Midnight Sun (3 page)

“Personal,” she said shortly, and snapped her spine, preparing to dismiss him, no doubt.

“Where’s your cabin? Or do you share with your daddy?”

She narrowed her eyes and her full lips thinned. “I have my own cabin, but I’m not telling you where.”

He angled his head. “Ah, I don’t go anywhere unless invited. You know that.”

“But you do have a broad definition of invitation,” she said.

“Sweetheart.” He took a step closer, essentially trapping her between the dishwasher and another counter. “You invited me.”

Her gaze riveted on his mouth and he saw the desire there, recognized it from last night. “I’m not inviting you now.”

“Oh, yes. You are.” He dipped his head close enough to taste her breath on his lips when she pushed his chest, sending him back a step.

“No. I’m not.” Her voice was a little breathy, and that should have gratified him, except she slipped past him and headed for the door. “Lock up when you’re done here.”

Well, hell. He hadn’t read those signals right at all.

***

Marcus spent most of the next day keeping an eye out for the sly redhead and avoiding conversation with her father. He didn’t trust himself to keep off the topic of Brylie and what she’d run away from in New York. Instead, he hung about with the passengers in the lounge, where the topic of excitement was the possibility of seeing whales migrating. Marcus was no great animal lover, but he did love creatures of power, and hell, whales were the biggest animals in the world. The binoculars kept him occupied for about, oh, a half hour, then he had to move. He wanted to venture into the kitchen, but he’d seen the sharp knives Brylie kept in there. Probably not the best choice. So he bundled up to stroll the deck.

“Hey, aren’t you Marcus Devlin?” A young blonde woman he’d noticed at dinner last night—he was a man, and a dog, to boot—approached him, shivering a bit in her brand new parka. “The snowboarder?”

“Yeah, I am.” Even three years after he’d won the Olympic bronze, he felt pride in his accomplishment. And at least it wasn’t another question about pounding that guy in the face back home.

“I’m Trinity. You were awesome. You totally should have gotten the gold.”

He grinned. “I can’t argue with you there.”

“Do you still snowboard?”

“Not the half-pipe anymore. Just the downhill.”

“Are you trying out for next year?”

“Nah. I did what I wanted to do.”

“So what are you doing now?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? He needed to find an answer to it, or end up like poor Jordie. “Learning the family business, it seems.”

She took his meaning immediately. “This is your family business? I didn’t know you were rich.”

Aha. His guard came up, then. “Not me. My family. And I’m the youngest, so the farthest out of the loop.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Right. I get that. My father already told me my older brother’s going to inherit so not to expect anything more from him than a college education.”

Whoops. Alarm bells went off at that, and he looked closer. Was she a—?

“Are you in college now?” he asked, in what he hoped was a casual tone.

“Wilmington Prep,” she replied promptly.

Christ. High school. Time to get back into the lounge, to the safety of numbers. “The cold down here is nothing like the cold in the mountains,” he said, walking back to the door. “Let’s go back in, shall we?”

Relief started to relax his muscles as he opened the door into the lounge, but Trinity leaned her shoulder into his chest playfully. He looked up then, straight into Brylie’s blue eyes.

Chapter Two

Brylie met Marcus’s eyes over the head of the little blonde, and he jerked his hands up as if to signal he’d done nothing wrong. She shook her head and turned back toward the kitchen.

Rapid footsteps approached.

“Nothing happened.”

She turned to give him a quizzical glance. “What?”

“I didn’t know she was a teenager. I didn’t even know she was out there—she came out after I did.”

She stopped just outside the kitchen and turned to face him, folding her arms in front of her. “Why do you care what I think?”

“I—care.” He furrowed his brow as if the question puzzled him as well.

“Because you think I believe what happened between us was special? Out of the ordinary? Believe me, Marcus, I have no illusions.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand.

“Don’t lie to me, Marcus. At least have that much respect.”

She walked into the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t follow. She didn’t understand why he was still pursuing her. She understood it was a one-night stand and didn’t want anything more, especially here. She knew he was no stranger to one-night stands, so was it just convenience that had him after her? He thought since she’d given in once, she would again?

She didn’t have time to deal with it. Time to get back to work.

Brylie woke up when her room phone rang. She rolled over, rubbing her eyes, and answered.

“I need you in the dining room,” her father said over the line, his tone brisk.

Brylie sat up, instantly awake. “Why? What’s going on?”

“We were issued an alert.”

“Weather?” Mentally, she started battening down her kitchen, though for the most part it was designed for such an event.

“Pirates.”

Her heart kicked an extra beat and she swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. “I’ll be right there.”

She hung up and reached for her jeans. An alert. That meant next to nothing, usually, but they’d never had a pirate alert before. Her father no doubt wanted to go over procedure. At least she hoped that was why he was calling them in at—she glanced at the clock—four in the morning. She tugged on socks and shoved her feet in her sneakers. She snatched up her Ice Queen sweatshirt and headed out the door.

The majority of the crew had gathered in her dining room, at the table close to the windows. Her father paced in front of them, and Monica gestured for Brylie to join her at the seat next to her. Brylie started forward, but a noise behind her drew her attention.

Marcus padded down the hall behind her, barefoot, scrubbing his hands over his face. She stopped herself from reacting just in time. Of course her father would want him here. He was an owner. Before he met her gaze, she scurried over to the seat by Monica.

That didn’t deter him. Oh, no. The arrogant bastard grabbed a chair and dragged it through the others who were already seated, bumping feet and legs out of the way, and sat beside her. He flashed a quick grin, stretched his legs in front of him, folded his hands over his stomach, and turned his attention to her father. On her other side, Monica nudged her, but Brylie ignored her, knowing she would just get those raised eyebrows—or worse, a waggle. If Monica figured out her secret, it would be all over the ship.

Her father stopped, scanned the crowd and cleared his throat. The room instantly silenced.

“We received an alert from Southern Ocean Patrol that there is a suspicious vessel in the vicinity, last seen off the southeast coast of New Zealand. We don’t know what their destination is but they refused to answer a hail.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it?” Joan Seward, the ship doctor, asked, shifting in the wooden chair, drawing her legs tight against the seat.

The captain lifted a shoulder, trying to be nonchalant, but Brylie knew him too well. He was concerned, or he wouldn’t have called them in this early.

“They’re heading due east, which is why it’s an alert only. I just thought it would be best to go over our procedures, since this is new for us.”

“You have pirate procedures?” Marcus straightened beside her. “Have you ever encountered pirates?”

“We’ve never even had an alert as long as I’ve worked on the Ice Queen,” her father replied. “I don’t want anyone to be alarmed, but I do think it’s time to refresh. The first thing in event of a suspicious vessel is to get the passengers to the interior of the ship. Our ship is somewhat easier to board than a normal cruise ship because we don’t have the high firewall, and we don’t have as many resources as the bigger ships do, which makes us a better target. We don’t have as many people, either. We do have high-pressure hoses in event of a boarding, and our security force is armed.”

“How big is your security force?” Marcus leaned forward now, alert.

“We have six men who work in shifts, four automatic weapons and half a dozen handguns.”

“Against pirates.”

“Which we’ve never had to deal with and don’t expect to deal with now,” her father reminded them all in a chiding tone. “I’m only going over procedures. We take evasive maneuvers if we can. The Queen isn’t particularly nimble, and the seas here can be rough, but she’s steadier than a smaller ship in these waters. Also, she’s an icebreaker and can go places a smaller ship can’t. So our first step is of course to avoid them. Secondly, if they manage to disable us somehow, we turn the high-pressure hoses on them. One thing no one wants is to have the icy water of the Southern Ocean blasted at him. Should that fail, we have the weapons.”

“And if that fails?” Marcus asked.

“Then we pray the Southern Ocean Patrol received our distress call and can get to us. It’s a lot of defense, Mr. Devlin.”

“But you still felt the need to call this meeting in the middle of the night.”

“As I said, to refresh everyone’s memories about procedures. Your job, all of you,” he circled his finger at the group, “is to keep the passengers calm as you move them to the safety of the interior of the ship.”

“Do you want to run a drill with them?” Joan asked.

Her father shook his head. “No, that would only increase anxiety already raised at dinner last night. If anything should happen, I’ll announce an alert and you all will see everyone gets where they need to be. All right? Just be aware.” He dismissed them.

People stood and wearily replaced the chairs around the tables.

“What time is it?” Brylie asked Monica.

“Time to go back to bed.” Monica brushed her hair back from her face and sent a smile over Brylie’s shoulder.

Brylie turned to see Marcus smiling back.

“It’s a little after four,” he offered.

She gave a brief nod of thanks and faced her friend. “I’m going to actually get some things going in the kitchen. Kristen will be down before long to get breakfast going.”

“Do what you want, I’m going to bed.” Monica followed the others who were clearing out.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Marcus said from behind her.

“I don’t need one.” Bad enough he’d insisted on sitting beside her in the meeting, though that had been painless enough. The last thing she needed was him trailing after her into the place she considered her sanctuary.

“Sure you do.” He followed her through the swinging door. “I won’t be able to sleep now anyway.”

She could hardly fault him for that, since that was the reason she decided to stay. “It’s not going to happen, you know. In the cruises I’ve been on, we’ve only seen another ship twice once we passed New Zealand.”

He folded his arms. “That makes it a little scarier, if you ask me.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t want to think about it, and didn’t want to admit that Marcus being in here with her made her feel just a touch more secure. She couldn’t say why that was. She pulled down the flour and crossed to the refrigerator for eggs.

“What are you making?”

“I’m going to start with a coffee cake.”

“I thought you weren’t the baker.”

“I’m not, but I’ve got a taste for it. And if I can’t bake something in my own kitchen…”

He braced his hands on the counter behind him. “Give me something to do.”

She took a deep breath, trying to think what she could assign him to keep him busy—and as far from her as the kitchen allowed. Any other time, she would be able to find dozens of things to do in here, but he scrambled her brain. She wouldn’t be able to think straight until he left. She hated that weakness. “Have you ever been in a kitchen before?”

“I have, actually. But not since I was six. We had a cook, Miss Elizabeth. I’d spend most every weekend morning with her, making pancakes and biscuits.”

She shook her head as she measured out the flour and sifted it into a bowl. The picture of a young Marcus came to her, too easily. She had to push that kind of sentimentality away. It was too early in the cruise to let him get under her skin. “But not in the past couple of decades?”

“I found other people to pester after her. But she taught me a lot. I can flip a mean pancake. Just point me to a skillet.”

Even at the age of six, he’d managed to make the dishes Brylie instructed him to create, step by step, as if she didn’t expect much of him. Well, that made her about on par with the rest of his family, now, didn’t it? But the tension eased from her face and shoulders as she bossed him around, so he put up with it, sliding the coffee cake in the oven, fetching eggs from the giant refrigerator so he could make the pancakes, while she made syrup—homemade syrup—on the stove.

She nodded her approval at the pancakes, then inclined her head toward the industrial coffee maker on the other counter. “Do you know how to make coffee?”

He didn’t want to admit that the machine intimidated him, that what he knew about coffee could fit in a recyclable paper cup, so he crossed to inspect it. Okay. More moving parts than he was willing to risk screwing up. Just what he needed—three weeks on a ship with caffeine-deprived passengers.

“Does it have instructions?”

She set her whisk beside the pot. “Here, you stir this, I’ll do that. Don’t stop stirring or it will burn, got it?”

He backed away from the coffee maker, hands raised in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”

He took up the whisk, but didn’t take his gaze from her. She was incredible, moving from one task to another fluidly, in constant motion. She crossed to take the pot from him, poured the thickened syrup into two containers and wiped off the liquid that had dripped down the side.

“Now you can make the orange juice.” She pointed to a bowl of oranges and a knife down the counter.

“I think you like bossing me around,” he observed, flipping the knife off the counter and catching it by the handle. A control thing, he figured. A little too much like his brother Harris, but at least she looked good doing it.

She flashed him a grin. “There is some satisfaction in it.”

He paused. “The satisfaction will come later. I guarantee it.”

He was rewarded by her blush before he turned his attention to the oranges. “The coffee cake smells amazing.”

She crossed to the oven and checked on it, taking a deep breath as she did.

“I hope it’s done before everyone else gets here. I don’t want to share.”

“Except with me?”

She considered him a moment, then straightened. “I suppose you’ve earned it.”

And it was worth every order, from the cinnamon and sugar crumble to the moist yellow cake swirled with more cinnamon. He closed his eyes in appreciation as the cake melted in his mouth, then opened them to see Brylie grinning.

“Best coffee cake ever, right?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

“It’s funny.” She swirled her fork over her own piece. “I prefer cooking to baking, unless it’s a comfort thing. My grandmother was a baker and owned her own bakery. When I’d stay with her, I’d wake up early and help her. This is her recipe.”

“She must have made a fortune.” He took another bite.

Brylie sighed. “That wasn’t important to her. Independence was.”

“So was she?”

Brylie sipped her coffee and nodded. “To the very last day of her life.”

“I suppose you take after her, then?”

A corner of her mouth lifted in affirmation as she set the cup down carefully. “You? Do you take after anyone?”

“I do my level best not to.” He sat back, turning the handle of his coffee cup in the other direction. “Though I suppose my grandfather was a bit of a hell-raiser in the day.”

“Is he why you’re here?”

“No, he’s dead. He’s why you’re here, though. He started this whole thing.” He waved his hand to encompass the ship. “I mean, we were always wealthy, but he made us over the top, you know? Top five percent or something. Meanest man you’d ever meet, and I loved him with everything in me. He was smart, he was determined, and he died before he saw his dreams come true.” He grinned. “So yeah, the temper is the only thing I take from him.”

“Like the guy you punched in the nose.”

He blinked. “I told you about that?” It wasn’t exactly something he was proud of.

“You mentioned it.”

His lips twitched and he focused on his coffee cup. “Clearly I wasn’t trying too hard to impress you with my machismo.”

“Clearly,” she echoed, but her tone was playful, more like the girl he’d met in Hobart than the ice queen he’d followed around on the ship.

“There were extenuating circumstances.”

“You told me he was an asshole.”

“Right, but that’s not exactly extenuating. I’m not that big of a dick.” She had to be thinking of him as a hot-tempered, hard-partying man-whore. The need to make her understand was overwhelming—and unnerving. When was the last time he cared what someone thought of his actions? He curved his hands around his cup and met her gaze. “My mate, a good friend, died of an overdose that week. He’d been having trouble, you know, adjusting after he stopped competing. Kind of hard to come to grips with his death, since hell, we’d been partying together just the week before. Both of us had more money than sense. That day, the day of the fight, was his funeral. When I got arrested, my family figured they needed to intervene. They gave me a couple of choices. This is the one I took. I figure I need something to occupy me so I don’t end up like Jon. This might be the thing.”