Riveted (27 page)

But, no. That distant thrum told her more than that, the distinctive thrust of so many pistons. “That engine is enormous. They can’t possibly supply their furnace with enough coal if they only take it from stolen ships. They must have a port somewhere—and probably not too far away.”

“So we’ll hide on this ship until we reach it?”

“Yes.” They had to anyway. There was nowhere else to go. “Were they speaking Spanish?”

“Yes. They’re Castilian.” He sounded suddenly tired. “You should sleep now. You might not have the opportunity later.”

She’d have loved to sleep. Her shivering had eased, but now she was aching, exhausted. “I don’t think I can. Not while we’re trapped here, waiting.”

But between his warmth, the gently rocking ship, and the soothing thrum of the engine, she did.

The sudden quiet of an engine at dead slow woke her
. Annika opened her eyes to darkness again, David’s arm still around her, his body tense. He hadn’t slept then—or had been unable to. The gentle swaying of the ship had sharpened, become more pronounced. Each swell rocked her into his side. She lay like softened butter against him, savoring the unfamiliar pleasure.

“Awake?” he murmured.

She hadn’t made any noise. “What gave me away?”

“You opened your eyes.”

Oh. She’d forgotten he could see. Thankfully she hadn’t drooled—not that it would have mattered. His shirt was still damp, as were her drawers and stockings. “I think the whale might have surfaced. It feels like we’re pitching against the waves.”

“Swallowing another ship?”

If so, they needed to brace themselves for another collision. But, no. Silence fell as the engine stopped. Then a distant bump, a faint shudder. “I think she’s being tethered—or docked, like a sailing ship.”

“So they’ll come for the cargo soon.”

“I don’t know.” She paused, listening, but heard nothing else. “If she was an airship, she would sit until the officials came aboard and inspected her papers, and then a full day might pass before she was unloaded. But I have no idea what pirates do—except that they usually leave the crew alive so they can be ransomed.”

“Yes, they do. They also don’t swallow ships using a giant mechanical whale.”

“Perhaps they stole that, too.” But the ironic edge in his voice made her wonder, “You don’t think they’re pirates?”

He didn’t answer, his fingers tightening at her waist. She heard it, too—footsteps, voices. Her heart clattered against her ribs. They came directly to the engine room.

Had she and David been discovered after all?

She barely dared to breathe. Beside her, she heard the quiet click of a pistol cocking. The rigidity of his muscles changed the firm pillow of his shoulder into stone.

Two men entered the room and stopped after taking a few steps. They spoke, their conversation brisk. Annika didn’t understand a word of it. Within minutes, they left again.

Though she longed to ask David, she didn’t dare speak yet. She waited. When enough time had passed without hearing anyone, she wondered, “What did they say?”

“That
Phatéon
’s engine is in better repair than the fluyt’s.”

“Of course it is.”

His chest rose on a quick, silent laugh. “Of course. That’s why they’ll begin dismantling it tomorrow and send it north for the drill.”

North? On the southern rim, all of Iceland was north. And moreover, “Why would pirates be
drilling
?”

“They’re not pirates. They’re di Fiore’s men.”

The railroad man? “Did they say so?”

“No. But Paolo di Fiore is one of the few men in the world who could imagine a submersible like this
and
build one that works. And they’ve been hiring hundreds of Castilians and bringing them to Iceland.”

Who also spoke Spanish, and who were now in possession of a whale that only di Fiore could create. David’s conclusions made sense, but she still couldn’t understand
why
. “You think di Fiore is paying them to destroy ships and kill their crews? And the only reason is to steal engines? Why would they agree to that?”

And why wouldn’t di Fiore just buy the engine instead?

“Not every man would do something like this, for any amount of money. But di Fiore’s son might have picked out the ones who wanted blood. He likes to put people in particular situations, just to see what they do.”

Horrifying. “And the drill?”

“He has some idea of exploiting the volcanic activity on the peninsula south of Smoke Cove. Perhaps it’s for that.”

Had they traveled all the way back to the west side of the island? “How long did I sleep?”

“Only half an hour.”

Not that far, then, unless the whale’s tail propelled the submersible faster than any vessel she’d ever heard of. “Should we continue to wait? It’s dark outside by now.”

“We’ll wait. Komlan said di Fiore had a camp on the southern rim; we’re probably there now. If so, this submersible might not be manned overnight. Most of the camp should be asleep by midnight. We’ll go then.”

“On foot?” They could be a hundred miles from nowhere. “Not in winter.”

“Perhaps we’ll find a boat or a balloon.”

And perhaps they’d have to run for their lives. Best to rest until then.

Finding sleep again was difficult, however, despite her exhaustion. Her fatigue wasn’t so deep and her fear wasn’t so sharp, and they couldn’t overwhelm the awareness of his long body against hers. The right leg of her drawers had ridden up, and with every small movement they made, the wool of his trousers rasped a tantalizing prickle over her bare skin. He no longer smelled of soap, but smoke and coal dust. She wanted to taste his skin, his lips, to run her hands over his broad chest.

But daydreaming never did her any good.

She put such imaginings away for now; she had more important matters to consider, such as not dying. They wouldn’t be in a rush at midnight, and could spend more time collecting the items needed for a trek through the snow. Food from the galley kitchen—and knives, too. More spark lighters and kindling. If her pack had been soaked, she would need another coat. Her wet boots posed a serious
problem; she couldn’t walk on frozen feet. Most of the crew would have been wearing theirs when they’d abandoned ship, and few would have an extra pair lying about. They were simply too expensive.

Thinking of boots, Annika drifted to sleep. She woke up slowly, comfortable and warm, sprawled atop David Kentewess. Straddling him almost, with her thighs alongside his and her face buried in his warm neck.

She didn’t open her eyes. His body was rigid beneath hers, his breathing shallow. She felt a faint pressure on the backs of her thighs, just below her bottom—his fingers, lightly holding on.

A little shock ran through her at the realization, a quiver of heat that shot from his fingers to the intimate flesh between her legs. She stifled her moan, the instinctive rock of her hips, aware of the tightening of her nipples against the hardness of his chest. Planed with taut muscles, his torso was solid, angular…and a thick ridge dug into her lower belly.

Oh.
Was she squishing it?

Annika lifted her head. His shallow breaths stopped, as if he braced himself against pain. “Am I too heavy?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse.

It sounded like she was. She shifted her weight onto her knees, raised her body a little. His fingers curled against her thighs before he let go. His body seemed to arch up against her before he groaned and lay flat again.

Was it that sensitive?

Curious, she reached between them. Her hand found the hardened tip through his trousers, and followed the thick length to the root.

Astonishment dropped her mouth open. She’d seen drawings. She’d glimpsed aviators’ penises. They’d all dangled a few inches, soft and limp. She’d known a man’s member stiffened during the sexual act, but she’d imagined it would be the size of one or two
fingers—and had never suspected a man’s organ could be this big, this rigid. She measured the length again, stroking her cupped palm over rough wool, testing the width with her fingers. Incredible.

David shook beneath her. “Stop. Annika, stop.”

She froze. Was she hurting him? “I’m sorry. It’s just…not what I thought it would be.”

“You thought it was the pistol?”

Absurd. “No. You’d have to be an idiot to tuck one there. I meant that your penis wasn’t.”

He gave a strangled laugh. “Of course. A village of all women. But you know what it is?”

“I’ve seen rams mount ewes. But it wasn’t anything like this.” Hot and hard, filling her palm. She tried to imagine him inside, not like a finger at all, but so much thicker, longer.

Oh, she desperately wanted to know.

“The sheep?” He spoke evenly now, but each word seemed flat, lacking the duh
dum
rhythm she liked so well. “No, it’s not like that. Forgive me, Annika. I wouldn’t have…If I could help it, I wouldn’t have let it happen.”

But it
had
happened. Because he’d desired her, too? The needy ache between her thighs deepened.

“You said that you didn’t want to bed me.” Even now, she remembered the disappointment of that. How stupid she’d felt for revealing her own attraction.

He didn’t reply for a long second, a hesitation that seemed to last forever. “With you over me like this, it happens whether I want you or not.”

Oh.
This thickness beneath her hand wasn’t for her?

Her lungs seemed to squeeze in around her heart. He was the only person who’d ever made her ache like this—and he’d have been aroused no matter who she was.

“Annika?” Concern filled his voice.

He could see her, she remembered. He could watch her reactions.

She pasted on a smile. “Like a ram to any ewe, yes?”

“Do you fondle the sheep, too?”

She yanked her hand from between them. “No. I’m sorry.” Embarrassment boiled up. She’d groped him like an animal. Cheeks hot, she cast about for any other topic. “What time is it? How much longer do we have to wait in here?”

“Another hour.” Frustration roughened his voice—or anger.

An hour, and she could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers on her thighs. When she slid off of him, her hip brushed over his erection. He stiffened again.

But not for her. She lay in the dark, her throat aching with humiliation and disappointment. The boards were hard beneath her, and colder now. Though the air in that small space remained warm, a chill sank into her side, her back.

“Is it all men?”

“All men, what?”

“Do you all harden for anyone?”

A long silence, followed by an abrupt, “Some do.”

“But not every man does?”

“No.”

“So some will harden for anyone, but others only desire one person. They only want to be with the one they love.”

“Yes. As you do.”

Yes. Though she had been aroused before—never as much as she felt with him, but she understood how the body could respond in such a way, even without love. Perhaps he waited, too.

“Have you bedded a woman before?”

She knew it was improper to ask; she didn’t care. He exhaled sharply, as if through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” he said. “Two.”

Pain slipped like a knife through her ribs. Oh, she hadn’t truly expected that—and she cared now. She wished she hadn’t asked. And she should stop herself from asking more. This was like rolling
down a mountain: knowing the danger, but still unable to slow down.

She jumped anyway. “Did you love them?”

“No.” His voice was harsh, no longer a whisper. “And that’s enough of this.”

Annika nodded and laid her head on his shoulder, but the pain continued swelling up in her. Strange, awful pain that throbbed like a physical wound, pulsing open wider with each beat of her heart. Oh, but it needed to stop. There were so many different things she should be thinking about—her list of items that she’d fallen asleep on. The boots she needed to find. They were in a mechanical whale and murderers waited outside somewhere. But all of that seemed so far away. Eyes closed or staring into the dark, she could only see him kissing another woman. She could only imagine someone else finding him hard in her hands. He’d desired them enough to bed them, even without love. Had he kissed her breasts? Licked between her thighs?

Yet he didn’t want any of that with her. Annika thought she could have loved him—she was well on her way. But he wasn’t even interested.

He’d only asked for friendship. It had been so stupid to hope for more.

The lump in her throat grew excruciatingly thick. How could she be crying again? She tucked her chin down, hiding her face. She couldn’t bear for him to know.

“Annika?”

“Yes?” Despite her efforts, her voice hitched.

“You’re crying?”

Humiliation surfaced, caught in a net of anger and pain. Couldn’t he stop watching her for a second? His damned eyepiece. Wildly, she reached up, covered the lens. “Stop spying on me!”

Metal fingers caught her wrist. His body heaved, and he all but threw her off him. She hit the wall, not hard enough to knock out
her breath, but stunned out of her tears. He held her there, stiff-armed.

“Don’t.”
Hard, furious, as if ground out beneath clenched teeth. “Don’t
ever
blind me.”