Needing something solid to brace her, she plopped onto the bed again. “This isn’t real. Please go away.” He grasped her gently by the arms. “I’ll prove it. Look.” He held up his hands, slowly spreading his fingers in front of her. For the first time, she noticed that his large fingers were slightly webbed. A thin membrane of almost translucent skin stretched between the bottom of each finger. One might never notice if one wasn’t close enough to him. She continued looking at his hands. They were astoundingly beautiful, if unusual, and she wished she could touch them. Wished she could dance her tongue over the sheer membrane while she sucked on those luscious, long fingers. What is wrong with me? Stop this! “Okay,” she argued, desperate for reason. “But that doesn’t prove you’re a selkie. I’ve heard of people with webbed fingers.” “Oh, I see you have all the answers,” he whispered, his voice thick with what sounded like tightly leashed desire. “Well, according to the old lore, there is another way to prove it to you.
