Good Lord, the man could dance.

Nigh on seven feet tall, broad as a barn and dressed in honest-to-God armor, and yet he put every other man there to shame. He moved as fluidly as water, every muscle under perfect control. No flourishes or fuss; every step, every turn had the smooth, economical grace of a hunting predator. He barely touched her, and yet led so effortlessly that Martha’s feet seemed to follow of their own accord.

Dancing with him was as simple as breathing. It was life, it was light, it was pure joy. With her hands in his, she felt like she could dance the rest of her days.

It felt so right, it took her most of the evening to realize that something was badly wrong.

“Having a good time, ma’am?” Tex the bartender asked when she went to fetch more drinks.

“Oh my word, yes.” Martha tucked her escaping flower back behind her ear, beaming at him. “I feel sixteen again. Though I bet my poor feet are going to be feeling every day their real age, come the morning.”

Tex grinned back as he poured her a glass of ice water. “And, ah, is he enjoying himself, if you don’t mind me asking? Kind of hard to tell, if you know what I mean.”

Despite the lively salsa music, a twist of unease stabbed her stomach. She did know what Tex meant. No matter how beautifully the Master Shark’s body moved to the rhythm, no hint of warmth showed in his face. She’d known rocks with more expression.

Is he enjoying himself? she wondered with a twinge of guilt. Or am I just tormenting the poor man?

She cast a glance back where she’d left him lurking in a shadowed corner—and caught a glimpse of his hulking, armored form ducking out the doorway. Her sense of unease grew.

He’s probably just gone out to get some air, she tried to tell herself. He’s wearing inch-thick steel, for crying out loud. No doubt he needs to cool down. He’ll be back.

Nonetheless, her inner coyote nipped at her heels. Gathering up a glass of water, she hurried after him.

“Uh, Master Shark?” she called out self-consciously—for Heaven’s sake, why couldn’t the man have a proper name? “Everything all right?”

“Yes.” He’d retreated to the end of the veranda again, both hands braced on the wooden railing, his back to her.

“I brought you some water.” A little tentatively, she set it down on the rail, next to his left hand.

He didn’t look round. “Thank you.”

Almost, her nerve broke. But damn it, she was an alpha coyote. She’d faced down rattlesnake gangs and poachers, screaming toddlers and sullen teenagers. She’d never backed down from a challenge. She wasn’t going to let a mere giant, brooding, armored shark king intimidate her now.

“Hey.” She tugged on his arm, forcing him to look down at her. “Are you having a good time?”

“It is the best night of my life.” Though his flat, toneless voice made it difficult to tell, she was pretty certain he sincerely meant it.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Even as she said it, she knew exactly what was wrong. She knew what it was that kept his face still and expressionless. Much as she tried to deny it, she had the same cold, rock-like lump in her own chest.

Light flashed from his armor as his massive shoulders rose and fell in a long sigh. “I am sorry. I did not want to taint your enjoyment of this night.”

Because we only have this night.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.” She looked down at her wedding ring, twisting it on her finger. “I wish-“

The words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t lie to him. She couldn’t wish that things had been different, that she’d never married Manuel. She couldn’t regret her life with her husband, or her children, or her grand-children.

She jumped at his touch. Interlacing his fingers through hers, he turned her hand so that her wedding band caught the moonlight.

“The past makes us who we are,” he said, his voice roughening with fierce intensity. “And I would not change anything about you. Not one thing.”

Oh, this man.

This man who looked like a demon and danced like an angel. This man who sounded like he never spoke and said exactly what she needed to hear. This man could steal her heart.

And she knew that he already had.

She couldn’t blame it on hormones, or her inner coyote. She could no longer deny that she’d fallen for him: hook, line and sinker. In her soul, she’d already broken her marriage vows.

Guilt and confusion roiled in her stomach. Tearing her gaze away from him, she found herself staring at the two champagne flutes they’d left here earlier. To memories, she’d proposed.

A cool breeze ruffled her hair, lifting it away from the nape of her neck. Manuel had always loved to kiss her there. The soft touch on her skin, the drifting sound of salsa music, the scent of jasmine—all combined into a sudden powerful, overwhelming memory:

“Go on,” he whispered, his breath soft on her skin. “You know you want to.”

The music thrilled through her bones, beckoning her forward. Nonetheless, she hesitated, pressing back against his warm, solid chest.

“I can’t just leave you here by yourself,” she protested. “What sort of wife would that make me?”

“What sort of a husband would I be if I demanded you stay chained to my side?” He kissed the nape of her neck again. “I want you to be happy, love. Even when I can’t be the cause. Go. Go and dance.”

Another dance, another time, so long ago she’d forgotten it until now.

The breeze whispered along her neck, soft as the kiss of a ghost.

I want you to be happy, love. Even when I can’t be the cause.

The Master Shark had started to pull back, his face closing down again into an emotionless wall. She gripped his fingers tight, stopping him.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

Surprise flashed across those iron-hard eyes. “My name?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure your mother didn’t call you ‘Master Shark.’” Despite her attempted lightness, her voice trembled. “And maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I think I should know a man’s name before I kiss him.”

He looked like she’d walloped him across the back of the head with a baseball bat. “Before you…what?”

Stepping closer to him, she rested one hand on his chest. She could feel the wild thudding of his heart, perfectly in time with her own.

“Tell me your name,” she said again.

He was silent for a moment longer, his eyebrows drawing down as if it had been so long since anyone had asked him this question, he was genuinely struggling to remember the answer.

“Finn,” he said at last, softly. “My mother called me Finn.”

Despite her racing pulse, she nearly choked on a snort of laughter. “Finn? Really?”

That shy, sweet, almost-smile flickered briefly across his face. “She had a terrible sense of humor.”

“Finn,” Martha repeated, smiling back. “It suits you. Well, Finn. I’m Martha.”

“Yes,” he whispered, all hungry intensity again. He bent down a little, locked on her as if nothing else existed in the whole world.

She darted her tongue over her lips. “And…I’m your mate.”

He was so close now, she could see herself reflected in the dark pools of his eyes. Nonetheless he hesitated, his mouth barely a breath away from hers.

“Martha.” The words sounded like they were being torn from his throat. “Do you truly want me?”

In answer, she closed the gap between them. The first touch of his lips on hers washed away any lingering doubts, filling her with certainty. This was right. With every part of her, body and mind and soul, she knew it.

He was her mate, and she was his. They were meant to be together. She wouldn’t deny it any longer.

His taut muscles were hard as iron under her palm, yet his lips were gentle on hers. The unexpected softness of the kiss made her close her eyes, surrendering to the sweetness singing through her soul.

Oh, this man, this man.

My man.

She wanted to taste him, but he pulled away as she tried to deepen the kiss. Opening her eyes, she started to ask him what was wrong, but he stopped her question with a finger across her lips. His expression was rigidly controlled, but she could feel the urgency of his desire where she pressed against his body.

“No more,” he growled, and her blood leaped at the barely-restrained feral edge to his voice. “Not here. But if you are sure…”

Too breathless for words, she nodded.

He didn’t need to be invited twice. She gasped as he swept her up, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all. Holding her in one arm, he vaulted over the veranda, so smoothly that she didn’t even feel a bump. The instant his feet hit the ground, he was striding away, carrying her in the direction of the guest houses.

“No, wait,” she managed to gasp out, as she realized he was headed for her cottage. “Let’s go to yours.”

He shook his head with a quick, sharp motion, never breaking stride. “Yours is closer.”

“But-“

It was too late. He was already shouldering open the door, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the lintel. Martha squirmed with embarrassment, hiding her face against his shoulder.

Oh, I should have cleaned up, I should at least have picked up my underwear-!

A strange, dry sound rattled deep in the Master Shark’s—no, in Finn’s chest. It took her a second to realize that he was laughing.

“I hope,” he murmured in her ear, “that this means you were expecting me.”

She risked a peek. There was no sign of the earlier chaos. Her clothes and scattered toiletries had been whisked out of sight, as if by magic. The rustic floorboards gleamed in the soft, romantic light of a few scattered candles, safely contained within tall glass jars. A fresh flower arrangement of jasmine and amaryllis perfumed the air. The bed had been made up with crisp white linens, and someone had scattered handfuls of rose petals across it.

“That Magnolia.” Martha shook her head, half-touched, half-exasperated. “I told her not to bother the staff.”

Finn made that hoarse, almost silent laugh again. His mouth was still set in its usual harsh line, but his eyes gleamed. “I am glad that she did.”

Martha had to admit to herself, she was too. Still, the unmistakably bridal appearance of the bedroom made her feel suddenly shy. It had been so long since she’d been with a man, and she was no spring chicken. What if she disappointed him?

“Martha.” There was an odd catch to Finn’s voice, a slight note of hesitancy that she’d never heard before. The amusement had faded from his face. “I am a shark.”

“Yes?” She blinked at him, confused. “So?”

He took a deep breath, tilting his head to indicate the gentle, romantic setting. “This is not…not in my nature. But if you desire softness…I will try.”

Her own fears fled in the face of the raw vulnerability in his eyes. She slid down out of his arms, pressing herself fiercely against his body.

“I desire you,” she said. Deliberately, she dug her nails into his muscled back. “Just as you are.”

He made a low, wordless sound. His rough hands seized her hips, pulling her deliciously against his hard length. She let out a gasp as he crushed her back against the wall, her own desire surging at being surrounded by his intoxicating strength.

She tried to tug his head down so that she could kiss him, but he shook his head a little, pulling out of reach. For whatever reason, it was clear his mouth was out of bounds. She had to settle for nipping at his chest, near-drunk on the scent of him, the salt-sweat taste of his skin.

His powerful hands jerked her dress off her body with a sharp rip, his rough palms sliding over her skin as if he would lay claim to every inch. She practically whined in encouragement, thrusting herself shamelessly at him as she fought to undo his belt.

She managed to free him the same instant that his fingers slid under her panties. Oh Lord, he felt good in her hand, velvet-soft and iron-hard all at the same time, as much a contradiction as he himself was. The slickness already beading at his tip brought an answering gush between her own thighs.

“Oh yes,” she gasped, as he slid a finger into her welcoming depths. She shuddered around him, squeezing his shaft hard in her fist. “Finn, I can’t wait, now, please!”

Without a word, he tore her panties off. He lifted her effortlessly, her back against the wall, just as she’d secretly longed for. Martha wrapped her legs around him, and oh, oh, it was better than she could ever have imagined. She writhed in exquisite anticipation as his length slid through her folds—not entering yet, just testing her readiness.

She threw back her head as he rubbed against her just right, unable to hold herself back any longer. She cried out his name, scratching at his back as ecstasy exploded through her.

Though she couldn’t have been more ready, she still caught her breath as his hardness pushed at her entrance. He was big, just as big as the rest of him. His shoulder muscles shook under her hands as he fought to go slowly.

But, oh, she didn’t want slow. She wanted him.

Deliberately, she sank her teeth into his rigid neck. He jerked, and yes, at last, at last he lost his control. She was swept away as he slammed into her, finally giving her all of him, without holding back.

“Finn!” she cried out, overwhelmed with sensation, blind to everything but him. “Finn!”

He buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder as he strained into her. He didn’t bite, but she felt the sharp press of clenched, jagged teeth against her skin. It was enough to send her tumbling over the edge again, washed away by pleasure.

It took a while to come back to herself. If he hadn’t still been holding her up, she would have been a boneless heap on the floor. She leaned her forehead on his shoulder, safe and secure in his supportive arms, totally undone.

He held her until they were both breathing more steadily again. Then, with infinite care, he carried her over to the bed, laying her down on the soft sheets. Tired and tingling from head to toe, she stretched, watching as he stripped off his armor.

“I didn’t warn you that I’m not gentle,” she murmured, feeling a twinge of guilt. His white back was marked by livid stripes where she’d scratched him up. “You should have worn more armor.”

His deep, rasping laugh rumbled through his chest as he curled up behind her. He kissed her shoulder softly, without a hint of teeth. “You bite like a shark.”

Martha entwined her fingers through his, feeling utterly content. “But you don’t bite.”

He went still. “No. Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“It is how sharks mate.”

Oh. He clearly meant mate mate; the permanent union of minds and souls, not just bodies.

Her inner coyote wagged its tail in eagerness, and Martha’s own heart skipped a beat at the thought. To be fully joined to him, to know him inside and out, to see the secret soul behind the blank wall he presented to the world…oh, she wanted that.

But did he?

If he did…coyotes were pack animals. Any prospective mate had to be presented to the pack, and win their approval. And no matter how she tried, she couldn’t imagine a Master Shark petitioning to join a bunch of dusty desert dogs. He and her pack just didn’t fit in the same mental picture.

Maybe it was just as well he hadn’t bitten her.

As if he’d sensed the darkening turn of her thoughts, his arm tightened around her. He drew the sheet up, covering them both. “Sleep now.”

She nodded, pushing her worries down again. No sense fretting over the future. She nestled back into the warmth of his embrace, trying to recapture that glow of contentment.

“Finn?” she murmured, as exhaustion lowered her eyelids. “Did you want to bite me?”

He brushed her shoulder with his lips again…but if he answered, she was asleep before she heard it.