Riveted (41 page)

God, such fripperies could wreck a man’s mind.

She opened her eyes when he closed the journal, put it aside. “Do you think di Fiore read it?”

“Yes. But there’s nothing in there to worry about. I’d only written up to the night in Smoke Cove. I mentioned the fighting machines, but I didn’t mention my opinion of him.”

“I told you about my people that night.”

“Yes. But I only included my opinion of you.”

With a grin, she rolled onto her back and looked up at him. “What is your opinion of me?”

“Fairly positive.” He laughed when she wrinkled her nose at him, shook his head. “That is all I’ll say.”

She flicked her thumb against his leg, but smiled when he pulled her closer, lay against her side. He drew in the clean scent of her hair, brushed his fingers through the springy curls. With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder.

Warmth filled his chest—and a careful hope. “You don’t have to find Källa now.”

“No.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know.” She looked up at him. Flickering lamplight painted a warm glow across her cheek and nose. “We need to get away from here, first.”

“Yes.”

“What do we do about Lorenzo?”

Stop him, if they could. But di Fiore’s fate was second to David’s primary concern. “I’m more worried about getting off this glacier before they attempt to launch that capsule.”

“Do you think the ice will collapse?”

“I don’t know. Lorenzo is concerned about his father’s reputation—and destroying this camp might seem like a good way of making certain that no one ever talks about what truly went on here.”

“Then killing the people in Vik, too.”

“Yes. Di Fiore might play with them for a while, but eventually he’d want to silence them.” And they knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it.

“So he’ll leave everyone here to die—except he’d take Olaf with him.”

“Yes. The boy is a di Fiore.”

Annika nodded against his shoulder. Almost absently, her fingers rolled the runes at his throat, clicking the bones together. “He and Källa have an agreement: She won’t kill him until after his father is gone. I think he’ll leave her behind to die, too.”

“Do you think she’ll wait?”

“She made the promise, so yes. Unless she believes that he’ll take her son—and then may the gods help him. Or not.” She lay quiet for a moment, her fingers twisting, clicking. “If we have to stop him—kill him—I’ll do it this time.”

David frowned. He folded his fingers over hers, stopped the nervous rolling. “We’re not taking turns.”

“I know. But you shouldn’t be the only one to bear that burden.”

“And I’d rather not lay it on you simply to spare myself.” He never wanted her to wake up, feeling the snap of bone beneath her hand. He never wanted her to lie in bed, wondering whether a man she’d killed had a wife, children, and a name. He never wanted her to spend hours trying, yet again, to think of any other option, to imagine any other choice—and knowing that even if one did present
itself to her, that it was already too late. He never wanted her to feel as damned helpless as he had. “If it comes to that, we’ll do what we have to. But I’m more interested in protecting you than killing him, and making certain we leave this camp alive.”

“Yes.” She tilted her face up, pressed her lips to his jaw. “What did you end up writing in your journal?”

“About di Fiore’s experiment. I hate everything that Lorenzo is doing…but if Paolo’s capsule flies at all—even if it fails to reach the edge of the glacier, let alone the moon—I won’t be sorry to have seen it.”

“I won’t, either. It would be a different world if we looked up and knew a man had been up there.”

“Yes.” They’d see everything in a different way. Nothing would seem impossible. “That is what di Fiore might have read.”

“In your journal?”

“Yes—in that last entry. It was after we spoke on
Phatéon
’s deck—when you told me to decide whether everyone in Hannasvik suffered a sickness.” He felt her tense against him, reassured her, “I didn’t write that. Only that now and again, something comes along to change the way I think. Something that completely changes how the world looks. A few years ago, the Society published a journal written by a man in England during the early years of the Horde occupation. He must have been infected, his emotions dampened, but he still wrote—and even though it is all physics and numbers, there must have been passion behind it. A need to pursue his science, which the Horde’s tower hadn’t been able to take away from him.” In David’s experience, there was always passion behind every great discovery and invention. “The journal had been hidden in an attic for over two hundred years, and in them, he describes motion. We already knew many aspects of it—the properties of inertia, the relationship between force and acceleration—but not using the same mathematics, and none of the rules had been unified in the same way before, interrelated in the same way. And then
there were his theories of gravity, which didn’t overturn Hooke’s laws, but refined them, deepened them. One journal absolutely changed how we see so many things, yet now they seem so obvious. Many physicists are still reeling.”

Annika pushed up on her elbow as he spoke, her brown eyes widening with wonder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I like the way you speak of it. That seems incredible.”

She
was incredible. “You did the same to me. You completely turned the world about. It is like paddling along in a canoe and suddenly being capsized—except that as soon as the boat upends, you realize that you’d been paddling along upside down and never realized it because you could breathe and see. And until you take a real breath of air, see what everything looks like without the water distorting the view, you believe that the upside-down world is the way things are. But you tipped me over.”

Tears glittered in her eyes. “You truly wrote that?”

“Yes.” And that he’d fallen in love with her—but it was already so much deeper now. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it. That’s the most wonderful thing anyone has said to me.”

“We are even, then. You’re the most wonderful thing that has happened to me.” His breath stopped when she lowered her head, softly kissed him. David held her, savoring every moment, and when she pillowed her cheek on his shoulder again, said roughly, “We
will
make it off this glacier—and make certain that you can go home again.”

Annika woke alone, missing David’s warmth. She pulled the
blanket tighter around her shoulders, sneaked an arm out to light the lamp.

His coat was still draped atop their trunk, so he must not have gone far. Good. Her world had turned upside down, too, though not in such a marvelous way. But with David here, nothing seemed too terrible to bear.

Did
that
mean she loved him?

It seemed that her feelings for him must be love. Not just need and want, and his wonderful ability to ease them. When she thought of never seeing him, of losing him…that pain wasn’t at all like rivets, but a sword ripping through her gut.

He’d said that he’d make certain she’d reach home again. Annika wasn’t sure where that was anymore.

Footsteps from the snow tunnel drew her gaze to the chamber entrance. David ducked through, his hair wet, his damp shirt clinging to his shoulders. His gaze found hers. His mouth widened into a grin. “I can’t let you smell better than I do.”

Sudden need twisted deep. He bent for his pack and Annika stifled a small moan, watching him. Her gaze slipped over his broad back—so much strength. She wanted to clench her fingers on his shoulders, bite him there. And his hard chest, the tiny nubs of his nipples that she felt through his shirt. She wanted to lick him there. Then his ass, oh, she’d take such a firm grip. He was all muscle beneath those horrid trousers.

She sat up. Cool air slipped through her chemise, teased her tightening nipples. “When we are away from here,” she said, “I will make you a new pair of trousers.”

“Why?” His head lifted. His voice roughened. “Annika.”

No need to ask what he’d seen in her expression. She was starving—and too busy staring at his ass to glance up. “I must tell you something. It might alarm you.”

“Alarm me?”

He straightened—already aroused. A bulge formed behind the front of his trousers. Oh, she had not even seen his erection yet. Only felt his thick shaft in her hands, tasted him. Panting now, remembering, she licked her lips.

“There’s nothing I enjoy more than being with you. You’re an incredible friend, an amazing man. I love the way you talk, what you say—all of it. And when you touch me, it feels as if there’s nothing else in the world but us.” She managed to lift her gaze a little. His damp shirt clung to his stomach. There was muscle there, too, to explore with her hands, her mouth. “But right now, I am looking at you, and I think nothing of how much I love being with you. I think nothing of love at all. I only think that I want you on this bed, to claim every inch of your body for mine, take you deep inside me where you have no escape.”

“Annika.”

There was more than a bulge now. She finally looked up. “I don’t feel at all like a rabbit, David. I feel like a wolf. Does that frighten you?”

He dropped the pack and strode toward her, his gaze feral. In a swift movement, he caught her wrists in his hand, pushed her back down on the bed. His legs trapped hers. He stretched her arms up over her head, his body rising over her, inhaling her scent up the length of her neck.

His voice was a growl against her ear. “Does this?”

He flipped her over onto her stomach. Annika gasped. Strong hands gripped her hips, hauled her up to her knees then pulled her back, grinding the ridge of his erection against her soft flesh. Need ripped through her, pulsing deep and hot.

“I think of this, Annika. Of simply taking you.”

Rough fingers dragged her drawers over her bottom, baring her to his gaze. She heard the buckles of his trousers releasing, then he rocked forward, his thick shaft thrusting into the channel created by her closed thighs. She cried out, her cheek against the mattress, her fingers clenching.

Slowly, he drew back. “I dream of pushing myself deep inside, telling you that you’re mine, mine,
mine
.”

He pounded against her with each “mine,” shattering strokes through her slick folds, his shaft riding against her clitoris—and then stopping, his hips hard against her backside, his erection clamped between her thighs and her need-swollen flesh.

Empty, aching, all but sobbing with desperation, Annika pushed up on her hands, tried to rock back against him. The grip on her hips held her fast. She bowed her head, frustration screaming through her.

“Inside me, David. Please.
Now.
”

With a curse, he dropped his forehead against the back of her shoulder. The tiny movement nudged him deeper, settled him more firmly against her sex. His ragged breath shuddered over her skin, and he gave a tortured moan before slowly pulling away. Though she knew he was right, Annika cried her denial, pushed her hand between her thighs, trying to ease the ache.

David turned her onto her back again. A long, lingering kiss only deepened the sense of loss. He lifted his head, and she saw the same agony on his face.

His voice was tight. “You’re all right? Not frightened.”

“No.” Just dying of need. “Only of how much I want you.”

He gave a short laugh, nodded. “I know.”

Both of them dying. “Can we finish like that? Not inside. Just…rubbing against me.”

A wry expression lifted the corner of his mouth. “I couldn’t for very long. It’s difficult to kneel. But I’ve mastered the crouch.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “I’ll figure out some way. Bending over farther, so that I can put more weight on my hands. Or we’ll try it standing. But for now…”

Sliding down the bed, David pushed her legs apart, draped her thighs over his shoulders. Oh, yes. Anticipation lifted through Annika, rolling her hips.

He looked up, his gaze locked with hers. Slowly, he lowered his head—and before his mouth took her, he growled a single word.

“Mine.”

He’d never be satisfied.

Throughout the morning, the realization distracted David from his study of di Fiore’s survey maps. All of his life, he’d made an effort to concentrate on things that pleased him, and to be content with what he had. He wouldn’t be able to do both with Annika. At the beginning, he’d thought that he could be happy with anything she gave him.

Now he realized that he’d always want more. That he’d never be content until he had all of her.

Not simply making love, though he wanted that so fiercely it ripped through his guts. But whether she took him to her bed or not, David wouldn’t be satisfied until he had her heart.

Even then, he wanted more. He wanted her for the rest of his life. And on his dying breath, he would still want another second with her, another hour, another lifetime.

Falling in love with her had capsized him again, turned another part of him over. Looking at himself, David wasn’t certain if he liked the new view. He’d promised himself that if she ever left him, he’d let her go. Now, David didn’t know if he could. If she left, he feared that he’d break that promise and chase after her.

He prayed that he’d never have to.

“Shall we play this one again?”

David looked up. The suit lay across Paolo’s work table, abandoned. The older man had been sketching the chickens for almost an hour, accompanied by a gramophone. He cranked the device now, and despite his query, they had no choice but to play the same song again. Paolo only owned one wax cylinder recording, a lively arrangement of flutes and drums. David had never heard it before this morning; now he could whistle it in his sleep.

But it didn’t distract him from work—he had only himself to blame for his poor performance that morning…and his memories of Annika, crying out as he thrust against her.

God. He was doing it again.

“That song is fine, yes,” he agreed.

Smiling and cranking, Paolo nodded. A few moments later, he muttered while walking away from the gramophone, without having started the recording.