Page 9 of The Admiral's Daughter

“Dawson!” Benson’s voice carries across the deck.

“Shit,” I hiss, whirling around. He’s waiting with hands on his hips.

“The captain wants to see you.”

His words don’t compute. I’ve never been hauled in front of the captain. Even with my somewhat roguish ways on board, Benson has never taken it up the chain of command, let alone to the fucking captain. Crap, he must have spotted me spacing out when the admiral wasaddressing us. I’m guessing he’s taken that, added it to the fact I smelt of booze this morning, and decided it’s finally time to have me disciplined.

“Rome, you better get going,” Kit whispers in my ear.

I know she’s right, but my legs won’t move.

“Come on,” Cheddar mutters, taking me by the elbow.

I make it to the bridge, but the captain is nowhere to be seen. Instead of drawing attention to myself, I slip out and head to the officer’s mess.

Muffled voices come from behind the door as I approach. Taking a few deep breaths, I finally knock.

“Enter.” The captain’s voice is strong. I’ve always found it a little nerve-wracking. She’s just the kind of woman who commands respect.

Stepping through the door, I come to attention and salute.

“Ah, Dawson.”

Shit, she knows my name.

“At ease.” The smile on her face doesn’t lessen the weight of her authority.

My eyes stray to the side, and I see her. Cleo. She’s not looking at me. Her attention is fixed on the captain,posture perfect, expression neutral. Professional. Like she didn’t have a strap buried inside her twelve hours ago.

Christ, I’m going to be sick.

Keeping a blank face, I wait for the captain to continue.

“As you heard, the admiral is spearheading a campaign to increase recruitment. Cleo will be writing an in-depth piece for her paper. She’ll be staying with us for the next eight weeks as we complete training exercises in the Atlantic.”

I didn’t know any of this.

“Warrant Officer Benson volunteered you to act as Cleo’s guide.”

Of course he fucking did. This is revenge for this morning. For every time I’ve rolled my eyes at him, every infraction, every moment of insubordination. He’s found the perfect punishment.

Eight weeks. Eight weeks as a tour guide for the woman I fucked and ditched.

How can I get out of this? Oh, that’s right, I can’t. There is no feasible reason I can come up with on the spot.

“Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.”

Bullshit, but I’ll do anything not to get a reaming from the captain. I refuse to let Benson win.

Captain Morley smiles. “Wonderful. I’ve already shown Cleo to her quarters. I’ve invited her to a dinner this evening with the admiral. As a thank you for helping me out, I’d like for you to also attend, Dawson.”

My face flushes. I’d rather contract the clap than go to a dinner with the woman I banged, my captain, and the admiral.

My dress uniform is going to reek of panic sweat.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d be honoured.”

“Super. We’ll dine in my private lounge. 20:00 sharp.”