Dead Over Heels

“You did this with your hands? Jesus!”

“I apologize,” she said again, blushing.

“No, shit, it’s impressive as hell, I’m not bitching. About this, I mean.”

She giggled. “A welcome change.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Ith it ee’ing?”

“Not anymore.”

“We’re going to have to practice French kissing.”

“We are?” she asked, delighted.

“Shit, yeah. Otherwise it could get downright dangerous. You don’t see a blood bank on this island, do you?”

“Very well. We shall practice.”

“Starting right now,” he said, and pounced on her like a big land cat.

“Again?” she asked, delighted. “You wish to mate again?”

He sighed. “Ree, I’ve never known a woman so strong, smart, efficient, rude, and dumb at the same time.”

“Thank you?”

“Even if you weren’t gorgeous—which you are—you’d be a catch for any man. And I’d think that even if you hadn’t saved my ass. Multiple times,” he admitted.

“You’re so nice, Con.”

“I get off on being ‘nice,’” he said dryly. “In fact, I feel like being ‘nice’ right now.”

And he was. Extremely nice.

Chapter 14

The next few days passed like a dream. A hot sex dream in which he was the star and the prettiest woman in the world was his costar. (He had to stop thinking in terms of movies and television.)

They bathed together, walked to the freshwater stream together, and she started to teach him to swim. She also disappeared periodically and returned with fish, which they cooked and ate.

He tried not to worry about her—in fact, given that he’d seen her in action it was stupid to worry about her—but couldn’t help it. The ocean was a big place. What if—what if a bunch of sharks ganged up on her? What if she ran into a bunch of merman bullies?

So he was always relieved to see her return, and she was always surprised at his relief. And she always said the same thing before she disappeared: “I will come back.”

He missed his show, but had to admit that life on a deserted island with Ree was a pretty damned nice consolation prize.

They made love as often as humanly (mermanly?) possible; he didn’t think he would ever get tired of her body. And she was indefatigable, not to mention inventive and uninhibited. He supposed a culture that swam around naked probably didn’t have a lot of hang-ups about sex.

They gorged on fish and coconuts and she occasionally brought him fistfuls of that odd, puffy seaweed. He longed for a steak, or a burger and a beer, but again, life with Ree on the island had plenty of advantages.

And one big disadvantage.

After about a week, he tackled the problem that was troubling him. “Ree, it’s not that I’m not grateful —”

“Oh, dear, more of your ‘bitching.’”

“—and it’s not that I’m not loving our time here, because I am.”

“I can tell,” she said, smiling and pointing at his groin. He’d decided nudity was the way to go as well, but had saved his boxers and T-shirt . . . for what, he wasn’t sure.

“Stop that, I’m being serious. But Ree, how long are you going to stay with me? Don’t you have a family . . . people worried about you?”

“No.”

“So you’re just going to . . . I mean, I might never get rescued.”

“Are you suggesting I just swim off and leave you?” she said, aghast.

“Well. Uh. I don’t want you to leave—”

“I thought you liked me.” Oh, Christ! Was that—it was! A tear was trickling down her left cheek.

“Ree! I do like you, I adore you, I worship you!” He pulled her into his arms and, luckily, she decided to be pulled (he had estimated that she was at least twice as strong as he was). “But this isn’t any kind of life for you. I’m just saying I don’t expect you to give up everything to stay on this little spit of sand for God knows how long.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“All right, all right. Quit cryin’, will ya?” He was in a near panic. He hadn’t thought she had tear ducts! “I’m glad you want to stay, okay? It’s just . . . something that’s been on my mind for a bit, that’s all.”

So that was settled, and things went on as they had: idyllic and fun and lots of sex.

For a while.

Chapter 15

About a week later, Ree came striding out of the waves looking distracted and carrying five fish.

“Run into trouble?”

“Not . . . exactly.”

“What’s that mean?” he said, spitting the fish.

“I think—I think I heard someone. One of my folk.

So I—so I called him.”

“Oh.”

“Perhaps he can aid in your rescue.”

“Oh.” He thought that over for a second. “Jeez, thanks! I guess it’s a long shot, but thanks for trying.”

“Mmmm.”

She was distracted the rest of the morning, and although he got the shock of his life when a man with vivid green hair and purple (purple!) eyes strode out of the waves, Ree only looked resigned.

“Greetings, Reanesta,” he said in a deep baritone, naked as a newt. “Were you calling me? I am Jertan.”

“Yes.” Instead of shaking hands, they sort of clasped each other’s elbows. “Thank you for coming. This is my—my friend, Con.”

“Hello, Con.” Jertan looked curious and (odd, given that he was a good three inches taller and at least thirty pounds heavier, all of it muscle) even a little wary. Con reminded himself that the Undersea Folk (for so Ree called them) were new to walking up to ordinary folks. “Are you the biped Conwin Edmund Conlinson?”

Con felt his eyebrows arch in surprise. “Yeah.” He stuck out a hand and Jertan shook it carefully. Con took his hand back, relieved none of his fingers had been crushed. “How’d you know?”

“Why, many bipeds are searching for you! They fear you have been lost forever. When I see,” he added, with a sly look at Ree, “that you are in fact doing quite well for yourself.”

“Watch it,” he said mildly.

Jertan grinned, showing the same startlingly sharp teeth Ree had. “I will indeed. In fact, I will return to my