Tarian.
I can’t ignore the spearing look Muireann’s staff just gave me as he walked past.
I remember him clearly from the meeting we had in my office days back.
My gaze shifts, wordlessly, to Muireann.
I try to read her thoughts from her expression.
Nothing.
She simply stares at me through those cold, beautiful eyes.
Quietly, I close the distance between us and sit down on one of the chairs beside her.
The wind picks up a little, tugging at my hair.
Silence engulfs us as I stare out at the horizon.
My heart cracks with guilt over what her staff said earlier.
Not because I feel sorry for Viola.
No.
Not because Muireann threw herself at me.
No.
If anything, I’m the one throwing myself at her feet.
But because the man is right.
If Viola finds out I slept with Muireann, she’ll chew Muireann alive before the media, and I wouldn’t want that for Murieann.
Yet ending this?
It isn’t even an option on my list.
“He’s right,” I finally say, breaking the silence.
I turn my gaze to Muireann.
She just sits there, watching me.
“If Viola finds out we had sex, she’s going to say things.
Ugly things.
I don’t want that for you.” My voice stays low.
My breath hitches in fear at the thought of her suggesting we end this.
“Look.” I continue.
“My marriage hasn’t been going well.
It never did.
My parents chose her for me because they wanted sons from the union… I don’t know who still thinks so medieval.” I give a hollow exhale.
“Years down the drain, no sons.
And my marriage is a mess.”
I swallow.
“But I promise you something, my collapsed marriage is not enough reason for me to drag you into embarrassment if Viola finds out.
I can’t bear that for you, Muireann.”
Finally she exhales and leans forward.
“She can try,” Muireann says quietly.
“There’s nothing she can say that I haven’t heard before.”
The confidence in her voice makes my mouth part in surprise.
“And if you’re worried about her.” She continues coolly, “Then feel free to leave.
I’m still going to sign that partnership with you.”
She leans back again, watching me through those unreadable eyes.
I stare at her, weighing her words.
She didn’t even react to the entire story I just told her.
She didn’t ask questions about my parents choosing Viola for me.
She didn’t ask about the marriage.
Nothing.
It’s astonishing.
Does she actually want me to leave?
If she does, that’s different.
I would leave because she wants me to.
Not because I want to.
But why does the thought of her wanting me gone hurt this much?
“I don’t want to leave.”
My voice drops low.
Dark.
Desire.
She smiles slowly, then rises from her seat.
And then she crosses the space between us and straddles my lap.
“Good.” She breathes against my lips.
Her beautiful palms frame my face.
“I wasn’t ready to let go of you.”
Relief floods my chest so sharply I almost gasp.
Her lips part slightly, and I close the breath between us, kissing her deeply.
She moans, low and full, her fingers sliding into my hair.
I push my tongue into her mouth and don’t stop.
Our lips meld.
Move.
Dance with the raw rhythm of need surging through us.
I lift her in my arms and carry her back the way I came.
Back into the house.
We don’t even make it to the stairs before I’m inside her.
She’s seated on me, her back to my chest as I thrust up into her.
We didn’t bother removing our clothes.
We only shoved our pants down just enough to feel each other.
To take this moment.
Our moans rip through the house.
Not quiet.
Loud.
Echoing against the walls.
I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.
I can’t remember the last time I had a woman.
And having Muireann now makes the years I spent celibate almost feel worth it.
She grinds her hips against mine, her juices soaking me, making my movements inside her slick and fluid.
I feel her cresting around me as her insides clamp down, squeezing me tight.
Dragging me down the spiraling depths of her lethal passion.
“Aaahhh… Tarian… Tarian…” My name breaks from her lips in shattered cries as she comes apart on top of me.
I claw at her back, grip her hair, and pull her against me as my own orgasm crashes through me so violently it feels like it might rip me open.
“Murieann…” I groan hoarsely.
I turn her face slightly and press a kiss to her lips.
She kisses me back.
And we stay like that for a moment, lips pressed together as we both struggle to catch our breath.
Minutes later we collapse on the stairs, adjusting our clothes a little.
We lie there side by side, staring up at the ceiling.
Only then do I finally take in my surroundings.
My brain hadn’t been working earlier.
The only thing I’d wanted when I saw her sitting outside was to be inside her.
Now that the storm has passed, blood finally returns to my head.
“That’s a beautiful mural you’ve got up there,” I say quietly.
My eyes trace the painting above us.
It’s an exquisite mural of a deep blue sea, waves crashing across the ceiling.
A mermaid sits on a large lone rock while another sits on a lower rock beside her.
Both of them are beautiful.
Both have their backs turned to us.
Both stare toward the distant horizon, where a castle rises just beyond the shore.
“The painter did an incredible job executing it,” I mutter breathlessly.
The more I stare, the more the painting seems, alive.
“Is the image alive?” I hear myself whisper.
I’m lost as I watch the sea above us begin to move.
The waves crash.
I swear I can smell the salty ocean air drifting into my nostrils.
The wind grows stronger, and the mermaids’ hair begins to sway as if caught in a living breeze.
Then I hear it.
A distant sound.
A conch.
Loud and deep.
Unmistakable.
Both mermaids lift their heads toward the sound, but I still can’t see their faces.
And then, everything stops.
The entire image freezes again.
I gasp, jerking upright.
At the exact same moment Muireann stands and begins walking away.
I try to steady myself, shaken by what I just saw.
The mural came alive.
I know it did.
But that’s impossible, isn’t it?
Maybe I imagined it.
I scramble to my feet and follow her quickly.
“Wait… Muireann…”
I catch up to her at her bedroom door.
When I step inside, she’s standing by the window with her back to me, staring outside.
Her posture is rigid.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I shut the door behind me and walk towards her.
She doesn’t turn.
She just keeps staring out the window.
But my mind keeps replaying the mural.
The waves.
The sound of the conch.
The mermaid on the rocks.
It felt real.
It felt like I knew her.
“Muireann.” I place my hands on her shoulders and gently turn her toward me.
When she finally looks at me, the sight knocks the breath from my lungs.
Her eyes are full of tears.
Pain drips from them like molten glass.
“This was a mistake from the start…” She whispers.
I freeze.
“What do you mean…”
“What I mean is that you need to get out.
Leave!” Her voice rises as she yanks free from my grip and strides toward the door.
Confusion crashes into me so hard I can’t move.
“What about the partnership?” I finally manage.
She stops, but she doesn’t turn around.
“From now on,” she says coldly, “Our lawyers will handle everything.”
My shoulders sag.
She doesn’t even hesitate.
She opens the door and slams it shut behind her, after she leaves.
And I’m left standing alone in the room, with the echo of the sea from that mural still roaring in my ears.
And a terrifying question claws through my mind.
Why did that mermaid in the mural feel so familiar?
And if the painting truly came alive, what else in Muireann’s house isn’t human at all?