Page 1 of Sailor's Delight
Chapter 1
Jenn loved surprises almost as much as she hated waiting for things. That made her presence here on the cruise equally wonderful and loathsome. She hadn’t been planning on a cruise until the very last minute— surprise! Yet here she was, doing her least favorite thing in the world: waiting.
She adjusted the name tag secured by magnets to the delicate silk of her designer blouse. They’d tried to set her up with a pin name tag. Apin? Really? There was absolutely no way she was going to push apinthrough this blouse, or any of the clothes she’d brought to wear on this cruise. She’d kindly, but firmly insisted on an alternative, and one of the crew members had finally found her a magnetic one. She’d expressed deep gratitude to the man, who’d grinned and given her the thumbs up, but whom she’d sworn she’d heard whisper, “Bitch,” as he walked away.
Her gut had twisted in equal parts anger and shame. She didn’t make a big deal out of nothing. As a matter of survival, she didn’t sweat the small stuff. But if he’d known how much this blouse had cost, he might have understood her hesitation in putting holes where there weren’t any.
She adjusted the blouse and admired the way it both fit and made her feel. It was a baby blue, deep plunge, sleeveless v-neck peplum blouse, and it fit her like a glove. She smiled at the mental image of herself in the mirror before she’d left the room: her breasts, her hair, and her makeup had all looked amazing. The chest was generous enough to fit the girls, and it created a slimming false waist just under her rib cage, while the flaringfabric at the bottom of the blouse draped out away from the belly where she carried the weight that her sexist doctor insisted she needed to lose, but that had kept her from neither the cycling nor the normallyveryactive sex life she so enjoyed, as he so frequently and obviously implied it would. She clearly needed a new doctor.
She filed that decision away for later contemplation and action. She was here on this cruise for one reason, and one reason only: to end the dry spell that she’d been in for the last several months, with no outside distractions. She adjusted the skirt that was lip-biting-nervous-smile too-short and went back to waiting. Waiting and watching.
She always found people-watching on a cruise ship a fascinating exercise. The procession of the extremes of society never failed to amuse.
She sat on the ostentatious leather sofa of the cruise ship’s meager library, an unopened book on the arm next to her, legs crossed and one foot bouncing as she watched out the glass windows and doors. One hand cupped her cheek, the other idly stroking the freshly-shaven skin of her thigh. Was there anything as satisfying as newly-shaved legs? She was almost tempted to go straight back to the room, take off each and every piece of expensive clothing she was wearing and jump naked between the freshly-laundered sheets. The combination of two of her favorite things was almost enough to pull her away from her waiting. Almost.
She dropped the idle hand to her lap. No more distractions. The parade of bodies was beginning.
The evening meal was one of her favorite parts of any cruise. One got to see so many different kinds of people. Sheloved telling herself stories about those who paraded past the windows of the library.
They must have come from nearly all walks of life. Obviously, being a public cruise, the likelihood of there being any members of the ultra-rich were nearly zero. If you had money— real money— you certainly wouldn’t be sharing your cruise with others. That didn’t mean that there weren’t those on board who were above PRETENDING that they were the ultra rich. These were the ones with the elegant, full-length gowns and actual tuxedos, taking the “formal” in formal evening wearveryseriously. One such couple glided past the window, the woman’s hair crusted with glittering costume jewelry (again, anyone wearing anything real that looked like that wouldn’t be on a public cruise) sparkling at her crown, her throat, both wrists, and her fingers. Jenn glanced at the woman’s name-tag. “Caroline” clearly paid no attention to the “put it all on, take one off” rule when it came to accessories. “Stephen” was hardly any better. The gold watch chain, the tails, the white bow tie reminded Jenn either of a penguin or the Titanic, she couldn’t decide which. Maybe Stephen worked at a hedge fund, but not a very good one. Or maybe he was a lawyer of some kind. Maybe Caroline was a doctor. Or a director of a nonprofit. They had enough money to think it made them different, but not enough to actually be any different from most of the other people on board.
Jenn smiled at “Chloe” and “Desire,” the couple walking past in complementing bohemian-inspired sundress and paisley print button up shirt with suspenders, both of them sporting very chic wide-brimmed hats. They both smiled back.
The group of college-aged young men that walked past needed no back-story and were too many to read name tags.Their elevator eyes (the kind that traveled a woman’s body up and down) and their exchanged comments, then their return to staring and smiling at her were more than enough to tell her everything vital about the group. She uncrossed and crossed with the other leg, taking a moment to stretch the leg out, letting the boys get a good look at a piece of what none of them had any chance at scoring.
Their wide eyes, cupped hands hiding smiles, agitated hops, and muffled shouts of appreciation from behind the glass were exactly the reactions she was looking for. She blinked slowly, smiled ever so slightly, and gently but firmly shook her head.
Laughing silently to herself as the group bounced away, the laugh died in her throat when “Casey” walked into the library. The tightness of the long-sleeve button up white shirt across his shoulders and around his biceps told her a few things. Casey spent far too much time at the gym (obviously skipping leg day,) and he either didn’t know enough to size a shirt that fit properly, or he mistakenly thought the poor fit accentuated his physique. The muscles were apparent, but so was his inability to even move normally. She’d had enough first-time experiences in corporate settings with men like this to be wary as he entered. Men like this respected her position in the boardroom far more than they respected her position on the couch.
His slow walk, eyes carefully averted and aloof from Jenn’s outstretched leg and cleavage made her doubt her snap judgment only for a moment. Watching him closely, Jenn sat back, turning her full attention on Casey. She didn’t have to wait long for the facade to fall. His eyes swept blindly over the titles on the bookshelves, never once lingering on anything in particular. When he turned away, it was to turn the long way—Jenn’s way— to stare back out at the hallway outside the library. As his head turned, Jenn watched his eyes slide up and down her body, and a smile play at his lips. When he finished “checking the hallway,” he turned again, his eyes staring fixedly at Jenn’s chest, then glancing up and startling slightly when he made eye contact with her.
Casey smiled and laughed cockily. He put his hands up and turned from the bookshelf, adjusting the rolled sleeves that strained at his forearms and shook down the silver chain bracelet, then tucked in his shirt, leaving his hands on his waist. “All right, you caught me.” Jenn didn’t smile. She was still waiting. With just a bit more concern, now.
“Jenn, huh? With two n’s?” Casey smiled, his white bleached teeth gleaming, and his perfectly coiffed hair catching the glint of the room’s strategic dramatic spotlighting overhead lights, casting a halo around his head.
“Mm-hmm,” Jenn said, her RBF firmly affixed. She had far too much experience with men like Casey. Even the slightest encouraging act he would receive as a glowing signal for more predatory engagement and unwanted pursuit.
“I’m Casey.” He held out his tanned hand, an easy smile on his slightly parted lips.
She pointed at the name tag on his shirt pocket.
“I know.”
He laughed, like she had made a joke. “Right.”
He sat down at the other end of the couch, spreading his legs as wide as the crotch of his pants would allow him to, and turned himself to face Jenn, one hand mirroring her posture of the arm on the couch cupping her face.
“So, are you waiting to go to dinner, too?”
What an asinine question. Her every urge was to say so. But again, wisdom and caution won out; men like Casey typically didn’t handle rejection or even critique very well.
“Mm-hmm,” she repeated.
Casey mock groaned. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” she asked coolly.
He groaned again. “Like that! All stiff and aloof. I’m just trying to make polite conversation.”