Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (7 page)

“And they’re very discreet,” Franco added with a wink.

“Er, yes, I’m sure discretion is their middle name.” Laura glanced at Nathan, whose eyes twinkled in response.

An after-dinner walk on the deck gave Laura the chance to check o
ut the ship’s outdoor amenities. She and Nathan strolled along the lido deck toward the pool, deserted this time of night. Laura shivered when they rounded a corner and walked straight into a brisk wind off the water.

Nathan spun her toward him and ran his hands up and down her bare arms. “You’re cold. We should go in.”

Laura looked up into his golden-brown eyes, then glanced down at his lips.
Go for it.
“I can think of another way to warm up.”

Nathan chuckled. “My grandmother warned me about girls like you.” His hands rested on her shoulders as he leaned down, bringing that tantalizing mouth closer to hers.

“Oh yeah? What did she say?” Laura raised her mouth to his, her eyes still on his lips.

“‘Nathan,’ she said, ‘there will be women out there, fast women, that will want to take the lead. Don’t let them.’” He came closer still, his breath soft on her face.

“And what did you say?” Laura’s breath caught and her heart did a little two-step. She’d never been so wrapped up in the anticipation of a kiss before. The usual guys she’d,
er
, dated, if that was the word, just dove right in, taking what they wanted. More the instant-gratification type herself, so did she.

This expectation, this breathlessness, was new to her, and not unwelcome. She licked her lips as her gaze focused on his mouth, a breath away from hers.

“I said, ‘Nathan’—I wouldn’t have said it to my grandmother, you see”—the corner of that delicious mouth lifted—“so I said it to myself.” His grin faded as he stepped into her, stopping just shy of a kiss. “‘Sometimes it’s nice to be led.’”

Laura took that as her cue. She grazed his lips with hers, and, taking a page from his playbook, didn’t dive immediately into the deep end, but rather glided gently into the shallows.

As his hands skimmed the column of her neck to cup her face, a breathy moan escaped her. She gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him into her as he changed the direction of his mouth before taking the reins. His tongue parted her lips, deepening the kiss, and sending her pulse into overdrive.

Tongues tangled and danced, breathy moans filled the air, teeth nibbled and nipped, as her hands slid up his chest and into his hair, fingers combing and tousling. His spicy cologne filled her senses, the heat pouring off his firm body, even as his hands slid along her ribs to her waist tugging her hips against him.

She loved kissing, but it had always been the hors d’oeuvres, not the entree. This kiss was the hors d’oeuvres, the entree, and the dessert, all rolled into one tasty meal. One she didn’t want to end.

Nathan retreated, leaned in for another taste, then retreated again. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m warmed up.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

She was more than warmed up. She was revved up. Maybe this cruise offered more than a career opportunity. A shipboard fling—complete with a built-in end date—might be fun. Something new.

Nathan returned to his cabin around one a.m. smelling of Laura’s perfume, and tasting her li
ps, jet-lagged and bone-tired, but also wired. After that soul-searing kiss on the lido deck he’d put a little distance between them and sought out more public entertainment in the form of the ship’s glitzy nightclub. There hadn’t been too many couples on the dance floor, and those that were there were grooving to Lady Gaga with moves from another era. But what the hell, they were having fun.

Laura had put those long, sexy legs to work on the floor, giving Nathan a run for his money. He liked to think he could hold his own, but she’d smoked him with her moves. Moves that could have given any one of the septuagenarians on the boat a heart attack.

They’d shared another steamy kiss in the elevator to her stateroom deck, where he’d said goodnight, notwithstanding the disappointed look on her beautiful face. He was tired, and he knew she had to be tired as well. They’d never have done justice to the sex they both wanted to have.

Peeling off his sweaty shirt, having discarded the jacket and tie long ago, he stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower before collapsing into bed. Alone.

He stood beneath the shower’s spray. The heat of the water washed away the energy buzz he had going, and turned his body to mush. Dog-tired, he shut off the water and grabbed a fluffy towel from the rack.

Laura offered the potential for a hot little interlude. With her mouth pressed to his, fingers entwined in his hair, he had to remind himself he was here on a reconnaissance mission, not a vacation. Spending too much time with her could take time away from interacting with other passengers. Time away from his subtle interrogation techniques on the crew.

He toweled his hair then slung the towel over the rack. His mind made up, he crawled into bed and drew the covers up.

His grandmother would be ashamed at his ungentlemanly behavior, but tomorrow, Laura Danforth would be on her own.

Chapter 6

Early the next morning, Nathan walked into the state-of-the-art fitness center intending to get a workout in before heading out on the shore excursion into Marseille later in the morning. He’d had a fitful night, with dreams about the beautiful Laura Danforth, in a variety of states of undress, tormenting him with that luscious mouth. He’d finally woken in a pool of sweat.

And there, on the treadmill, running like a gazelle, was the object of his desire. Tight running pants, skimpy tank top. He groaned. He thought a workout would clear his head, now here he was again fantasizing about Laura.

Women weren’t usually a distraction for him. Not that he didn’t like women. He did. A lot, in fact. He liked how they smelled, the way they walked, how they tasted. And he liked romancing them with flowers, fine wine and candlelit dinners, but he’d never had a problem keeping his eye on the ball. Until now.

He nodded a greeting at the older gentleman working out on the Cybex machine, performing an inept shoulder press.

Nathan chose the elliptical trainers on the opposite wall. He’d miss the view of the port, but at least he would work up a sweat in something other than erotic dreams. Punching in his preferences, he started his workout, and avoiding Laura’s reflection in the mirrored wall in front of him, focused on the available equipment in the center, considering how to use the amenities to his advantage in an ad campaign.

“Hi.”

He nearly lost his rhythm when he turned to see a sweaty, heavy-breathing Laura standing next to his machine. “Morning.”

She wiped the sweat from her face and neck with a towel. “Thanks for last night. I had a great time.”

Nathan glanced over at the man on the Cybex machine who’d abandoned his awkward exercise to listen.

“My pleasure.”

“You’ve got some pretty amazing moves.” Laura flashed a flirtatious grin.

Mr. Cybex’s eyebrows winged up, as he made no pretense to cover his eavesdropping.

Feeling wicked, Nathan leaned down from his position on the elliptical. “Sugar, you’ve got some pretty amazing moves of your own. And those legs—what you can do with those legs—well, it ought to be illegal.”

“It is. In some countries.” She flung the towel over her shoulder and sashayed over to the yoga mats as both men watched, mouths hanging open.

Nathan snapped his jaws closed and tried in vain to concentrate on the circular motion of the foot pedals. Off to his left, Laura laid down on a mat, stretched, then rolled up and over her legs, grabbing her feet and folding herself in two. After holding this position for a few breaths, she opened her legs into a straddle and, lengthening her torso between them, pressed her chest to the floor.

Nathan’s mouth went dry, and judging from the look on Mr. Cybex’s face, he might have to perform CPR any minute.
Sweet Jesus.
He’d hit the twenty-minute mark and had hoped for at least thirty, but his libido couldn’t take much more. He reduced the elliptical’s speed, then stepped off, before wiping sweat and the lustful expression from his face with a towel.

He turned in Laura’s direction and paused in indecision. Mr. Cybex quirked a brow, and then nodded toward her, a look of encouragement on his weathered face.

Taking his wordless advice, Nathan went over and stood next to Laura just as she lifted into a yoga move, something to do with a dog looking downward, he recalled from a former girlfriend’s workouts, her derriere to the ceiling. Nathan almost swallowed his tongue. “Ahem.”

She shifted into another yoga position, something about a snake. “Yes?”

Squatting next to her, he asked, “Are you going on a shore excursion?”

She lifted back into the dog position. His gaze traveled up her long legs.

“Yes. You?”

Dammit, woman! Focus, Nathan.
“Yes. Would you like to go together?”

She shifted into a plank and turned her head, her face glistening from the exertion. And damned if that wasn’t sexy. “Sure.”

Nathan stood and stepped back before he did something to shock Mr. Cybex into that heart attack. “Great. Meet me on the lido deck in an hour.”

She moved to a side plank, right arm lifted in the air, “See you then.”

Leaving the fitness center, Nathan couldn’t remember a more sexually frustrating workout. Mr. Cybex gave him a thumbs-up as he tossed his towel in the hamper and headed for a cold shower. So much for leaving Laura Danforth to her own devices.

Laura finished drying
her hair and pulled it back in a thick braid slung over her right shoulder. She slipped into a pair of white snug-fitting ankle pants, topped off with a Mediterranean blue silk tunic sweater, and a pair of Manolo thongs in orange crush. Satisfied with her rush job, she headed up to the lido deck to meet her southern gentleman.

She had to remind herself this trip was work, not pleasure. And while she did have to play the part of tourist, she also had to keep her eye on the Imperial brass ring.

Nathan. Just a pleasant distraction, nothing more. By the end of the cruise, she’d no doubt tire of him. At no time in her life had a man, not even Daddy Dearest, interfered with her goals, and a man wasn’t about to start now. Even one whose kisses knocked her Louboutins off, made her spine turn to jelly when he said her name with that ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof Southern accent,’ and, as of last night, starred in her X-rated dreams.

She’d set her sights on him, and just like everything else she set her sights on and accomplished, she’d be kissing her dry spell goodbye. Then by the end of the cruise, she’d send him on his way, never to see him again.

She stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner. Nathan stood at the rail looking out over the commercial port to the city of Marseille beyond, the wind ruffling his hair. The only two times they’d met, he’d been wearing a suit. Although last night after a few rounds on the dance floor, he’d stripped off his jacket and tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing a tan throat and muscular forearms.

Today, he wore dark-wash jeans, a white button-down, un-tucked, and driving mocs, no doubt Italian. She tilted her head for a better view of his ass. And what a fine ass it was.
Le sigh
.

Damn, but the man knew how to wear a pair of jeans. Aviators covered his eyes, and a day’s growth of stubble covered his jaw. Just your typical casual guy-wear, but he gave it an added dash of sex appeal.

No. He wasn’t her typical ‘prey,’ as Josh so crudely liked to put it. But maybe she’d been in a rut, and it was time for a change.

Slipping on her sunglasses, she stepped up to the rail beside him. “Ah, Marseille, Gateway to Provence, one of my favorite regions of France.” The salty air cleared the sleep-deprivation cobwebs from her head and energized her.

He turned, took a step back, and gave her an appreciative once-over that she felt down to her toes. Without her four-inch heels, she felt small in comparison to his height.

He raised a brow over his sunglasses. “No stilettos?”

“No. I can be practical when it’s called for. And walking miles on paved streets calls for practicality.”

“You’ve been to Marseille?”

“I came with my parents when I was a little girl—too young to enjoy it, really—and then again when I was a sullen teenager, angry that I couldn’t go to camp with my best friend instead.” Laura laughed and shook her head. “I was such a little bitch.”

Nathan chuckled.

“But after college I took another trip over, and discovered what I’d missed the first two times. Wine. And while most people head for the countryside, I prefer the grit of the city.”

“Wine, huh? I like wine,” he said.

“Well, you’re in for a treat. Although known for their rosé, I prefer the spicy, full-flavored reds. And of course no visit to Marseille would be complete without dining on bouillabaisse.”

“Sounds like I’ve hooked my wagon to the right train. You can be tour guide for the day.”

“All right. We can take the Petit Train de la Bonne Mère—”

“You say that like you mean it.”
He looked impressed.

Laura made a face. “I speak fluent French, Spanish, and Italian. My mother insisted. I also speak fluent sarcasm, when the occasion warrants. Which my mother had nothing to do with.”
Unless you count her very existence.

“I see. But do you speak Southern?” His lips curved into a sexy smile.

“No. But I’m a fast learner.” Her gaze flicked to his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I interrupted your review of the itinerary.”

She blinked, distracted. His lips were so close to hers. “Yes. Anyway. We can take the Little Train,” she said with a smirk, “up to the hilltop basilica Notre Dame de la Garde and its breathtaking view of the city, then back to the Vieux Port, or we can take the path less traveled, the Corniche Président JFK, along the rocky Mediterranean coastline. If I recall, even the sullen teenager in me appreciated the views.”

“Why do we have to choose?”

Smiling, she said, “Good question. I like the way you think.”