Maelstrom: Mermaids of Montana 1: Intergalactic Dating Agency Read online

  Table of Contents

  Maelstrom

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Romancing the Alien

  Thank You!

  MAELSTROM

  MERMAIDS OF MONTANA

  BIG SKY ALIEN MAIL ORDER BRIDES

  INTERGALACTIC DATING AGENCY

  Elsa Jade

  WEBSITE | NEW RELEASE ALERT | FACEBOOK

  The Intergalactic Dating Agency promised a bride from this small, blue planet…

  As an ocean-dwelling Tritonyri warrior, Maelstrom Amyth sacrificed everything he loved in the centuries-long battle against the cruel and careless land-dwellers. So when he and his pod-brothers are sent to Earth to gently woo Intergalactic Dating Agency brides for his world’s survival, he’s definitely a fish-man out of water.

  She thought the seas were deep and dark and dangerous, but then she looked to the Big Sky above…

  Ridley Blake grew up in landlocked Iowa dreaming only of the ocean, but she washed out of Navy SEAL training after nearly drowning during a panic attack that left her with thalassophobia—the fear of deep water. She figures she’ll never dive again, until she is summoned to the middle of Montana under mysterious circumstances.

  But the troubles they both left behind have bigger teeth than they knew, and now Mael and Ridley have to sink or swim together…

  Read all the MERMAIDS OF MONTANA

  MAELSTROM

  CORIOLIS

  FATHOM

  New to the Big Sky Alien Mail Order Brides? Start with ALPHA STAR for free!

  And find all the Intergalactic Dating Agency books at RomancingTheAlien.com

  Copyright © 2019 by Elsa Jade

  Cover design by Croco Designs

  ISBN 978-1-941547-37-3

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as factual. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be scanned, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Chapter 1

  Stepping out of the rental car into the Montana night, Ridley Blake caught her breath. Partly it was the unexpected nip of the autumn air after the hours of comfort-controlled cruising far from Bozeman. But worse, it was the cloud-streaked, star-studded black void above that stole the air from her lungs.

  Big Sky Country? More like staring into the deepest ocean. Silvery clouds cascaded down in rippling waves to join a low fog that had gathered between the tall pines when she’d left the half-dozen street lights of nowheresville Sunset Falls behind her. Against the black, the stars twinkled like the bioluminescence that used to welcome her on her solo dives into the dark.

  At the memory of the abyss closing over her head, her chest seized tight, the trapped air turning to concrete, threatening to drag her down. Or up into the sky, never to be seen again.

  With an explosive curse, she wrenched her frozen gaze from the vast oblivion. She shoved her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, yanking it tight around her, as if only the grip of her own hands could keep her from tumbling into the night. The lightweight cotton—fine for San Diego, totally inadequate for the wilds of Montana—felt strangling, letting only thin, frantic sips of air squeak between her clenched lips.

  She couldn’t freak out again, not here, not now, not when she was so close to finally getting some answers.

  She spun away from the big, square façade of the mansion at the far end of the cobblestone drive where she’d parked. The invitation had said cocktails at seven, and she was running a little late, but she didn’t want anyone seeing her like this.

  Her head swimming—it was the only thing swimming these days; she hadn’t been back in the water for almost a year—she focused on her breathing. It never helped, but it was the best the shrink at the VA hospital had been able to offer. Besides drugs. And she wasn’t going down that road again.

  There were worse oblivions than drowning.

  Locking her gaze on the decorative fountain in the middle of the circular driveway, she ignored the tears burning at the corners of her eyes that made the stone statue on its pedestal waver as if she were underwater. Almost out of reach of the light from the house windows, the pure white marble of the mermaid in the fountain glowed like a moon drifted down from heaven. The small-breasted girl sat with her lower fish half wrapped around a stylized conch shell, hefting an inordinately large urn over her shoulder, as if ready to pour. But the puckered mouth of the vessel was empty. Probably just turned off for the winter to prevent damage, but the sight of that dark hole made Ridley’s knees quiver inside the boot-cut denim.

  Her stomach churned with irrational fear—and also with disgust at the stupid, helpless reaction. She was surrounded by stone pavers, about as far from a significant body of water as she could possibly get, and still she was freaking out.

  If this meeting didn’t offer real solutions, she would… Well, she was already jobless, homeless, broke, and out of options. Maybe she could beg for a one-way ticket to the Sandbox.

  When she lowered her head, the night wind traced tendrils, cold as seaweed, across the back of her neck where she’d chopped her hair short. She closed her eyes hard, wringing out the useless tears, but at the sound of water droplets plinking in the fountain, she snapped straight.

  Dammit, she hadn’t been crying that hard. Maybe the mermaid had shaken out the last few drips from her urn.

  But no, it was a man in the shadows on the other side of the large marble basin. Shock at not being alone sent a flush of heat through her veins, melting the frozen slush of panic in her blood. Ridley scowled at the prickling awareness of her vulnerability, alone in the Montana night. Dude better not be peeing in the fountain.

  More ridiculous, he was standing in the fountain. He hadn’t been there a second ago. Even in the midst of the anxiety attack she couldn’t have missed him. He was huge, bigger than any of the guys she’d served with, big enough to make the mermaid’s oversized urn look like a pony keg in his massive mitts. Standing as motionless as the statue, he had the same rock-hard look about him, thick muscles in his arms and thighs blatantly displayed by what looked like a high-tech diving suit, skin tight and glinting bronze and obsidian in the starlight. Nicer than anything she’d ever worn.

  Meaning the suit was nicer—not him. It’d been awhile since she’d draped any dude over her body, and she’d never have chosen this one.

  Not just too big and too hard, he had that stillness about him that she associated with trouble. Yelling and punching were always bad, of course, but she’d survived all that. It was out of stillness that the scariest shit erupted.

  Despite the restless flick of the night wind, his dark hair clung to his shoulders in frozen ripples. Because it was soaked. Had he been submerged in the basin as she’d gotten out of the
car? He didn’t have an oxygen tank on him but maybe he had a snorkel tucked down there…somewhere…in his pants, maybe…

  “Are you bound to the House of Wavercrest?”

  At the low, demanding question, she jerked her attention back to his face. The stern angles of his intent expression were the same bronze hue of his suit. Either the neoprene was custom dyed or—

  Or he wasn’t wearing a diving suit at all. Which meant…he was standing in the fountain naked.

  She was not going to glance down again for confirmation. Not. Totally not.

  Her eyes burned even more, not from tears, but from not looking. Also burning: her cheeks, the blood in her veins, the hollow between her legs that was as empty as that damn mermaid’s urn—

  “Are you bound here?” he asked again, narrowing his eyes. Even with the distance of the basin and the shadows between them, she was captivated by the uncanny flash of his pale irises. Like ice or an opal or a wild animal’s glare.

  Then his impatient tone and the words penetrated her bemusement, and she stiffened. “I’m not bound anywhere.” Not anymore, by anything.

  In a voice made somehow richer and darker by the hint of an accent she couldn’t identify, he said, “I smell the ocean on you.”

  “Excuse me.” She’d been on an airplane from California and then in a rental car, but she didn’t smell. And anyway, she hadn’t been in the water since the last time she panicked at the marina. The memory washed through her in a sick chill.

  “I am here to retrieve Marisol Wavercrest.” He took one step toward her, and the water in the basin sloshed around his knees, catching bubbles of starlight.

  Ridley’s pulse seemed to fizz with darker bubbles. “I’m here to see her too.” Maybe this guy was having the same troubles as her, since the invitation had said there’d be others. Well, not exactly the same, obviously, since at least he could stand in that dark pool without screaming. But it was nice to know she wasn’t alone in her freakish failings.

  With a couple more sloshing steps, he approached her end of the basin. “I will collect you all, and then we must leave immediately.”

  “Leave?” She took a step back. “I just got here. What about the cocktails?” And she wasn’t a collectible; nobody had ever been interested in keeping her around.

  “You may have celebratory libations on the ship.” When he rounded the mermaid statue, the lights from the house barely touched him, but it was enough for Ridley to realize—as her gaze drifted helplessly down—that he wasn’t actually naked. His diving gear was like nothing she’d ever seen, with sleek black segments and straps crisscrossing his big body but exposing swaths of his bronze skin. Flared pieces like supple armor capped his shoulders and stretched down his triceps, ending in points at his elbows, and the wide harness across his barrel chest was half fetish gear and half “ooh look at all the pockets!” with enough storage pouches to make any backwoods fly fisherman swoon.

  A lustrous black dive skin encased his lower half, at least from the knee up, and the fabric clung so tight that she forgave herself for imagining him naked. The suit wasn’t enough to protect against the cold night air, but he seemed unfazed, those piercing pale eyes fixed on her as he approached.

  Under that intense stare, conflicting impulses helixed down her spine: run away or run her fingers over those black straps…

  She fisted her hands in the hoodie pocket, digging the ragged tips of her nails in deep. “I’m not getting on a ship.” God, just the thought of dark water all around made her want to vomit with fear. “I’m not going anywhere until Miz Wavercrest explains why she called us here. She says she’ll tell me why I can’t even look at the water anymore without wanting to die.”

  He halted so abruptly, miniature waves washed up the backs of his knees. “You can’t go to Tritona if water kills you.”

  “Not. Going. Anywhere,” she repeated through clenched teeth. Studying the urgent twist of his mouth (he did have nice lips, as big and firm looking as the rest of him) she couldn’t help wondering at that faint accent, like a blend of Greek and Scottish consonant flow. “What’s Tritona?”

  The slosh of the water fell silent. “We were told the House of Wavercrest has willingly chosen Tritona.”

  “Maybe she did, but I didn’t. I answered her call about…” She snapped her jaw shut. Stupid to tell this leopard seal of a man more about her weakness. “Look, you can take Marisol Wavercrest anywhere you want after I talk to her. But I was here first, so just back”—a hail from the house made her glance quickly over her shoulder—“down.”

  When she returned her attention to the fountain…it was empty.

  Except for a circular ripple next to the mermaid. As if the man had dived into the basin and disappeared.

  No way could it be that deep. The ripple lapped up to the edge of the marble with a tiny gurgle, like a mocking laugh. Despite the stuttering pound of her pulse, Ridley stepped up to the fountain lip and forced herself to look into the water.

  But the inky blackness only reflected the stars and silver clouds—and her own stunned face—like a darkened mirror. Her head whirling, she reversed course with a muttered curse.

  “Miss Blake? Won’t you come in?”

  Into the water? Not damn likely. She spun on her heel to face the house.

  An older man with middling gray hair that perfectly balanced the whiteness of his shirt and dark gray trousers gestured to her again. “Do come in,” he called. “It’s quite chilly tonight.”

  Not according to the half-naked guy in the pool. But when she peeked at the fountain, of course there was nothing there. Not even the telltale ripple.

  The marble mermaid seemed to smirk.

  Dividing a suspicious glance between the fountain and the mansion, Ridley headed for the door. With one last look over her shoulder at the waiting night, she crossed the threshold into the foyer.

  In her research before leaving San Diego, Ridley had figured out that the Wavercrest family came from money. Old money. And though a dollar probably stretched further in rural Montana than it did anywhere in California, in the Wavercrest mansion foyer, the dollars had stretched and twisted and crystallized into the elegant forms of a wrought iron staircase, a shimmering chandelier, ornate silver picture frames, and lots more of the mermaid’s pristine white marble. She realized she was hunching her shoulders, the way she always did when faced with this sort of untouched, serene beauty. Rather than aim for the heights, she’d always jumped into the depths, which had their own beauty—raw, dark, and mysterious. But now she’d lost even that.

  Which was the only reason she was here. She forced herself to straighten her shoulders. “Sorry I’m late.” The guy outside had made it sound as if time was of the essence.

  The butler smiled easily. “Miss Wavercrest is so pleased you agreed to join us, Miss Blake. My name is Thomas and I’ll be taking care of everything while you’re with us. If you should have any needs, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He let out a little sigh as he gestured around the stunning foyer. “Out here, I’m somewhat limited in my ability to produce all desires,” he said in a confidential tone. “But I promise to do my best.”

  “You can start by calling me Ridley,” she said. “And really, I’m just here to learn more about this Wavercrest Syndrome.”

  “Of course. May I take your coat?”

  She pushed her hands deeper into the hoodie pockets. Hardly the floor-length fur that probably inhabited the closets in this place. “No, I’m good. Although I guess I’d take one of those cocktails.”

  He gave her a little bow and she followed him through the foyer and around a white marble column into an opulent library. She managed to stop her jaw from dropping open as she scanned across the floor-to-ceiling shelves. A huge fireplace of massive river rock blackened by centuries of fire filled up one wall, flanked by a small seating arrangement where one of the chairs looked carved from the same marble as the mermaid. Across from the fireplace was a stunning saltwater fish tank.
To her disgust, tears prickled in Ridley’s eyes again as she stared at the brilliant diorama of sea life. Illuminated like this, the mysterious depths held no terror for her, but would she ever see the real thing in all its glory and danger again?

  Distracted by the glimpse of her one-time world, she almost missed the small woman standing in front of the aquarium. Her flowing kaftan had almost as many colors as the undersea realm, and when she spun around to face them—the flare of the skirts revealing a pair of heinously ugly rubber Crocs—her smile was almost as wide as the whole damn ocean. “There are seahorses!” Delight brightened her green eyes.

  Thomas chuckled. “We have even more secrets than that.” He held up his hands toward each of them, as if making a connection between them. “Ridley Blake, this is Lana Wavercrest. Miss Lana, this is Miss Ridley.”

  “You can drop the miss,” Ridley murmured to him, and though he didn’t reply, he inclined his head as the other woman hustled toward them, her too-long-for-her skirt kicking up with each step.

  “I’m not the Miss Wavercrest, not like mistress of all this,” she announced, waving one hand above her head to encompass the luxury. Above her head wasn’t exactly far, considering she couldn’t be more than five feet tall, and her curly sienna-brown hair fluffed at the expansive gesture. “I think I’m a forgotten distant cousin or something. Or maybe my pirate ancestors stole the name.” She peered up at Ridley, grinning. “How many times removed are you?”

  “Uh…” Ridley blinked at the other guest. “I don’t know if I’m related at all.” But what if she was? Maybe she should’ve looked deeper into her adoption paperwork, even though she’d always told herself she didn’t care. Not that it had ever mattered, until her breakdown last year. She frowned at Thomas. “So where is the Wavercrest we’re supposed to be meeting?”

  “Miss Wavercrest was briefly detained,” the butler said smoothly, “but I expect her down soon. In the meantime, if I could make you that cocktail?” He crossed the room to hover expectantly at the minibar.