Master of the Deep Read Online Free Page A

didn’t want him to leave. The mansion was nice, but when he was gone, it was just a big, empty building.
    So why stay? She didn’t need a chaperone to explore.
    “Can I borrow one of your bikes?” she asked, following him out of the bathroom. “Assuming you weren’t joking.” It had come up at dinner. She’d said that having a car in New York was about as useful as a fish having a bicycle, and that had amused him. He’d replied that the original quote was “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle,” and he’d asked if she was trying to tell him something. While she’d blushed and stammered, he’d told her that he had several bikes, and shark shifters liked bikes just fine. Then he’d unleashed that sexy smile of his, and her embarrassment had turned to lava-hot, liquid desire for him. They hadn’t been able to do anything about it because they were in public.
    “Of course you can,” he said. “I’ll leave one at the front door. A tip, though: stay on the paved roads unless you like fixing flats.”
    “Thought maybe I’d go into town. If it’s not far?”
    “I’d say about thirty minutes. Go left at the end of the driveway. You’ll see signs to town in about fifteen minutes. Though if you’re feeling adventurous, go right instead. You’ll have the road to yourself this time of day, and there are some nice views of dunes and the ocean.”  
    She checked out his broad shoulders and muscular ass as he quickly dressed in linen pants and a light blue linen shirt. A body like his should be illegal. Even after he left, she couldn’t get his image out of her mind.

Chapter 3

    After changing into her workout gear, including a pink tank top and black stretch shorts, she carefully brushed her hair into a high ponytail and went outside. Four bikes, which all looked barely used, were lined up on a metal rack.
    Koenraad had dragged the whole thing out from wherever he stored them.  
    She chose the smallest of the four, which was still way too big for her. Being a few inches taller than the average woman didn’t stop her from feeling small and delicate in Koenraad’s world.
    The bike itself was a glossy dark blue. It had knobby tires yet still weighed nothing; she could lift it with one hand. It was a pro bike, the frame alone probably costing thousands of dollars. The seat was a little narrow for comfort. Made for an athletic man with a tight, muscular ass, not a woman with some meat on her, but it would have to do.
    It took her forty minutes to reach town because she took her time, enjoying the warm air blowing across her skin, the sun caressing her face and arms.
    She hopped off the bike and walked it onto the sidewalk. When she’d gone shopping in town, it wasn’t at this end, which was less touristy. Hardly any pedestrians at all. She glanced in the window of a hair salon. Three apron-clad women sat in the clients’ chairs. Staticky music sputtered from hidden speakers. A lizard, the color and texture of dust, darted across the clean floor.
    “Excuse me!”
    Monroe jumped. “I’m sorry.”
    The woman she’d nearly flattened gave her a long look, then accepted the apology with a nod and walked into the salon. Monroe gripped the handlebars tighter. Maybe coming into town wasn’t such a good idea. The bike took up too much room on the narrow sidewalk, and it would only get worse as she got closer to the resorts.  
    She was turning around when she noticed a real estate agency on the other side of the street, descriptions of properties for sale taped inside the window.
    Curiosity won out. She hurried across the street and leaned the bike against the building.
    She looked through the notices on one side of the window. They were mostly undeveloped lots with views of the ocean in the background. More photos were taped on the far side of the window. As she walked over, she glanced into the office itself and saw a familiar head of long, brownish-orange dreadlocks.
    Even without seeing his face,