At fifty-four, Ransom Courtland Baxter, my far too handsome husband, is six feet plus of former FBI agent wrapped in a crisp black suit that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad. His dark hair has just enough silver at the temples to make him look distinguished, and those blue eyes could melt polar ice caps—and I’m pretty sure they have. The man’s jawline alone could slice hard cheese, and when he does smile, which is about as rare as a solar eclipse, it’s a devastating look that makes women forget their own names, and maybe the names of their friends and family, too. Ransom just so happens to be the head of vessel security, and he’s not only intimidating, he’s the kind of hot that makes rational women make irrational decisions.
“That dress should be illegal, Mrs. Baxter,” he murmurs, moving close enough that his cologne, something woodsy and expensive, makes every last one of my neurons misfire.
I bite down a smile. “Too much cleavage for greeting duty?”
“Too much temptation for a working man.” His eyes do that slow sweep that makes me tingle from head to toe. “I’m supposed to be maintaining ship security, and yet here I am, fantasizing about the most beautiful woman on it.”
A tiny laugh bubbles from me. “That’s highly unprofessional, Detective.”
“Good thing I’ve never been accused of being professional.”
A woman glances our way, and as soon as she locks eyes on my handsome hubby, she walks straight into a potted plant the size of a wine barrel.
“Oh wow.” I tap my finger on his chest. “I think that’s number four today. I really should start keeping score.” I lick my lips and wink at him.
Wes clears his throat from his post to our left, looking dapper in his captain’s whites, his dimples flashing like they’re part of the uniform. With that dark hair and those green eyes, he’s basically maritime catnip.
He nods our way with a smile. “Perhaps we could save the shameless flirting for after hours?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Elodie pipes up next to him. Elodie would be one of my on-ship besties. She originally hails from South Africa and is a textbook man-eater. With her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the sea air, those pale blue eyes that don’t miss a naughty thing, and twenty years of cruising experience under her belt, she’s essentially a predator in designer heels. Lucky for her, she gets those heels at a steep discount since she manages the Queen’s Mall here on the ship. “Loosen up, Captain. Some of us want to see the sparks fly before dinner.” She nods my way. “Go ahead and devour him, Trixie. I’ll record every delicious minute of it on my phone for posterity—and for a few online sites that would pay the big bucks for this.”
Tinsley doesn’t even look up from her clipboard. “I don’t care if you show cleavage from your boobs or your toes, Trixie,” she says, finally giving my cobalt blue dress a once-over, “but I had better not see a dead body this time around. We’re still arguing with insurance about the last one.” She taps her watch as her chestnut hair falls in a glossy wave over one shoulder. “And as fascinating as this mating ritual is, some of us have actual work to do.” Tinsleywould be our resident cruise director and president of the I Do Not Care for Trixie Troublefield Baxter Fan Club.
“Some of us need to get under a man now and again,” Nettie whispers loud enough for the crew in the engine room to hear and earns a scandalized gasp from Tinsley. “What?” Nettie squawks. “At my age, you take your thrills where you can find them. My grandmother always said, ‘If you can’t run with the big dogs, at least try to sniff their behinds.’”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes,” Bess grunts. “Speaking of trouble on the horizon,” she says, nodding toward the gangway, “here it comes with designer luggage.”
Three women are attempting to board simultaneously through the narrow gangway entrance, which is working about as well as trying to fit three cruise ships through a cat door.
“I specifically requested priority boarding,” the platinum blonde in the middle announces to anyone within earshot. She has that yoga-sculpted body that screamspersonal trainer at dawn, green juice by eight,and I admire her for it, too.
“The producers promised me a suite upgrade,” says the stunning woman to her left with caramel highlights framing a face that looks like it’s used to getting exactly what it asks for.
“Could we please just get onto the ship?” the third woman shouts. This one is a pretty strawberry blonde, and her wrist is adorned with enough understated gold that screams old money. “The cameras arrive in twenty minutes.”
“Did she saycameras?” I whisper to Ransom, and he nods with a sigh as if he were already resigned to the incoming chaos.
The moment those women spot Wes in his captain’s whites, it’s like watching sharks smell blood in the water.
“You must be the charming captain of this gorgeous vessel!” the platinum blonde purrs at him while extending a manicured hand. “I’m Madison Rothschild. You probably know my husband. He plays Victor Darkmore onThe Bitter and the Beautiful.”
“What?” Bess gasps, as do Nettie and I.
“Valentina Cruz-Henderson,” the caramel-highlighted beauty interrupts, somehow managing to edge Madison aside while maintaining her smile. “Please, call me Val. Former Miss Venezuela, now a philanthropist, of course. My husband is Santino Henderson. He plays Santino DiAngelo onDays of Our Nights.”
More gasps from Bess, Nettie, and me.
Val squeezes Wes’s arm as if she’s testing for muscle strength. “Such a strong ship you have here, Captain.”
I can’t help but frown at the woman. We all know she’s less interested in the ship and more interested in inspecting the captain’s seaworthiness, for lack of a better word.
“Hello, I’m Beth Williams,” the strawberry blonde manages to edge in. “My husband is Lance Williams. He plays Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. onCriminal Hospital.”
The collective gasp from our side of the atrium could probably be heard in Norway.
“Criminal Hospital!” Nettie shouts with the enthusiasm of someone who’s just won the lottery.
Okay, let me get this straight. The cast ofThe Bitter and the Beautiful, Days of Our Nights,andCriminal Hospitalis traveling with us? We really did hit the lottery! A very soapy, very lusty, very glued-to-the-edge-of-our-seats lottery. Honestly, that’s the very best kind.
