Stars on Twilight: Romance At Sea, #1

By JL Wharton

Given her impressive ability to navigate devastating loss and create a better-than-average life, Sara Braxton is stumped. When it comes to love, why does she keep finding Mr. Wrong instead of Mr. Right? After being burned to within an ash of her life by love-gone-bad, Sara doesn't trust her own judgment. Just because a guy looks good on paper, past history tells her he's probably not what he appears to be.

Now on an extended cruise for her best friend's birthday celebration, Sara is guarded against repeating past mistakes in the man department. Especially a man like Carlo Manetti, the Staff Captain of the cruise ship. Italian hot and always in command, he's trouble with a capital T. Too bad Sara's body keeps ignoring her 'off limits' memo as she plunges full steam ahead into love. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: JL Wharton
• Release date: Oct 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393941743

JL Wharton

JL Wharton is a technical writer turned romance novelist. With that kind of career history, writing novels didn’t seem to be in her wheelhouse until she realized that she has a few life experiences to share. These experiences have woven themselves into the lives of her fun, dedicated, socially and environmentally conscious, make-believe characters who also happen to be humans who fall in love - even when it’s not convenient or planned. In Deep, her debut romance novel, is the first book in her Mother Earth Series. Stars on Twilight is the first of two planned novels for her Romance at Sea Series. Maybe there'll be more? And there are lots of other book ideas rolling around in her head. When not clicking away at her computer keyboard, JL explores the Rocky Mountains of Colorado on foot in her efforts to identify the birds and flowers of the richly diverse eco-region she calls home.

Book preview

ONE YEAR AGO 

AFTER HER THIRD ORGASM, Sara collapsed on her back, totally spent. With a deeply satisfied sigh, she rolled over onto her side. He was looking at her with so much affection her heart flipped over as she returned his gaze through eyes shiny with love.

She could hardly believe that she’d finally met the man of her dreams. She’d thought it impossible; there’d been so many trials, errors, and failures that she had all but given up.

Then she met him — Bill Ferguson. Handsome, funny, affectionate Bill. He seemed too good to be true, but after six months of spending all the time they could squeeze in — given his traveling work schedule — she was starting to believe that good things were possible.

I wanted to leave you with something to remember me by. He trailed a finger up her arm, following the line of her shoulder to the base of her neck, before rubbing the pad of his thumb across her cheek.

Mission accomplished, she said with a smile. Mission accomplished three times. Capturing his hand, she planted warm kisses on his palm. Do you have to go?

You know I do. This trip to Toronto will make or break my sales quota for this month. He sat up on the side of the bed. And speaking of that, I need to call my office.

She pouted as he picked up his cell phone.

Shit, I forgot to charge this thing. It’s totally dead.

Oh, bummer. She grinned, not at all disappointed. Now you’ll have to stay until it’s charged. That’ll give me, oh, I don’t know, maybe another hour with you? 

His mouth tilting up at the corners, he reached over and tweaked her nose. Or I can just use your phone over there on the desk.

Meanie. She stuck out her tongue at him.

Laughing, he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt that stretched to its limits across his broad shoulders. 

Her nipples hardening, she watched her tall, handsome hunk saunter over to the desk, pick up the phone, and dial. His movements were deliberate, confident. His ass, rock hard. And those eyes, he melted her bones with those milk chocolate eyes. God, she had it bad. So bad it was good. Oh, so good.

Deciding to be a good sport instead of pouting, she got out of bed to make coffee while he talked on the phone. When he came into the kitchen a few minutes later, she had a to-go cup all ready for him laced with lots of cream and sugar, just the way he liked it.

You’re an angel. He sipped at the scalding liquid, his eyes moving from the riot of her red, bed head hair to toned curves that had his mouth going dry. I’m going to miss you. 

Good, because when you’re out there on the road ... all alone ... remember what you’ve left behind. She shot him a look that dripped sex, then opened her robe.

His low groan shot desire straight between her legs and made her nipples go hard. Again.

Woman, you’re killing me.

Well you, mister, she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck, you’ve brought me back to life. After one last lingering kiss, she walked him to the door and watched him drive away, a plan hatching in her mind. 

He’d be back in two weeks — plenty of time to plan a surprise for his upcoming birthday. She would put together their first real celebration as a couple and she couldn’t wait.

Moving to the desk, she picked up the phone and hit REDIAL, excited to secretly enlist the help of his administrative assistant, Liza, for juicy tidbits about his favorite hobbies, restaurants, and ways he liked to celebrate. 

A friendly female voice picked up on the second ring, all business efficiency. Sales office.

Liza, hi. Good morning. We haven’t met yet but I was hoping you could help me plan a surprise for Bill’s birthday. Sara grabbed a pen and paper from the desk drawer, ready to jot down any morsels of wisdom from the woman whose competence Bill constantly praised, crediting her as the key to his success over the years.

I’m sorry, who are you?

I’m Sara, Bill’s sweetheart. I’m sure he’s mentioned me.

No, as a matter of fact he hasn’t. The warmth in her voice evaporated, replaced with cold, hard steel. And I’m not Liza. I’m Susan, Bill’s wife. 

CHAPTER 1

ANXIOUS TO GET UNDERWAY, Carlo Manetti was feeling the same kind of restless energy that comes before a big storm. But it’s not the weather, he realized. Clear blue skies and the latest weather reports confirmed that all of the Caribbean was clear and calm. And hot. Feverishly hot. The heat blanketed the port of San Juan, scalding the railings on the bridge of the Venetia where the Staff Captain stood. 

I’m just ready — so ready — to be home, he acknowledged to himself. 

From this vantage point, Carlo monitored his junior officer on the dock as he directed a crew of sailors and dockhands preparing the ship for departure. Their movements were slow and labored, understandable in the unforgiving heat.

The loud crackle from the radio clipped to Carlo’s belt interrupted his thoughts. Commandante, per favore.

Sì, pronto.

In Italian, the Chief Purser told Carlo they were ready to begin boarding the passengers. Giving the go-ahead, Carlo pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from a square jaw hours past needing a shave. 

Where’s the damn breeze?

Looking out to sea, he watched for ripples on the water’s surface or any sign of a cool breath of air. Niente.

Below him, the port agents opened the gate and the first passengers began to board. It was eleven hours before their midnight departure but these cruisers couldn’t wait. 

Carlo was beyond weary of this routine. The schedule was the same, the itinerary was the same, even the faces of the passengers seemed the same. Strangers. He spent his life with strangers. 

The two weeks until he returned to Naples were stretching into an eternity. One day at a time, he reminded himself. Then I’ll be home for good.

He smiled thinking of his mother’s last letter. The party she was planning for his homecoming included every single woman within one hundred kilometers of Torre del Greco. Like most Italian mothers, she wanted her oldest son to settle down and get married. And, of course, to a beautiful Italian girl who would give her lots of grandchildren.

Sara! Sara, wait! 

The insistent voice drew Carlo’s attention to the port building where passengers continued to line up for boarding.

A saucy brunette was calling to someone unseen. I left my bag in the leather shop. I’ll be right back. She disappeared around the corner. 

Following her line of sight, Carlo watched the back of a red headed woman fumbling with a carry on bag she’d just dropped. The spilled contents had spread in an impressively wide arc, completely blocking the boarding ramp.

Dammit all to hell. The woman said without apology to the logjam of people waiting — and watching — as she shoveled a mountain of belongings back into her bag.

Out of the blue, the longed for breeze whipped through the port, lifting the woman’s hat right off her head and carrying it over the side of the passenger gangway railing. Startled, but showing lightning fast reflexes, the redhead lunged for the hat. 

Oddio! Carlo gasped. She’s going over.

Her rocketing attempt to grab the hat was a fraction of a second too late. Sara watched helplessly as her designer straw hat — the one she’d spent a bundle of her vacation budget on — sailed, in a wildly rocking motion, toward the water. 

Crap, she said to no one in particular as she straightened and shrugged vanilla cream shoulders. Close, but not close enough. 

As Carlo’s pulse began to return to normal, he laughed. 

Crazy lady. She’s an accident waiting to happen. 

Through his radio, Carlo ordered the junior officer on the dock to save the hat, which had started whirling acrobatically on the sudden gusts of wind buffeting the port. Watching the hat as it dipped and swooped toward the ground, the officer grabbed it just as it settled on the edge of a concrete mooring, inches from a steep drop to the water. Grinning proudly, the officer pointed to the hat and then toward the ship, motioning that he would take the hat inside. 

As the redhead nodded and waved, she turned from the railing to face Carlo’s direction for the first time. Through his binoculars he saw an angel’s face — a sweet smile, a faint spray of freckles, skin like a porcelain doll. Lust punched him right in the gut. Madonna Mia! Shaking his head, he turned away.

Removing his hat Carlo raked his hand through curly, raven black hair. He’d promised himself he’d never so much as look at a female passenger again. He’d been burned, and burned badly, by more than one woman coming onboard with Hollywood-induced fantasies of what was available to them on a cruise.

Don’t even think about it, he told himself.

With effort, Carlo refocused his attention on the work crew. The officer below had ordered a ship’s sailor to take responsibility for the hat. The sailor was parading around with the hat on his head, his fellow workers laughing and shouting.

Resisting the urge to tear his hair out, Carlo radioed sharply to his junior officer to take charge of the situation. The order was immediately carried out, even as Carlo turned from the questioning gaze of the officer below. 

What prompted that anger, he wondered. It’s just this damned heat, he tried to assure himself. But it was something more, something to do with the way he was feeling and ... something to do with that woman. 

Impossible. I don’t even know her.

But he wanted to. 

No, non una possibilità. 

CHAPTER 2

SARA SIGHED LAZILY as she stretched the full length of the deck chair. 

Thank the Maker. Two weeks to relax and think about nothing at all. 

But who can stop thoughts, she wondered, as her mind insistently drifted back home to Charleston. 

All too clearly, Sara realized her life there was on autopilot; her existence on some predetermined course not necessarily of her choosing. Sure, she had a safe little existence at home. She had a good career that kept food on the table and a roof over her head. And she had friends she knew she could count on if she needed them.

So I’m livin’ the dream, right? 

Though her life looked good on paper, it was about as riveting to her as watching paint dry. 

Just forget about it — I’m on vacation. Leave it behind. 

But she knew from experience that her life — her dull, tedious, monotonous life — would be waiting for her, unchanged, when she got back.

After that unexpected, heart-crushing, just-kill-me-now talk with Bill’s wife, Sara had gradually distanced herself from those well-meaning friends who wanted her to get right back into the dating scene. 

Best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else, right Sara? they kept asking.

When they flatly refused to drop the subject, she gave in, reluctantly drumming up the energy to join a couple of online dating sites. After just a couple of dates, Sara knew it was pointless — even painful. She found it was like going to a masquerade ball — too many men pretending to be something or someone they weren’t. 

Only her best friend had understood. Meg knew that what Sara needed was time to heal; time to grieve the loss of her