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Instead, she saw Simon standing above her, gazing down at her with a slightly slack jaw. He had pulled on his breeches and boots, but wore his own dressing gown loosely over his bare chest. Marion blinked up at him, fighting her urge to cover herself and merely letting her shoulders drop beneath the water a little lower, as though the ghostly trails of rising steam would cover her.
“Good morning,” she said quietly, brushing a slick, wet tendril of hair from the side of her face.
“Good morning,” he said huskily. He took his time in looking her up and down, as if savouring every inch of her flesh in the morning light. “You look like a mermaid.”
“I do?” Marion asked, giggling at the thought. She kicked her foot out of the water daintily, in the motion of a flipper, and sent droplets of warm water over Simon. He jumped back from the cascade, grinning, and then stepped closer, furtively closing the door to the bedchamber behind him.
“Indeed.” He ran his fingers along the damp edge of the copper bath tub, slipping his hand under the water to capture her foot playfully. “Though perhaps you are the kind that has come on land, grown legs, and now walks among us.”
“Are not mermaids supposed to be strange and fearsome? A terror to sailors?” Marion teased, twisting her ankle against his hand. Simon held fast, grinning like a boy out fishing. “Should you not be very afraid of catching me?”
“Well, perhaps,” Simon said gravely. “I shall have to inspect what I have caught.”
With a deft turn, Simon flipped her foot, causing Marion to squeal as, weightless in the bath, she rolled onto her stomach, her hair floating behind her on the water. She looked over her shoulder to find Simon admiring the naked length of her, his eyes roving longingly up her shapely legs to her bottom, just covered by her floating hair.
“Well, I can confirm you have no tail,” he said. He took a slow step along the side of the tub, his boots wet from the spill of water. Marion watched him like an eagle, noticing the flush at his neck, the way he kept one hand in the water despite his sopping sleeve, those long, intent fingers brushing against her flesh, her rounded bottom, trailing into her hair as he progressed along the bath. Despite the warm water, his touch was still electrifying.
“Though you have hair as dark and thick as sea weed and eyes that might capture the souls of men,” he said, stopping at the head of the tub and kneeling down, bringing his hands up to brush the wet curls by Marion’s ears back into her hair.
“Yes,” he said softly, looking at her as thoroughly as Marion thought anyone could have been looked at. “Looking at you now, with your garland of hair ready to drag men down, and your dark eyes like the deepest ocean, I should think there is something quite abnormal about you—something quite magical.”
“And what happens to men who find magical creatures in their bathtubs?” Marion teased, arching her back so her upper body, weightless in the water. She stretched up, droplets pearling like tumbling tears down her breasts so she could bring her face perilously close to Simon’s. She saw the way his eyes darted down, widened in desire and surprise at the sight of her body, naked and wet in the morning light, so close and warm to him.
“Well.” She watched his throat working as he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He smelled so good to her still; that intoxicating mix of leather, sandalwood, and musk. She longed to bury her face in his neck.
“I should think that whatever happens to them, they are perhaps the luckiest men alive.”
“Is that so?”
Marion laughed and reached for the rope of his dressing gown, tugging it loose so that it fell from his strong, pale shoulders. She ran her fingers over his collarbone, enjoying the way he shuddered slightly at the hot touch of her warm, wet fingers.
“I think perhaps you should find out,” she whispered.
Then she set her mouth against his, pulling him close so his cool, dry flesh met the slippery warmth of her own. She felt his growl inside her mouth, his large hands immediately reaching to gather her closer, pressing her hip bones hard against the copper tub and sending a little wave of water over the edge between them, soaking his breeches.
“Goodness, it appears we are quite in danger of flooding the bathroom, dear mermaid!” Simon laughed, plucking at the damp fabric of his breeches.
“Well, this mermaid is more than happy to share her ocean,” Marion said, coyly pushing herself back and gesturing to the small area of unoccupied bathtub.
Simon raised his eyebrows. “I think you are perhaps being optimistic, little water nymph.”
“I do not take up much space.” Marion reached cautiously for Simon’s breeches, pulling the ribbons loose. He did not stop her, in fact his hands grasped her hand, pushing her on with urgency. She loosened them and pushed them down over his hips, revealing his own desire for her. She couldn’t help but feel gratified at this physical sign of attraction. The sight of him reminded her of their nightly escapades, their whispered words and joined union. She felt any slight remaining hesitation fall away.
“Besides,” she put her hand behind his head, tugging him closer to tangle her fingers in his curls and whisper, with more confidence than she had ever imagined she could have, “I shall take up even less if I am sat astride you.”
Simon sucked in his breath sharply at her words, and she felt his hands flex tightly on her waist. He wanted her, very badly—Marion was learning to tell the signs. But more than that, she was learning to tell the signs within herself. Her heart was pounding, her throat was dry, and there was a deep, pulsing need within her that she knew could only be sated by one thing. Him.
“Should you like that?” Simon murmured, his hands playing with the wet ends of her hair in the water.
“Yes,” Marion whispered, knowing now how he enjoyed hearing her assent. She was rewarded by a tightening of his grip and a low, ticking groan in his throat. He pulled her closer, his hands beginning to run up and down the sides of her body urgently.
“You should like to ride me?” he whispered hoarsely into her hair. She shuddered at his words; they were so arousing, so delicious to her. “As a maiden rides a stallion?”
“Or a sea stallion?” Marion breathed in his ear, and Simon laughed, looking down at her with something akin to wonderment. Marion knew without asking that this sensation was new for him also, this strange coupling of romance, passion, and humour, the feeling that one could admit any desire and not be turned away.
“I am willing if you are willing?” she whispered.
Simon kissed her deeply, almost savagely, as he rapidly pulled off his breeches and boots before pulling away and standing before her, naked as a Roman god and just as chiselled. The sight of him, tall, taut and lean, nearly took her breath away, but then he smiled with that familiar grin that made her heart turn somersaults.
