He shoved the door wide and stood in the opening, surveying her drooping form with narrowed eyes before stepping forward. "You can talk, then," he said. "I was beginning to wonder. You'd better get back into bed. How long is it since you've eaten?"
"I--I don't know," she said, her voice husky. "How long have I been here?"
"I found you yesterday morning." As she went clammy, felt her pale skin became even paler, he said, "Lie down. I don't want you passing out." He came over to the bed, folding back the blanket for her, and she caught the scent of him, salty as though he'd been swimming in the sea, mixed with the sharpness of sweat and, underlying it, a musky male aroma.
She slid under the blanket, glad to lie back again. "Is it your bed?" she asked. "I can't stay here--"
"You don't have a lot of choice," he said coolly.
He was right, of course. She was scarcely capable of sitting up. Her eyes wandered to the open window, and she saw that the light had begun to turn soft and golden. "What time is it?"
"Nearly seven. In the evening." He hadn't looked at the heavy stainless steel watch strapped to his wrist. "Now that some of the proprieties have been taken care of," he suggested, "you'd better have something to eat."
The room seemed to be rocking, swaying. She closed her eyes.
A warm, firm hand was suddenly laid on her forehead. She started, her eyes opening wide, and he moved back. "Just checking."
"Please don't touch me!" It was a fierce whisper.
He frowned and said shortly, "A bit late for that. You wouldn't rather I'd left you lying in the tide, I suppose?"
"Of course not. I'm sorry, you've been very kind."
He shrugged. "I did what any reasonably responsible human being would do. I'm not particularly noted for kindness."
From Carpenter's Mermaid by Daphne Clair
Order disk or download online from New Concepts Publishing
daphne odora photo image by permission, © Monterey Bay Nursery, Inc.
