Who Needs A Hero?

“Nice throw. Hell of an arm you got there.”

I looked up through my tears to see a man staring at the spot where I had pitched the ring. His mouth curved in a bemused smile, but when he turned and met my gaze sharp intelligence and concern lit his hazel-green eyes. An unbelievably handsome man, giving new definition to the term sculpted. A long sleeved gray T-shirt clung to his upper body; his shoulders looked like they could carry the weight of the world and the fit of the fabric showed off an awe-inspiring six-pack. His left hand had been shoved into one of a zillion pockets in his tan cargo pants that rode low on lean hips.

Dream or hallucination? It had been a brutal night, maybe my psyche had snapped like a dry twig. I started the perusal over. He wore his dark brown hair a little shaggy but oh so boyishly charming. Streamlined nose and high cheekbones were in perfect symmetry and deeply tanned skin covered lean muscle that he didn’t exactly advertise but became evident none the less. The lightening sky over the crashing waves of the Atlantic contrasted his profile, casting him in sharp relief against a soft focus backdrop, a living, breathing specimen of male perfection.

Great. Just what I freaking needed.

“Look.” I narrowed my eyes on Mr. Gorgeous. “I’m kind of in the middle of a nervous breakdown and after that I plan on having a very festive pity party, table for one, so unless you are here to put me out of my misery I suggest you scurry on your way.”

He flashed me a whiter than Vanna White smile, which only succeeded in making me feel like dweeby Pat Sajak. I guess that meant God was Merv Griffin and He was laughing His ass off. The handsome stranger held his hand out to me and for some bizarre reason, I took it.

He pulled me to my feet and then turned to walk away. I stared at his backside, wondering if I had hit my head at some point, sure this couldn’t be real because Merv Griffin only knows—actual people weren’t so glorious. He looked back when he realized I hadn’t followed him.

“It’s best to keep moving, that way the demons can’t catch you.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you were never the fat girl in gym class who couldn’t outrun her own shadow,” I snipped at him. Gesturing at the roaring surf, I continued, “Besides, I’ve hit the Atlantic. Running is no longer an option.”

He strolled back over to me, locks of hair tussled in the early morning sea breeze. If possible he appeared even more magnificent in motion. Something in the way he moved choreographed lethal intent, a dangerous predator, lying low, waiting for the right moment to spring at his unsuspecting prey.

“Then you’ve got to swim for it,” he informed me, before he did just that. His easy gait morphed into a determined sprint and he crashed against the oncoming waves—one awesome force of nature against another.

I think a crab crawled into my mouth when my jaw hit the sand. Stupefied, I watched him swim in the cold water, a steady crawl full of power growing smaller as he neared the horizon. And then he vanished.

“Okay, Maggie, you’re officially psychotic,” I murmured to myself and sat down hard on the sand. My gaze trained on the spot where he had disappeared and I wondered what Freud would say about my vision. Probably something like I hated my mother and needed to get laid.

Maybe he was a merman, returning to his home beneath the sea where he could shag Ariel and tell tales about the chemically unbalanced woman he’d met on the beach.

“If she is an example of the people above, the land is ripe for the picking!” he would announce to his fellow mer-folk as they dined on lobster before a roaring fire in the great hall. Although how the fire stayed lit underwater, or how they cooked the lobster for that matter…

“Hey!”

I looked up for the second time to see my dripping wet merman—sans fins—holding out his hand to me. He held my one-point-five carat solitaire, which looked none the worse for wear. I took it from him with a shaking hand.

“Oh my God.” Water dripped from his hair, eyelashes, nose and chin and I shivered in sympathy as the cool wind cut through my denim jacket. “Are you insane? You’re going to catch hypothermia!”

He winked at me. “Not likely. The water temperature is in the low fifties. I’ve been in much colder water for longer periods of time. It’s not exactly comfortable, but I’ll pull through.”

Master of the understatement.

“Come on.” This time he strode back up the beach without checking to see if I tagged along. Only and idiot would, but follow I did. He stopped short of the boardwalk where he retrieved a fraying blue towel and a small white card, which I instantly recognized as a hotel room key.

“You leave your hotel key sitting in the sand?” My tone sounded incredulous. “Where are you from, Mayberry?”

He didn’t look at me as he dried his stylishly unkempt brown hair. “It’s a magnetized card. If I’d lost it, I’d go to the front desk and they’d issue me a new one.”

“Yeah, but someone could steal it, go through your stuff.”

He shrugged. “Whatever, it’s just stuff. Nothing irreplaceable.”

I remained silent as he slipped on a pair of leather sandals and headed up the ramp to the boardwalk. He made no concession to the wind as it slapped his wet clothing, just strode along at a steady pace with me trailing behind him like a bitchy lost mongrel hoping for a good belly scratch.

The princess cut diamond bit into my palm. I wanted to ask his name and how he had retrieved my ring, but even despite his assurance that he wouldn’t freeze to death, I wanted him to get warm and dry as soon as possible. Answers could wait.

We were the focus of more than a few raised eyebrows as we entered the hotel lobby, not one of the pricier ones along Atlantic Avenue, but a nice little five story place with quite a bit of charm. My haggard appearance might have drawn notice if I’d been alone, but my companion commanded all the attention. I figured the men were astonished by his sodden clothing while the women were checking out his magnificent bod. He dripped into the elevator and I paused, unsure if I wanted to go all the way. Into his room. Where he would get naked.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he reached for my arm and propelled me into the elevator. I didn’t resist, glad to follow a little while longer and study every detail of the merman. He pushed the button for the fifth floor. Coffee colored hairs were visible on his forearms, along with thin white stripes, possibly old scars. He didn’t shift or fidget, just gazed as the numbers on the elevator lit up with the car’s progress. I tried to think of something to say, but my mind had gone out to lunch. He seemed content to absorb the Kenny Logins Muzak and drip on the floor. The door dinged open all too soon.

He ambled halfway down the hall as if he didn’t have a care and inserted the key card. The light turned green and he gripped the handle, pushed open the door. My brain chose that moment to reappear and panic gripped my lungs in a vice.

“I’ll just wait for you here.” I toed at the carpet like a lost child.

He gave me a hard stare, allowing the silence to amplify my statement. A flash of something that might have been disappointment came and went. Or maybe it was just my severely battered heart, making me see things not really there. Wanting to be wanted. Hazel green eyes bore into me and it felt as if he sized me up, like he could read my thoughts as easily as he had found a diamond in an underwater sand dune.

“You’ll be all right.” His deep voice sparked something in me, something totally unfamiliar that I craved with rabid desperation. I nodded even though he hadn’t phrased it as a question.

Without a backward glance, he entered the room and shut the door. I stared at the brass numbers, 517, trying to jumpstart my brain. What the hell had just happened? Who was this guy?

I gazed at the ring in my hand through new eyes. When I had started driving last night, my only intention had been to exorcize The Jackass from my heart and get rid of this final reminder of him in one grand gesture. And I had. The ring had been cleansed in the ocean, a materialistic baptism which wiped the remaining vestiges of sentiment from my mind. I saw it now not as a reminder of The Jackass, but as the means to a fresh start. The gorgeous merman had known this, and had given me a new chance.

“Thank you,” I whispered at number 517. I touched the door, but jumped when I heard footsteps inside. I ran and only Merv Griffin knew how fast.