Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (13 page)

He had no idea how much money was involved, whether Laura would be able to provide for herself without it. He only knew that she was, in her own words, a trust-fund baby. Was that the trust fund she’d been referring to?

Laura kissed his chest and hummed in appreciation.

He hugged her close. “What would you like to do for dinner tonight?”

“Could we just stay here, in the room?”

“Are you sure?”

He felt her nod of confirmation.

“All right. After sex like that I couldn’t deny you anything. How about I go pick up some of that raw fish you’re so fond of, and I’ll pick up a juicy artery-clogging burger from the grill and bring it back to the room? Maybe a bottle of wine?”

Laura sat up, her hair mussed, sliding over her shoulder to cover those perfect breasts. “That sounds . . . wonderful.”

“Your wish is my command.” He rose to find his pants, Looking around in confusion, until Laura said, “Living room.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

He bent down to kiss her. “I’ll be back shortly. Keep the bed warm for me.”

She smiled, a sexy, drowsy smile, and smacked him on the ass as he turned to walk away.

After hearing the soft click of the stateroom door closing, Laura flopped onto he
r back and stared at the ceiling. Her grandmother had always been a bitch, ruling with an iron fist and using money as a stick rather than a carrot. No wonder her father was emotionally stunted. Even so, she never thought she’d actually follow through on her threats to disinherit her.

She rose from the bed, the post-sex buzz all but gone, and walked naked to the living room to retrieve the hateful telegram before Nathan could read it. Ripping it to shreds in her frustration, she then balled up the remnants and tossed them in the trash.

Angry at herself for telling Nathan, she went to the closet and yanked her robe off the hanger. As if telling him wasn’t bad enough, she’d almost cried in front of him too. And did it end there? No. She’d gone and
needed
him. And
told
him she
needed
him.

She hated needy. Working herself into a good mad, she paced the room.

But, God, she sighed. The mad ebbed. He’d been so tender. So . . . supportive. So unlike any other man she had ever slept with.

They were breaking rules left and right. She’d broken Rule Number Four after reading the telegram. He’d long since broken Rule Number Six by spending the last four nights in her bed. He even paid for her lunch today when she went to the ladies’ room, breaking Rule Number Five.

Little sneak.

And she’d been breaking Rule Number Two by spending every waking—and sleeping—moment with him.

She glanced over at the bed, the rumpled sheets, the comforter lying halfway on the floor. And what the hell happened there earlier? The sex hadn’t felt like just sex anymore. It had felt like . . . more. Exactly what, she couldn’t put her finger on. But something . . . deeper. More meaningful.

“Oh, hell no.” She paced away from the bed. She was not breaking Rule Number Three. This was just a fling. Nothing more.

That settled it. Tonight, after dinner, she’d tell him she wanted to be alone. That he needed to go back to his room. Nathan had proved to be a bigger distraction than she’d planned and it was time to refocus her energies on the Imperial account.

Her grandmother thought she’d won, but all she’d succeeded in doing was reigniting the fire under Laura. She was more determined than ever to get the account, and with it the VP position.

On the train for the ninety-minute trip to Florence, Laura gazed out over the rolling hills of Tus
cany.

She’d caved last night. Once Nathan got her back in bed her resolve crumbled. So much for tiring of him before the end of the cruise. How could she tire of a man with so many skills at his disposal?

Only three more days, she rationalized. Three more days of his clever mouth and his cleverer hands. Three more days of his laughter, his warmth, his sex appeal.

Enjoy it while it lasted, she told herself. Because there was no way in hell she was breaking Rule Number Three. Once she returned to New York, she had to get her head back in the game. She and her team would only have six weeks to finalize the pitch. There was just no room for Nathan in her life right now.

That she was even thinking about him in her life later, after the Imperial deal closed, was something she brushed aside. For now. She’d ponder on that later.

Satisfied with her decision, she resolved to enjoy the day in one of her favorite cities. People sang the praises of Paris, but she’d take Florence over Paris any day of the week. The art, the architecture, appealed to her appreciation for fine craftsmanship. All surrounded by the beautiful Tuscan landscape.

She quickly checked her phone for any fires that required dousing. An email from Katie with a few questions, but nothing that couldn’t wait until later. She tapped out a quick reply to Havi on the technology team about an issue with the drink campaign, then as she was tucking away her phone, it buzzed. Darcy.

“Hey, girlfriend!” she answered.

“You don’t call, you don’t text. Was it something I said?” Darcy teased.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit . . . busy,” Laura replied.

“Translation, I met a guy. So, what accent does he have? French? Italian? Ooh, or maybe Eastern European?”

“Southern.”

“Southern what? Italy? I didn’t know their accent was different.”

“No Southern U.S., as in
Gone with the Wind
, as in Rhett Butler.”

“You’re on a ship in the middle of the Mediterranean, and you met a man from Georgia?”

“You got it, sugar.”

“Wait, you said all the men were old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Okay, so I wasn’t exactly truthful.”

“He’s a passenger on the ship?”

“Yes. But I actually met him in New York. Before I left.”

“You invited a stranger on the cruise with you? Did I teach you nothing about stranger danger?”

“I didn’t invite him. He just happened to be on the cruise.”

“Do tell. What’s he look like? Is he rich?”

“He’s handsome, polished, gentlemanly—”

“Other than the handsome part, he doesn’t sound like your type at all.”

“Funny, I thought the same thing, but he grew on me.”

“How did you meet him in New York? A bar?”

“A sidewalk.”

“A what?”

Laura told Darcy the story of her rescue.

“Aww! How romantic,” she sighed.

Laura could just see Darcy’s face going all dreamy. Ever the romantic.

“He’s your knight-in-shining-armor. Your Prince Charming with the glass slipper.”

“Sugar, I don’t do knights-in-shining-armor like you.”

“Sugar? Is that what he calls you? How, well, sweet.” Darcy giggled on the other end of the phone.

“What’s new with you?” Nathan appeared with a cup of coffee in his hand, prompting Laura to change the subject.

“Oh! I almost forgot why I was calling,
Holly’s Heroes
is an RT Book Reviewer’s Choice Best Book!”

Laura remembered Darcy struggling with that particular book while she was on the hunt for Mr. Perfect. “Congratulations, Darcy! We’ll have to celebrate when I get back.” A Reviewer’s Choice was like the ADDY of the romance writer’s world. Other than a RITA, it didn’t get much better than that.

Not wanting to share too much personal information in front of Nathan, Laura ended the call with a promise to call Darcy when she returned to New York. “Have fun in Wine Country!”

Chapter 11

Nathan handed Laura one of the cups of coffee in his hands. “Nectar of the gods, just the way you like it, hot and sweet.”

“True that.” She took a sip. Sighed. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t need to cut your call short. Sounded like your friend had some good news to share.”

Laura gave him a curious look.

“You were offering congratulations when I sat down.”

“Right. She’s a romance writer and her book was nominated for a top award in the industry.”

“Well, congratulations then.”

“So, what’s on tap for today, Mr. Cruise Director?”

Nathan settled his hand on her thigh, clearly at ease with the public display of affection. “I thought we’d go to the top of the Duomo, look out over the city. Then over to the Uffizi. And we can’t miss the
David
, so we’ll head over to the Galleria dell’ Accademia after that.”

“I need to get some shopping in. Souvenirs for the folks back home.”

“Then let’s set aside some time to visit the Ponte Vecchio. Did you know that it’s the only remaining medieval bridge in the world with shops built into it?”

“Will there be a quiz on this later? How do you know all this if you’ve never been to Florence?”

He shrugged. “I read the ship’s bulletin.”

“You do?”

“Sure. Why not? You mean you don’t?”

“No. I guess I’m more of a digital gal. I’d rather have it in an email or something.”

“Hmm. Not a bad idea, actually.”

“Well, I have been known to have the occasional good idea. Take us for instance.” She waggled her finger between the two of them. “We go to together like, well, coffee and cream.” She took a sip of the aforementioned beverage.

“Like biscuits and gravy.”

“Strawberries and chocolate.”

“Buttermilk and cornbread.”

“What?” She drew back. “Ew. No.”

“Okay, fine. But I happen to like buttermilk and cornbread.”

“I’ll just overlook that little flaw. Anyway, admit it. This fling thing was a brilliant idea on my part.”

“You may have been the one to toss out the idea, but I’d have worked my way around to it eventually.”

She tilted her head. “Really?”

He leaned over, kissed the dimple at the corner of her mouth, tasted the coffee there. “I wanted to do that from the moment you turned around to thank me for prying your heel out of the sidewalk.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. And when I saw you sitting at the bar that first night on the ship, I knew I had to find a way to make you mine”—he placed his finger over her mouth before she could remind him of Rule Number Three— “if only for a short time.”

Laura had been to
Florence a few times in the past, visited all the must-see sites, but seeing them through Nathan’s eyes was a new experience, and one she wouldn’t soon forget.

He drank it all in. Nothing jaded about his view of life. It was so refreshing.

She felt light. Giddy even. And she didn’t do giddy.

They’d huffed up the four hundred sixty-three steps to the top of Duomo, took in the city’s tiled roof buildings nestled against the Tuscan hills beyond. Strolled the exhibits of the Uffizi, and gazed upon the magnificent works of Titian, Caravaggio, and Michelangelo.

After lunch in a crowded noisy
trattoria
not far from the Uffizi, they’d backtracked to the Basilica di Santa Croce
,
where she’d purchased hand stitched crocodile and ostrich key chains from Scuoloa del Cuoio for her co-workers, and a burled calfskin business card case for the Shyster to put his business cards in. For Darcy’s father, a calfskin eyeglass case. Unable to resist, she’d purchased a decadently luxurious butter yellow reversible suede and lambskin trench coat with a python belt for herself.

They’d stumbled upon a shop near the Piazza Santa Croce that carried rare books with a hand-tooled leather-bound volume of Dante’s
Inferno
—in English, no less—on display in the window that had Millie-the-Braniac’s name all over it. She’d read it no doubt, but this would serve as a collector piece.

That damage done, they turned their steps in the direction of the Ponte Vecchio, where Laura found a beautiful framed cameo pendant perfect for Darcy, and a lovely pair of cameo earrings for Darcy’s mother.

“You’re very generous with your friends.”

Laura shrugged. “Goes back to my appreciation for fine craftsmanship.”

“Uh-huh. Or your appreciation for those close to you.”

Uncomfortable with this observation, she didn’t respond.

“Nothing for your family?” he probed.

“Trust me, they don’t want for anything.” Except warmth. Love. Affection. “What about your sister?”

“Oh, I picked up a little something for her.”

“When did you do that?”

“When you were buying the cameo.”

“Oh.” Laura almost asked to see what he’d purchased, but really, what was the point? She didn’t know his sister, and likely never would. Nevertheless, she was curious what he’d picked out for her.

“What do you say we finish off the day with the
pièce de résistance
of Florence.”

“That’s French,” Laura pointed out.

“Whatever,” he said, with an eye roll. “You get the point.”

Taking her hand, they crossed the Ponte Vecchio and headed in the direction of the Galleria dell’ Accademia
.

As they circled Michelangelo’s seventeen-foot sculpture of
David
, mouths ajar in awe, their silence spoke volumes. It didn’t matter how many times she beheld the colossal figure, it never ceased to amaze her.

“He’s really something,” Nathan observed.

He barked out a laugh when Laura leaned over and whispered a size comparison between him and the naked statue. “I’ll take that as a compliment.

Exhausted after a jam-packed day in Florence—n
ot to mention the blazing sex he’d just experienced—Nathan rested his chin on Laura’s head, his arms wrapped around her, and listened as her breathing became even with sleep.

He gazed down at her face, soft and relaxed. His hand drifted down her rib cage, splayed across, feeling the deep rise and fall with her breath. All her sharp edges blurred, softened. He enjoyed her like this. But he also enjoyed her sharp edges.

Three more days. That was all he had left with this amazing woman. When he’d boarded the ship, he’d had no expectations for the cruise beyond accomplishing some primary research, seeing some sights, and squeezing in a little rest and relaxation here and there. That he’d see the damsel-in-distress he’d rescued on a Manhattan sidewalk, not so much. That he’d spend seven days with said damsel, even less. But here she was, her leg wrapped around his, her breath soft on his chest.