CHAPTER ONE

 

WILL

 

 

Still half asleep, I squinted in the unforgiving light of the bathroom attached to my stateroom. I was not a morning person at the best of times. But having woken up after getting only three hours of shut-eye and not having had any sleep the night before, combined with a twenty hour shift, then a twelve hour one, I was not my chipper self.

The last night of a cruise was always wild, everyone out partying until dawn. This time one of our guests overdid it. I’d been just about to knock off my shift when the call came through from Ezio Dimitriades, the on board doctor. Unconscious male, early twenties, suspected drug overdose. As much as we screened passengers coming on board, we could never guarantee they were completely drug free. So, fearing for what he’d taken I’d made the call. We’d detoured from our normal route, traveling due west until we were close enough that we could rendezvous with the coast guard chopper to medivac him off my ship.

A jolt of excitement spiked through me, making me smile. My ship. Even after five years captaining the MV Dreamcatcher, I still got a kick calling her mine.

After we’d docked in Sydney Harbour, we smoothly disembarked a thousand passengers, refueled, re-stocked everything a cruise ship needed for a seven day trip, looked after waste disposal and urgent maintenance works, had a staff changeover for those finishing their three, five or seven months at sea and boarded another thousand guests. I was responsible for ensuring everything ran flawlessly, but I didn’t do it alone. My team were second to none and I trusted their judgment implicitly. We’d built up a solid working relationship and if they told me we were good to go, I knew I could rely on them. This time we’d also had a visit from the police, who were working with border control to piece together how the drugs got on board and who knew about it. Thankfully, that was the easiest part of the day, our electronic records more than enough to facilitate their investigation.

Aside from the hectic first day of each cruise, I loved my job. I wouldn’t change it for the world. It was hell on relationships; my ex-husband would tell you that my love for my ship was what drove him into the arms of another man. How could I not love the majesty of sailing through deep oceans to paradise? We were only a small cruise ship, but we’d worked hard to become the best of the best. Our guests were young, fun and energetic and our staff showed them how to have a great time. We had the best reviews around and our revamp of food and entertainment services would up the ante even more.

But at that moment, the only thing on my mind was getting the hot shower I desperately needed to wake the hell up. I flicked on the faucet but it shuddered and spluttered before water gushed out of the wall, rather than the showerhead. I sighed. Whatever was wrong with it was not going to fix itself.

I turned the faucet off again and, still naked, made my way through the luxurious suite that was my stateroom over to the phone on the desk. Dialing maintenance, I waited impatiently for them to pick up. I had half an hour before I needed to be on deck and in that time I had to shower, shave and eat breakfast—one that came with a strong cup of coffee. Early morning start times were horrendous, but necessary. Although we were beginning a day at sea, day three would see us port in Noumea at 0600, so if I wanted a break between shifts, I needed to start this one now.

Two rings and Eli, the maintenance manager, picked up. “Good morning, Captain Preston. How may I help you?”

“Hello, Eli. My shower is leaking at the wall. Nothing’s coming out of the head.”

“I will have someone come over immediately, Sir.” There was a groan and a hiss from the attached bathroom. Eyebrows furrowed together, I stepped closer to the noise, craning my neck to try and see inside the smaller room.

“You’d better make it qu—” My words were cut off by the crash and sound of water gushing.

“Sir, are you all right?” Eli called through the telephone, concern in his voice. I dropped the phone and dashed through my suite to the bathroom only to see water was rushing from the point where the showerhead was formerly mounted. Instead of being joined to the wall, the piece of chromed metal was lying on the floor. A crack pierced the wall of the shower, leaving a hole gouged into it. Water gushed into the crack and overflowed out of the stall onto the tiled floor and carpet of the bedroom I was standing in.

“Shit,” I muttered, snagging the towel sitting on the vanity. Dashing back to my telephone, I spoke to Eli. “Get someone over here now. It’s overflowing everywhere. And find me somewhere I can shower.” I hung up the receiver, frustration pulsating through me. All I wanted was to get ready and have a coffee. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen the easy way. I wasn’t usually superstitious but bad things always happened in threes. I hoped it wasn’t an indication of the luck I was going to have on this cruise.

Tossing all my toiletries and the towel into a bag, and taking my dry cleaned uniform and hat from the closet, I hung them on the hook ready to head out. From the shelf of my cupboard, I grabbed my cargo shorts and a fitted white tee, slipping into both before donning my flip flops.

My telephone rang just as I was tugging the tee down. Housekeeping. “Hello, Sir, Eli called me to arrange an alternative place for you to shower and change.” My staff knew me well enough to cut the pleasantries and get to the point when I needed them to. I wasn’t a bastard, not even crabby most of the time—especially when we were on our way to paradise—but they knew I would mean business. She didn’t bother waiting for me to respond before continuing. “All the executive suites are occupied, as are the remaining rooms in the staff and crew quarters. All of the guest rooms are also occupied. Unfortunately, the only place I can send you with a little privacy at this time of night are the entertainers’ change rooms on your level.”

“Thank you, I’ll head there now.”

 

* * * * *

 

I walked through the dimmed halls to the opposite end of the ship near the back entrance of the theatre. The show had finished hours ago, so both the staff and guests had long ago left. Most of the entertainers had either moved to the nightclubs or bars to continue their shifts or had finished up for the night. I paused to admire the artworks along the walls. While the guest corridors had modern interpretations of the masters, the staff only walkways were filled with photographs. Dancers and singers, fire breathers, acrobats, you name it. Each photograph was different; black and white, splashes of bright color, dark and brooding or filled with laughter. I’d loved one of those photographs so much that I’d had a reprint made, and it hung proudly on the wall in my stateroom. A ballet dancer spinning around in an industrial style space, wearing nothing but white leggings and ballet slippers. Pristine against grungy, the man was a contrast in conflicting beauty. Untouched, unblemished skin against a gritty background, perfect lean muscle with a bulge to send every gay man’s imagination running wild. Grace, poise and confidence; his beauty in motion had held me captivated the first time I’d seen it.

I reached the end of the corridor and swiped my card to gain access. The door slid silently open and closed behind me with a whoosh, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The deep bass from the sound system reverberated through the studio and Bruno Mars’ voice seductively singing “Gorilla” was like a cobra, hypnotizing me. The song was pure sex. I wondered who was playing it, so curiously I stepped around a prop used in one of the shows and my breath caught. The room was lit with a few spotlights pointed at the pole affixed in its center. A man, if that entirely inadequate description of his perfection could possibly suffice, spun on it. He held his body weight perpendicular to the pole, his outstretched arms and his legs in a split. His toes were pointed, touching the pole on either side of his strong grip. Letting one arm drop, he rolled like he was going to hit the floor, and I couldn’t help reaching out for him. The speed he moved with was death defying, but his muscles strained and I could tell he was in complete control. Catching himself at the last moment, he rested his weight on the hand splayed out below him on the floor and his hips twisted, moving from a side split to a forward one. Toes still pointed, he paused, holding himself there.

I was spellbound, my feet fixed to the floor like I was stuck in quicksand. He dropped down and rolled up to standing, his back bending at an angle I had no idea was even possible. With one hand still on the pole, he froze, looking at the shadows I was standing in. He reached into his pocket and the music cut off. “Who’s there?” he asked cautiously, his British accent lilting.

“I…I am,” I stuttered, transfixed by the greenest of green eyes I’d ever seen, rimmed with black eyeliner. Lust shot through me and my dick thickened, hardening from the sight of the beautiful creature in front of me. The desire to drop to my knees, strip him out of his rolled up jeans and lick every inch of his lean and muscled body assailed me. I wanted to worship him, to touch and tempt him, to taste him. Just the sight of him had my palms sweating and my heart thundering in my chest. I wanted him like I’d never wanted another man before, all before I even knew his name.

The man before me ran his fingers through his hair, wiping away the sheen of sweat on his brow and stepped forward. “You wanna step into the light so I can see you, rather than standing in the dark like a creeper?”

I smiled, his spunky attitude making him even sexier. The problem with being the captain was that the whole ship’s staff and crew did what I asked, usually without question. So having this man, this hottie, speak to me like we were on equal footing was surprisingly refreshing. Of course it was only a matter of time before I’d get an apology from him; as soon as he found out who I was he’d defer to me. For the first time in my life, I wished I was someone else.

The man, my wet dream come true, took a step forward and I was drawn to him like I was in his orbit. I mirrored his actions until I was standing in the light. Eyes locked, we moved closer together. His chest rose and fell, a rivulet of sweat dripping down his temple and into the five o’clock shadow coloring his cheeks. His lips were plump, totally kissable and shiny like he was wearing gloss. I wanted to bite down on the bottom one and devour him whole. Did he taste of berries? Or was it cherry? He was shorter than me, a smaller build too, but all man. His physical strength was such a damn turn on that I found myself stepping into his personal space. Who is he? Chest to chest, I breathed him in as he sized me up, his gaze lazily trailing a path down my body. Every inch of me he took in was like a physical caress. His musky scent made a shiver pass through me and his eyes snapped up to meet mine. Instinctively I licked my lips, those emerald greens darkening in response and a low growl coming from the back of his throat. Oh God. “What’s your name?” I rasped.

“Eddie.” His voice was quiet and I leaned closer to him wanting to hear more.