All At Sea: Finding Sweet Love, #1

By Tracey Pedersen

Romance. Sizzle. Intrigue. A whale-watching cruise, gone wrong, throws two strangers together for an exciting adventure!

Jenna Michaels has spent the last two years wrapped up in writing her three best-selling novels. She's quit her job and is now a full-time writer. Then the unthinkable happens. The words just dry up. Hell-bent on finding inspiration for her fourth novel, Jenna throws herself out into the world to rediscover her writing talent.

She needs the words to fly from her fingers again.

Ryan Price is attempting to extricate himself from an ex-girlfriend who refuses to let go. He's not happy to discover she's been in contact with his mother behind his back. To an outsider on this beautiful day, he seems grumpy and aloof.

When Jenna and Ryan meet aboard the Ulysses III there is instant sizzle. Being surrounded by a boatload of strangers can't cool their attraction and it's hands-on all the way.

Their fascination with one another quickly becomes a desperate struggle for survival when disaster and tragedy strike in the blink of an eye.

Between some sticky family influences and a tragic turn of events, can they survive their need to be together? Does romance on the beach equal love in the real world? Will the tragedy that follows their first meeting drive them together or pull them apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daring Online Adventures
• Release date: Jan 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9780994548511

Tracey Pedersen

Tracey Pedersen is an Australian USA Today Bestselling author who has finally accepted that she is meant to write, write, write! In 2016 she released her first romance novel and hasn't looked back. Now writing full time, and fighting the urge to write every second of the day, she loves travel, crocheting, replying to reader emails and spending WAY too much time on Facebook!

Book preview

All At Sea

All At Sea

Finding Sweet Love Series

Tracey Pedersen

Daring Online Adventures

All At Sea

Copyright © 2016 Tracey Pedersen

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-0-9945485-1-1

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All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying, scanning or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author. This includes transmission by email.

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Reviewers are permitted to quote brief passages for the purpose of reviewing only.

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All At Sea is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This book is dedicated to my husband, Gert. Thanks for always being up for any adventure, no matter how hair-brained my ideas. I enjoyed the book research this time around.

Contents

Mistake

The Boat

Ryan

Meet Up

Whales

Airborne

Capsize

Lifeboat

Survival

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Home

Reunion

Discovery

Declaration

Mystery

Surprise

Promise

Sneak Peek All Adrift

Acknowledgment

Also by Tracey Pedersen

About the Author

Before you go…

Mistake

J enna! Jenna!

I groaned inside and squeezed my eyes shut as I realised I’d been duped. I’d been watching from the window until James left on his morning run; then I’d made my escape. He was on to me and had doubled back before I could reach my car.

Shit!

I pasted on a fake smile and turned to face the biggest mistake I’d made this year. Hi, James.

Where are you off to so early? Do you want to catch up for dinner?

I’m going on a cruise and I won’t be here in time for dinner, I lied.

Dammit. Now I have to stay out late.

Okay. Want to have dinner tomorrow night, then?

I sighed as I looked at his hopeful face. Why was it so hard for him to take no for an answer? Why did I have to keep letting him down? It had been several weeks, but he was still pouncing on me every time he saw me in the street or in the stairwell. It wasn’t a case of not taking a hint. I’d told him outright it was a one-off mistake on my part. He didn’t seem to be getting the message.

Well, you shouldn’t have fucked him just to try to get some excitement in your life.

Yep, I did that – guilty as charged. I’d hit a massive writer’s block and hadn't been able to write for several months; I was tired of staring at a blank screen and thought some wild sex would help me snap out of it. Except, I’d chosen sweet James to be my victim. Someone who lived in my building and who turned out not to be as worldly as I had expected.

It was my own fault for being too much of a coward to hit up a bar and meet a handsome stranger for the night. Casual sex was definitely not my thing, and now, the first time I’d done it, I had an admirer hanging on like a stray puppy.

If I couldn’t manage to flick him, I’d have to seriously consider moving to a new apartment. How long could I look into his hurt eyes before it started to eat at me?

Worst of all, our night together hadn’t given me any damned inspiration for my new book. I was as barren as ever in the novel idea department. So, I’d saddled myself with James and with my truckload of guilt for nothing.

Best laid plans, and all that!

"I can’t James. I really can’t. Thanks for asking me again, but I’d really like you to stop asking me now. This is all my fault. I made a terrible mistake and that night should never have happened. Can you please let it go?"

He looked hurt. The same look I’d seen more than a dozen times in the last three weeks. I felt so awful and I resolved right then that this would be the first and last time I slept with someone who I wasn’t in love with. Why I even broke that personal rule was still a mystery to me. How could I ever have thought it would help me to start writing again?

Before he could say another word, I turned away and headed for my car. I got in and buckled my seatbelt, avoiding looking at him in my rear view mirror. I pulled out into the traffic without a glance in his direction.

I was off on a new adventure today; one also designed to kick-start my writing. I just hoped it wasn’t as much of a disaster as my night with James had turned out to be.

Please God, let this be the thing that gets me back in the game.

The Boat

The line up beside the catamaran was long. Even though I’d made a mammoth effort to get here early, there were still fifteen people in front of me. I’d learned long ago that it was a bad idea for me to be sitting inside on a boat trip like this. To have the most enjoyable day possible, I needed to be sitting outside in the fresh air. In a perfect world, I'd always get a spot on the upper level. So, I made sure I arrived early to have the pick of the seats up top.

I shuffled forward as the people in front of me chatted to each other and waited for their turn. I closed my eyes and tipped my head up to enjoy the morning sunshine on my face. In my usual overthinking fashion, I ran over the contents of my beach bag in my head.

Sunscreen. Check. Hat. Check. A couple of pieces of fruit. Check. Phone turned off. Check. Bottles of water. Check. Kindle charged and ready. Check.

I chuckled. It was too late now if I’d left anything at home. Though I had time before we departed, I wouldn’t exactly be racing home to grab a banana if I’d forgotten to pack it.

Chill, Jenna. You came out here to relax - not overanalyse every little detail of what’s in your bag.

It was finally my turn to board. I presented my printed ticket at the counter to a pretty girl in white shorts and a tight, white t-shirt. Her name badge announced she was a trainee named Kellie. I smiled at her and we chatted before she wished me a great day.

Once I’d crossed the gangplank and was standing on the flat lower deck, I did a quick reconnaissance of the lower level to get acquainted with the facilities. Families were getting themselves settled in what they considered the prime positions. Several children were on board already and their excitement was palpable. From my experience with my own sister’s kids, I knew the questions about this trip would start soon. Their parents had a long and tiring day ahead of them. Right now, everyone looked fresh and enthusiastic.

As I located the stairs to the top level and started to make my ascent, I heard the first little voice pipe up. No doubt I'd hear that same voice get a lot whinier as the minutes ticked by. Muuuuum, when do we leeeaavvvve?

I smiled inwardly and made my way to the top level to find my own version of the prime position. I liked to sit near the edge so I could see down beside the boat and feel the wind in my hair. This boat was gorgeous. It was almost brand new, or the recent recipient of a makeover, by the look. The seats were shiny, the waterproof carpets were clean, and the handrails showed no sign of any damage or rust. The paint job was flawless and everywhere shiny, white surfaces gleamed in the sunshine. I was wearing sunglasses and I still had to squint a little against the reflection. Light was flying everywhere, like a crazy disco ball in a nightclub. My writer’s brain was taking in all the details and filing them away for later. I hoped there would be a later.

You’ll be fine, Jenna. Tourist boats never sink. They’re built solid. You’re in one of the safest countries for boat outings, too. Australia doesn’t have many boat disasters on its books. Find yourself a seat and stop stressing.

Trying to forget that I might drown today, I moved to my right and took a seat in the front row of bolted-down white chairs. I settled myself and peeked over the side to see how long the line had grown. It seemed today’s trip might not be as crowded as normal - the benefit of coming on a weekday, I guessed. The line was only about ten people deep and not the long, snaking queue I had expected to see by now. I’d thought all whale-watching cruises sold out in advance during summer. I was content to know that appeared to be a myth.

Satisfied that this would be a nice, relaxed day, I set about applying sunscreen to every exposed piece of olive skin. I was lucky to have inherited my mother’s year-round tan but I was still careful about the sun. I searched around in my bag and pulled out my hat, arranging it with care on my long dark hair, before turning my attention back to the sunscreen.

When I had lathered up my face, arms, and legs with the sticky white goo, I pulled out my Kindle and settled down for a bit of reading. Once we set sail, it wouldn’t be long before the ocean and the beautiful day claimed my attention. I could never keep my head stuck in a book when the weather was so beautiful.

Oh, who are you kidding, Jenna? You can’t keep your head in a book for a whole different reason. The moment we leave the safety of the dock, you’ll be considering emptying your stomach contents over the side.

It was true. I suffered from awful seasickness. Coming out today had been a great idea though. Throwing aside my aversion to water and getting out amongst people would be good for me. Some part of me, deep inside, hoped that the change in my routine would kick off a whole new idea for my next book.

My mind drifted as my attention shifted again to the line where passengers waited to hand over their tickets. Kellie smiled at each one; as if they were the first person she’d spoken to today. She gave each group a personal greeting once she saw the name on their tickets and made small talk, as though this was her most important job. I could tell she enjoyed her role as she made each passenger feel special.

Characters that made you feel special were a hallmark of the books I'd written so far.

It had been such a long time since I’d felt like writing. I’d released three books in the last eighteen months and all had made it to the best sellers list. I’d had little difficulty writing any of them. The words had somehow flowed from my fingers on autopilot, almost like the stories had come from somewhere else, instead of my own imagination. I decided I had found my calling, since it had been so easy to write and I’d produced some amazing sales from my first efforts. Now, almost two years later, I was unable to dredge up a single word. I had no new ideas for my next novel - no burning desire to write the story of a character and watch with amazement as they almost wrote their own history. I had not a glimmer of a plot line. Nada.

Usually, when I sat down to write a book, I had a character in mind and some type of scene that my whole book would grow from. In my first book, I’d dreamed of a wildly romantic location with two people who only had eyes for each other. From the short snippet I remembered when I woke up, a seventy-thousand-word novel had ensued in the following months. People had loved it, it had flown off the shelves in bookstores, and there were many thousands of copies nestled out there on electronic devices too. My success had amazed me when it felt like I hadn’t tried that hard.

My second and third books were the same; I had been daydreaming and came up with a scene that caught my attention. From there, I wrote an outline, and then the entire book took shape. Every spare minute of every day I had tapped away on my laptop to get the story out of me. Sometimes, I drove to a cafe or a McDonalds and wrote for a few hours. Other days, I felt like if I didn’t start writing, I would explode. So I just sat in my apartment, typing as fast as I could, before the story ebbed away and I lost it.

I’d never lost it, though. I could write for a few hours and then have an interruption and not impact my story at all. I’d just shut the computer when I needed to run an errand or go to work. When I returned, it was as easy as opening the lid of the laptop and picking up where I’d finished. I wrote in fifteen-minute intervals on the tram. I wrote on aeroplanes and in airports. I was still working full-time in those days, so I’d write before work and on my lunch break. No matter where I could sneak in fifteen minutes, my story would always come to me.

But now, it seemed different when I attempted to write. It was like I had exhausted every decent idea I’d ever had. I couldn’t get enthusiastic about a single character. I didn’t feel like spending the time describing a room or a park or anything else that my readers needed to know about to enjoy the story. I just sat around.

I spent too much time on social media. I played games on my iPhone until my eyes burned. It was lucky most of the ones I played were free and could only be used for a little bit before they had to reset. My burned-out writing hands might have spent hours playing those stupid time-wasters just to get to the next level.

Yesterday, I had deleted all but two of those games. I recognised that they were creeping up to take over all my spare time as my procrastination reached exotic levels.

The fact that my laptop wasn’t packed in my beach bag today spoke volumes. I’d carried my Mac around for the better part of the last two years as I wrote like a crazy person any spare minute I could get. I loved that I never had to wait for it to turn on. I could carry it around and open the lid whenever I wanted - no wasted time while the computer booted up. Now it wouldn’t matter if it took thirty minutes to boot up: I still wouldn’t have an idea worth writing about.

I gave myself a little mental slap and moved my eyes down to my book. Dwelling on my problems wouldn’t make them disappear.

Something will get you enthused again, Jenna. You just need to get amongst people. Quitting your job might not have been the best idea if you wanted a steady stream of new stimulation.

I’d quit my job six months ago; right around the time I was part way through the third book. I felt like work was taking up my valuable writing time. The first two books had made me a decent amount of cash, so I no longer had to worry about that work pay cheque dropping into my account every month. Now that I had a decent income from my writing, I wanted to devote all my time to it. I had completed the third book, just as easily as the first two. More so, if I took the time to examine the details. Once I had that fifty hours a week back from my day job, I finished the manuscript in record time. More cash rolled in and people occasionally recognised my name when I filled in a form or identified myself for whatever reason. I’d appeared on a couple of morning shows with the last book, and had even done some book signings. It was the weirdest way to spend an afternoon. To have people line up just to meet you and have you sign their book. I got quite a surprise when I discovered I loved meeting these people. Interaction with readers was now high on my list of favourite activities and I hoped there’d be a lot more of it.

I think quitting my job had made me a little bit complacent. Now that I had all the time in the world to write, I was making poor choices about how I used that time. I didn’t want to go back to work just to get some inspiration for my writing. I’d spent years trying to make it big, so that I didn’t have to be at someone else’s beck and call. Now, here I was wondering if idle hands weren’t the reason for my lack of motivation.

It wasn’t that I needed the money - it seemed my book income would sustain me for quite a long time. I just needed to know I could still write.

Just this week, I’d decided that I would get out of the house every single day and reconnect with the world. I’d spent a day in the local shopping centre, just window shopping and trying on clothes. I’d been to the zoo on the weekend and watched the interactions between small children and their parents. I’d wandered the city streets another day and watched lovers strolling hand in hand through stores and parks. I’d watched them over lunch as they looked at each other with adoration. I'd sat in front of buskers and listened to them perform. When none of that had produced even a hint of an original plot line, I’d booked this boat trip to try to push the envelope.

I love whales. I’d been on a whale-watching boat two other times and hadn’t had a lot of close-up interaction with them. They’d always been a fair distance away, though I had some amazing photographs thanks to the zoom lens on my camera. Today I hadn’t brought my camera along. I was just going to watch with my eyes, drink it all in, and enjoy the moment.

I was clinging to the secret hope that fear would create the urge to write. Boats frightened me. Well, not boats; just what could happen if a boat I was on were to sink. I’d always worried about drowning. I'd experienced several nightmares over the years about this exact subject. I think I was trying to jolt myself into an experience that would result in an idea for a new storyline and some fresh inspiration.

I glanced down at my book to try to read a chapter or two before we set off. I hadn’t read a single word when the passengers lining up for this beautiful vessel again claimed my attention. Raised voices floated up from below, and I peered over the side to see who was creating a disturbance on such a beautiful day.

Standing in line, waiting to come aboard was a group of four people: three women and one man. An older lady, who seemed blissfully unaware of the behaviour of her companions, stood with the other three. She got her tickets ready to hand over to Kellie. The dark - haired younger woman was hissing at the man and his companion. She might have been asking them to keep their voices down, but they were not paying her the slightest bit of attention. The blonde was causing a scene and making accusations that the whole day was going to be a disaster and she didn’t know why she’d come. She had a large and garish diamond on the hand that was doing most of the waving around.

My eyes moved last to the man standing with the small group. He had dark hair and sun-kissed skin. He was around six feet tall, although