator.
“Betcha didn’t know sailors thought that manatees were mermaids,” Michael whispered loud enough for even Ginger to hear.
A beak-shaking, neck-undulating laugh caused the flamingo to fall off the one leg she’d been standing on. “You don’t say.” Angel knocked the rim of Michael’s cap down so he wouldn’t see her glare out the window. Of course she knew that myth. Mers still laughed them-selves silly over that bit of Human ignorance. Nothing against manatees, but when Mers could shift into sleek, graceful, fast-moving dolphins, why-in-the-sea would
anyone think they’d choose a meandering sea cow? “It’s true. Logan told me. ’Course he also said mer-
maids don’t exist.” Michael broke into peals of laughter and Logan joined in, although obviously not getting the real joke.
Although the real joke was on her.
She could proclaim port and starboard that she was a scientist, that she had an agenda, that she was here for one reason and one reason only, but when Logan smiled like that, she was all woman—staring at a gorgeous man who had held her and kissed her and made her want…
“The sailors had probably been at sea for way too long if they found manatees attractive,” Logan said when Michael left to get suntan lotion. “Still, you can’t blame them. Who wouldn’t want to believe in mermaids?”
“You would?” she asked breathlessly. Could it be that easy? Were Humans ready to accept that Mers existed? Was Logan?
Logan chuckled and lifted a glass of orange juice to his lips. “Well, sure. Who wouldn’t? Beautiful, sexy women who whisk men off to deserted islands and make love to them all day? What’s not to like about th—”
His eyes met hers and the glass hovered by his mouth, tiny ripples sloshing the juice around.
Was that look generated by Siren Song? Could it last this long? Or was that his honest-to-gods reaction?
Angel licked her lip. Oh yeah. She could see making love on a deserted island, no one around for leagues. The play of the surf and the sand against their skin—
Wait a minute. That’s what he thought of her kind? How could he believe that? How could he want that? It made Mers sex objects. Not feeling, thinking people with hopes and dreams and aspirations and—
And she was taking this too seriously. Kitchen esca-pades aside, mermaids were obviously still a myth to him. A legend. A fantasy.
Oh to be his fantasy…
Logan cleared his throat and gulped a mouthful of the juice, his eyes suddenly focused on something outside. Angel hoped it wasn’t Ginger trying to mime another command about the prawns. That was the last thing Logan needed to see.
Or…
She glanced down.
Okay, those were the last things Logan needed to see. Apparently bras weren’t designed to be nipple armor. She’d have to make a note of that. When her hands were steady enough to hold a pen.
“Okay, let’s go.” Michael, thank the gods, bounded back into the room with all the exuberance and hormonal-fog-clearing ability of any child. “I’m ready.”
He wasn’t the only one.