Midnight Sun (19 page)

Unease prickled Marcus’s skin. “Why did you guys come?” he asked. “Where did you get snowmobiles?”

“The captain sent us when we lost contact. Didn’t you know there were snowmobiles on the ship?” Evan asked. “Hell, you own the ship.”

Marcus shook his head. “It just seems—do you have a radio? Call back to the ship and tell them we need an airlift. My brother’s in pretty bad shape. So’s the co-pilot.”

Evan gestured to Michael with a nod of his head, and Michael walked out of the plane.

“The plane’s pretty messed up. Did you find everything?” Evan asked.

The cold must have seeped into Marcus’s brain, because he didn’t understand. “Everything?”

“You know, the ransom and everything.”

Alarm flashed along Marcus’s nerves as Brylie said, “We didn’t even think to look for it. I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Marcus’s question stepped on her last words and he shifted to stand in front of her again as realization bloomed. “You’re here for the ransom. Not us. You’re the one who was working with the pirates.”

“Now.” Evan inclined his head. “Why would I team up with people who killed my friends?”

“I heard you.” Marcus edged forward, not sure what he’d do, what he could do with his injury. “I heard you talking to them. I didn’t recognize your voice at first—all you Yanks sound alike. But you were working with them.”

“My friends and I tried to take them down,” Evan pointed out.

“So you wouldn’t have to split the money so many ways.”

“Marcus.”

Brylie put her hand on his arm, but he wouldn’t be placated. He was right, and he was going to make Evan admit it. “I heard you talking to Hilario.”

“Trying to reason with him. Trying to get him to go easy on the passengers. Someone had to do it. You were hiding.”

Marcus’s temper snapped and he launched himself at the other man. Brylie screamed when his leg collapsed beneath him, and he looked up to see Evan holding a gun, aiming it at Brylie.

“Find the money.” Evan ignored Marcus, who sprawled in the aisle, his leg screaming. Shit. Not a hairline fracture anymore.

Brylie stood over him, her shoulders stiff, defiant. “I didn’t see anything that could be it. Would it be in a briefcase? A duffel?”

“How the hell should I know?” Evan trained the pistol on Marcus and motioned with the barrel for Marcus to shift out of the way.

Before he could protest, Brylie stepped over him, walking up to Evan as if the gun wasn’t there. “I’ll look. But you get away from him.”

Evan lifted his hands in acquiescence, pistol held loosely, pointing at the ceiling, and Brylie slipped past him.

She moved through the plane, opening compartments he knew she’d been in already when they’d been looking for blankets. Was she just appeasing Evan, or buying time?

Michael stepped back into the plane then. “We’ve got to go. The plane’s nearly here.”

What plane? The rescue plane, or did these two have another means of escape planned? Either way, he had to stop them. If he could get off the damned floor. The listing plane made him off-balance, and his leg wouldn’t cooperate.

“Maybe this,” she said, and Marcus twisted to see her tug something down from an overhead compartment.

Evan stepped forward, gun trained on her again, his other hand extended for the oversized bag she held. Was it the ransom? How much space did—what was it—ten million dollars take up? Had Harris brought that much money? And wouldn’t he be pissed if these two assholes made off with it?

Brylie edged toward Evan, holding the bag by its handles, chest high as if to counter the weight. He was confused by her method for a minute, and then she swung the bag, hard, over the top of the seat, knocking Evan’s gun hand aside. He didn’t release the weapon. It fired, the sound filling the small space. Marcus lunged for Evan’s knees and took him down, hard, onto his back, before reaching for the gun. Shit, the guy was strong, straining to raise his weapon. Marcus struggled to pin his hand to the floor. Brylie cried out in alarm. Marcus looked up to see Michael grasp her by the hair and drag her to her feet. She released the bag to grab for his hands, to release the pressure on her hair. Michael dropped her, snatched up the bag and ran toward the exit.

Brylie gained her feet and sprinted after him.
Shit
. An engine kicked to life and Marcus’s heart leapt to his throat. Did Michael have Brylie? Wresting the gun from Evan, Marcus swung the weapon hard against his opponent’s head and felt him slump. Gripping the gun in his left hand so he could pull himself up with his right, he launched himself after Brylie.

He stumbled out into the whiteness to see her astride the second snowmobile, trying to crank it on. A few yards away, Michael was making his get-away in a spray of snow.

Ten million dollars
. Only money, but to get it back might show Harris he wasn’t a screw-up after all. He dragged himself toward the snowmobile, pulled himself on behind her, reached around her for the handles and kicked it on while she fumbled with snow-goggles. They shot off after Michael, the vehicle kicking over the uneven terrain a few times before Brylie guided it to a smoother path.

“What the hell are we doing?” he shouted at her.

“Getting your money back.”

“Getting ourselves killed,” he corrected, and closed his hands over hers on the handles.

Ahead of them, the spray of snow from Michael’s snowmobile disappeared. Marcus let off the throttle and their engine slowed. Where the hell was the other snowmobile?  A terrible sound carried over the snow, a sound of metal crumpling, and then silence. A plume of smoke rose ahead of them, in a dip in the landscape. Marcus started toward it, guiding the snowmobile on a rise. He caught sight of the crevasse seconds before the explosion rocked across the ice. He swore and twisted hard, skidding sideways as he felt the vibration of the ice cracking. No way could Michael have survived the explosion, even if he’d survived the fall into the crevasse. He and Brylie had to get out of here before the cracks in the ice reached them.

The engine sputtered beneath them, and Brylie’s body was tight with resistance as she tried to turn them back the way they’d come.

“Too late, Brylie,” he said, close to her ear. “Sorry. It’s too late. He’s gone.”

Afraid to take the time to look behind him, he ran the engine full-out toward the plane. And there, just over the edge of the mountain, he saw the landing lights of a rescue plane.

Chapter Ten

Brylie sat on the end of the gurney in the emergency department. She was marginally warmer than she’d been on the rescue plane, where the EMTs had worked hard on George and Harris while she, Carl and Marcus drank coffee and huddled in blankets. Marcus hadn’t told them about his leg—she’d had to point it out to the techs. Once they’d reached Hobart, the five of them had been separated for medical attention. Brylie wanted to find Marcus first, then see how Harris and George were doing. She’d spoken on the phone to her father, but he wouldn’t be in port for two more days.

“Excuse me.” She tried to catch the attention of a passing nurse, but was ignored. Again.

“That’s not the way to do it.”

Marcus twitched aside the curtain around the gurney and grinned. He leaned on a cane with the hand that wasn’t in a sling, and his injured leg was in a temporary inflatable cast. He shouldn’t look so delicious with that lop-sided grin, but boy, did he. He turned on his good foot and raised his cane to stop the next woman in scrubs who passed.

“I’d like to take my girl out of here. Is she ready to go?”

The woman looked from Marcus to Brylie, while Brylie focused on Marcus’s wording. The woman crossed to look at Brylie’s chart, then her vitals.

“Her core temperature isn’t quite where we want it to be yet.”

“Believe me when I tell you I know how I can warm her up. Let her come home with me, okay?”

The nurse glanced again from one to the other, but this time a twinkle lit her eyes. “What do you think, Miss Winston? Would you like to go home with this young man and try his method?”

Brylie looked at Marcus and her breath caught. “Yes, I think I would. In the interest of science and all.”

The nurse—her nametag read Yolie—laughed. “I’ll go get a doctor to sign off on you.”

“How are Harris and George?” she asked Marcus when Yolie left and he stepped closer to her gurney.

“George is still in surgery. Harris is in ICU, being closely monitored though they’re hopeful he’ll have a full recovery, and I’m pretty determined to get out of here before the family descends.”

“You could have gone without me, you know.”

He stroked a lock of hair back from her face. “No. I couldn’t have. You were brave as hell out there, hell, this whole time. You’re an amazing woman, Brylie.”

Behind him, Yolie sighed, holding the chart to her chest. Marcus stepped back and let Brylie sign the discharge papers, then looped the cane over his arm and hooked his good arm over her shoulders as they walked out of the hospital.

The cab ride to the hotel was short and Brylie’s pulse drummed. It had been one thing to go to his room before she knew him. It had been another to turn to him on the ship. But what choice was she making here, going to a hotel room when danger had passed, when they were ready to get on with their lives? Was he really someone she wanted to let into her real life? Was she someone who would fit in his?

Why was she overthinking what was probably only good-bye sex?

She waited nearby as he checked in, feeling awkward without luggage, still wearing her layers from the trip to Antarctica, feeling grimy in the marble-floored hotel. She glimpsed herself in the mirror behind the check-in, saw the distaste in the eyes of the clerk, and wished Marcus looked half as disheveled as she did. But no, he looked scruffy and gorgeous.

“The room has a big tub?” he asked the clerk.

The young woman widened her eyes. “It’s a nice size.”

“Big enough for two?” he asked, and the clerk blushed.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way, sir.”

“I’m sure I will.” He turned to Brylie and inclined his head toward the way to the gift shop.

“What?” she asked, afraid she knew.

“Left the condoms on the ship, didn’t we?”

“I don’t want everyone to know what we’re doing.” Her cheeks heated as she said the words.

“No?” Setting the cane down, he pressed his hand to the small of her back and brought her to him, covering her mouth with his.

The kiss seared her from lips to toes, the heat stopping along the way to tighten her nipples and make her sex throb. She curved her hand around the back of his head as he glided his tongue along hers and slid his hand beneath the hem of her sweatshirt so that his thumb circled the small of her back. More heat, more tingles of desire and she pushed her hips into his.

He lifted his head and grinned. “Now they know what we’ll be doing.” He stepped back, taking her hand and guiding her into the gift shop.

While he was selecting the large pack, she spotted a table with discounted sweatshirts—something clean to put on her body. But she didn’t have money with her and she wouldn’t ask him to buy it for her.

But he was paying attention. “One of those, too,” he told the clerk, gesturing. “And do you have any panties that aren’t granny sized?”

She turned and saw him pointing to the packs of underwear hanging behind the counter. The young girl shook her head, blushing. “But we could send someone out for some, if you’d like, Mr. Devlin.”

“Yes, please. A size—” He turned to Brylie for confirmation.

“Six.”

“Yes, sir. Color preference?”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Brylie, and she wanted to squirm under the attention. “I’m partial to white. Charge it to the room, will you?” He looped the bag containing condoms, toothbrushes and toothpaste over his injured hand, motioned to Brylie to select her sweatshirt, and headed for the elevators.

“You do rich guy very well. ‘Charge it to the room, will you?’”

“Yeah?”

“Just a different side of you, I guess. Unexpected.”

He stepped into the elevator. “Good or bad?”

Since she was tingling from her knees up, she’d say good, but not to him. “Just different.”

He leaned against the elevator wall and drew her beside him to make room for the family that joined them. She twisted to look at him.

“Do you own this hotel?”

The family turned, too, and color darkened his cheeks. “Ah.” He nodded. “My family.”

Right. She’d forgotten how wealthy he was. How powerful, even as the younger son. Nerves skittered over the tingles as her balance slipped. She didn’t want a man who held so much power. Hadn’t that put her in a bad spot before? She needed someone who was her equal.

But not now. Now she was going to let him treat her like a princess.

The family exited the elevator before they did, and she half-expected him to pull her into his arms. Instead, he breathed out a sigh and linked his fingers through hers. When the doors opened again, he heaved away from the wall, balancing on his cane, and drew her down the hall to the room. She had only a moment to observe the elegance, the leathers and jewel colors, before he threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her, his lips gentle, soft.

“Want to check out the bathroom?”

She did. Funny how she could feel so gross after bring so cold. And when she walked into the porcelain and chrome opulence, she felt even grimier. Marcus hobbled over and turned on the water in the huge gleaming tub, definitely big enough for both of them. Then, bracing his weight on the cane, he motioned for her to peel off her sweatshirt.

She did so gratefully, tossing it aside. He grinned, his eyes gleaming, warming her more than the blankets she’d huddled under on the plane. She reached for the button of her jeans, not believing she was even thinking about a striptease. Still, she held his gaze as she unsnapped the button and shimmied the cotton fabric down over her silk longjohns. Giddiness bubbled up in her—she’d never done such a silly thing. Never felt comfortable enough with a man to do such a thing.

She jammed her hands on her hips. “How’s this, thermals and flannel? Does this work for you?”

“More than you know.” He stretched his good hand to her but she waved it off.

“Not done.” She started at the bottom of her flannel shirt and unbuttoned slowly, peeling back the fabric to reveal—more thermals. “How’s this?”

He sat on the edge of the tub. “Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She tossed her hair, turned her back to him and peeled the flannel down her arms so she wore only her form-fitting thermals. She turned to face him and lifted the t-shirt over her head, then skimmed down the pants, taking the socks with them. By the time she straightened, he’d removed the inflatable cast and moved in. He tugged her naked body against his, the roughness of his clothes adding another layer to her arousal as his mouth covered hers, his kiss hot, tongue stroking, his fingers digging into her upper arm, his arousal growing against her stomach. She slid her hands under his sweatshirt, his corduroy shirt and his cotton thermal shirt and found the waist of the scrub pants the hospital had given him, after cutting his pants off because of his swollen leg. She closed her fingers around his cock and took his moan of pleasure into her mouth.

He broke the kiss and unlooped his sling from his head, then stripped his clothes off in short order. He backed toward the tub, his grip on her left arm a little stronger as he worked for balance. She waited until he settled into the tub, stepping in with his good leg first, then he motioned to her. She eased into the warm water, closing her eyes at the sensation, and lowered herself over him, straddling his hips, her hands on his shoulders. She leaned forward to kiss him. Their mouths found each other as his hand glided down her back to curve over her bottom, drawing her closer, over him. His touch teased the inside of her thigh. She let her head fall back as his fingers circled closer to where she wanted it most.

“We didn’t.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. “Bring.” The curve of her shoulder. “The condoms.”

“I’ll go get them,” she volunteered, pulling back to rise, causing the water to slosh.

His grip tightened on her thigh. “Not yet.” His hand moved between her legs and she gasped, pushing her hips into his touch. A chuckle rumbled in his chest at her eagerness, and his pace increased.

She tensed over him, and then heat pulsed through her, from his stroking fingers to her extremities, setting fire to those tingles and burning them out, leaving her limp against his chest.

He stroked her hair against her cheek, her shoulder, her back. She worked up all her energy to turn her head to kiss his neck. Moments passed before she became aware of his erection still throbbing against her belly.

“I’ll get the condoms as soon as my bones grow back,” she said against his skin, tasting him, nipping his earlobe.

“Warming up?”

“Mm.” She could go to sleep right here, draped over him, but that would hardly be fair.

“Turn around,” he urged, and she did, careful not to jostle his leg.

She sat between his parted thighs with a sigh, leaning back against his chest and watching him lazily as he picked up a lush washcloth and trailed it over her skin. She moaned as the warm water caressed her. His touch was gentle, reverent, as he washed her shoulders, arms, breasts, belly, lower.

“Lean forward,” he murmured, and turned on the hand-held sprayer to wash her hair.

His touch on her scalp as he soaped her hair was erotic as hell, and her arousal returned, a slow throb this time. After he rinsed the shampoo away, she turned, her hands on his chest, his erection against her stomach. She reached for the cloth to return the favor, but he caught her wrist. She looked up to see his jaw tight.

“The bed.”

Yes
. She rose from the tub, reaching for a lush towel from the bar and wrapping it around herself while he watched, his gaze hot. Yeah, she wasn’t cold any more.

“Need a hand?” She was surprised at the breathlessness of her own voice.

“You’re going to have to be on top.” Positioning his weight strategically to accommodate his injuries, he heaved himself out of the tub.

She let her gaze linger on his sex and smiled. “I have no problem with that.”

Tucking the towel beneath her arm, she led the way into the bedroom.

He followed, and stretched out on the huge bed, bandaged arm above his head. “Do your worst.”

She knelt on the bed, still wrapped in the towel, and bent to kiss his mouth, lingering only briefly as she slid her hands down his still-damp chest to close around his erection. She followed the path with her mouth, nuzzling in his chest hair, nibbling his nipple before descending over his flat stomach, tense now with  anticipation. She kept her gaze on him as she closed her lips around him. He flexed his hips and groaned as she dragged her tongue along his length. The effect made her feel powerful and sexy, so she repeated the caress.

“Brylie.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and tugged lightly. “I want to be in you. I want to touch you.”

Her own body throbbing with the same need, she released him and rose over him, letting the towel fall away. His nostrils flared in appreciation as she edged her knees alongside his hips, reaching for a condom from the nearby table. Once he was sheathed, she guided him to her and plunged down.

God, he made her feel so full, and she took a moment to adjust before she moved, rising and falling slowly along the length of him, savoring the stretch and clasp of her body around him, the friction delicious. He cupped his good hand over her hip, guiding her, holding her as he lifted into her. She hadn’t realized she was so close to another orgasm, but now she could almost grasp it, her whole body straining toward it. Her thrusts were frantic, searching for the rhythm that would give it to her, when he added his touch.

“Brylie, look at me,” he urged through the haze of pleasure that floated around her. “Look at me.”

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He anchored her hips, pistoning his own beneath her. Harder, deeper, faster.

She spiraled into the orgasm, reeled with it, cried out with it, heard his own echoing cry through the mist of her own pleasure, and she floated bonelessly to lay on his chest.

“Warm now,” she managed.

He chuckled softly, his hand trailing up and down the indentation at the base of her spine, drawing out the tingles she thought he’d obliterated with that orgasm.

“We are really good at this,” she murmured.