There was a shimmery quality to her skin that must have been a mermaid trait, along with a small smattering of pearlescent scales up near her hairline, and what at first appeared to be scars on the sides of her throat, but logic told him must be where her gills would be when in the water.
He fully understood why everyone was gawking, why they were taking out their cameras to snap pictures. He never wanted to look away.
Belatedly, he remembered to rise to his feet and offer her a smile.
“Iris?” he asked. As if there would possibly be another incredibly rare mermaid in the same restaurant.
She opened her mouth to speak.
But just as she did, her foot wobbled.
Then she was falling, quite literally, right into him.
His arms went out automatically, wrapping around her. He was overwhelmed with salt water and citrus—the scent that seemed to cling to every inch of Iris. He couldn’t help but notice how her body seemed to perfectly melt against his—all her soft curves against his hard lines.
Iris’s arms had gone to his arms, fingers grabbing the material of his shirt. It conjured up images of her hands peeling it off of him, of her eyes bright with desire and—
No.
He couldn’t let his mind go there.
This wasn’t even meant to be arealmarriage. At least, that wasn’t how Henry pitched it to him.
“It’s all on paper, of course,” had been his exact words. “Unless the two of you want there to be more.”
“You all right?” Finn asked, wondering if Iris could hear the breathlessness of his voice just then. Because he could hear it. Loud and clear.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like … anything. This was meant to be a diplomatic move. A photo op. A partnership on paper with clear political boundaries. He wasn’t supposed to notice her curves pressed to his chest and imagine … anything else.
Yet for one mindless moment, his body betrayed him.
He cleared his throat.
He needed to focus.
Be charming.
Ask questions.
Don’t ogle the mermaid.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Iris said, stiffening and pulling away.
He’d heard stories about the voices of mermaids. They’d never been described on the same level as sirens, but it was said that there was a certain sweetness and a sing-song quality that made you want to lean closer to hear more.
Finn pulled away before he could do something that absurd.
“I’m still … getting used to my land legs.”
Finn reached to pull out her chair, getting pinched brows from Iris, who was likely not familiar with the human custom. Or, you know, chairs. After a moment, she slid in so he could move to his side and sit.
“I’m so glad you were willing to meet with me today.”
For just a moment, there was a flash of something across her face. It was sharp and cutting. But gone so quickly that Finn was almost sure he’d imagined it.
When Iris spoke, it was almost as if her voice got even sweeter, more musical.
“Oh, of course. I havesomany plans for our courtship.”
