Midnight Sun (14 page)

Still, her stomach heaved with the idea of shooting someone else, no matter what a terrible person he was. She’d watched bullets from her gun go into the bodies of four men, watched them fall. Adrenaline pushed her forward at the time, but God. She’d shot people. She remembered how Marcus had reacted after he shot the man on the bridge, how the guilt of the man’s death had affected him. Of course. That was why he was looking out for her, trying to protect her. She shouldn’t be so rough on him. When this was over, she’d apologize for giving him attitude.

When this was over…then what?

Simon and two of his men peeled away at her signal—they would board the pirate ship, free the hostages held there and ensure the terrorists couldn’t make their escape. She hoped Hilario was on that ship, because she didn’t want to face him.

She, Marcus and two of the S.O.P. team entered the kitchen and stood inside the swinging doors for a moment, weapons drawn. Marcus peeked through the small crack he made and held up three fingers, then signaled where they were in the room—one by the windows, one by the door from the hallway, and one near the hostages. Great. She should be grateful the pirates hadn’t punished the hostages yet. Instead she wondered why.

“Is Hilario in there?”

He shook his head.

“The two of you hang back,” said the younger sailor. “Don’t come out unless we give the signal. We don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”

Brylie exchanged a look with Marcus. She’d wanted to hand over the responsibilities to someone else before, but now, allowing someone else to take charge made her shoulders tight. Huh. She’d been told she had control issues before. Clearly it was true.

The two men rolled into the room, measuring, then firing in controlled shots. One went wide, cracking the window behind one of the hostage takers. The next caught him high in the chest, the impact kicking him backwards, through the window. Beside her, Marcus choked out a swear, and then all was silent.

“Monica, are we clear?” Brylie called into the dining room, still hiding behind the door.

“What?” Monica’s shrill voice answered.

“Are there any more?”

“No. No, that’s it.”

Still, none of them had been Hilario. Brylie hoped he was on the other ship and that Simon and his men were taking care of him. A moment passed before Brylie realized that Marcus had crossed to the fallen man by the door and was looking down at him, his brow creased in what looked like sorrow. Brylie watched him a moment before she was enveloped in Monica’s arms. The other hostages rose as if awakening from a daze and wandered toward her.

“Is it over?”

Brylie heard gunfire from the other ship and hoped that it was. The two S.O.P. soldiers looked at each other, then motioned to Brylie they were going to help their comrades. They ducked through the shattered window and disappeared.

Suddenly Marcus whipped his gun up and aimed it into the center of the group. “You. Don’t move.”

Brylie twisted to see his target—the tall passenger that he called The Asshole.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded, raising his hands in surrender.

“You were working with them.” He turned toward the two adventurers. “Tie him up.”

The two young men moved slowly, still in shock, no doubt. Brylie jolted when a shot rang out from the open window. She saw a spark from the corner of her eye. Marcus swore and his gun clattered to the ground. She swept down to retrieve it.

“Leave it!” a heavily accented voice ordered when her hand hovered inches away.

She froze, then angled her head and looked up into the black, angry eyes of Hilario, who reached into the group and pulled the little blonde teenager, Trinity, in front of him, his arm hooked around her neck, his pistol aimed at her head. Her mother’s keening cry echoed in the suddenly silent room.

“I am not leaving here empty handed. Drop the gun, little chef.”

She glanced at Marcus, who shook his head, but Hilario pressed the gun tighter to Trinity’s temple and the girl whimpered. Brylie crouched to place her weapon on the floor.

“Kick it over to Stephen.”

Marcus made a sound of protest, and Brylie hesitated. To do that would give Hilario the upper hand again. But of course, she had the S.O.P. crew. Hilario had to know that. If she had some way of signaling Simon that they were in trouble again, that Hilario was here…

Stephen, the Asshole, stepped forward when she made no move to kick over the guns, and bent to retrieve them. Before she could move, Marcus kicked the man in the face, hard enough that she heard the crunch of bone. Blood splattered her jeans and she stepped back in horror. Marcus kicked him again, and Stephen grabbed his braced leg and pulled. Marcus went down on his back, hard, the air from his lungs escaping in a wheeze. Stephen flipped onto his stomach and grabbed at Marcus, who shifted out of the way as he fought to catch his breath. Stephen landed two punches on Marcus’s face before rolling away and getting to his feet. Brylie screamed as the man spun, ready to kick Marcus in the ribs. Stephen’s kick faltered and glanced off Marcus’s hip.

 Marcus used the momentum to flip onto his stomach. Then in a single movement, rocking back on his heels, he came up with a gun, which he leveled at Hilario’s head.

“You can’t shoot me without hurting the girl,” Hilario taunted while Stephen groaned on the floor at her feet.

“Maybe not,” Marcus said with a casual roll of his shoulders. He nodded toward the open window. “But he’s got a pretty good bead on you.”

Hilario pivoted, releasing Trinity enough that she could duck. Marcus fired at the same time Simon did from his position on the deck. Hilario spun, fell, and didn’t move. Marcus turned back to Stephen, and gave him another kick before the two adventurers came to tie him up. Marcus let the gun fall to his side and drew his wounded hand against his waist.

It was over. Shaking, Brylie moved forward and grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? Joan!” Brylie called before he could respond.

He shook his head and rested his hand on his thigh, taking a few deep breaths. “She has enough to deal with, with the guys with hypothermia and these people in shock. I’ll make sure Harris gives her a bonus for this cruise.”

She caught the teasing note in his voice, and let herself lean into him, just for a moment, let him soothe her with his good hand stroking up and down her back. Looking anywhere but Hilario’s body as Simon crouched over it.

Marcus drew her back, away from the body, away from the others who had come out of their shock and had begun milling around. “Let’s go to my room. We can shower, get some sleep.” The way his voice trailed off told her that wasn’t all he wanted, and God, she wanted it too, wanted to lose herself in him, his touch, his kisses.

Reluctantly, she stepped back. “I need to get these people fed.”

“So we put out some sandwich meat.”

She shook her head. “No. they need a warm meal.” And she needed to be back in her routine, to feel normal again. “Get some of the men to move tables into the lounge. I’ll get my crew to work.”

“Brylie.” He curved his fingers on her cheek and forced her to look into his eyes. “You need sleep.”

“I need this. Then I can sleep. Then we all can.” She leaned into him for a moment. “It’s over.”

He stiffened at that and twisted to address Simon, who was securing Hilario, apparently still alive. “Find out who the other man who was helping them is. I heard them talking to someone else but didn’t recognize his voice.”

Simon nodded curtly, without looking up. Joan worked beside him to staunch the bleeding while Trinity’s mother cradled the girl in her arms.

Then her father walked into the room. She pulled away from Marcus and crossed to him. He held out his arms and she buried her face in his broad chest, listening to his sound heartbeat as he folded his arms around her, lowered his head to hers with a short exhale of breath.

“My brave girl,” he murmured.

“I’ve got to get to work,” Brylie said, pulling free. “I’ll feel better.”

His expression was grim as he studied her face. He nodded and backed away, calling for help moving the tables as she motioned to her crew.

Being back in her kitchen was like being in an alien landscape after the hours—how many, she wondered—hiding and fighting back. Nearly an hour passed before she fell into the routine, deciding on a simple but tasty dish of mushroom chicken, mashed potatoes and salad. Simple, comforting food was what they needed after their ordeal. She wished Kayla, her pastry chef, was up to making a big, rich chocolate cake, but the poor girl was so shaken, Brylie sent her to her room.

She’d been working over an hour when she looked up to see Marcus standing against the wall, watching her.

“Is the lounge set up?” she asked, setting down the spatula.

He crossed to her and braced one hand on the counter. “And looking good. Most of the passengers returned to their cabins, but a few are in there, talking to Simon. He brought the other passengers back over, and he and the crew that is able will take Hilario’s ship, with the prisoners, back to Hobart. He’s taking our two guys with him.”

“What, the passenger? Did they find out who the other crew member was?”

He shook his head. “No, I meant Jimmy and his friend. The—bodies.”

“Oh. Good. I wondered.”

“How are you holding up?” He stroked a bandaged hand down her arm.

She followed the movement, unable to meet his gaze, her emotions buried but ready to break free in a flood. Best to keep up the veneer for a bit longer. “I see you got that fixed up.”

He lifted his hand in front of him. “For the time being. Trinity’s mom is a nurse. She’s helping Joan. I think she was a little rougher than she needed to be when she was wrapping it, probably because I put Trinity’s life in danger.”

“Everything worked out. I’m glad Joan has help.” She moved away to toss the mushrooms simmering in butter. “You’re hovering.”

He grinned. “Put me to work.”

She considered a moment. “Do you know how to bake a cake?”

****

Brylie was shaking with fatigue by the time the passengers were called back to the lounge, fed, and the kitchen cleaned and set up for the next meal. The passengers had devoured everything, including Marcus’s cake, which was not pretty but very good. And now he stood waiting for her as she inspected her kitchen. He’d snagged her some of the cake, a plate of chicken and a bottle of wine because he was certain she hadn’t eaten anything. Finally she nodded her approval and he tucked his arm through hers and guided her out of the kitchen.

He guided her to his room without protest, and tugged her sweatshirt over her head, shoved her jeans down her hips before turning her and prodding her toward the shower.

“The water should have warmed up by now. When I took mine, seemed everyone else had the same idea. I’ll have to talk to Harris about that, too, more water heaters. Take as long as you like.”

She did, letting the heat melt the knots in her muscles, washing away the stink of fear and adrenaline. She stood under the spray until it turned icy, then walking into Marcus’s room wrapped in a thick robe to see her own fleece pajamas laid out on his bed. The familiarity, the comfort, his thoughtfulness—she gave a cry of delight and dropped the towel. She slipped into them quickly, mindless of her nakedness in front of him.

“You don’t know how good it feels to be in my own clothes,” she murmured, hugging herself.

“Come eat,” he urged. “It’s probably not as warm as it should be, but I know you didn’t eat earlier.”

“No.” she crossed to the bed where he’d set up her dinner. “You’re too good to me.”

He snorted, and watched her eat. She finished her chicken, barely, and half a glass of wine before she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“Save me the cake for tomorrow. And wake me at six. In the morning,” she murmured, reaching behind her to pull down the sheets. “I mean it, Marcus.”

“You bet.” He pulled away the table, tugged back the sheets so she could crawl in. By the time he took care of the food and settled into the bunk beside her, she was fast asleep.

****

He couldn’t tell what woke him the next morning—the dip of the bunk, the brush of Brylie’s hair against his cheek, or the whiff of minty breath. He opened his eyes to see her over him, her hair falling forward, the strands catching the rays of sun through the window. He barely had the chance to see her smile before she covered his mouth with hers.

He curved his hand over her hip and found bare skin. His lust surged, full-force, at the knowledge she was naked, and he trailed his touch up her back. She moaned her approval against his mouth and rolled her hips against his.

Hell, no. He wasn’t going to be rushed, not after what they’d been through. He was going to savor every taste, every touch. He was going to make her come over and over, then she could fall asleep in his arms, and they’d wake up and do it again.

She seemed to have a different plan. Her hand pushed under his T-shirt, her fingers curling into his chest hair, playing with his nipple while her tongue slicked over his bottom lip. She broke the kiss to rub her lips over his stubbled jaw, then bit his earlobe. Beneath her hips, his erection jerked. Okay, well, maybe he’d let her set the pace this time. He got the feeling she wanted to be in control, and with his hand out of commission, he was fine with that.

She used her teeth again, just below his ear, and he went blind, just for a second.

“Jesus, Brylie.”

“Help me get your shirt off. I want to feel you against me.”

He blamed being barely awake on his awkwardness, his inability to anticipate her moves, his inability to make any of his own. Together they untangled his arms from the sweatshirt, then she was rubbing her breasts against his chest, her hand stroking down the line of hair and into his pants. Her hand closed around his sex at the same time she bit his nipple. Only years of experience kept him from coming right there.

He groaned her name, shoved her hand away with no small regret, and turned her to her side. Jesus, she was beautiful, the sunlight casting a pale glow on her porcelain skin, her lips parted on eager breaths, her nipples pale pink and hard, irresistible. Pushing her hair back with his injured hand, he mimicked her kisses—lips, jaw, ear, drawing out the one beneath her ear until she squirmed, hooking her leg over his thighs. All he had to do was shift his hips forward and he’d be inside her.