by Selena Kitt
Boarding the nearly three-hundred-foot ship, he'd been unable to take in his good fortune. His two great loves in life, the Coast Guard—serving his country, and science—serving humanity. In fact, the Guard also served humanity, rescuing people from all nations as a matter of course. But no sooner had they set sail than their mission to open a channel through the thick polar ice for cargo ships was changed.
He hoped his training in officer's candidate school would give him the diplomatic tools he'd need for his current sail, balanced between the rules of the military and international relations. Clearing his throat, he pushed down the emotions the man's comment brought up. If only his dad had lived long enough to see him take charge of this ship…
Charlie had served with Mark's father for over twenty years, and had seen Mark grow up. But the warrant officer never forgot who was captain of the ship, and his loyalty was as notable as his sense of humor and love of military discipline.
Stepping backward toward the rail, Mark prepared to empty the bottle in a less traditional way and maintain his dignity and his post.
"Such an action would not be in the best interests of your country, Captain. Or should I say Dr. King?" The sultry voice, perfect English with only the least trace of a Russian accent, rolled over him, and he froze, his arm suspended above the gray, choppy waves, sea spray chilling his cheeks.
Had the few swallows from the bottle left him delusional? Turning on a heel, he found himself facing not one of the men who had boarded some hours earlier from the Russian research vessel but an improbable sight. The person attached to the voice looked like a propaganda poster for happy, beautiful Russian women.
How had a woman come on board and without anyone making a stink? His father had told of a time when a congresswoman toured a cutter and the skipper insisted on a bow to stern cleansing not beforehand out of respect, but afterward to get rid of the bad luck. Of course, Mark didn't buy into that. Superstitions from the ancient days had no place in the modern US Coast Guard. Technology and discipline would guide any ship safely through even the roughest seas.
Still. No way any female belonged on the deck of Northern Lights. Had some Russian brought along his wife? With a voice like that, could her looks match?
He brought his arm back over the rail, slowly, as if the bottle of premium firewater might explode if he moved too fast. A chocolate-brown parka swathed the woman next to him, from the fur-lined hood around her face to her hips, disguising most of her form. Below that point, her khaki-clad legs went on forever, her slacks finally tucked into boots topped with the same sable. Under straight blonde bangs, long, dark-gold lashes fringed eyes the blue of the Caribbean, the one bright note of the gray day north of the Arctic Circle. Her high cheekbones and the almond slant to her eyes gave her an exotic look, and her full lips needed no cosmetics to enhance their rosiness. A crinkle between her brows reminded him she waited for him to answer her.
What had she asked?
Of course, an introduction. "Captain will do. And you are?"
A Soviet crewman clutching an empty bottle stumbled into her, shoving her against him, and he grasped her waist to steady her. If it had been one of his men, he'd have had him disciplined for disrespect. Vodka or no vodka.
Even through their layers of clothing, her breasts lay heavy against his chest, and his heart responded with a low, weighty thudding. He hadn't been at sea long enough for such an extreme reaction. But then he'd failed to find any time between his last assignment and this to pay a visit to his club, upping his tension and awareness of such an attractive person.
She lay against him for only a moment before he set her away, but it was long enough for his cock to join the party.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
Her gaze cast down for a moment, a hesitation that added to his instant lust, before she lifted her eyes and nodded. "I am o-kay, thank you, Captain. I wish I could say the same about our ship."
The Soviet ship would be lucky to limp the few miles back into its own waters where it could be assisted to port. The WWII era vessel's engine had well and truly gone FUBAR.
"It is a shame, indeed. But your scientific representative will proceed with us, so no more time will be lost." The vodka party alone had cost them hours. Sometimes military traditions could be trying, especially when the most extraordinary scientific discovery in this century waited. "I see your countrymen are heading toward your ship." He crooked his arm. "May I escort you?" Imagine, walking a woman back to her ship as if leaving a dance floor at a high school prom. Or to her seat at a military ceremony. Or to his spanking bench in his private room…
The best way to lose his command was to lose his focus.
Nothing about this mission was ordinary. The highly unusual joint trip into polar ice to investigate the dubious sighting had led to their orders to lead the Russian scientific vessel farther north than the Soviet ship would have been able to manage on its own. Although the Soviets had ice breakers, none had been in the area, or near enough to arrive within a reasonable amount of time. The fact the sighting by one of the Soviet Air Forces' pilots had been in US waters contributed to the decision to work together.
Then the mechanical failure of the Russian ship, leading to the offer from the US to allow a Soviet to travel with them to the area where the sighting occurred. Moscow wanted more personnel, but the Pentagon agreed to only one. A minor response to the violation of US airspace that led to the spotting of the object of their search.
The Soviets had protested, demanded they wait until another ship could arrive from Provideniya to accompany them, but how could they linger? The US government insisted they continue on without delay, reminded them of both the possibility of losing their quarry and of the fact the pilot had been 'blown off course' into airspace where he had no business.
At that, the Party representatives conceded to the urgency of the mission.
But before they could proceed, the Soviet crew, including this female person, must be returned to their vessel. Grasping the woman's hand, Mark tucked it firmly into his elbow. A faint scent of flowers, maybe spices, blew past his nose before the sea wind carried it away.
"I will tell you my name, Captain, when you release me." One corner of her sensual lips quirked. "I admire a strong man, but we are in a public place. Perhaps later."
He jerked his hand back, as if burned. Causing trouble already. Women belonged on land. Or cuffed to the foot of his bed, if she desired.
"I am Dr. Anya Vanikova." She tilted her head, and the hood slid back to reveal a long, golden braid disappearing into her jacket. "If we have time, I would appreciate someone showing me to my quarters so I may prepare for our assignment."
"Our assignment?"
She couldn't be serious.
He took her in again, from the top of her shiny hair, pausing at her too-blue eyes, high cheekbones, and stopping on her sensual lips, which were forming words he didn't want to hear.
"As I just stated, I am Dr. Vanikova, assigned to your ship. The one person allowed by your superiors." The woman watched him through narrowed eyes, waiting for him to have one of his busy crew usher her to some sort of guest quarters. Did her misconceptions about the US people extend to thinking their military ships were pleasure vessels? "As I understand it, the serpent spotted by our pilot bore a sharp resemblance to a creature described by the Inuit peoples."
"Ma'am, that is, Dr. Vanikova, there has to have been some sort of misunderstanding. The Northern Lights does not now, nor ever will she, have women's quarters." What would his father say? Or do? Of course, as the first commissioned officer in his family, he was the first one to make a call like this. His father would have left the decision to the captain. A college education before enlisting had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he'd never expected to face sea serpents and Russian women on his first mission as captain. "I am afraid you will have to reboard your ship and, if your government would like to participate in this mission, send over a male scientist."
> She tilted her chin up and met his gaze. "Nyet. I am the leading expert in the USSR—in the world—on the phenomena of this type, Captain. I will not be dismissed like some… some shluha vokzal'naja."
He was afraid to ask what that meant, but also fascinated by the flush traveling from her cheeks to the collarbone just visible above the parka and also by her small, leather-gloved hands fisted at her sides. Gentling his tone, he said, "I understand you are disappointed, but we have no accommodations for a lady. It's just not done." He took her elbow again, so small in his big mitt. "I will escort you back to your ship and explain to the captain why other arrangements must be made." What were the odds such a beauty would be a biologist? Okay, attractive maybe, but so polished and speaking such good English. But then, if she had no scientific knowledge, it would show quickly with her as the only representative of her ship on board his. Perhaps she also held qualifications for two careers? Biologist and spy?
Would the Soviets be interested in the technology on their ship? What else could it be?
She laughed, a low sound that traveled down his spine and woke up his cock again. "I'm afraid it is no longer up to us, Captain." She waved toward the dot disappearing off the port bow, a trail of black smoke on the horizon telling the tale of its engine troubles. "My ship has already headed for home, and you are, I believe you say, stuck with me."
He parted his lips to shout an order to follow the ship then his shoulders sagged. They were already close to Russian waters and the other ship well within them. To enter without permission or prior arrangement could lead to a career-ending incident. Not the way to handle his first command. He might be the first officer in the family, but he didn't intend to be the first to receive a black mark on his service record.
"Don't look so tragic, Captain. I can sleep anywhere. I require no special space."
And wouldn't that just be dandy. He pictured his men heading down to their racks to find a gorgeous Russian woman hanging out her dainties in the head. "I'm afraid the crew is already going to be unsettled to have you on board. I cannot violate their privacy by asking them to share quarters with a woman."
She arched a straight brow. "Then I suppose I will have to roll up in a blanket here on deck." A light dusting of snow had begun to fall while they spoke, dusting her hood, the deck, and everyone and everything else. By morning, she'd be a sexy snow woman. "If you can spare a blanket?"
Gritting his teeth, Captain King held back his thoughts on her ridiculous remark and made the most difficult decision of his command so far. "I can't waste any more time on this. Dr. Vanikova, please accompany me to my quarters." He leaned in close. "And I will ask that you keep to them unless I or one of my officers is with you. I will not have my crew disturbed in their work." Or you wandering the deck, snooping.
"How generous of you to share your accommodations with me."
Double timing along the deck, he dragged her behind him toward his quarters near the wheelhouse. "I will bunk with another officer until we are able to restore you to the ship your government is sending behind us.
The doctor dug in her heels, and he jerked to a stop, amazed such a delicate-looking woman could be so strong. "So I am to peer out your pothole and hope to make observations in that way?
"Porthole and yes, ma'am. My men are busy all day and into the night training and practicing procedures, and once we hit the ice, everyone will be twice as busy. I cannot have them distracted and endanger all on the ship."
She lapsed into silence. He observed her flushed cheeks and the dangerous glint like sunlight in the Caribbean blue of her eyes, and considered his options.
He didn't have any, did he? With the Soviet vessel limping out of sight, he would be stuck with the distracting, possibly espionage-prone female for at least a few days. "Let's get you settled in then we'll talk to Washington and find out exactly how they want us to handle the situation."
"Or I could accompany you now." Did all Soviet women have husky voices like hers? Of course they didn't, but every time she spoke, his cock jerked in response. How unprofessional of him, both as a captain and a Dom. If only he could get the image of her cuffed to his bed out of his head. Control was his watchword.
"No, the less the men have to deal with you on board, the safer we will all be." He gripped her wrist. "To my cabin."
She stared at his hand, but he held it steady. "Are you in the habit of manhandling women, Captain?" She licked her lips, the nervous tell a contradiction to her sharp tone.
He eyed her from head to foot, taking her measure. Despite her strong words, he sensed something else lay underneath. "I am in the habit of having my orders obeyed on my ship. If you find that impossible, there is one other option—the brig. For the moment, it is unoccupied." And had been for the entire mission. His men displayed impeccable behavior. Even after their interlude with the vodka, they seemed to be handling themselves as usual. And he wanted to keep it like that. However, while the barred enclosure would get her out from underfoot, she would be too close to the men and still able to talk to them and be visible for any err… private actions.
His cock liked that idea even better, even as he knew gratification of his particular interests would not be possible on board the ship or, to his regret, ever with the woman who tapped her booted toe in impatience. He'd never be able to snap his cuffs on the wrist he gripped and spend hours tormenting her with pleasure and a little pain before giving her the orgasm of a lifetime. Wasn't she the perfect type to seduce a hapless captain, though?
"Tell me your secrets, Captain…"
To which he'd have to tell her the truth. "I have none."
He would have to make some up to get her strapped to the back of his door, spread wide and vulnerable.
A young lieutenant approached and saluted, and Mark dropped his hand from the woman's arm. The man passed him a clipboard, and he reviewed the contents. A safety drill was about to commence, one he had planned to observe, but circumstances made his attendance impossible. "Please ask the XO to report to me in Communications upon completion of the drill."
"Aye, Captain." The lieutenant saluted again and spun on a heel with crisp military precision. Very crisp. Very unlike his respectful but just a little casual crew.
As he marched off, Mark rolled his eyes and returned his attention to their guest. "Ma'am, Doctor, please follow me to the communications center. I may have been too hasty. It is imperative we both report in to our respective governments and receive their direction." He had no procedures in place for accommodating a woman on board the Northern Lights. Perhaps his superiors did.
She bent her graceful neck in a nod of agreement and strolled at his side on the rolling deck toward the bridge. "Thank you, Captain."
"Perhaps they can offer guidance."
She flashed a grin that lit up her face as the sun broke through the thick clouds and showed the handful of pale freckles on her creamy cheeks. "They are government officials, Captain. We cannot hope for too much." She shrugged. "However, it is not us but the mission that matters. If there is indeed some sort of serpent slithering along under the ice, we must put aside our differences to find it."
As he held open the hatch leading to their destination, he chuckled. "You make it sound like some sort of monster of myth. Most likely your pilot who reported it had been exposed to solar radiation that affected his vision, and of course there are no pictures."
"Do you find it so difficult to believe that our pilots can report accurately what they observe? Just because your bloated capitalist government doubts us does not make us less than competent—"
A sailor approached down the passageway, and Mark held a finger to his lips. "The actual objective of this mission is on a need-to-know basis. Meaning, until we get a lot closer, only a few of the officers know what we are looking for."
She subsided until the man passed them, saluting before disappearing through the doorway behind them. As they started on again, she murmured, "My hunt for yet another creature of myth."
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Unsure whether she'd intended him to hear, he continued on without responding to either comment. "The original intent was that we clear the way for your ship with all its equipment but, under the circumstances, we will have to make some changes to ensure the safety and efficiency of the voyage."
They arrived at the communications center to find the two-man watch busy and efficient as usual. Mark's luck in obtaining this command amazed him every day. He knew the increasing number of scientific missions in the polar seas had led him to receive this assignment. There were a number of officers with seniority who would have liked it, but a word from his former commander convinced the powers that be of his value as a scientist as well as an officer.
He'd been promised a lot of very dull trips—if being on an ice breaker could possibly be dull—escorting scientific missions taking water samples… With him on board, they might be doing some sampling on their own.
The oil companies were beginning to show great interest in the northernmost areas as well.
And of course the USCG stood ready to uphold US marine law and come to the assistance of ships in danger either in US or international waters.
"How am I going to contact my government?"
The husky voice returned his attention to the moment and the twist his already out-of-the-ordinary journey had taken. Snapping alert, Mark issued orders, and within a half hour, they received instructions to motor with all speed to the location where the serpent had been spotted, to extend every courtesy to Dr. Vanikova, and to report their findings as soon as possible. They did not give quartering directions. But what options did he have but his own cabin?
Anya—Dr. Vanikova—was unable to be patched through to her government due to some weather issues, but she agreed to follow the directives given for the Northern Lights and its crew for the time being.