Page 3 of Curves and Courage

I shake my head. “No, he just… walked away.”

Freya raises an eyebrow. “Stella, do we have to have the talk again? You know, the one where I tell you to put yourself out there and forget about tomorrow?”

“No, it’s not that. He just… He was so intense, I couldn’t think straight. And those eyes…”

Freya nudges me and downs the remainder of her champagne. “Sounds to me like someone has made an impression. At least you know where he’s gonna be for the next two weeks, huh, babe? What are we talking here – vacation fling, or just a one-night stand?”

I laugh and shake my head. “I’m not sure. I mean, he didn’t exactly seem pleased to see me. So maybe nothing? We’ll have to see.”

Freya pins me with that familiar look. “Don’t forget, we’re here to have fun. And after the dry spell you’ve been in lately, I say go foranything.”

She waggles her brows and as we sink into some sunchairs by the pool, we lose ourselves to a fit of giggles. I try to relax and look around the pool area. It’s stunning, with its infinityedge blending seamlessly into the horizon off to one side. There are tropical plants arranged all around us and the soft ambient music that’s playing in the background helps me drift back into relaxation-mode.

“So, should we establish some ground rules for the cabin?” I ask eventually, watching as Freya surveys the group of guys who’ve settled on the opposite side of the pool. “You know, in case one of us needs the cabin for…” I glance to the guy Freya is eyeing off. He’s ripped his shirt off and holy-hell – he’s all muscle and brown skin. “Extracurricular activities.”

Freya laughs and nods. “Absolutely. How about we take turns, night to night. If one of us needs the bed, then the other makes do on the sofa. If you need some extra privacy in the cabin, that’s cool. Just place ‘do-not-disturb’ on the door and don’t take all night.”

I hold my hand out and we shake the deal with a rapturous bout of laughter that gets the attention of the guys across from us.

Freya gives me a look before waving to one of the guys who has his shirt off. He’s clearly confident and good-looking, but as Freya waves him over, I can’t help but think back to those piercing blue eyes I saw earlier. The guy striding over here doesn’t have the same presence, the same sense of raw power and masculine energy that I felt earlier. And all I did was bump into his hard body… how would it feel to be under him?

Whoa. My entire body gives a flush of heat that races at the thought of being with a man like that.

There’s something there, I can feel it.

As I let myself relax by the pool, I can’t help but wonder how I can make sure I run into him again. And when I do, he better be ready for whatever happens next.

Chapter Two

Samuel

The door to my penthouse suite clicks shut behind me, sealing me inside this gilded cage of luxury.

“Fucking cruise ship,” I grunt, pulling my bag from over my shoulder.

I toss my duffle bag onto the pristine white sofa, a stark contrast to the rough, military-issued gear I’ve lived with for years. The room is immaculate, every surface polished to a high shine, every detail carefully curated to scream luxury.

It’s the kind of place that would have impressed me once—before everything changed.

I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the far wall and stare out at the ocean. The vast expanse of blue stretches endlessly, a reminder of how far I am from everything that used to matter.

My reflection stares back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass.

Fuck. I can barely recognize the man I see now.

Dark hair, still kept short on the sides and a little longer on top—just like I’ve always worn it. But now, there are strands of silver creeping in, evidence of the stress I’ve been under. My eyes are the same deep blue, but the spark that used to be there, the fire that drove me every day, is dimmed.

And then there’s the scar.

A jagged, angry line that runs from just above my right eye, down past my cheekbone, a permanent reminder of the mission that went sideways. A mission that haunts my being each and every fucking day.

I turn away from the window, unable to look at myself any longer. The view might be beautiful, but it does nothing to ease the restlessness gnawing at me. I should be back in the field with my unit, doing what I was trained to do. What I was born to do.

Instead, I’m here, on this fucking cruise ship, ordered to "relax" by the military admin. They seem to think some sun and sea air will fix me. Fuck, what a joke. If they think they can hook me up with the best suite on the ship and somehow that will make me forget that I’m no longer the man I used to be, they’re stupider than I thought.

My gaze drifts to the bottle of whiskey on the bar cart, but I resist the urge to pour a glass. I didn’t come here to drown myself in alcohol, even if it would make this whole ordeal a hell of a lot easier to get through. No, I came here because they told me I had to. Because they said I needed time to "heal" before I could even think about returning to duty.

It’s a fucking joke.

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