Chapter 2

2

Waking up for an early start is what port days are all about, when your eyes are sleepy but your mind feels wide awake because you're just so excited to see something new. Today's port was a fresh addition to the British Isles itinerary, meaning it was my very first visit—the channel island of Guernsey. Most of my knowledge about it comes from The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. I'm not sure it's the most reliable source of information, but I felt excited nonetheless. I felt the tingles of anticipation at having my toes find new places to roam.

Taking the tender to St Peter's Port was an experience. Lots of bobbing, water splashing, and a feeling of very much being on the sea. But being one of the first to arrive on the island made the sleepy yawns worth it. The tender only had a couple of people on it, and everyone appeared to be as excited as me except for one woman. She was striking, and I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting to her. She was the only woman on the tender who hadn't greeted me by name and didn't seem remotely interested in me.

She didn't appear sleepy, it was as though 6:30 a.m. starts were her everyday normal, but she looked extremely bored. She checked her cell phone every few seconds as we bobbed closer and closer to shore, letting out a little sigh when she didn't get the magic bar she was hoping for. She huffed a little louder, and my gaze ran over her body.

Mmmm, I thought to myself. I've always had a bit of a thing for expensive-looking blondes, and she fit the bill exactly.

If I were being honest, she didn't look as if she was on vacation at all. If anything, she seemed more suited to a big office in the city with her immaculate power suit, briefcase, and look of unadulterated disdain, but she left my thoughts the moment I stepped onto dry land.

For around 30 minutes, the sun forced its way through the clouds and lit up the port and quaint English streets in a dusky morning glow. Then, just as the mass of cruisers invaded the clouds knotted together to fill the air with a misty drizzle.

I hopped on the local bus. It took around 30 minutes to complete a round trip of the east side of the island, and at $1.50, I felt it was worth the money to see the tiny filter now streets, the way the bus straddled the pavement and road to make way for cars, and how we stopped at old ladies' houses to pick up the locals because who needs a bus stop when you know everyone?

Tea houses, village shops, and local produce filled High Street. The paths were cobbled, the steps well worn and the town sprawled outward from the church center. In the oddest of ways, it felt homey, a community, and I felt lucky to see it, even if just for a few hours.

I was never truly alone on these jaunts. Even with my sunglasses on, I was recognised by some of the cruise guests on the streets, and I even occasionally got knowing looks from some of the locals.

I noticed the expensive blonde woman on High Street. She didn't belong here either. She was strikingly beautiful and moved with grace. I couldn't take my eyes off the sway of her hips.

She didn't notice me.

I had to head back to the ship pretty early. The Captain's dinner night was always accompanied by a big show. The theater would be packed with guests, all of them expecting a spectacular performance, and I would give nothing less.

Checks, checks, and more checks. Outfits, sound, lighting, cues, and timing. All of the normal things that ensured we gave a memorable night at sea. Many people on board this ship might only ever take one cruise, and they may have saved for years to be able to come and experience something like this. That was always on my mind when I performed.

I might be fed up with my top three hits. I might be on autopilot. But for some in the audience, they would never forget the night they heard me sing the lyrics live that they related to so well.

I made sure I looked at the part. My short hair was styled just like my posters used to be, that dark kohl liner, the smudges of smokey black.

The theater stage was stark, the musicians hidden from sight, and each note was played beautifully, ringing out with perfect clarity as a hushed silence fell across the space. The spotlight shone unwaveringly on the center of the stage, illuminating the silvery steel microphone. I took a deep breath, still feeling the same nerves that I always had, just for that second before I stepped forward into the light.

My boots were black and heeled, and they clicked softly against the floor with each step. My fingers reached forward, caressing the steel pole, bringing the microphone to my lips. My dress was a simple black that hugged my figure, with thin straps that brushed over my shoulders, soft fabric kissing the swell of my breasts before following the dip of my waist, caressing my hips and finishing mid-thigh. My long legs were on show.

My lips parted and each word slipped from them meant and felt. "And my baby you got me like oh." I let go of the steel stand, my fingers slowly trailing up my sides, my hips swaying softly.

My hand returned to the microphone, and I unclipped it from the stand. I sung soulfully, my lips kissing the microphone, every word sung from deep inside. Walking forward, I knew my skin shone pearly under the light, and my short dark hair looked messy like I'd just been fucked, and I felt sexy.

I looked up, my eyes searching the crowd, and I saw them all, saw them singing back, singing with me, and I felt on top of the world again.

Then I saw her—the expensive blonde woman from the tender that morning, her phone still in her hand, but I this time I had her attention. Her focus. Her gaze was fixed on me as I sang, and even though we were strangers and I knew nothing at all about her, I felt the spark of a connection and the desire to know more.

My set played through the hits. Some were mine, some were covers, but they all made their mark. The audience was happy. I even saw a short smile from Fernanda, which meant it must have been better than perfection.

Three outfit changes, 12 songs, two dance routines, and a full piano solo, and I fell off the stage and into the greenroom exhausted.

"I think I'm too old for this," I half-joked as I collapsed onto the sofa.

Urduja rolled her eyes and tossed me a bottle of water before she returned to bark at some poor soul through her headset.

"It just isn't that fucking difficult! Do I need to come up to the Rivera deck myself and show you? No, I didn't think so. Just do your fucking job, Sasha." She cut the call with a sigh, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You know you're going to pay for that later."

She gave me an icy look and then a smirk. "That's half the fun. Angry sex is great. Anyway, what happened with you?" she asked, looking at me with a sudden intense interest.

"Me? Nothing. Why?"

She waved her pen up and down as her gaze surveyed my face. "You've got that… look."

"I do not have the look," I replied with a huff, although we both knew I absolutely did.

I thought about the expensive blonde woman a lot over the next few days. I don't know what it was about her. Maybe it was the way she seemed like she wanted to be anywhere else. I kept seeing her around the ship, and our gazes would meet. Her blue eyes were distant and tough looking. Her skin had this caramel glow I longed to touch. At times her perfectly highlighted hair slipped from her band and curled softly around her beautiful heart-shaped face.

There were definitely times on this cruise, as with all the other cruises, that fans wanted to sleep with me, although so far on this trip I had refrained. I'm not a saint. I had fallen into more than a few beds here and there in the last five years, even though it absolutely wasn't allowed. The entertainment staff were given a little more of a free pass than the other staff members when it came to guest relations, but even then it was a sackable offense if I were to have been caught.

But I wasn't going to get caught, so it hadn't mattered. I generally waited until the last day or two of the cruise so I knew it wouldn't get awkward. No one wants drama or sad goodbyes. Better to enjoy and let go than hold onto something that can never be.

I was a feeler. Fell into the feels every chance I got. My head ran away with my thoughts, hoped and imagined more. After so many heartaches and heartbreaks, I had gone for the no feelings approach. I didn't want to know anything about the woman except to capture a moment with her, and it was working out okay if it weren't for the total loneliness I felt.

But this time, the expensive blonde woman drew me in, and I felt this magnetic pull that was so hard to explain when I'd committed to shutting down my feelings.

The ship had stopped on the coast of Ireland and I wanted to explore.

I headed into Cork, deciding I wanted a taste of Ireland, and I'm pleased I did.

A leisurely walk down the coastal road on a sunny morning was heavenly. It seemed as if the locals weren't anti-cruiseships as some of the banners had indicated at the port, and most were happy to say good morning, chat, and ask questions in their soft Irish accents.

The town itself was well-loved. At least fifteen locals were out doing small chores—repainting a wall, digging up weeds, repairing a curb edge. The sense of community was overwhelming.

The sail away was a highlight, standing at the very front of the ship watching the people from the shoreline wave to us as we left the port side and headed out for the Irish sea. It was only ruined for a brief moment as the horn sounded and made my ears ring for about ten minutes.

It had been a long time since I'd performed in Ireland. Life was simpler then. I was shipped off to an outdoor festival. Rihanna was the soundtrack of the season, the rain poured and the beer flowed. I learnt how to pull my first pint in an Irish pub. It took me a week to understand a word of what the locals said. I was isolated in the middle of nowhere with no signal on my flip phone and an iPod classic for company. But it shaped me at that time and taught me peace in simplicity. The honesty in less. How a happy heart didn't need much to find smiles.

I wish I still felt like that.

I decided to dine at the Elite Members Club on the ship that night. Guests would sometimes buy me gifts like that, and I had a few reservations I could cash in, so I called through to the pretentious front of house and got ready.

I went for a suit. Fitted, perfectly pressed dress pants that did more for my ass than a dress ever could. A shirt of the palest blue that made my gray eyes spark, unbuttoned a little lower than what could be considered as conservative. Killer heels because I absolutely loved my fucking heels.

I slipped inside the big double doors, but someone was in front of me, and I recognized the curve of her body and her pale golden hair even from behind. "Did you make a reservation?" the host asked the woman in front of me in a bored tone as hier finger slid across a glassy iPad screen.

The expensive blonde woman shook her head softly, a slight annoyance spreading across her already pink cheeks. Even though I recognized her designer dress and knew it cost more than a year of the host's salary, clearly the host didn't register that. Of course the dress was stunning, the shade of blue mirroring magazine covers. She was outfitted in the height of fashion. Her hair was curled to absolute perfection in glossy swirls of gold, and the soft blends of her eye shadow looked as if it were applied by a professional. She sparkled in the dimly lit foyer, and yet I could tell from her stance that she'd rather be anywhere else.

"No, I…" she began. But a bored expression quickly shifted to exasperation as the host smoothed out nonexistent creases from her freshly pressed suit before her gaze rose to give the expensive blonde an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Madam, this is La C?te de Louxor. We don't accept walk-ins." Her nose curled in dismay as if she had uttered a word that should be banned from current vocabulary.

"Yes, I—I am aware," she stuttered, feeling more pressure, I'm sure, as she felt me behind her, not to mention my eyes on the curve of her ass. Now she was aware that she had an audience to witness her interaction. "I don't have a reservation, bu…" She hadn't even started the enunciation of her T before the host's voice sliced through her again like a knife.

"Then you are probably aware that we have a waiting list even for our elite guests. No reservation, no table."

The hose didn't ask her to leave, but disdain laced through every word, and the way she pursed her lips gave a very clear indication that from her point of view, the conversation was very much over.

I watched as her eyes filled. Irises that shimmered in a cerulean blue now swam like storm-filled seas. It wasn't anger but frustration that brought on the surge of overwhelming emotions. The words seemed to be caught in her throat, and each breath appeared increasingly labored.

She stepped back, the heel of her brand new stiletto dragging through the plush, freshly valeted carpet before it caught. She stumbled, a tiny slip of balance before my palm found her lower back.

My hold was firm, steadying, commanding and yet gentle. The slow spread of fingers guided her back onto balanced footing. I was taller than her, both of us in heels. My hand lingered, not touching, just close enough to catch her again if she wavered.

I knew before she knew.And then I spoke with confidence. I'm Raven Ramsey, after all.

"We have a reservation."

The Maitre D' looked as if she had been slapped by my voice.Visibly shrinking before me, knowing exactly who I was, and now finding something on the i-Pad intensely important, her head quickly lowered. The expensive blonde woman noticed how the host's hand trembled against the screen, and I saw a new shiver run through her body, too.

She turned, at the same time pulling her shoulders back, pushing her breasts forward. My gaze dropped to the swell of them. Of course she looked stunning. Of course I was right in my recognition, she was the expensive blonde I couldn't help noticing again and again.

"Mademoiselle,"I whispered with a smile. My commanding voice seamlessly transformed into one of concern and deep affection.Up close, she was taller than I'd expected, and she looked younger, too, although much of that vitality was found in the blue of her ocean eyes.Invading her personal space as if I owned it, I stepped in closer.

I had to go for it. I'd made out as though I knew her, that she was my date. I raised my hand again, reaching up, turning her face from side to side and giving each blushing cheek a genuine kiss. There was no mwah-mwah sound. I meant it, so there was no need to pretend.

Still, with her beautiful face in my hands, I continued talking, my eyes fixed on her dazzling blues, although my words were now meant for others to hear.

"You must think me such a bitch to leave you waiting like this."

I was playing with authority. Although we'd only just met, she could read it in the way my face brightened as she gasped at the expletive.She could also see how I used the pause to look down over her, my eyes caught inside the cut of her gown before finding her smile as it formed on perfect glossed lips.

"We'll be in the bar."

I reluctantly had to release my hold on her, but it allowed my fingertips to brush a fallen golden curl behind one of her ears.There again, at the switch in my voice, she turned toward the cocktail lounge before I had finished speaking.

"I assume we don't need a reservation to get a drink around here?"

If she'd stumbled before, my expensive blonde now glided. The thin straps of leather that had been marking her slim ankles and the buckle that pressed against the bone seemed to loosen their grip.

I wondered if she tingled where my fingers had touched and if she would relive each and every imaginary mark I had left behind on her skin.

The exclusive restaurant knew its audience—rich, beautiful people who sought out a stage to display their good fortunes. The lighting was dimmed to cast shadows in all the right places. The tones were warm and gentle to add softness to every shade.

Music drifted, soothing notes that lingered in the air. The bar was occupied but not busy, and luxury was held in the details. Glasses sparkled like crystals. The ice was perfectly clear and cubed. The labels exotic, serving only the finest quality.

I stepped forward and leaned in to order, exchanging words with the bartender, who set to work instantly lining up a row of polished stainless steel measuring cups and pulling down a half dozen bottles from the extensive range on displaybehind the bar.

I felt my surprise date's eyes follow the exquisite cut of my dress pants, her gaze starting at the hem and slowly rising upward. There was no doubt they were fitted, as they rested perfectly against my thighs and ass. I knew what I was doing when I'd chosen them. My shirt was tucked, pressed to perfection, a light blue I knew looked crisp and sharp.I felt a slight flush rise to my cheeks as her elegant fingers reached out on impulse, the soft pads of her fingertips brushing against my bicep. I knew the luxury cotton of my shirt was smooth and cool to the touch.

I turned slowly, my eyes on her French manicured fingernails then a slow sweep of my focus over her beautiful body and up to her wide blue eyes. She paused under my gaze and then gave a quick inhale as her teeth softly sank into her bottom lip. Then I saw a sudden change.

It was like a mask dropped, a wall fell over her lovely features as she turned to stone. The flush of her skin disappeared as her smile froze.

"Thank you, for saving me from more embarrassment, but the truth is that while I don't have a reservation in my own name…" She added a little eye roll and annoyed sigh. "I do have a meeting. I'm just not sure what name the reservation would be under. I'm a little early."

Her hands moved to her dress, pulling it down, adjusting. It all fell into place.

I'd thought my expensive blonde needed rescuing, while in truth she was here on a meeting, and her frustration and moment of vulnerability were due to the fact she felt she was wildly out of place. My guess would be she'd hoped for a boardroom. I imagined that would be her comfort spot. She'd probably visibly recoiled when formal elite dining had been suggested and then agreed to.

What on earth was a woman like this doing on a lesbian cruise?

"Well, that's okay. We can wait together."

The bartender presented her drink with a flourish, pausing as he held a liquor-soaked cherry above the glass with a pair of silver tongs. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped out a polished Zippo."Madame. Your Shattered Glass."The Zippo sparked to life and her cocktail was served with a flaming cherry garnish.An aromatic hiss filled the silence between them, and the barman returned the lighter to his pocket.

Her eyes widened and a flash of fire reflected in the sea of blue of her eyes as she watched the flames lick the glazed curve of the crimson cherry. It was over in a second, but the moment lingered in my mind.

Focused on her drink, she watched the alcohol swirl, the colors mixing as the cherry fell through the layers, resting at the very bottom of the glass. She gave a slight sigh before letting the glass meet her parted rouged lips.

She drained her drink in one deep swallow, her lips leaving a faint press of red at the rim. She didn't look up as she finished. Instead, her finger and thumb reached into the V, catching the plump cherry between her glossy nails. The pads of her fingers squeezed and a drip of sweetened alcohol ran down her fingers as she delicately fed herself the best part of the drink. Her lips closed as her teeth sank into the treat, and her eyes closed as she truly savoured the indulgence as I watched her greedily.

When her eyes reopened, she noticed she had gained my complete attention. She whispered just loud enough for me to hear, "I don't think I really belong here."

As if there had ever been in any doubt.

As her body moved forward, I immediately felt doubt creeping back into my mind.

Having held her before having spoken, before even having seen the true beauty of her face, the loss of my connection with her was tangible. She took a delicate hold of the cocktail glass and met my gaze. I felt our bond growing closer for a second before she broke her gaze from mine and pulled away.

The lead crystal glass with my whiskey had barely touched my lips before she was draining any last remnants of hers from her glass. She threw her head back, her slim throat bared, the pale skin of her neck exposed.Thoughts of kissing and biting her neck made me pause. I almost forgot where I was as this primal desire to touch her continued to overwhelm all my other thoughts.

Now, as she placed the empty glass on the table, a new flush of color was rising on her smooth cheeks, I instinctively leaned closerto her as she did.

I could see her caught between maintaining the iciness of her walls and the draw of giving in to the fire that was building between us. My eyes stayed on hers, my gaze focused, until we were suddenly interrupted.

"Claudia! Sorry to have kept you waiting."

A woman approached whom I recognised as Sue Smith, a seasoned guest of the ship. Retired, or sort of, very gay and very happily married, she and her wife spent at least six months of the year onboard the Pride of Paradise seeing the world. I knew she was super wealthy and had majority shares in major multinational corporations, so retirement was just a phrase that meant working less and in the settings she chose. I often saw her with her laptop working from the ship.

"Although I'm not that sorry if it means you got to share a drink with the famous Raven Ramsey." She beamed at me with knowing eyes, and I felt a warm genuine smile spread across my face. Claudia looked curious but gave no hint of knowledge or recollection as to who I was or ever having heard even my name before.

Of course. I'm crushing on the one woman with whom I can't use my name to seduce! She must be straight if she hasn't heard of me. Surely?

"A pleasure to meet you again, ma'am." I grinned in reply, and she fawned.

"Oh, you. Get away with your Southern hospitality," Sue tutted and laughed. Her short gray hair shimmered in the light. "If you keep calling me ma'am, I am gonna think my mama is around, and she would NOT like the sexual orientation of one hundred percent of this liner, let me tell you." She laughed, but it was also probably a hard truth. "I'm sorry, but I have to steal the wonderful Claudia away. I can return her to you later."

"No, we were…"

"Oh no, it's…"

I glanced over at my expensive blonde, whose name had turned out to be Claudia. She didn't look like a Claudia, but the more I thought about it, the more it suited her. She nodded to me and I continued.

"Thank you, but I was just heading out myself. Have a wonderful evening, ladies."

And I left. I didn't even bother with my reservation.