Midnight Sun (5 page)

“We used mine last time.” She skimmed her hand over the front of his jeans and he groaned. “Don’t tease me here, Marcus.”

He lifted his head and grinned, holding up his wallet. To her relief, he drew out a condom, and she noticed he had a spare. Thank God.

He rose off her long enough to shuck his jeans and shorts, then covered her again, kissing her mouth, moving to her jaw, finding the sensitive spot below her ear. His chest hair caught in the lace of her bra and that small sensation sent another tremor of lust through her. She slid her fingers from his belly over his chest, fingers flexing in the crisp hair, before she cupped his head in her hands and pulled him down to kiss her. Her hips lifted into his, an unmistakable invitation. He hooked his fingers in her underwear and pulled them down. The delicate fabric tore and she winced.

“Sorry. Christ.”

When he glided his hands up the backs of her legs, all was forgiven. He lifted his head to look into her eyes as he pushed inside of her.

So much better this time, when she could zero in on every sensation, his weight on her, the flex of his muscles, the play of his mouth on her skin. They found a rhythm that was accented by the pitch of the ship, and Brylie alternately laughed in delight and groaned in pleasure.

Gripping her hips, he rolled with her, still deep inside, so that he was on his back and she was over him. He loosened her bra, freeing her breasts, and lifted his head to capture a nipple between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Her fingers curling in his hair, she cried out, holding him to her as she rode him. He palmed her bottom, adjusting her, parting her, and they drove into each other until her legs burned and her body was tight with the need for release.

He gave it to her with a swipe of his finger, then tilted her onto her back to find his own.

Quivering, her hands skimmed down his sweaty back as his breath gusted against her throat. He flopped onto his back. When she chanced a look at him, he gave her a grin that would take her breath away if she had any left.

“We are really good at this.” He twisted to kiss her and sat up in the same movement, climbing off the bed. “Do you have your own bathroom?”

“Through there.”

He bent to give her another, lingering kiss before disappearing in the attached room. He returned a moment later and crawled back in bed, sliding his legs between the flannel sheets, under the thermal blankets.

“You prefer a side?” he asked, his back to the bulkhead as he leaned on his elbow.

She couldn’t think of what to say. She’d expected he’d stay maybe a few minutes more, then bolt back to his room. She didn’t think he’d make himself at home in her bed.

“I—don’t care. You don’t have to stay.”

He folded his hands behind his head. “You want me to go?”

“No. You don’t need to go.” The idea of sleeping in his arms sent twin shivers of terror and longing through her.

“Good. I’m comfortable here.” He hooked his arm around her waist and drew her beneath the covers, her back against his chest. He smoothed his hand over her hair and settled his head against her pillow.

Marcus woke with a start. Sunlight streamed through the shuttered windows onto the bed. Brylie’s cloud of red hair snagged in his stubble. She smelled delicious, some kind of fruity shampoo or something, mingled in with her own scent. His arousal nudged at her bottom and she made a soft sound of approval in her sleep. He shifted, careful not to disturb her, and rubbed his eyes. Something had woken him, and it wasn’t his inner alarm telling him to get out of a woman’s bed. He wondered where that alarm was.

Instead, he listened to an unfamiliar hum vibrating in the air.

“Brylie.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm to wake her. “What’s that sound?”

“Hm?” She woke slowly, turned toward him before she opened her eyes dreamily. “Hey. You’re still here.”

“What’s that sound?” he asked again. “It’s different. Like an engine.” He hadn’t heard the engine of the Ice Queen since he’d been on board—that was supposed to be part of the excellence of the ship.

She lifted her head when shouting outside her window carried over the other sound. He sat up then and peered through the slats of the porthole shutters. What he saw had his heart arresting before pumping adrenaline through his body. Another ship had pulled alongside the Ice Queen, about a third of the size, and men were on deck, waving their arms as black smoke poured from the chimney. Brylie pressed her face close, to look, too.

“Are they in trouble?” he asked, though some instinct told him they weren’t.  He strained to see the security team Captain Winston had spoken of, but couldn’t from this angle. Surely they’d move into position since they were under an alert.

She shifted away from him. “We should go see what’s going on.”

And then, while Marcus watched, Brylie’s father approached. Marcus’s skin iced when the men on the other ship pulled out automatic weapons.

Chapter Three

Marcus rolled into action, pushing Brylie off the bed ahead of him. “Get dressed. Quickly. In something warm.”

He bent to snatch up his clothes as the sound of machine gun fire rang out. Brylie made a sound of distress and lunged for the window, but Marcus grabbed her. The last thing he wanted her to see was her father bleeding on the deck. He gripped her shoulders and looked into her face.

“Brylie. Think. Where can we hide?”

“The closet? The bathroom? I don’t know!”

They’d be trapped in those places. He released her with another curt order to get dressed, and scanned the room, and the ceiling. Solid. Hell. He opened the door into the hallway and saw what he was looking for, tiles that could be pushed up and likely had a crawlspace. The trick was getting up there, and quickly. He hoped it would hold their weight. He turned back into the room to see Brylie pulling on a thermal shirt over those gorgeous breasts.

“Warm, do you understand me?” he said again, reaching for his boxers and jeans, tangled together at the edge of the bed.

She pulled on a sweater, then another sweatshirt as he dressed, two pair of socks, and dug a pair of gloves out as he laced up his boots.

“Any ID, bring it with you.”

She gave him a puzzled look but opened a drawer and tucked cards into her jeans pocket. One of the cards was blank, with a black strip along the back.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“My master key card. In case.”

He nodded. Good thinking. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Are you sure—?”

“Best to hide and figure it out later, yeah? We’re going in the hall and I’m going to give you a boost. Be careful not to put your weight directly on the tiles or you’ll fall through, okay?”

“Marcus.” Her face was pale in the dim light, her eyes dark with fear. “I can’t. The passengers. We have to get them to safety. You know what my father said.”

He hesitated. Every molecule in his body, that he’d trained himself to listen to, told him to bolt, to hide. But she was right. The passengers were his responsibility.

“I’ll go.” He couldn’t allow her to come up her father’s bleeding body on the deck. He couldn’t be sure the man had been shot, but he’d been bloody close to the terrorists. Damn, he wished he knew what was going on, if the security guys had gone into action with those power hoses—and if that had been effective.

“I have to go. My father—”

Gunfire below them cut her off. Automatic weapons fired in staccato bursts, and hand guns popped.
Ours or theirs?
Screams from the passengers. Marcus realized getting all the passengers to the interior of the ship, in one place, would make it easier for the terrorists to hurt them. No. He and Brylie had to find a way to hide, to call for help.

“We won’t be able to get to them without getting caught ourselves.” He flinched when another gunshot went off, this one closer, from what sounded like the stairwell. He jumped up and hit the ceiling tile with the tips of his fingers to make sure it moved. When it shifted to his satisfaction, he turned to Brylie, who was wild-eyed and tense enough to snap.

He placed a hand on her shoulder to focus her. “Trust me.”

He went down on a knee, forming a cup with his hand and she placed her booted foot into it. Straining, he lifted her until she could reach the ceiling. She shoved a tile out of her way and pulled herself through as he rose, pushing her along.

“Good girl,” he muttered.

More shouting from the deck had him hesitate. She was safe, but did he have time to follow her up, or would he get caught and give her away? He scanned her room for a quick way to give him a boost, but using something like that would leave a clue about where they’d gone. He closed her bedroom door and looked up into her face as she leaned down to help him.

He grasped her wrists, and with his foot on the railing on the other side of the hallway, he pushed himself up and into the crawlspace beside her. He got the paneling in place just as he heard footsteps in the hall. He cradled Brylie against him, feeling her shivering, as a loud crash sounded down the hall, then another.

They were kicking in doors, looking for passengers.

What the hell did they want?

He dragged Brylie closer, against the wall, making sure her weight was braced on the metal supports and not on the tile where the ceiling would sag, giving them away. He ran a soothing hand over her hair, though his own heart was pounding like hell. Because he couldn’t risk shushing her, he pressed his lips to her forehead, hoping she’d get the message.

She did, only quivering as the footsteps approached, then jumping as the door right below them—her door—was kicked in. As he watched, her foot slipped off the metal support, but she caught herself millimeters from letting her heel hit the tile above the heads of the men below. Carefully she set it on the support, and they remained still as they listened to the men move down the hall.

Marcus didn’t know how long they waited. His leg muscles ached with holding still, with holding his balance on the metal. His arms ached with holding Brylie, so afraid she’d slip. He heard nothing below them, and only after several moments did he dare look through the tiles into the hallway.

“Clear,” he said, so close to her ear as to not make a sound. But he didn’t dare reenter the main walkway. No, they’d have to see how much progress they could make in the crawlspace.

“The radio,” she whispered.

He nodded once, then pointed in all directions and shrugged.
Which way?
She took a deep breath and inclined her head to the right, then got on her hands and knees and started that direction, careful to keep her weight on the struts, moving slowly, her movements unsteady as the edges pressed into her flesh.

They reached a wall. She stopped and rocked back a little, rubbing her forehead, which creased in thought. He tapped her shoulder and pointed to a panel to their left. Pressing both hands against it, he lifted it up, wincing as it scraped, pausing before a moment before deciding it had to be done.

The passageway he revealed was narrower, and this time he led the way, since there didn’t seem to be many options anyway. He started through, and heard Brylie’s sharp breath behind him. He twisted to see her, pale and drawn, and hesitating.

He tried to reach back to her, to encourage her, but there wasn’t room. He had to hope this tunnel opened up somewhere, somewhere safe. And he had to hope when he moved forward, Brylie would follow. He didn’t know what else to do. So he started crawling, listening for noise behind him, and below. He finally heard her breath behind him, shaky, but behind him. He grinned. Yeah, she was tougher than she thought. Good for her.

He found another panel like the one they’d come through. Please God let it be a bigger passageway, or maybe just a place where they could stop and think. He didn’t know if there was a place on the ship like that. They needed to be able to catch their breath, and he needed a drink. Water would be good, too.

She gripped his arm and drew him down another, smaller passageway, though he hadn’t thought
that
was possible. Warmth flowed toward them, then the passageway opened up and Brylie sat against a wall, drawing in deep breaths.

“We can talk here,” she said above a mechanical hum. The surface beneath them was solid and warm.

“Where are we?” He shifted his weight to sit next to her. He didn’t know their location in relation to the bad guys, and they couldn’t risk being overheard.

She let her head fall back against the wall. “On top of my freezer.”

He hadn’t expected that. He looked around, but they were boxed in, only the vent wall open. “What? The kitchen? How do you know?”

“Because we’re on top of my freezer,” she said slowly, as if to a child. “Where else would a freezer be?

“Wouldn’t there be a fan or coils or something?”

“All on the inside. We’re closed in here, safe. No one should be able to find it.”

“How did you know this was here?”

“I saw this space when they were installing it. I asked why it was here. The guys said it needed space to vent the heat.”

He shifted on the warm appliance. Yeah, he could see that.

“So what do we do next?” she asked.

He dragged a hand over his face. Why did she think he had any answers? “The radio. We have to get to the radio and let someone know what’s going on.”

She pressed her lips together as if considering it.

“You have another idea?”

“I’m thinking about getting some food.”

“We can eat later.”

“I mean to save. If they’re here to wipe out our supplies, it’s a long journey back without food.”

“You think they’re here to raid the ship?” He hadn’t considered that option, not once he’d seen the guns. What he’d thought—well, he hadn’t. He’d just acted.

“Why do you think they’re here?”

He shook his head. “They’re looking for someone.” Or everyone.

“Maybe you?”

He looked at her sharply. That hadn’t occurred to him, but he was the owner—one of them, anyway. And his family was one of the wealthiest families in the world. That people would be after him wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. In fact, it had been one of his mother’s fears for years, especially when he’d eschewed precautions to pursue an Olympic medal. “I should go out there, then.”

She shot forward and gripped his arm, her eyes wide. “Are you crazy? You heard those guns. You don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

He shook his head, careful not to dislodge her hand. Witnessing her fright was unnerving. “I don’t know what they’ll do to the others. I’m responsible.” Christ, did that sound odd coming out of his mouth. The feeling that accompanied the words was even odder. He’d never been responsible for another soul in his life.

She curved her hand on his wrist. “We need to see what they want. Maybe they’re just here to raid, and if so, let them take what they want and go. Maybe they don’t even know you’re here. Don’t be rash.”

He scrubbed his hand over his mouth. His impulse was to get to the radio, so help could be on its way, whether or not the men stayed. “We need to get to the bridge and call for help. Can we get to the bridge through this crawlspace?”

She shook her head. “It’s a different level. We’re going to have to move through some hallways.”

The idea of being in the open made his skin crawl. If these men were truly pirates, what were they capable of? His stomach clenched at the idea of them getting their hands on Brylie.

He thought of Trinity, the pretty little blonde teenager, and the other women on board who were vulnerable. Christ. “We need to find out why they’re here, and hope to God they don’t stay long.” But he had a bad feeling that hope wouldn’t come true.

He almost wished he’d been able to observe them a bit longer, see what went down on the deck. That would give him more insight about what the men on the other ship wanted. But if he and Brylie hadn’t moved as quickly as they did, they’d be prisoners. Or worse.

Damn, he hated not knowing what was going on. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ll stay and get the food. You go to the bridge,” she suggested.

“I’m not leaving you here alone. Five minutes, Brylie. No more. All right?”

Brylie’s heart pounded as she kept watch on the door between the dining room and kitchen while Marcus grabbed cases of bottled water and prepackaged food. They’d removed one of the freezer’s fans to get into the freezer, then the kitchen, using his pocketknife to remove the screws on the appliance. She’d wanted to be the one to collect the food since she knew where everything was. For awhile, he’d allowed it and kept watch for her, but she hadn’t moved quickly enough for him. He’d convinced her that he was able to lift more, and quicker, than she was.

A hand rested on her upper arm and she jumped, barely smothering a squeal as she spun and looked into Marcus’s eyes.

“Time to go.”

She could barely nod her understanding, her nerves were so scattered after his silent approach. “Did you get everything?” she stuttered at last.

He nodded. “Everything you showed me. Now. How do I get to the bridge from here?”

She wished they could have a moment to recover. She was not cut out for crises. She had planned everything out for this trip. She’d thought Marcus would be her biggest distraction. Now she wished he was.

Her stomach was in knots wondering what her father was dealing with, if he was okay. She’d heard the gunshots that had propelled Marcus out of bed. Had her father been the target? Was he still alive?

But Marcus was waiting for her to tell him how to get to the bridge. He needed her. And she needed to find out what had happened to her father.

She took the hand Marcus held out and led the way back into the freezer. She wished she knew the ship better, that they would be able to move without risking being seen. Her plan was to travel from the kitchen through the crawlway to the stairs. Once they got to the level with the bridge, well, she wasn’t sure how far the crawlspace went, if it was like this level or different. She didn’t want to be caught out in the open. No telling what would happen to them if they were found, no telling what would happen to Marcus especially, if the intruders learned he was one of the owners of this ship.

The crawlspace was much like the one on the lower level, but it ended before they reached the bridge. All this sneaking around made Marcus fidgety. If it was up to him, he’d charge down the hall to the bridge and make the call, damn whoever might be between him and the radio. But that action would leave Brylie by herself. Why should she pay for his impulsiveness? She'd be scared and alone, and while he wasn't the best protector, he was better than nothing. He'd never had anyone to look out for before. He wasn't so sure he liked it. It made him second-guess everything.

With Brylie on his heels, he pulled aside the panel and checked out the hallway. Empty. Voices sounded from behind the door of the bridge. He didn't know who was in there, but he didn't think it was Brylie's father. The voices were heavily accented so he couldn’t tell if they whether or not they were speaking English. Shit. They were too late. The bridge was occupied. To be fair, though, they probably would have been too late even if they hadn't stopped in the kitchen. Hell, if he was a pirate, the first thing he'd do was take over the bridge and the communications. Shit, shit, shit. He sat up and pulled the panel back into place, resting his head against the wall, not meeting Brylie's gaze.