Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

men.”
    The railroad man? “Did they say so?”
    “No. But Paolo di Fiore is one of the few men in the world who could imagine a submersible like this and build one that works. And they’ve been hiring hundreds of Castilians and bringing them to Iceland.”
    Who also spoke Spanish, and who were now in possession of a whale that only di Fiore could create. David’s conclusions made sense, but she still couldn’t understand why . “You think di Fiore is paying them to destroy ships and kill their crews? And the only reason is to steal engines? Why would they agree to that?”
    And why wouldn’t di Fiore just buy the engine instead?
    “Not every man would do something like this, for any amount of money. But di Fiore’s son might have picked out the ones who wanted blood. He likes to put people in particular situations, just to see what they do.”
    Horrifying. “And the drill?”
    “He has some idea of exploiting the volcanic activity on the peninsula south of Smoke Cove. Perhaps it’s for that.”
    Had they traveled all the way back to the west side of the island? “How long did I sleep?”
    “Only half an hour.”
    Not that far, then, unless the whale’s tail propelled the submersible faster than any vessel she’d ever heard of. “Should we continue to wait? It’s dark outside by now.”
    “We’ll wait. Komlan said di Fiore had a camp on the southern rim; we’re probably there now. If so, this submersible might not be manned overnight. Most of the camp should be asleep by midnight. We’ll go then.”
    “On foot?” They could be a hundred miles from nowhere. “Not in winter.”
    “Perhaps we’ll find a boat or a balloon.”
    And perhaps they’d have to run for their lives. Best to rest until then.
    Finding sleep again was difficult, however, despite her exhaustion. Her fatigue wasn’t so deep and her fear wasn’t so sharp, and they couldn’t overwhelm the awareness of his long body against hers. The right leg of her drawers had ridden up, and with every small movement they made, the wool of his trousers rasped a tantalizing prickle over her bare skin. He no longer smelled of soap, but smoke and coal dust. She wanted to taste his skin, his lips, to run her hands over his broad chest.
    But daydreaming never did her any good.
    She put such imaginings away for now; she had more important matters to consider, such as not dying. They wouldn’t be in a rush at midnight, and could spend more time collecting the items needed for a trek through the snow. Food from the galley kitchen—and knives, too. More spark lighters and kindling. If her pack had been soaked, she would need another coat. Her wet boots posed a seriousproblem; she couldn’t walk on frozen feet. Most of the crew would have been wearing theirs when they’d abandoned ship, and few would have an extra pair lying about. They were simply too expensive.
    Thinking of boots, Annika drifted to sleep. She woke up slowly, comfortable and warm, sprawled atop David Kentewess. Straddling him almost, with her thighs alongside his and her face buried in his warm neck.
    She didn’t open her eyes. His body was rigid beneath hers, his breathing shallow. She felt a faint pressure on the backs of her thighs, just below her bottom—his fingers, lightly holding on.
    A little shock ran through her at the realization, a quiver of heat that shot from his fingers to the intimate flesh between her legs. She stifled her moan, the instinctive rock of her hips, aware of the tightening of her nipples against the hardness of his chest. Planed with taut muscles, his torso was solid, angular…and a thick ridge dug into her lower belly.
    Oh. Was she squishing it?
    Annika lifted her head. His shallow breaths stopped, as if he braced himself against pain. “Am I too heavy?”
    “No.” His voice was hoarse.
    It sounded like she was. She shifted her weight onto her knees, raised her body a little. His fingers curled against her thighs before he let go. His body seemed to arch up against her before he groaned and lay flat again.
    Was it that sensitive?
    Curious, she reached between them. Her hand found the hardened tip through his trousers, and followed the thick length to the root.
    Astonishment dropped her mouth open. She’d seen drawings. She’d glimpsed aviators’ penises. They’d all dangled a few inches, soft and limp. She’d known a man’s member stiffened during the sexual act, but she’d imagined it would be the size of one or twofingers—and