by Nina Bruhns
“Yeah, about that,” she said, her tone still guarded but at once less prickly. “What on earth is going on tonight? Starpom Varnas tried to tell me, but I didn’t understand a word he was saying. Something about bathing suits and blue noses?”
Nikolai laughed at her confounded expression, his own tension easing somewhat. “No, tonight is just a party to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve. Though I understand there’ll be a special appearance by Lord Ægir in preparation for the Arctic Circle crossing. That’s when the Bluenose ceremony he was talking about will take place.”
Her expression became even more uncomprehending. “Bluenose ceremony?”
“You’ve not heard of the Royal Order of the Bluenose? The secret society only those who cross over the Arctic Circle may join?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “What gives?”
As he explained the centuries-old tradition, about the verbal and physical trials she’d be put through, he realized how glad he was that she was opening up to him again, if only on an impersonal level. He didn’t like it when they were at odds with each other. It had nothing to do with his diminished chances of getting her naked again. He just liked talking to her. She was smart, funny, curious, and genuine. He’d never met a woman who was so interested in the world around her, or had so much honest empathy for those she encountered.
He wished he could take her to his family’s dacha and spend a whole month just lying on the bear rug talking with her. Da. All right, talking and making love. He could tell they had much to teach each other. In both areas.
Too bad there was no possibility of that ever happening.
After he’d told her how several of the officers would dress up as ancient gods and, in the name of the King of the Northern Seas, put the warm-blooded pollywog initiates through a set of cold, wet, disgusting trials designed to test their worthiness to enter the king’s icy realm, Julie looked askance.
“Jeez Louise. That sounds awful! How do I get out of it?” she asked in trepidation.
Nikolai shook his head. “If you want to keep the respect of anyone on the boat, you must take part. It’s all in fun, but on a navy vessel, rituals like this can make or break a man’s—or woman’s—reputation.”
He could see his meaning slowly sink in, and her focus shifted across the room to the two crew members who were doing last-minute checks to the torpedo tube. “And since by now everyone on the boat knows we’re lovers,” she said levelly, “my actions reflect on you.” She didn’t sound particularly pleased at that revelation.
“Are we?” he asked. “Still lovers?” Despite their conflict, he didn’t want to give that up.
She looked down at her sneakers. “The crew thinks we are.”
Not what he’d wanted to hear. But at least she hadn’t said no.
He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek, glad when she didn’t move away from his touch. “The trials aren’t for days yet. You’ll do fine. Tonight I gather it’s just some kind of mock interrogation.” He dropped his hand and smiled. “To add a little spice to the barbecue.”
“Interrogation about what?” she asked with a frown.
His smile turned sardonic. “Trumped-up charges, supposed infractions against the God of the Northern Realm. Whatever’s most embarrassing for each pollywog, would be my guess.”
She closed her eyes briefly, looking pained. “Swell. You know what that means.”
Da, he knew. He was prepared to face the inevitable ribald comments. He just hoped she wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Though he was ready to step in if things went too far.
“What if I can’t or won’t answer?” she asked.
“That’s where the bathing suit comes in.”
Her eyes popped, scandalized. “You can’t be serious.”
“Just be happy it’s not winter. You haven’t lived until you’ve run naked across an icy submarine deck in a blizzard.”
Her worried expression froze, wide-eyed.
“Don’t worry. No nakedness in mixed company,” he reassured her with a wink.
“It wasn’t the nudity I was worried about,” she muttered.
“Oh?” he said, his interest piquing.
She rolled her eyes. “Stop.”
She looked so cutely perturbed and irritated with him he wanted to lean over and kiss her. He was sorely tempted.
But she must have sensed his thoughts, for she turned away. “Don’t,” she whispered.
“Dorogaya—”
She pointedly moved her laptop over her breasts, as though setting up a shield between them. “I still don’t get what all that has to do with blue noses,” she said, refusing to discuss anything more personal.
He reluctantly accepted her boundaries and didn’t push. “If you pass your tests,” he explained, “the tip of your nose is painted blue to signify acceptance into the order. You’ll also get a certificate. Suitable for framing.”
She swore softly and rubbed the end of her nose, but didn’t get a chance to comment before Walker interrupted again.
“Okay.” Walker pulled his headphones out from his ears and held them there. “I’ve got a nice variety of useful and annoying sound signatures uploaded, and the simulator is programmed. Ready to input course and coordinates when you are, Skipper.”
“All right, then,” Nikolai said. With a long exhale, he switched gears. “Let’s go harass these bastards.”
18
Miraculously, the Chinese Shang-class 093 gave up and slunk off into the depths of the Pacific. Victory!
It took a few hours, but Nikolai’s strategy worked like a charm. Walker had programmed the simulator to lower the decibel level of the noise by increments as the distance grew between Ostrov and the 093, and that had served as a kind of positive reinforcement toward the desired end. The further the enemy sub backed off, the less raucous the music and sounds were blasted at it. The Shang class slowed, then veered, and finally turned to steam off Ostrov’s sonar screen for good.
Or so Julie heard. She’d left the boys and their toys after a half hour or so of observation, filled with a whole new understanding of the kind of man who became a submariner: one with patience, cunning, nerves of steel . . . and a very perverse sense of humor.
She had watched the initial launch with interest, feeling the fine hairs on her arms rise when the 093 reacted to the first burst of noise by turning hard and flooding its torpedo tubes to defend against an unexpected attack, then, when the commander finally realized what was going on, maneuvering like an elephant stalking a mouse to try and rid itself of the persistent annoyance. But the much smaller UUV was quick and agile, Nikolai’s command of battle maneuvers impressive, and Walker was a veritable pinball wizard on the joystick.
The huge nuclear submarine didn’t stand a chance.
The whole story quickly sped through Ostrov from man to man, embellished more and more each time it was retold, and was the main topic of conversation at every watch station before and after the Chinese made their ignominious retreat.
As Julie made her way along the main deck a few hours later, the entire crew were still laughing and joking at the nose thumbing their clever captain had given his enemy counterpart. She was on her way to the mess hall, planning to sit at a table until lunch and bang out a couple more articles while her laptop processed the latest batch of photos she’d taken in her quest for the SD card. How she would send it all to her boss without a phone, she had no idea. But she needed to take a break from the search. She was going cross-eyed, and the crew was starting to wonder what she found so fascinating about pipes and fixtures. The artist friend excuse went only so far.
A little while before lunch started, Nikolai strode in, heading for the coffee urn.
“Congratulations on the sound defeat,” she told him as she joined him for a top-up to her own mug.
He made a face at her unintended pun. “Thanks.”
“I am truly astounded it worked.”
His answering smile held the satisfactio
n of victory, with a hint of amusement thrown in. “Don’t tell anyone, but me, too.” He put his mug under the spigot and filled it with the strongly aromatic coffee. “But they’ll be back soon enough.”
“You think?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re just humoring us.” He slanted her a glance. “We both know why they’re here. They won’t give up quite so easily.”
A wave of apprehension purled through her. “No. I suppose not. I just wish I knew what they’re planning.”
“Watch and wait is my guess. Not much else they can do without causing a huge international incident.” Looking grim, he took a sip of the coffee.
She wondered if he was thinking about his own unfortunate international incident . . . wishing things had gone differently. It was incredibly brave of him to risk further criticism from his superiors by striking out at the Chinese sub as he had. Or incredibly stupid. Or maybe just his way of fiddling while Rome was burning.
He met her gaze. Earlier, she’d been too busy avoiding looking at him to notice, but now she saw his eyes were lined with fatigue and smudged with shadows.
“You look tired,” she said. “Have you gotten any sleep at all?”
His lashes dipped languorously. “Not really.” His lips curved slightly. “I got distracted by someone last night.”
Her cheeks warmed at the way he looked at her. It was a gaze not filled with thoughts of cold collisions, but redolent with the heated memory of what they had done together in his bed just hours before. Before being reminded how impossible it all was.
“Nikolai . . .” But her warning died on her tongue as her body flushed with a sudden, powerful awareness of him as her lover. She looked down and gripped her empty coffee cup, feeling the emptiness between her legs. Damn, she missed him. How was that possible?
But the truth was, she was tired, too. Of keeping her feelings in check and holding him at bay because of politics. Politics had nothing to do with them as people. As lovers.
As though sensing the longing that sifted through her, he stepped closer. “Come with me to the stateroom,” he urged softly, his voice deep and seductive.
She rallied and allowed herself a little smile. “If I do, I doubt you’ll get much sleep.”
“Sleep is highly overrated,” he said, beginning to lift his coffee cup to his lips again.
A feeling of overwhelming need swept over her, paralyzing her good sense. Without considering the consequences, she put out her hand and covered the cup with her fingers. His gaze jerked up.
Her heartbeat sped at the folly of what she was about to do.
“You go,” she whispered. She swallowed heavily. “I’ll come to you later. After you get some rest.”
His eyes captured hers. Wary. Hopeful. “You’re not still angry with me?”
She was. But in the end it didn’t matter. His heated exchange with Clint Walker reverberated in her mind like the toll of a wakeup call.
I’m trying to protect her.
Betrayal works both ways. . . .
She was probably making the worst decision of her life. But she needed him to understand she would never betray him, either. That wasn’t what this mission was about.
And, oh, how she simply wanted him!
She wanted to feel his arms around her again, his lips moving over her aching flesh. She wanted to banish the loneliness, if only for a few moments of reckless abandon, even though she knew it could never last.
She met his drowning gaze. “Anger’s highly overrated, too,” she said softly.
She was such a fool.
Slowly he lowered his cup. “All right,” he said, still searching her face for possible misunderstanding. There was none to find. “When will you come?”
As soon as you touch me.
“In a few hours,” she said. “You need to sleep first.”
She felt his fingers touch her cheek as he bent down to brush his lips over hers. “Make it soon, dorogaya. I’ll be waiting,” he murmured.
And then he was gone.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm.” The envious hum of approval came from the open passageway, snapping Julie out of the spell of Nikolai’s tender kiss. “I’m surprised I didn’t vaporize from the heat in here. And trust me, it wasn’t coming from the galley stove.”
Julie smiled in embarrassment as Josh strolled into the compartment, maple leaf–decorated mug in hand, laptop tucked under his armpit, and a knowing grin gracing his elfin face.
“How is it you always manage to witness my greatest moments of weakness?” she asked him.
His grin spread. “Damn. The drama unfolding on this sub is better than Tolstoy.”
“Hopefully with a better ending,” she said ruefully.
He just raised a dubious eyebrow.
“Oh, hell,” she half groaned. How could one so young be so damned perceptive? “I am so screwed.”
Thankfully, she was spared further disheartening insights into her future when Dr. Lautenen hurried into the mess. “Oh, good,” she said when she spotted Julie. “There you are, Miss Severin.”
Josh gave Julie a salute with his mug and sauntered off, back in the direction he’d come.
“Hi, Dr. Lautenen. Can I help you with something?” Julie asked.
The Finnish scientist was plain and a shade heavy, but her face had very nice bone structure and there was a youthful sparkle in her pretty blue eyes.
“Oh, no. I just came to— Here.” The other woman held out what looked like a pair of shorts to Julie. “I hear from Praporshchik Selnikov you don’t have a bathing suit with you,” she said. “Borrow these if you want. They are terribly old and ratty, and probably not the best fit, but better than trying to peel off wet jeans. I’m not too old to remember what that’s like.” She smiled mischievously.
Julie blinked. It took her a second of mental scrambling, but then she remembered. The ceremony. They’d be crossing the international date line in just a few hours.
“Oh! Thank you. Very much. I think.” She took the shorts and smiled uncertainly, noting that the older woman was considerably less plain today. She was wearing eye makeup and lipstick.
“I can see you’re worried about tonight,” Dr. Lautenen said. “Don’t be. It’ll be great fun. You’ll see.” She glanced at the galley and lifted her nose in the air. “My goodness, don’t those ribs smell wonderful?”
“They do,” Julie admitted. Her mouth had started watering shortly after she’d arrived in the mess, when the enticing odors of slow Southern cooking had started wafting out from the galley, accompanied by the cheerful sound of Rufus Edwards whistling. “That part I’m very much looking forward to.”
Dr. Lautenen laughed cheerfully. “And the beer.” She winked. “Well, I’ll see you later. Work to do before pleasure.”
Julie thanked her again for the shorts and gave her a wave, tamping down a spark of anticipation at the reminder of the pleasures that awaited her in the stateroom.
A vision of Nikolai’s hard body and intense lovemaking shivered through her. Lord, she could hardly wait.
But she must. He needed some sleep. And she also had things to do before she could enjoy the pleasures of his bed.
Nikolai was catching up on his paperwork when Julie came to him. He’d been waiting impatiently, too restless and aroused to sleep more than a couple of hours. He kept dreaming about her.
He wanted her here in the flesh.
The door finally opened and she stepped in, looking first over at the empty bunk, then peeking around to see him sitting at his desk.
“Come in.” He beckoned, a rush of gratification filling him that she’d actually come. He hadn’t been totally certain she would. “Lock the door,” he ordered.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked as she obeyed.
His body stirred. “Waiting for you to join me there.” He tossed down his pen and closed the log he’d been working on, then turned the chair so he was facing her. “Come here,” he said and patted his knee.
She smiled entic
ingly and walked slowly over to him. He took the things she was carrying and set them on the desk, then guided her to straddle his legs, face-to-face. “What took you so long?”
“I wanted you rested.” She sank onto his lap and melted into his embrace, her thighs hugging his, her arms lining his shoulders, her warm breasts nestling against the wall of his chest.
He pulled her close, feeling like he’d landed somewhere just this side of heaven.
He needed to taste her. He put his mouth to hers and she moaned softly, opening to him, whispering his name with a needy sigh. “Nikolai.”
He loved to hear the sound of it on her lips, her soft American accent making the common name sound arousingly exotic. And deeply personal. Like he was the only man in the world who could answer her whispered call.
God, he wanted to be that man.
“Liesha,” he murmured into her mouth as he deepened the kiss, pretending, for a while at least, that it was true. That he would be able to kiss her and hold her like this whenever he wanted, beyond the few stolen hours they could spend together on Ostrov.
With another soft groan of pleasure, she tightened her arms around his neck. As though she never wanted to let him go, either.
Frustration roared through him, and he pressed his lips to hers, hard and demanding. He pulled her closer still, kissing her rougher, more urgently. He kissed her senseless, kissed himself witless, kissed and kissed her until the only thought in his head was how hot and good she tasted and felt in his arms. He wanted to consume her, to fill his senses with the taste and feel and smell of her. To touch her everywhere, to rock himself in the cradle of her warm, welcoming body.
But he held back, feeding his overwhelming need on the sweet succor of her mouth. To make it last . . . a lifetime. His hand fisted in her silky hair, and he held her fast as he plumbed her velvety depths.
Her response was dazzling. Her body writhed against his with every wet dip of his tongue. Her fingers pulled his hair and dug into the back of his neck, kneading his flesh to the rhythm of his strokes.
Finally he could take it no longer. He wound her long auburn hair around his hand and bent her backward. And began to lick his way down to her breasts, losing himself in the warm, fragrant taste of her soft flesh.