Page 95 of She’ll Steal Your Heart
Have you read my standalone, stranded sapphic romance,Lost in Paradise? Turn the page to read the first chapter…
LOST IN PARADISE
CHAPTER 1
Nicole Morella rested a hand on the doorway as the floor shifted beneath her feet. It had been eight hours since they set sail from Naples in southern Italy, and she hadn’t found her sea legs yet. Was it called setting sail on a modern-day, engine-powered boat? Nicole steadied herself as she took in the lounge before her. Couples and groups lingered over drinks at the various tables and sofas filling the room. Laughter and conversation drifted on the air, undercut by gentle strains of jazz music.
Her gaze wandered to the bar, which was just as crowded. A man sat alone at the near end, watching her as he sipped from his drink. She looked away, determined not to lose her nerve and retreat to her cabin on her first night at sea. This trip was her post-divorce gift to herself, and she was going to make the most of it. Tonight, she was going to enjoy a drink at the bar—alone—and she was going to have fun doing it.
About halfway down the bar, a blonde in a red dress sat talking to the man beside her. The seat to her right was empty, and Nicole decided to take it. She crossed the room and slid onto the empty stool, setting her black clutch on the polished wood in front of her. Keeping her back angled slightly toward the man on her other side, who had already begun to eye her with curiosity, she held the bartender’s gaze as he sidled over. “Do you have a house red?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a cabernet blend from Veneto. Very smooth. Would you like to try it?”
“If you like red, you should try the Petit Verdot,” a husky British voice said. “It’s from Bordeaux, very full-bodied, with just a hint of berries.”
Nicole turned to find the woman to her left watching her out of sky-blue eyes as she swirled the contents of her wineglass. “The Petit Verdot?”
“It’s excellent.” The blonde swiveled to face her, tucking an unruly strand of thick, wavy hair away from her face. She looked to be about Nicole’s age—mid-thirties. Light freckles spattered her forehead and chest that, combined with her wild hair and direct stare, lent her a sort of unconventional beauty that Nicole found it difficult to look away from.
“I’ll, um, I’ll try a glass of that,” Nicole told the bartender.
He nodded, moving down the bar to pour her drink.
“American, hm?” the blonde said, still watching her.
Nicole nodded, inexplicably flushed and tongue-twisted when she herself hadn’t had even a sip of alcohol yet tonight. She’d booked herself a private Mediterranean cruise to find her footing after the divorce, and she had every intention of doing it alone. Yet, here she was, heart racing for a total stranger. It had been a long time since she’d felt this kind of attraction and even longer since she’d felt it for a woman. “I’m from New York. And you?”
The blonde swirled her wineglass again before taking a sip. “I live just outside Nice, along the southern coast of France.”
“Oh, I thought you were…” Nicole fumbled, grateful as the bartender interrupted to hand her a glass of wine identical to the one the woman beside her held.
“I’m an expat,” the blonde said, tossing an amused glance over her shoulder at Nicole. “Born and raised in London.”
“Right.” Nicole lifted the glass and took a sip. The wine was rich, spicy but fruity. It tasted expensive. And exotic. A lot like the woman next to her. “It’s good.”
“Glad you think so,” she said.
Nicole couldn’t figure why the blonde was still talking to her, why she’d basically turned her back to her date when Nicole sat down. But then again, maybe he wasn’t her date at all, because he was sitting there now, looking annoyed but also interested, his gaze flicking between the blonde and Nicole. Maybe he was just a random guy hitting on a single woman in a bar, and that woman was now giving him the cold shoulder.
Nicole found her spirits buoyed at the good fortune to have sat next to another single woman…for casual conversation purposes, anyway, not because she was ridiculously attracted to her. “I’m Nicole,” she said.
“Fiona,” the blonde replied. “Are you here alone, Nicole?”
She nodded. “You?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Fiona dropped her gaze to her wineglass, and Nicole couldn’t help admiring the swell of her breasts beneath the formfitting bodice of her dress. Every inch of her was foreign and beautiful, dangerous for a woman committed to a week of solo soul-searching. “I was supposed to meet someone on the boat…a man.”
“Oh.” Nicole went for casual and hoped she succeeded. It was a good thing if Fiona was straight. It meant Nicole could sit and chat with her harmlessly. Safe.
“He stood me up,” Fiona continued, a sharp bite to her tone. “The bastard.”
“Aren’t they all?” Nicole mumbled, reaching for her wine.
“Indeed,” Fiona agreed. “I thought this one was an exception, at least good for a week of sex on the high seas.”
The man on the other side of her choked on his drink, and Fiona cast a disapproving glance in his direction at his blatant eavesdropping. Nicole swallowed her laugh with another sip of the luxuriously rich wine Fiona had recommended. So much better than the house red she would have gotten otherwise.
“It’s why I generally prefer women to men,” Fiona said, a bit louder, and her would-be paramour’s cheeks darkened before he turned away.
