Midnight Sun (15 page)

“Not yet.” He had to taste her nipples, had to feel her reaction to him suckling her. He sipped the stiff little peak between his lips and she arched against him, grabbing his good hand in both of hers and urging it down her belly.

She whispered his name again and again, her voice tight with need, but he resisted the pull. Instead, he savored the pliant flesh beneath his tongue, rolled it, sucked it, bit down lightly. Her cry was hoarse, and he looked up to make sure he hadn’t hurt her. But no, her lips were parted in pleasure, her eyelids were heavy with it. He dropped a soft kiss to the tender skin, then continued to trail kisses down over her flat belly, blowing a breath over the strawberry curls at the juncture of her thighs. She parted them and he moved lower, hooking her knees over his shoulders. Her breathing was ragged now in anticipation. He grinned, and bent to taste her.

She came hard, on a keening cry, at the first touch of his mouth. He wanted to stay, to take her pleasure higher, but she reached for him, pulling him up her body.

“I want you inside me,” she said, before closing her mouth over his.

Christ, that was sexy. He might have resisted, only he wanted the same thing, to drive into her, feel her body clasp around him. He reached for the nightstand but she wiggled a packet in front of him.

“God, Marcus, hurry.”

She sheathed him and turned him onto his back, rising over him, and then he was inside her. His moan mingled with hers as she gripped him, her body slick and warm. She took him deeper with a shift of hips. He drew her down and covered her mouth with his, stroking her pretty legs, her pretty hair, smelling her scent all around him. Perfect, perfect. He felt her desire rising, felt it in her breathing, her pulse, the slickness of her body around him. God, she was beautiful as she straightened over him, reaching for her orgasm, bringing him to the brink of his.

He reached over and yanked up the shade so the sunlight shone on her creamy skin, then arched his hips to press into her. She shuddered around him, over him, her body undulating with her orgasm. The sight of her, head tossed back, mouth open on a cry of pleasure, the feeling of her squeezing him, dragged him over the edge with a shout.

She draped herself over him, her breathing ragged, her hair brushing his lips, her body limp. He pulled her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead, wanting nothing more than to savor her for as long as it took to get back to port. He wasn’t sure if she’d go for it, but he’d been known to be pretty persuasive.

Before he could ease her onto the bed, someone pounded on the door. She jolted and rolled from the bunk, grabbing the blanket from the end of the bed to cover herself. Marcus discarded the condom in the wastebasket, reached for his sweats, and stepped toward the door.

“Who is it?”

“Captain Winston. We need to talk.”

Oh, hell. Marcus swung his gaze toward Brylie, whose eyes had gone wide. He hadn’t had to worry about being caught by a girl’s daddy since he was a teenager. Brylie scrambled for her sweatshirt, and tugged it on.

“Just give me a second,” Marcus called.

“It’s important.”

“Yeah, just a minute.” He couldn’t get Brylie out of here without her father seeing. “Go to the bathroom.”

She shook her head and swung her bare legs over the edge of the bunk. She drew on her pajama bottoms and nodded for Marcus to open the door. He frowned, giving her a moment to reconsider. Instead, she moved past him and turned the handle, admitting her father.

“What is it, Captain?” Marcus asked brightly.

The man glanced over his shoulder and no doubt saw Brylie, because he drew in his chin and his face reddened. Marcus jolted when she placed her hand on his arm. His own face heated, but he forced himself to meet the older man’s thunderous gaze. Oh, hell.

“Can I come in? This isn’t something I want to discuss in the hall.”

Come in. Where the only place to sit was on the bed where Marcus had just made love to his daughter. “Um. Sure.” He stepped back, and from the corner of his eye saw that Brylie had tugged the bedspread over the mattress. Marcus bent to scoop his sweatshirt from the floor. Not that the old man could have a doubt about what had just gone on here. Until now, Marcus hadn’t noticed the marks his stubble had made on Brylie’s pale skin, the effect of his hands in her hair.

But the captain didn’t say anything, barely glanced at his daughter. “The plane carrying the ransom left Australia before the attack on the patrol ship. It fell out of radio contact a few hours ago, and began emitting an emergency beacon within the past hour, from the continent.”

“The continent? Antarctica?” Brylie asked.

He nodded, rubbing his big hands together, rocking on his feet as if anxious to escape the tiny compartment. Marcus kept an eye on those big hands, waiting to see one flying at his face any minute now.

“The plane is on Antarctica?” Marcus forced himself to ask. “Will they send the patrol to them?”

“They will. But we’re closer. And…your brother Harris was on the plane, accompanying the ransom money.”

Marcus froze in the act of pulling on his sweatshirt and his blood chilled. “Harris was on the plane?”

The captain nodded. “I’m sorry, son.”

His chest squeezed so hard he could barely get the words out. “And there’s been no radio contact?”

“I’m afraid not.”

His mind spun. Harris, on the continent, in the cold. “How far away are we?”

“Three hours.”

Marcus scrubbed his hand over his face. “How can that be? We’ve been heading north all night.”

“Northwest, not far from the continent.”

“So we can go find them.”

“No, not we,” Brylie protested. “You don’t know the continent, the weather, the terrain. There are trained people who can do this.”

He pivoted on her. “My brother is out there. He came because I’m here. I can’t just leave him out there. I know cold weather—I’m a snowboarder, damn it. I’m going to find my brother.” He turned back to her father. “How do we get to Antarctica?”

Brylie packed the survival pack with power bars, packets of cereal, chocolate bars and biscuits. She’d done this before for tourists who wanted to see Antarctica in person, like Jimmy’s friends out there. Only now she was sending her lover there, looking for his brother. Jimmy’s friends had agreed—reluctantly after Marcus refused to allow them to accompany them to the peninsula—to let Marcus wear Jimmy’s gear since he hadn’t packed anything appropriate. Carl would be taking him on the sightseeing helicopter. Brylie had protested—the helicopter wasn’t equipped to bring back injured people. Her father had silenced her with a look that told her he doubted there would be survivors. But Marcus was the boss, and he was frantic to see his brother.

 He walked into the kitchen then, moving differently with his layers of clothing, with a kind of confidence she hadn’t seen in him. He’d been confident in the bar in Hobart, but his attitude then had been different, almost arrogant. But this—this was new. This was—sexy as hell. The wrong thing to be thinking as he went off to find his missing brother. He crossed to her, not meeting her gaze, which made her uneasy. He checked the pack and nodded approvingly.

She bit the inside of her lip. Acting on impulse never worked well for her, but, “I want to go with you,” she blurted.

His gaze shot to hers, his eyes flat, unreadable. “No.”

“I wasn’t asking.” She zipped up the pack and slid it toward him on the counter.

He pressed his lips together, and gave her a cursory inspection. “You don’t have the right clothes.”

She snapped her heels together and squared her shoulders. “I do, at least warm enough for the flight over the peninsula to the crash site.” The beacon that transmitted told them the site was on the west side of the peninsula, near the mountain range.

He shook his head and turned his attention back to the pack, though she’d secured it. “You’re safer here.”

“I don’t give a shit about being safe.” She braced her hands on the counter and glared. But she couldn’t say what she wanted to say, that she wanted to be there with him, be there for him, as he looked for his brother.

He stepped forward and curved his hand over her cheek. “You’ve been through enough the past few days.”

“You’ve been through exactly the same thing.”

“My brother is out there.” He took a step back and scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Christ, Brylie. I don’t want to chance it. While the weather is supposed to be good, it’s too risky.”

“It’s dangerous for you, too.”

 “I can take care of myself.”

She drew back, catching his meaning. He didn’t want to take care of anyone else. Right. “I can too. Believe that I’ve been doing it a long time.” She pushed the pack toward him. “I’ll meet you at the helicopter.”

Marcus’s stomach gripped when Brylie crossed the small landing pad, toward the helicopter where he and Carl had loaded the gear they’d need—the food and water Brylie had gathered, blankets and sleeping bags, and a first aid kit Joan had packed. Brylie moved stiffly, which let him know she was well-insulated in layers. Which meant she’d be just fine if he locked her in the freezer while he took off.

He’d never known anyone so damned stubborn.

Except, well, him.

She looked dressed warm enough in a sweater that covered her chin and wrists, heavy shoes, a warm coat, a knit cap, and gloves that would give her hands flexibility. Even in the summer, frostbite was a real danger, with temperatures that could get down to single digits Celsius, though the weather on the peninsula was the mildest in Antarctica, thanks to the proximity to the ocean. 

The smile she gave him was forced as she stopped a few feet away. “I’m ready.”

He could have argued harder. Hell, he could have convinced her father to step in and stop her. But the truth was, part of him was glad she’d be with him. He knew how to work with her, knew he could count on her. He was sure Carl was fine, too, but he trusted Brylie.

When he didn’t say anything, she squared her shoulders. “You’ll be glad I’m there. I’ll make myself useful.”

She didn’t sound like she believed it herself. He had to wonder what her motivation was. Okay, he had an idea, and that scared him almost as much as what he’d find when he got to the airplane. Almost as scary as his reason for wanting her to come along.

“Come on, then.” Carl climbed into the pilot’s seat and motioned them into the six-seater.

Marcus looked into the back—room for a stretcher if need arose. But only one. How many had been on the plane when it went down? Good thing he had told Evan and Michael they couldn’t come along.

Yeah, he knew what he might find. How many people survived plane crashes, after all? But he couldn’t take the chance that his brother could be alive and needing help while Marcus sat on his ass and waited for someone else to take over. Hadn’t he done that plenty of times in the past? Time to grow up.

His stomach dipped as the rotors started and the helicopter lifted away from the deck, Carl’s hand steady on the control. He rose above the ship, and the passengers who’d come out to watch their departure, then dipped and headed toward the peninsula.

Once Marcus caught his breath, he leaned toward the passenger window to look at the scenery below, the unbelievably blue water crashing on the black rocks of the shore, the icebergs dotting the ocean, the endless stretch of white ahead of them. They were approaching from the tip of the peninsula and flying down the west side of the mountain range, following the beacon on the GPS Marcus carried. The three of them had GPS trackers on their clothing as well, just in case.

Brylie touched his arm. He twisted to look at her, and she pointed out the window ahead of them. He turned to see several dots on the edge of the white terrain, close to the beach. Without being told, Carl took the helicopter lower. Marcus leaned forward to see the dots were seals on the beach—hundreds of them, some of them lying on the shore, some moving in and out of the water. Brylie reached past him to point at the water, where he could see them swimming below the surface, fast as lightning, so at odds with their lumbering movements on land. He turned to grin at Brylie, something he hadn’t thought he’d be able to do after hearing about the plane crash. She grinned in return, then settled back to watch the seals until they were out of sight.

“Where are the penguins?” he asked over the noise of the rotor.

“Should be along any minute. You want to go sightseeing or look for your brother?” Carl demanded, taking the helicopter higher.

“Right.” He checked the GPS signal. It didn’t seem to be any closer, though they were traveling pretty damned fast.

The wind bumped the helicopter beneath them, taking them up a few feet, then dropping them, no more than a roller coaster would do, and he laughed off the nervousness. Yeah, he’d been some pretty high places, but he’d been in control—or mostly in control.

He forced himself to stop watching the blip on the screen. The scenery below was really amazing, mountains to the left of him so steep they didn’t even tempt him to snowboard down them.

“They’re thought to be part of the Andes mountain chain.” Brylie pitched her voice to be heard. “Scientists think that without the ice cap, these would be a series of islands instead.”

She was trying to distract him from what he’d find, he knew, and appreciated it, but all he could show her was a nod.

She edged forward and pointed to the water again. “This will probably be our last trip this summer. The sea ice is already reforming. We can usually get in another cruise, but it looks like fall is coming early this year.”

“How many times have you been to the continent?” he asked.

“A few dozen. Never more than a couple of hours. I have gotten up close with a penguin or two. I like the gentoo ones. Very funny.”

They continued in silence. As the blip got closer, Marcus wanted nothing more than to hold Brylie’s hand. As he looked at the landscape, he couldn’t see this ending well. Enough of the plane was intact if the beacon was still going off, but that said nothing about the passengers. How long had they been out here now? Seven hours? He checked the outside temperature on Carl’s controls. Four degrees Celsius. Survivable. Miserable, but survivable.