She was like a beautiful siren of the old legends, luring a hapless sailor to certain doom and destruction.
And yet Nikolai couldn’t turn away from Julie. He had to have her. Couldn’t get enough of her. So he took her.
Then he took her again.
And like a siren, she sang for him. In sweet moans and soft cries she filled his solitary stateroom with the sounds of her pleasure. And filled him with the need to claim her as his own. To keep her under him. To touch her as she had touched him. Deep, deep inside, where flesh could never reach.
“Nikolai,” she whispered as they floated down from the last intense climax. “Oh, Nikolai.”
All he could manage was a groan of agreement. After long moments, he dragged himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her, his mind muzzy with satiety and satisfaction. He had well and truly conquered her, and she had surrendered to him.
Or . . . had he been the one to surrender?
“That,” she said with a deep sigh, “was amazing.
You
are amazing.”
He leaned down to kiss her, a thorough, drugging kiss of total possession. He
felt
amazing. And finally in control.
“And you,” he murmured when he lifted from the kiss, “are mine now.”
She opened her eyes, and her body stirred under his. She gazed up at him, her kiss-reddened lips parting. Her tongue peeked out and swiped over the lower one, making him want to lick the glistening moisture from it, as he had more intimate parts of her earlier.
Her expression became uneasy and she said, “Nikolai, this doesn’t change anything.”
He lifted his brows.
“Other than make things a lot more complicated,” she amended softly.
He supposed that was a matter of opinion. Things seemed suddenly simple and straightforward. She’d given herself to him, and now she was in his power. If he was smart and planned carefully, he could win over the girl and keep his job. He’d have to coax her over to work for his side. But there was plenty of time for that. He had every confidence in his powers of persuasion.
And then . . .
What?
For the first time since being given this mission, it occurred to him to wonder what would happen after he’d completed his assignment of winning her affections and learning her objective, and had successfully turned her into an asset. What about their future? The future they might have together if she changed her allegiance . . . ?
He almost smiled. Why not? He did
not
want to give her up.
Wouldn’t his dear comrade father love that? His disgraced son consorting with an American double agent. Ah, the shame of it.
Then he thought of his mother, and the photo in her cedar box.
And Julie’s father.
Both shot on the streets of Moscow
.
He banished the specious thoughts. That wasn’t going to happen to Julie. She was his now and he would keep her safe. He’d make damn sure of that.
“You’re wrong,” he told her. “It’s not complicated at all. Because this”—he moved between her thighs—“
does
change things between us. You’re mine.
Mine.
”
She gave him a soft smile, sliding her hands down his back in a loose hug. “Yes. For now.”
“For as long as we choose,” he said.
She sighed. “No. That’s not possible. I wish it were, Nikolai. I really do. But we have to face reality. This is just sex. Nothing more.”
It
was
more. She just didn’t see it yet.
But she would. Eventually.
He wasn’t about to argue when there were much more pleasant diversions with which to occupy themselves in the meantime. He grasped her jaw and kissed her again.
All at once there was a loud rapping at the door.
“Kapitan!”
He cursed under his breath. He loved being a submariner, but privacy on board was nonexistent. Not that it usually mattered. But this was not the usual underway. Not remotely.
He gave his lover a regretful kiss on the nose. “Talk to me!” he called out in Russian, already sliding off her and reaching for his discarded towel.
“The IDA-59 drill, sir,” a voice called back. Borovsky. “It’s scheduled to start in fifteen minutes, in the mess. And, uh . . .”
Nikolai swung the door partially open, the towel hastily wrapped around his middle. “And?” he prompted when the OOD’s ears turned bright red.
“I-I’m truly sorry to i-interrupt,
Kapitan
.”
“Don’t be. I expect you to do your job. Was there anything else?”
“Miss, um, Severin should report to
Kvartirmyeister
Kresney to collect her breathing apparatus. As, um, soon as possible.”
Nikolai nodded and combed his fingers through his mussed hair. “We’ll be there shortly. Thank you,
Starshina
Borovsky.”
He closed the door and turned to Julie. She’d sat up and was holding the blanket over her naked body. Her face was as red as Borovsky’s ears.
“Drill?” she asked, mildly surprising him by not dissolving into mortified maidenly laments at being discovered together. He liked that about her. She wasn’t given to drama like most other women he’d known. Besides, there wasn’t much they could do about it. Nor did he want to. It was far more honorable to acknowledge their relationship than to try to deny it, leaving her to fend for herself. This way she was under his protection. The crew would treat her with respect.
As he got dressed, he explained about the IDA drill and the reason for it—Yasha finding a malfunction in the atmosphere production equipment. He observed her carefully as he talked, watching for any sign of guilt or recognition. He saw only alarm.
“Are you saying someone may have
sabotaged
our air supply?” she asked, clearly appalled.
He hadn’t said it. But now that she had . . . “Are you saying you didn’t?” he asked bluntly.
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you
kidding
? I’m pretty sure death by toxic asphyxiation isn’t a whole lot better than death by drowning in icy water. And you know how I feel about
that
idea.” She shivered violently.
He did up the buttons on his fresh uniform shirt. Call him a fool, but he believed her. “In that case, any clue who might have done it?”
She blinked. “Me? How would I know?”
He puffed out a breath. Her prevarication was really starting to grate on him. Okay, so she was a spy, and her job was to lie. But devil take it, now that they’d—
He cut off the thought.
Nothing
.
They’d fucked. For now that was all it was. He’d wanted it to mean more—to him it
did
mean more—but she’d soundly rejected that idea, not five minutes ago. He had to remember that, and not be deluded into thinking she was on the same page with him.
Not yet, anyway. That would come later.
“Liesha,” he said, unconsciously transforming her first name to its Russian diminutive, a token of affection and familiarity. To call her Julie after such intimacy would be an insult. He sat down on the disheveled bunk next to her and took her hand earnestly. “Can we not be honest with each other now? If indeed there is a saboteur on board that neither you nor I know of, he is surely an enemy to us both,
nyet
?”
She was silent for a moment, and he could see her weighing the situation’s implications. “You said it might not be sabotage,” she said at length, skirting the real issue.
Irritation flared within him. “True. But it would be folly to ignore the possibility. Why not work together to find out for certain?”
“How?”
He gave her a stern look. “You could start by confessing why you’re here on
Ostrov
. Tell me why they sent you and what you’re looking for.”
Her gaze slid away. “You know I can’t do that.”
Well. Miracles. At least she’d finally admitted—if obliquely—she
was
looking for something. “You are determined to make my life difficult, aren’t you?”
“You call this difficult?” With a curve of her lips, she slanted the bunk a glance.
And just like that, irritation or no, he wanted her again.
Difficult? Hell, he was maddeningly easy when it came to this woman.
“Get dressed,” he ordered with a swallowed curse, checking the clock. He rose and snagged his cap from its hook by the door. “You are not excused from the IDA drill just because you’re . . . making the captain’s life difficult.”
She grinned shyly, and for some unfathomable reason he was sure she thought they’d reached some kind of unspoken understanding. He wasn’t sure why, or even about what, but even he felt the wall between them had become a little less solid. And not because of the incredible sex they’d just shared.
Da
. Maybe it was a little about the sex.
Okay, a lot.
Or . . . maybe he’d simply lost all capacity for reason and gone completely delusional.
That
was not outside the realm of possibility, either.
He paused on the way out and looked over his shoulder at her. “You
will
tell me,” he said by way of warning. “If you trust nothing else, trust me on this,
dorogaya moya
. Sooner or later, you will tell me what you’re up to.”
He left her staring after him, a look of consternation on her face. Because she must surely know he meant every word.
“Как дела?” Nikolai asked
Kvartirmyeister
Kresney.
Not that he needed to ask how the drill was going.
“Пиздец,” came Kresney’s quick reply.
Goatfuck
.
Yeah. That was pretty obvious.
Nikolai had left the
kvartirmyeister
and
Starpom
Stefan Mikhailovich Varnas in charge here in the mess hall, and slipped out to check on things in the central post—which had been fine—then stepped into the radio room to see if there’d been any further dispatches—which there hadn’t.
Ostrov
was still being ignored by fleet headquarters. Big shock.
“I looked at that microcard you dropped off earlier,”
Lyeĭtenant
Danya Petrov had said then. “Not much on it.”
“Really?” Nikolai said, somewhat surprised. “Are you sure you found everything?”
“
Da
. It’s not really possible to conceal anything on a small device like this. Not like a packed mega-terabyte computer hard drive with plenty of nooks and crannies to hide things in.”
Nikolai nodded. “Okay, so what did you find?”
“It looks like it was used for a phone of some sort.”
“A satellite phone.”
“Yeah. There was a directory of phone numbers stored on it, and an article written about one of the scientist’s projects. On coral gardens. I checked, and the article has already appeared online, on an American newspaper’s website. There were a few differences in some of the words and phrases.” Petrov shrugged. “My English is not good enough to tell if they’re anything important. I printed copies of both for you to compare.”
Nikolai took the printouts. “Excellent.”
“I assume the phone belongs to the woman reporter on board,” the
lyeĭtenant
said leadingly. Had word already gotten around about them?
Nikolai didn’t comment. “What else did you find?”
“A bunch of photos of the interior of the submarine. And that’s it, sir. Nothing more.”
“Anything unusual about the photos?” he asked.
“Not that I could tell. God knows why she wants them.” The
lyeĭtenant
grabbed a thumb drive off his console. “However, I took the liberty of making a copy of the entire card for you, sir, photos and all.”
Nikolai took it from him. “Well done. Perhaps I shall borrow Miss Severin’s laptop to take a look at them.”
Danya Petrov grinned at him. “
Da, Kapitan
. Very good idea.”
As Nikolai had made his way back to check on the IDA drill, he considered the likelihood of whether or not she’d allow him to touch her precious notebook computer. It seldom left her possession. The only time he’d seen her without it was up on the bridge—no doubt due to the rain. But as he’d approached the mess hall, all thoughts of Julie’s laptop had fled.
The place was in chaos. People shouting. IDA devices flying. Tempers flaring.
Thinking it would be a good way to get everyone mingling, initially he’d had the officers task the off-duty crewmen with teaching the scientists how to don the masks and work the IDA rebreathers. But the language barrier had turned the exercise into a circus. Apparently too few of his men spoke any English, and of the scientists, only Edwards, Professor Sundesvall, and the Finnish professor, Arja Lautenen, spoke Russian. It was unbelievable how many otherwise competent people thought merely shouting could make someone understand a foreign language.
Goatfuck? More like clusterfuck.
Nikolai now strode straight to the comm, grabbed the 1MC mike, and in a firm voice ordered the crew to stop what they were doing.
There was instant silence.
“I want everyone not on duty to report to damage control stations,” he ordered his crew, then keyed off the mike.
“Starpom!”
Nikolai turned to Stefan Mikhailovich.
The
starpom
’s dark head swiveled from where he stood overseeing a rating who had been adjusting a mask strap for Julie.
“Da, Kapitan?”
“Assign each of the scientists a post as his or her battle station. And make damn sure someone in that compartment can act as a competent interpreter. Quickly, before a war breaks out.”
“Da, Kapitan.”
Stefan Mikhailovich hurried off to poll the men as to their language skills.
Then Nikolai gathered the scientists together and explained that they would each be assigned a place where they were supposed to go immediately in case of an emergency, any emergency. There would be one person at every station who spoke the other language.
“Is there a reason we’re doing this?” Arja Lautenen demanded. “We’ve never had to put on these things before or keep them with us. Are you
expecting
an emergency, Captain?”