*33* Port

*Juliet*

“Did I hear a knock at the—oh!”

Hurriedly emerging from our state room’s bathroom in the morning to keep someone from waking Sam, I find my efforts in vain discovering him reading through a hand-delivered note as he slowly crosses the antechamber. He’s dressed only in his sleep pants, his hair tousled and his head down as he skims the words on the page, and though we’ve been together for over a decade now, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve seen.

As his eyes slip over the words on the paper, mine rove this broad muscular chest and shoulders appreciatively, creep along at the hard lines of his midriff to where they narrow at his waist. I was doing something. I remember that much. But there’s no telling what that was now because the sight of my muscly and perfectly chiseled husband, sleep-disheveled and half-nak