Immersed in Pleasure

“You’re a real mermaid?”

She gave him a mischievous grin.

“Come find out.”

Just then Ireland decided to make her appearance—an hour late. For almost the entire hour he’d been desperate for her to show up. Now that he saw her breezing through the door and heading his way, he fervently wished he’d been stood up.

“I can’t,” he said.

The tiniest glint of disappointment shone in the girl’s midnight blue eyes. In such an open innocent face, the sadness rebuked him. He felt as if he’d knocked a baseball through a stained-glass window.

“Then goodbye.” She sighed. “I’ll never see you again.”

She said the words with such earnestness that Derek knew he would be the idiot of the century to miss this chance. It wasn’t only that the Manhattan Mermaids were so legendary he still couldn’t quite believe he’d been talking to one. It was her—this girl—not the rumors and legends—who’d gotten to him. She’d saved his life…or at the very least his centerpiece. And she had such innocence about her. He didn’t meet innocent people in his line of work. As a defense attorney he was often called a shark. Briefly he wondered if sharks and mermaids were natural enemies or allies.

As Ireland reached the table, Derek made up his mind.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Couldn’t remember if we were meeting at nine or ten,” she said, shrugging. He couldn’t recall just then why they were dating. Brainy and beautiful with her white-blond hair and her legs that went on for eternity, Ireland, unlike his ex-wife, was fantastic in bed and wasn’t afraid to try anything. But she was also cold and arrogant when she wanted to be. Tonight she apparently wanted to be. “Guess it was nine.”

“Let’s make it eleven. We’ll meet at your place at eleven and then I’ll be an hour late.” He stood up. “See you at midnight.”

“Wait, where the hell are you going?” Ireland demanded. “I just got here.”

“And I’m just leaving.”

Derek raced to the VIP table and found it depressingly empty. His mermaid and the dark-haired man had vanished. The only sign the girl had even been there was a small puddle of water on the floor by the chair she’d been sitting in.

Water… Derek stopped looking around and started looking down. Not far from the VIP table he found the watery outline of a bare footprint on the floor. A few feet later he saw another tiny puddle of water glinting on the shiny dark blue tile. The drops led to a door tucked in a corner.

A metal Employees Only sign decorated the door and gave Derek pause. In a club owned by Kingsley Edge, breaking the rules led to unpleasant consequences. But he’d abandoned one of the sexiest women in New York at his table for this chance, and he wasn’t going to miss it.

He threw open the door and found a stairwell. Racing down the stairs, he prayed the water on the floor had come from her and not some clumsy waitress. At the landing two levels below Cirque du Nuit he knew he was on the right track. Breathing in, he inhaled warm wet air scented with a trace of chlorine. He passed through another door and stopped immediately when he discovered he wasn’t in Cirque du Nuit anymore or even the club’s basement.

He was in Fathoms—no doubt about it. And Fathoms sat right below Cirque du Nuit. Looking around the dimly lit club, Derek couldn’t believe the legend was true. The underground catacombs did connect all of Kingsley Edge’s clubs.

Derek hid behind a column and studied his surroundings. The club had dozens of interconnected swimming pools scattered about the large room. Between and about them sat tables and chairs—chairs occupied by the highest of high society. Derek recognized several faces—with a real estate mogul for a mother and the deputy mayor for a father, Derek could recognize the wealthy and famous on sight. And everywhere he looked, he spied money and power.

At the center of the room stood a two-story-high transparent column about twelve feet across. In it swam a girl completely naked but for a silver belly chain. The silver fins tattooed on her feet, ankles and thighs glinted in the light. He tore his eyes from the column to another corner of the room. Another girl equally beautiful and equally naked sat on a large rock at the edge of one of the pools. A man Derek recognized as a city councilman said something to the girl. She rolled her eyes and splashed water in his face. The gesture made the man laugh as if it was some sort of honor to be splashed by such a woman.

Derek tore his eyes from the scene and searched the club for his mermaid. Looking up, he saw a metal walkway at the top of the large column and a flash of white skirt. He found a staircase behind him, and at the top of the staircase he came suddenly face-to-face with his mermaid.

“Hello,” she said, standing in a private alcove next to the top of the central swimming pool. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“I forgot to thank you for putting out my fire,” he said, wincing at how stupid he sounded.

She ran her fingers through her hair, freeing it from its braid.

“I’m waiting,” she said, humming.

“For what?”

“For you to thank me. You said you forgot to.”

Derek shook his head.

“Right. Thank you for putting out my fire. I didn’t mean to stare at you upstairs. I’ve never seen a mermaid before.”

“I stared back,” she said simply.

“You did. Why?”

“I like your face.”

“You like my face?”

“I do. It’s pretty. But not girl pretty. Handsome-prince pretty. And you have hair that’s wavy like water. Even your eyes are water-colored, and your shirt. I probably thought you were a merman.”

Derek looked down. He wore black slacks and a black vest over his French-blue oxford shirt. A little too GQ for him, he wore these clothes only because Ireland liked them so much.

“I’m not a merman. But I am a prince. Derek Prince,” he said and held out his hand to her.

“Xenia.” She ignored his hand and instead leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. He shivered as her warm soft lips pressed into his cheek. “I have to go now, but you can stay if you like.”

“Go where?”

“Underwater.”

At that, Xenia took a step back and pulled her camisole off. Her skirt came off next, and she stood before him completely naked.

Derek felt his eyes go as wide as hers. Although a sight to behold, the club paled before Xenia’s naked flesh. Thin but with soft girlish curves, Xenia barely looked human to him. The silver metallic scale tattoos graced not only her feet and calves but the sides of her thighs and the edge of her hips. Her breasts, the perfect size, appeared designed to rest in the palm of his hand. A healthy red-blooded man, he couldn’t help staring at her breasts and between her legs. Completely smooth and hairless, she seemed a being of eternal youth. His body tensed at the sight of such pristine flesh so unashamedly on display.

The girl, Xenia, reached for a silver chain and fastened it around her stomach. Little silver scales hung off it and dangled around her hips. She clasped silver bracelets onto each wrist and connected them to the silver rings on her fingers. Around her forehead went a heavier silver chain like a small circlet. The body jewelry shimmered in the low light and rendered Xenia a creature of ethereal beauty.

She strode to the edge of the tall pool and dived gracefully into it. Derek ran back down the stairs and up to the side of the column. Around and around she swam, her long brown hair flowing behind her. She spun in slow graceful circles, arched under and around, and seemed to need almost no air. Derek watched her, unable to look at anything else. She swam to the edge of the column and smiled at him through the water. He pressed his hand to the glass and she laid her hand against the inside to meet his. But she pulled back quickly and swam off again.

“Ah…that little one. She may be my favorite,” said a lightly accented voice from behind him. Derek turned around and saw the man from Cirque du Nuit, the one in the Victorian suit and the ponytail, standing behind him with a cocktail in his hand.

“She’s amazing,” Derek agreed. “She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Merci. I found her myself.”

Derek stared at the man. Merci, he’d said. Found her…

“Oh, my God. You’re Kingsley Edge,” Derek said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge into your club. She told me I should—”

The man shook his finger and tsk-tsked him in a manner that was infuriatingly French.