The Admiral’s Daughter

Chapter 1

River

Waking up in a strange environment isn’t unusual for me, especially when on shore leave. As soon as my boots leave the gangway, I’m off in search of a cold beer and a warm body. No one does casual like me: I love ’em and leave ’em.

That was until I met her! Cleo Carter. Of course, I didn’t know at the time that she would change my world completely. Frankly, I didn’t want my world changing, not in the slightest. It was me who rocked women’s worlds, not the other way round.

So, let me tell you how it all happened. How Cleo goddamn Carter tamed this wild sailor! I’ll take you back to the morning I woke up, hanging out my arse from too many shots of vodka. I am a sailor, therefore I drink like one…

“Shit me.” Those are the first words I can string together when my brain finally becomes semi-functional. The bed I’m in is not my own. I don’t actually own a bed. His Majesty’s Royal Navy provides mine.

Peeling my eyelids open is proving harder than expected. I really went to town last night on the alcohol. To be fair, I’ve been at sea for six months, so it was always going to turn into a full blowout the moment we made land.

I’m definitely still drunk, which is unhelpful because what I need to do is hop out of this bed, grab my clothes and make a run for it. Having a natter with the woman I fucked for a few hours last night is not my idea of a good time.

We must have had fun though because I’m sore all over, and if I’m not mistaken, there is a rather large dildo still in its harness on the floor. Yeah, we got a little wild.

Ignoring the nausea rolling around my stomach, I push myself up and start scouring the semi-dark room. The woman is still snoring quietly. Her red hair is all I can see. No wonder I went a little nuts; redheads are my weakness. Shame I can’t remember her face.

I usually do, though. I pride myself on remembering—the curve of a smile, the way someone moans when they come. It’s part of the service. But this? Total blank. Just flashes of heat and movement and her laugh…

Whatever. I need coffee and a greasy breakfast before heading back to base. If WO Benson sees me like this, he’s going to throw a shit fit. I’m already in his bad books for merely existing.

Half-dressed and still woozy, I escape the bedroom. The apartment is nice. Clean and modern. Whoever owns it must pull in a decent salary.

As if this is the time!

It isn’t the time. I’ve got to get back to base and ready my bunk for inspection. Cheddar, Kit, and Boot will already be cursing my name for not being there as it is. I know I should’ve called it a night and followed them back aboard the ship, but the redhead was clearly worth it.

I think.

Well, my leg muscles are sore, so we definitely went at it for a few hours. Yeah, totally worth the reaming I’m about to receive.

Portsmouth’s streets are a blur of grey pavement and judgemental seagulls. My stomach lurches with every footfall, threatening to bring up whatever the hell I drank last night. Vodka. Definitely vodka. And possibly something blue.

I nearly kiss the bloke at the greasy spoon when he hands over the bacon sarnie. The smell alone is medicinal. I’m shoving it in my gob as I round the corner to the base, grease dripping down my chin. Proper classy, me.

The sea gods are with me this fine morning as I sprint through Portsmouth. Luckily, I know this city like the back of my hand, and the woman I chose to bed last night doesn’t live far away from the base.

The MPs lift their brows at me as I stagger towards them, trying to get my ID out of my pocket. The bacon sandwich I picked up on the way is hanging out of my mouth, my hair is fucked, and I smell like a brewery.

They would have every right to keep me at the gate and call Warrant Officer Benson—the asshat who hates me for existing. But they don’t. A minor miracle, really. The MPs let me through with a snigger. I bet they’re guessing I’m about to be chewed out anyway, so no need to make their day any harder.

HMS Queen Elizabeth is docked, awaiting repairs.

We’re scheduled to ship out in three days.

Our gracious leaders gave us last night off, but we’re expected to be mustered and ready for work by 07:00 sharp.

It’s now 06:40, so I’ll get back to my bunk in time, but there is no way I’ll have it up to code for the inspection.

My stomach rolls with guilt instead of old booze. If we get an infraction, WO Benson will give the entire bunk scut work. He could also revoke our next lot of shore time, and that will definitely put me in the shit with my fellow bunkies.

I make it through the entire ship without getting caught. Luck really is on my side today. Now I just need a pinch more so I can get changed and hide last night’s clothes.

Cheddar spots me first and laughs. She’s my best friend and wingwoman extraordinaire.

Her given name is Lucy Mitchel, but she earned the moniker Cheddar when she beat a six-foot Marine in a Red Leicester eating competition.

It was disgusting and highly entertaining.

I should add that Cheddar is five-foot three at best. I’ve no idea how or where she put that amount of cheese.

She’s a legend on board. The poor Marine never lived it down.

He got ordained Babybel that day, and every day since.

“How fucked are we?” I ask, tearing off my stinking shirt.

Kit lobs my work shirt at me. “None if you fucking hurry up. We sorted out your bed and kit.”

I’m already yanking up my trousers and tucking in my pristine blue-collared shirt. “Thank you, I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

“Yes, you fucking will,” Kit replies. Her tone is sharp, but her eyes betray her amusement.

Alicia ‘Kit’ Kitson is gorgeous. If we weren’t shipmates, I’d have given it a shot at sleeping with her, for sure.

But I have a strict rule that I stick by regardless of how hot the woman is: if she’s a sailor on my ship, I leave well alone.

Lesbian drama is real and has no place at work.

HMS Queen Elizabeth is the flagship of the Navy.

She’s a behemoth aircraft carrier that employs over 1,600 sailors, however, she gets small really fast if you have a beef with someone on board.

No thanks. I enjoy my work and life too much to risk it for a quick shag.

Anyway, back to Kit. She’s five-foot ten with delicious brown skin.

Her hair is always immaculately pulled back into a bun, and her eyes make men and women swoon.

Like I said, she’s gorgeous. Kit is also the rule follower.

We rely on her to keep us on the straight and narrow.

She’s not always successful, as evidenced by my late, drunk arse causing issues.

“If we get any time off before shipping out, I’ll pay for a night out,” I say, hoping that’s enough to mollify her.

“Deal.” Boot answers over the top of Kit, beaming as Kit’s eyes roll.

Becca ‘Boot’ Bootman is the youngest of us all.

She joined the ship two years ago as a green seventeen-year-old and looked terrified for the first six months, but we took her under our wing and showed her the way.

It’s fortuitous that we’re all lady-loving sailors.

It meant we bonded quickly, which is crucial for life on board.

Sharing a room the size of a broom cupboard is tough enough.

Doing it with people you don’t like is impossible.

I’ve managed to shove my nasty clothes in my locker by the time we hear a commotion outside.

WO Benson is making his way through the bunks, no doubt with Leading Hand Grey plastered to his side.

She’s such a fucking arse-kisser. We joined up on the same day.

I spent eight weeks with her at HMS Raleigh.

We learned how to become sailors there, and I learned how much she wanted to be noticed.

Grey is a regular teacher’s pet. Which I couldn’t give a shit about normally, but she’s a snake.

She’d turn on any of her fellow sailors if it meant she looked good in front of the brass.

People like that piss me off, and I’m not great at hiding my feelings.

Apparently my face gives me away every time.

As you can imagine, Grey and I are not friends. We barely speak unless it’s catty comments, so that means she’s extra shitty to me. Unfortunately, it usually blows back on the rest of my bunk mates, too.

“Your hair,” Cheddar whispers.

I do the grossest thing ever and lick both my hands before running them over my head. Hopefully it’s enough to temporarily stick down any wayward hairs. I know my bun is not tight enough, but it will have to do.

We’re brought to attention by WO Benson. Each of us stands ramrod straight next to our bunks. All eyes stare at a spot on the wall as he enters. My left eye twitches as Grey follows him like a fucking shadow. I feel her distaste for me through her prolonged staring.

The silence in the bunk is thick enough to choke on. I can hear Benson’s boots—measured, deliberate—getting closer. Each click of his heels is a countdown. My heart’s hammering so loud I’m certain Grey can hear it. Probably getting off on it, the cow.

He takes his time with Cheddar’s bunk. Then Kit’s, Boot’s. All pass muster. My stomach acid does a little victory dance. Maybe, just maybe—then he’s in front of me, and his nose wrinkles.

“Dawson, you stink.”

Shit. I should’ve known I couldn’t get away with it, but now I need to think fast. “Sorry, sir, the showers were crowded this morning.”

He narrows his eyes. I know he doesn’t believe me, but there’s no proof of anything untoward. “You’ve earned yourself an extra PT session. Report to the main deck in thirty minutes.”

Internally, I’m crying. My body needs sleep and probably more food, not a shitty physical training session.

Grey’s standing just behind Benson’s left shoulder, close enough that I can see her taking inventory of every flaw.

Her eyes linger on my hair, my collar, and the faint sheen of sweat on my forehead.

When our eyes meet, her mouth curves—not quite a smile, more like a cat spotting a wounded bird.

“In fact, your entire bunk can join you, Dawson. Maybe that will be a reminder of what it means to be a sailor on this ship. You let yourself down, you let us all down.”

My jaw hurts, I’m gritting it that hard. I want to smack Grey when I see her smirk.

“Yes, sir,” we answer in unison.

He grunts and leaves.

“Fucking hell, Romeo,” Kit whines, and I can’t blame her.

“I’m sorry.”

Cheddar shrugs. “It could’ve been worse. Plus it’ll do us some good to get the blood pumping.”

Boot is already getting changed. She’s a fitness freak, so I’m sure she’s quite happy with the extra PT.

“Kit, I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

She sighs. “Fine. But seriously, Rome. You gotta do better. I’m not having any more leave taken off me because you can’t keep your fingers out of women’s knickers. Understand?”

I nod vigorously and salute. “Aye aye, Kitson. Understood loud and clear.”

Kit catches my eye, and her expression softens just a fraction. “You’re a pain in my arse, Romeo.”

“Yeah, but I’m your pain in the arse.”

“Unfortunately.”

We fall silent as we change into our PT gear.

“How was it though?” Cheddar asks with a wolfish grin.

I laugh. “I can’t fucking remember!”

Boot spins around. “After all that, you don’t even know if it was a good lay?”

I shrug. “There was a strap slung on the floor, so I’m guessing it got pretty wild.”

“And the woman?” Kit asks, tying up her trainers.

“Redhead. That’s all I got. Didn’t stick around long enough to see her face.”

“So a total blackout.” Cheddar scoffs. “What a waste.”

“It’ll come back to me eventually.”

This isn’t the first time I got so drunk I can’t remember who I fucked. Usually I’m tipsy. Not enough to affect my abilities in the sheets. After all, I’m a giver and offer a premium service.

Yeah, I sound like a bigheaded arsehole, but the proof’s in the pudding. There’s a reason I’m called River ‘Romeo’ Dawson. I know how to treat a woman right. Until the next morning, that is. Then, I’m pretty sure my name is cursed out for all to hear.

That being said, I’m always upfront before I take a woman to bed. I do sex and that’s it. No good morning kisses, breakfast or coffee. No exchanging numbers or last names. Just a bunch of orgasms and a hell of a good time.

“For your sake I hope it does,” Kit comments. “Because after next week we won’t be seeing land for a while.”

Boot jogs on the spot, warming up. “If we’re delayed, we should get another night off.”

I stretch my glutes, trying to undo the strain of last night’s activities. “I’ll make sure it’s memorable then.”

Cheddar laughs. “One day, Romeo, a woman will come along who’ll knock you right on your arse.”

“I don’t mind it a little rough,” I joke.

She shakes her head. “Nah, this won’t be about sex. She’s gonna break through to your squishy emotions. You’ll be a lovesick sap!”

“God, I’d pay to see that.” Kit laughs.

Scoffing, I head to the door. “Not bloody likely. I’m perfectly happy as I am, thanks. I don’t do love and commitment. The day that happens, you lot can throw me overboard.”

I jog ahead of them toward the main deck, shaking out my sore legs. My head’s pounding, my body’s knackered, and I’ve got WO Benson breathing down my neck for the foreseeable.

But I’m free. No strings, no commitments, no woman waiting for a text I’ll never send. Just me, the sea, and whatever port we hit next.

Fucking perfect.