3. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Samuel
T he 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.
What they don’t understand is that I don’t need to heal. I need to fight.
The ache in my leg flares up as if to mock me. The injury isn’t fresh, but the pain is a constant reminder of my failure. It’s a deep, throbbing ache that never quite goes away, like a dull knife twisting in my muscle. The docs told me it would get better with time, that I’d learn to live with it.
Ha. Yeah… right .
They don’t know what it’s like. To have your body betray you, to feel like a shadow of the man you once were.
With a sigh, I lower myself into one of the leather armchairs, the motion stiff and awkward as the pain radiates up my leg. I clench my jaw against it, refusing to let it show despite being alone inside this extravagant suite. The last thing I need is pity, especially from the people who already think I’m broken.
Truth is, I’ve been through worse than this—hell, I’ve survived things that would have killed most men—but this… this is different. This is something I can’t fight my way through, and that’s what scares me the most.
I flick on the TV but it does nothing to distract me. I’ve never been one to sit down and immerse myself in a fictional world. I’m too busy, and even as I sit here, my mind is drifting back to the moment earlier today, when I collided with that woman on the deck.
I wasn’t paying attention, lost in my own self-pity, and suddenly, there she was—soft, warm, and so full of life. The impact had knocked me off balance, both physically and mentally. It wasn’t just the way she looked, with curves that would make any man take a second look.
No, it was something else.
It was the way she smiled at me, genuine and unguarded, like she wasn’t afraid of what she saw.
Most people see the scar first, then the limp, and their expressions change.
Pity. Discomfort. Fear.
I’ve seen it all, but this girl… no, she was different.
She didn’t even flinch. She didn’t look at me like I was damaged goods. And that… that got under my skin.
I run a hand over my face, trying to push the thought of her out of my mind. I didn’t come here to make friends, and I sure as hell didn’t come here to get involved with anyone.
Relationships have never been my thing—too messy, too complicated. Not to mention how hard it would be to give any woman the love and respect she deserves while being away from home for months on end.
It’s for that reason that I’ve always kept people at arm’s length. It’s served me well until now.
But something about her makes me want to drop my guard. Just for a moment.
It’s dangerous and it’s something that I’ve never felt before.
The military taught me to rely on myself, to be strong, to never show weakness. Now, after being ordered onto this ship, that strength feels like a cage, trapping me in a body that doesn’t get to make its own decisions.
I clench my fists, feeling the familiar frustration rising. I’m supposed to be better than this. I’m supposed to be able to handle anything. But how the hell am I supposed to handle this—this waiting, this uncertainty, this… vulnerability?
The time passes slowly and soon enough, the suite feels suffocating. The walls closing in around me. I’m not used to being cooped up like this… I need air.
With a grunt, I push myself up from the chair, ignoring the protest from my leg, and head for the door. I don’t know where I’m going, but anywhere is better than here.
The hallway is quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling activity of the main decks. As I make my way to the elevator, I can’t help but feel out of place. The other passengers are here to have a good time, to relax and enjoy themselves - I’m here because I have no choice, because the military doesn’t know what else to do with me.
As the elevator descends, my mind keeps drifting back to that woman.
I don’t even know her name. I’ll probably never see her again, and perhaps that’s for the best. She’s the kind of person who could make me forget all the reasons I need to stay distant, and I can’t afford that. Not now, not ever.
The doors slide open, and I step out into the main lobby. The noise and activity hit me like a wave, and for a moment, I feel like I’m drowning. I’ve fought hard to stop any flashbacks of the war, and seeing this place swarming like this is making it damn hard to keep that going.
People are everywhere, laughing, talking, snapping pictures with their phones. It’s all so… normal. So goddamn normal. And I can’t relate to any of it.
I find myself drawn to the windows again, staring out at the ocean as the ship cuts through the water. The horizon is endless, just like the days ahead of me. Fourteen days filled with nothing but waiting—waiting to heal, waiting to be strong enough to go back, waiting to feel like myself again.
My leg aches with every step I take, but I push through it, unwilling to let the pain control me. I’ve faced worse, and I’ll get through this. I have to. There’s no other option.
I let the ocean air wash over me as I stand there, watching the waves roll by, the safety of solid ground disappearing beyond the horizon. There are dozens of people surrounding me as I grip the rails, unable to shake the feeling that I’m lost. Not just lost at sea, but lost in my own life.
Everything I worked for, everything I built… it’s all slipping away, and I’m powerless to stop it.
The encounter with that woman keeps playing in my head, like a loop I can’t escape. Maybe she’s the road that leads me back to the real world. Her smile, her nervous laugh, the way she looked at me like I was just another man—not a broken soldier.
It should have been easy to forget, but it’s not.
She’s different, and that scares the hell out of me.
I lean against the glass, and my stomach growls. Fuck. I’ve been so busy distracting myself that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. With my mind currently in a state of constant spiraling, a nice quiet meal alone sounds like exactly what I need to clear my head.
I steady myself on my stiff leg and wobble towards the familiar smell coming from the Sapphire Seas Steakhouse. My belly rumbles louder as I step inside and take in the elegance of the restaurant. There are a few empty tables and I step up to the stand and greet the hostess with a smile that barely reaches my cheeks.
“Good evening, sir,” the hostess smiles, her red lipstick shining brightly.
“Just one please,” I reply, my voice gruff.
“Sure. And how many can we expect in your party?” she asks, her eyes scanning the space behind me.
If she’s expecting more, she’s wrong.
“No. Just one table please. It’s just me.”
Her smile falters slightly, but she quickly recovers. “Of course, sir. Right this way.”
She leads me to a quiet corner, away from the bustle of the main dining area. I sink into the chair and she fetches me a bottle of water. I collect the menu and feel my taste buds come to life as I decide on the cut of steak and which sauce I want.
I’m not used to eating alone. At least, I wasn’t . Not until the accident. I mean it when I say it changed everything. One minute, I’m enjoying a meal with my unit, the next, I’m alone in hospital, eating bland sludge just so the painkillers had something to grip onto.
A heavy sigh leaves my shoulders as I recall eating with my unit while we were on mission. It’s times like that that I miss the most. The camaraderie. The togetherness. It’s as close as I’ve ever come to having a family.
I close the menu and wait for the waitress to come back over. When she does, she has a polite smile on her face and a question on her lips. You get to notice things like that when you’re in the military. You learn to read people, and right now, I don’t like the look in her fucking eyes.
“Excuse me, sir. The restaurant is quiet busy tonight. First night of the sailing and all,” she says, trying a mood-lightning giggle. But it doesn’t work. “Um, right, well, I was wondering if you would mind sharing your table with another guest?”
Fuck. The last thing I need right now is small talk with a stranger.
I’m about to say no when I catch a glimpse of her – a flash of caramel colored hair, blond streaks through it in a way that makes it look like its glowing. She’s wearing a sundress that looks familiar, the curves that flow beneath drawing my eyes and making my cock stir in my pants.
My heart skips a beat when my unwanted table guest comes into full view. Her honey-brown eyes catch mine and I feel like my entire world turns upside down in this moment.
It’s her. The woman from earlier.
The one that came crashing into my life in the best possible way.
“Is this seat taken?” she asks, her voice soft, but there’s a hint of something playful that almost makes me smile. Almost.
“Go ahead,” I say, my throat suddenly dry.
She smiles and I have to look back at the menu slipping in my sweaty hands just so I don’t stare at her. Fuck . She’s gorgeous. She makes every other woman on this ship look like the dirt I scrub off my worn-out old military boots at the end of a mission.
She pulls out the chair and runs a hand down her dress, flattening it as she sinks down opposite me. She gets comfortable and I can only stare over the top of the menu, watching as her dress dips to reveal a deep cleavage that I just want to shove my face between.
“Oh, I thought it was you! It is, isn’t it?” She smiles at me, lifting a glass of water to her lips. “I’m Stella, and I’m pretty sure my make-up ruined your shirt earlier.”
She takes a sip and all I can do is stare at the moisture on her perfectly pink lips. I want to lean over and lick it off that pouty bottom lip. Stella. I’ve never wondered about the name of my future wife, but damn. There it is.
Fuck, she’s so goddamn sexy. I just want to pick her up and take her back to my penthouse right fucking now. I have this sudden urge deep inside my body that I’ve never felt before. Like she’s meant to be here with me, like she’s my soul mate or something.
Jesus. Get a grip.
“Huh, oh, yeah… It’s fine. My shirt is fine.”
She giggles playfully. “And your name is?”
“Samuel.”
“Well, Samuel. It looks like we’re destined to share more than just a collision today,” she says, her nervous laughter making her cheeks flush.
Good God. She might just kill me with how sweet her laugh is.
I fake a deep chuckle that barely leaves my heavy chest. “Where’s your friend?”
Her eyes suddenly lose some of their brightness and I’m instantly regretting my words. Shit. I hope she doesn’t think I want her friend. There’s no way I do. There’s no way I’ll ever want another woman ever again.
“She’s… well, let’s say, she’s busy. ”
I nod knowingly. “Ah huh. I see.”
She takes another sip, and her eyes meet mine again. “Yeah, busy. So I guess that means you’re stuck with me for now.”
I can’t help but smile. Wow, that feels weird. I can’t remember the last time I smiled.
“Believe me, I’ve been stuck in worse situations than this.”
We share a light moment, and I can only watch as her face lights up. Her laughter is lighter than the ocean breeze and when she shakes her head and pushes her hair back over her shoulder, every silky strand of it moves in slow motion, the movement making my blood heat beyond boiling point.
There’s something about this woman. Something intriguing and exciting. Something deeper than I’ve ever felt before.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, and I catch something in her expression that makes my pulse quicken.
This isn’t just small talk. Hell, this mightn’t even be a coincidence that she’s sitting opposite me. There’s an energy between us that I can’t quite work out, and for someone who’s spent their entire life reading people, that’s saying something.
The waiter appears at our table, menus in hand, breaking the tension for a moment. “So then, are we ready to order? See anything you like?”
I glance across the table, and Stella has those gorgeous honey-brown eyes locked on me. She tilts her head to the side, flutters her long lashes and just blinks at me. There’s no doubt about it – she’s flirting with me. She’s working me out, trying to tempt me. This could all be a game to her.
I’m not sure she knows exactly what she’s getting herself into.
“Well… do you see anything you like, Samuel ?” she asks, her sultry eyes daring me to make the next move.
I swallow hard, my gaze not daring to leave hers. I’ve spent all day complaining about being trapped on a cruise ship for two weeks. Now, I’m pretty sure I’ve found something, or someone, to do.
If she wants to play, then I’m all in. I can’t think of a better way to pass the time than with the beauty sitting in front of me.