“That’s it,” Marcus said. “You’ve got it. Keep reeling in. Slow and steady. Pull up on the rod, then reel in a little more. You’re doing great.”
Beka grabbed the hand net and had it ready to slide under the wriggling pumpkin orange fish as the guys worked together to heave it over the side of the boat. Tito was beside himself with joy, jumping up and down and whooping as Marcus gently removed the hook from the fish’s mouth.
“That’s one of the best looking cod I’ve ever seen,” Marcus said. The thing was longer than Tito’s arm. “That’s going to make one heck of a dinner, kiddo.”
Marcus laid the fish out on the deck and started to clean it, only glancing up briefly as Fergus climbed back on board and stood dripping to receive a high five from Beka. The former Marine shook his head in bafflement. There was definitely something odd going on here, but damned if he could figure it out.
“Nice cod,” Fergus said, padding over to stand next to him. “Beka said the boy is pleased. That is good.”
“Yeah, it is,” Marcus said, peering up at the other man suspiciously. “You wouldn’t happen to know how a fish miraculously appeared as soon as you went for your little swim, would you?”
Fergus just smiled, showing teeth that looked slightly pointed in the glare of the bright midday light. “The boy is happy, yes? This is what matters.”
Marcus shook his head. He was clearly losing his mind. What did he think the other man was, some kind of fish whisperer?
“Right.” Marcus put the cleaned fish on ice. “I guess we might as well head in now.” He hesitated, thinking about how terrific Beka—and Fergus, of course—had been with Tito.
“You know, Tito’s mom said she was working until late. I was just going to drop him off with his grandmother. Maybe we could all go back to dock and then I could cook some of this nice fish up for dinner?” He was talking to Fergus, but his eyes kept straying to a glowing Beka as she chatted with Tito, who was reenacting the entire fish-catching adventure, complete with exaggerated hand gestures.
Fergus shrugged, what looked like genuine regret on his face. “That sounds very pleasant, and I am quite fond of cod. But I am afraid that Beka already has other plans.”
“Other plans?” Marcus asked. A cloud seemed to blot out the sun.
“Indeed,” Fergus said, obviously unaware of the effect of his words. “I believe she has a date.”
“A date,” Marcus repeated. Of course she had a date. She was a beautiful, fun-loving woman. Of course men asked her out. Not men like him, of course. But still, it was absurd for him to be so shocked. “Probably with some surfer or hippie New Age tree hugger.”
Fergus gave him a blank look from under red brows. “Why would anyone hug a tree?” He gazed from Marcus to Beka and back again, and comprehension spilled into his eyes, along with a sympathetic look that Marcus chose to ignore. “And yes, she told me they met while surfing. They seem to have much in common.”
Of course they did. Marcus stifled a sigh and resisted the impulse to throw the ice chest into the sea. And he and Beka had nothing in common at all. What the hell had he been thinking?
TEN
BEKA GAZED AT the food spread out on the blanket in front of her and blinked rapidly a couple of times, a mystified look on her face. “When you said a picnic on the beach, this isn’t quite what I envisioned.”
Kesh surveyed the feast he’d assembled, awash with smug satisfaction. Smoked salmon, oysters, caviar, chilled lobster—all the glorious gifts of the sea, along with a few more landlocked pleasures, including a couple of bottles of expensive champagne. He was a prince of the Selkies; he knew how to dazzle a woman. And Human women were especially easy to dazzle. If the Irish accent and suave good looks didn’t get them, flattery and charm would. The Baba Yagas might be the most powerful witches on the planet, but they were still, on some level, just Human women. In the beginning, anyway. And this Baba Yaga was still very young.
“Only the very best is good enough for such a beautiful, gracious creature as yourself,” Kesh said with a flourishing bow. He could feel her falling under his spell already.
Beka gave him a curved crescent of a smile that seemed more amused than awed, the expression on her face hidden momentarily by the silken fall of her loose blond hair. “I’m afraid I’m a bit underdressed,” she said, waving a hand to indicate her simple but colorful batik wraparound skirt and red scoop-necked tank top. “If I’d known we were dining at the Ritz, I would have worn my diamonds.”