Midnight Sun (2 page)

This was why she hadn’t had sex in a year and a half.

How had she let herself be seduced by a handsome Aussie with stories of a carefree life, of his travels, a man living his dreams? She should have known better. But he’d made her feel desirable as a man hadn’t in years, and while part of her brain told her he probably did the same to all the girls, her neglected side bought his seduction hook, line and sinker.

Now they were stuck together on this suddenly-too-small ship for the next twenty days, and he wasn’t above using his clout—she’d slept with the owner, good Lord—to get his way.

Worse, her body remembered him all too well and wanted a replay of last night. He’d been very, very attentive. And he’d made her laugh and feel good about herself, and—feel good. Something that hadn’t happened in a long time.

Then he’d fallen asleep and she’d been alone with her thoughts and fears and she’d beat it out of there, thinking she could put it behind her.

The only thing to do was keep him at arms’ length, do what he asked for the sake of her father and her own job, but make sure he understood this was only professional.

***

Marcus sat at the captain’s table, not nearly as grand as the ones on the other ships in the fleet, but that suited Marcus fine. He wasn’t much for tuxedos and champagne, for ballroom dancing and diamond cufflinks, much to the dismay of his family, who considered him a changeling.

More passengers were on board than he expected. Sixteen tables with a dozen at each table, not including the crew. He observed the differences in the people at his own table: four young men who had come for the adventure, wanting to say they’d ridden a kayak on the Southern Ocean, an older Hispanic couple who were both teachers and had been saving for this trip for a long time, a big man traveling alone, which Marcus thought odd, and a family of three—mother, father and sullen preteen boy. Marcus probably had most in common with the boy, who didn’t seem to want to be here anymore than Marcus did.

He listened to the conversation flowing around him, sipping the Antarctica beer served with the delicious lobster risotto and flaky bread. Brylie was excellent at her job. He couldn’t help picturing her in one of those puffy hats and nothing else—well, maybe an apron. Definitely an apron.

“—seen any pirates in these parts?”

Marcus snapped his head up and looked at the big fellow down the table who asked the question, eyes bright with anticipation. “Pirates?” he scoffed.

“Yeah, sure, like off Somalia. You heard about that, surely?” the dark haired man countered.

“That was a merchant ship,” Marcus pointed out, sitting forward to set his empty glass on the table. “Supplies that could be sold.”

“Right,” Captain Winston jumped in. “Nothing to worry about here. Too cold for pirates down here, anyway.”

“That’s not what I heard,” the other man said, shoulders set stubbornly. “I heard these waters aren’t patrolled well, especially as winter approaches. I’m just wondering at the danger.”

The comment set off ripples of alarm around the table. Marcus took in the upset expressions on the faces of the women in particular and turned back to the antagonist, tension tightening his muscles as he fought the urge to pound the man into the carpet.

“So what’s your point, mate? You want to see pirates, is that it? Or do you want to upset all the good folk here who just want to see a few penguins?”

The other man scowled. “I just want to know how safe I am.”

“Likely you should have looked into that before we set sail, then, eh?” He didn’t wait for a response, but leaned back and signaled to the waiter for another beer. “Oh, and hey, tell Miss Winston I want to see her.”

The waiter nodded briskly and hurried back to the kitchen.

Sure, if he was going to antagonize one, may as well antagonize another.

***

Brylie’s stomach tightened when her head waiter, Damian, poked his head in the kitchen.

“One of your passengers wants to speak to you.”

She reached behind her for the ties of her apron. “Is something wrong?”

Damian shrugged. “Not as far as I can tell. Some tension in there, though.”

She set the apron aside and pushed through the swinging door into the full dining area. Without thinking, she scanned the room for Marcus and saw him immediately, looking straight at her.

“That one,” Damian said, gesturing to Marcus, confirming her suspicion.

She huffed out a breath, put on her professional face, and strode to his table. He was sitting with her father, damn him, so she had to be on her guard. She stopped a few feet away and folded her hands in front of her.

“Is everything satisfactory?” she asked.

“Everything is amazing,” he replied. “Where did you get this Antarctica beer?”

Her shoulders tightened. He was playing with her, of course. She could see the glint in his eyes. “It’s actually made in Brazil.”

“Clever.” He kept his gaze—had she noticed his eyes were blue?—steady on hers. “You didn’t attend the mandatory lifeboat drill this afternoon.”

He’d been looking for her? That shouldn’t send any kind of thrill through her. She’d already shown she didn’t have good judgment where he was concerned. “I know the drill.”

“You never know if there’s something you might have missed in the past. This does seem to be a bit riskier than, say, a cruise in the Caribbean.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I’m aware.”

He folded his arms on the table and gave her the grin that had charmed her right out of her panties. “I probably could use some tutoring. Perhaps some practice getting in and out of the boat.”

Her face heated. Her father was watching and had to understand what was going on, at least on one level. She had to deflect Marcus’s interest. “The captain can probably arrange for Josh to help you.”

He sat back, the teasing light fading from his eyes. “Josh. Big guy? Missing teeth?”

She nodded. “Former hockey player. You met?”

A frown creased his brow, making her wonder about that encounter. “We’ve met.”

She rocked back on her heels, wanting to retreat into her kitchen. “Is there anything else?”

He leaned forward. “What’s for dessert?”

She pretended not to pick up on his meaning. How was she going to extricate herself from this without losing her temper? She’d worked hard to keep a stranglehold on it, but now it was slipping its leash. “The chocolate torte is the best tonight.”

“That you made yourself?”

“My baker, actually. Would you like some?”

“Which is your favorite?”

She was aware of her father watching Marcus with thunder in his expression. She kept her expression implacable, her hands folded in front of her. “The crème brulee is my favorite.”

“Not the chocolate. I pegged you for a chocolate girl.”

She would not react to his reference to the chocolate martinis from last night. “Crème brulee is my choice. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He sat back in his chair. “Just don’t forget your promise to give me a tour when you’re done.”

She nodded and turned away, aware of his attention on her as she spoke to the other guests, collecting compliments and promising recipes. She heard her father draw Marcus’s attention with a question about Devlin’s Alaskan cruises, and she made her escape, back into the safety of her kitchen.

He was going to make her life miserable. Maybe she should just tell her father what had happened last night, but Marcus was right. Her father would break him in half and feed him to the whales. He might be irritating, but he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t seem to have the self-preservation gene, though. What was he thinking, flirting with her like that?

“He likes you,” Monica, her assistant chef, observed when Brylie ducked back into the kitchen.

Brylie determined not to linger on how high school that sounded. “You were watching?”

Monica rolled her big brown eyes. “Honey, he’s hot. I’ve been watching him since he boarded.”

“He’s our boss.”

Monica stretched to look past her. “He doesn’t seem very boss-like.”

Brylie made a noncommittal noise and returned to the plating area. She hoped Monica didn’t figure out that the two of them had been intimate. The woman couldn’t keep a secret for love or money. And she was way too observant for Brylie’s comfort. She’d definitely notice that Marcus chose her to show him around the ship. She had to downplay that for her own peace of mind.

***

Marcus waited on the deck, leaning against the rail, when Brylie found him, ten minutes after their agreed meeting time. He turned with a scowl.

“Bloody cold out here.” He slapped his hands on his chest. “Where’ve you been?”

“Working. And if you’d met me in the lounge like I suggested—”

“You wanted to meet me outside the lounge. I got the feeling you didn’t want to be seen with me. Hiding from your daddy, or maybe Big Josh?”

Her nostrils flared, which she immediately regretted. It
was
damned cold out here. “Not wanting anyone to think there’s something here that there isn’t.”

He stroked a gloved finger down her cheek. She stepped out of his reach, though every nerve in her body wanted to lean in and rediscover last night’s pleasure, her skin tingling with the memory.

“I thought I made it clear,” she said instead.

He eased away and grinned. “I like to watch you blush. It reminds me of—”

“Stop that. I mean it, Marcus.” She set her mouth in a frown. “That wasn’t something I ordinarily do, and I don’t want it affecting my job.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Despite his claim of being cold, he made no move away from the rail.

“You were just that charming,” she said to end the line of questioning, drawing a scoffing laugh from him. “Would you like to see the ship, or not?”

He stretched his hand in front of him, palm up. “Lead the way.”

She led him up a level to the social deck, where the lounge contained dozens of low-backed chairs, some angled together, some toward the windows that lined the walls, floor to ceiling.

“If you’re cold, this might be the best place for you to watch the whales and icebergs,” she said. “The glass is well-insulated, so the room stays comfortable, as long as you’re wearing warm clothing.”

“I don’t mind being cold when I’m not waiting for someone. I am a snowboarder, after all.”

She slanted him a glance. “I thought that was just something you said to get laid.”

Amusement quirked his lips. “Well, yeah. But it also happens to be true.”

She would not let him amuse her. Hadn’t that—and the chocolate martinis—brought down her resistance last night? “Down here, we have a theater and lecture hall. We have two biologists, an ornithologist and a climatologist on board who do scheduled lectures, in exchange for the opportunity to travel to Antarctica three or four times a year. The schedule is in your room if you’re interested.”

“Yeah, I’m not much on lectures.” He gave the well appointed, theater-seating room a cursory glance.

“You should never stop learning,” she chided in her best schoolteacher voice. If only he wasn’t so much fun to tease.

“Yes, Mother.” He followed her past the library, which she assumed he’d have less interest in. “Who’s the bloke who was getting everyone worked up about pirates at dinner?”

“I heard about that. I don’t know.”

“I told him to bugger off but I’ve been thinking about it. He’s not right, is he?”

“We get warnings, just the same way we get warnings about sea ice and the like. It’s very rare to see another ship out here. Don’t worry your pretty head. Now, would you like to see the waste management system?”

His grin flashed, white teeth and gleaming eyes. “Pretty sure the answer is no there. What about the kitchen?”

She stiffened. Her sanctuary. “That’s off-limits to passengers.”

“But I’m the owner,” he reminded her unnecessarily. “I want to see your set-up, see if there’s anything I can do to make your job easier.”

“You might consider jumping overboard,” she said sweetly, and led the way to the kitchen.

***

One might have thought she was leading him into her bedroom, the way she tensed when they walked into the kitchen. What exactly did she think he was going to do? No, she wasn’t scared of him. Scared of herself, maybe.

The kitchen was spotless, lots of stainless steel, a place for everything and everything in its place. He expected no less, from what he knew of Brylie. She showed him her side-by-side ovens and giant dishwasher and a stove big enough to cook an entire whale on. She showed him the walk-in freezer—a bit redundant considering where they were. The arrangement seemed pretty chaotic to his untrained eye, but she explained the process and he had a sudden longing to see her in action.

“Are you responsible for every meal? I mean, do you get down here at the crack of dawn to get breakfast going, or does someone else do that?”

“Someone else, but for the first few days of the cruise I like to pop in and make sure everything’s running just so.”

“It’s the librarian thing.”

She looked at him sharply. “I’m not a librarian.”

“Right, I know, but it’s the need for order, right? I mean, everything in here’s perfect. Of course you’d want your people to be as close to that as possible. I get it.” Boy, was he off if he thought she’d go for him again. He was about as far from perfect as one could get. And he certainly wasn’t one she could order around.

Which only made this more of a challenge. He did like challenges.

“So you trained in New York. Didn’t you like it?”

Something shifted in her eyes, darkened. “I loved it.”

“Yet you’re here on the open sea. Do you love that, too?”

She fiddled with a towel folded neatly on the counter. “It’s an adventure, always meeting new people, seeing a part of the world so few people see.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She leveled a look at him. “I miss New York.”

“And you’re not there because?” The tension in her body made him believe she wouldn’t tell him.

She shook her head. “Too many mistakes.”

He tried again. “Not your cooking, surely?”