Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (16 page)

She flipped that long silky ponytail over her shoulder, then sliding the notebook under her arm, raised her smartphone to take some pictures of the walls of Pompeii, the vendors’ tables lining the entrance, doing a brisk business as the tourists crowded around looking for bargains.

Distracted, Laura didn’t notice the man that had sidled up next to her, appearing to take photos himself.

Out of instinct, Nathan crept closer. The flash from a knife propelled Nathan forward, shoving people aside, but before he could reach her, Laura cried out, dropping her phone and her notebook.

The thief ran off with Laura’s bag in his hands, the cut strap dangling down his thigh, dodging the crowd as he went. He couldn’t have been twenty feet in front of him, so using his smartphone Nathan took aim at his head and hurled it. The phone struck its intended target, nailing the guy in the back of the head, before clattering to the ground. His pitching skill had come in handy.

The impact stunned the man, making him drop Laura’s bag as he reached around to grab the back of his head. He never looked back, breaking free of the crowd, he just kept running like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Nathan scooped up the bag and phone and returned to find an ashen-faced Laura. “You okay?” He grasped her tense shoulders and ran his hands down her arms. His fingers snagged in a cut in her blouse. Tensing, he peered inside the tear and saw blood. The knife had grazed her rib cage. “Jesus!” he hissed. “You need medical attention.”

“I’m . . . fine.” Her voice shook as much as her body did.

“No, you’re not. He cut you.” The yearning to draw her into his arms and comfort her—comfort himself—was so strong it resembled a gravitational pull. She gazed into his eyes, clearly confused. Shock maybe?

“Nathan, I—”

People from their tour group began to gather round, and then the tour guide pushed through the crowd. “
Signorina
, you are injured?”

“She’s been cut,” Nathan said. “She needs medical attention.”

“
Si
. We will see to it,
pronto
. You are her husband?” the tour guide asked.

“No.” Nathan turned and walked away. He didn’t know what he was to her.

Someone handed her a clean
handkerchief, which she used to staunch the bleeding while waiting for emergency medical personnel. Mrs. Cybex sat with her arm around her, comforting her while she gave a statement to the
Polizia Municipale
. Laura couldn’t provide a description given she never saw the man except from behind as he ran away from her.

Through the crowd, she could see Nathan talking with the authorities, but he never looked her way. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, as she’d seen him do when he was frustrated. Probably just wanted to get back on the ship and forget it ever happened.

When medical personnel arrived, she refused to go to the hospital, only allowing the
soccorritore,
the Italian version of EMTs, to clean and bandage her wound. No stitches, but they recommended that she get antibiotics from the ship’s infirmary if she didn’t want to go to the hospital.

Once they released her, the tour guide called a taxi to take her back to the ship. When she stood, the shock of the purse snatching set in, and she began to shake. Mrs. Cybex joined her in the taxi, and gathered her close against her ample frame.

As the taxi sped away, Laura turned to search for Nathan, but he was gone. Her lover, her competition, and now her enemy, he’d come to her rescue, and her aid, then faded into the crowd.

And while he’d retrieved her bag, something was still missing. Him.

Nathan arrived back at the ship
after dark. After returning from Pompeii, he’d walked the streets of Naples for hours, playing the incident over and over in his head, second-guessing what he’d done, and what he should have done. If he’d just gotten to her sooner, she wouldn’t have been hurt.

If he’d tackled the guy, he wouldn’t have gotten away. Asshole had cut her, stolen her bag, and gotten away. Nathan’s only satisfaction, meager as it was, was that the jerk-off would have a good-sized lump on the back of his head, and she’d gotten her bag back.

Taking his smartphone out of his pocket, he frowned at the shattered screen. He’d replace it as soon as he returned to New York. For now, he’d have to communicate the old-fashioned way—landlines.

Opening the door to his stateroom, he noticed the message light blinking on his phone. Punching the button, he listened to the message:

“Nathan, I . . . thank you.” Laura’s voice still trembled, making the dull ache in his chest flare. “I’ll never be able to express how much your courage today meant to me. Even after . . . well, I can’t thank you enough.” The message ended with a soft
click
.

He’d done what anyone would have done in the same situation. Nothing more. He resisted the urge to call her. Check on her. He chose not to examine why.

Putting the incident aside, he began packing his things for the trip home. If he’d left anything in Laura’s stateroom, he’d just have to live without it. Sliding open the top dresser drawer he pulled his shirts out and something fell on the floor. The box holding the earrings he’d bought for Laura.

Slumping to the bed, he pressed his hand to an empty spot in his chest, stared down at them. “Well, shit.” Maybe he had left something in Laura’s stateroom, after all. His heart.

Chapter 14

Back in New York, Laura’s feet beat against the pavement in time to Muse blasting through her earbuds. Her phone buzzed at her hip. “This is Laura,” she huffed, breathless from her run.

“Laura! Hey, Jack Jeffries.”

“Jack. Hi.”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, just out for a run in Central Park. What’s up?”

“Now that you’re back, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

Laura stopped in front of the Met, stunned. She’d forgotten about his previous request to take her dinner. He hadn’t wasted much time calling her after she returned to New York. Two days to be precise.

Perfect. Maybe she could finally get Nathan off the brain. Since Rome she’d spent far too many brain cells on memories of him, his Southern drawl, his sexy grin, and his kisses. Oh yeah, his kisses. “Sure. I’d love to.”

“How’s your schedule look for Saturday?”

“Like I’m having dinner with you.” She couldn’t hide the smile in her voice.

“Great! Text me your address, and I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“See you then.” She hit ‘end’ and resumed her run. Dinner with Jack, some reminiscing about the good ol’ days, followed by drinks at her place. And, if she played her cards right, a nice tumble in the sheets. Just what the doctor ordered to cure what ailed her: an acute case of Nathanitis.

Jack pulled Lau
ra’s chair out for her. Just that simple gesture reminded her of Nathan, her Southern Gentleman. Well, not
her
Southern Gentleman. Not anymore. Not ever, really.

Jack had picked her up in his new Maserati Ghibli and driven out of the city and into the village of Hastings on Hudson, to a favorite restaurant of his. The restaurant offered gorgeous unimpeded views of the Hudson River and the Palisades beyond.

“I’m glad we were finally able to have dinner,” Jack said as he took his seat.

Laura leaned in, giving him her best flirtatious smile. The one she’d perfected since those days of the country club. “Me, too.”

The waiter came over to take their drink orders. Jack selected a crisp Napa Chardonnay.

“Tell me everything that’s happened to you since we last saw each other . . .” He appeared to be running a calculation in his head. “. . . thirteen years ago.”

From their table on the patio, they dined on locally-grown produce, some from the restaurant’s own garden, sipped on excellent wine, watched the sun set over the Palisades, and caught up on each other’s lives. If Jack didn’t say much about his divorce, Laura assumed it was still a touchy subject for him, and she respected that.

He hadn’t made any overt gestures, and any time he’d touched her, it had been with the utmost courtesy. A hand on the small of her back, taking her hand to assist her out of his car.

By the time he opened the passenger door for her for the return trip to Manhattan, she felt they’d established a connection, and while it lacked the spark she and Nathan had shared, it had the depth of history behind it. “I had a very nice time tonight, Jack.” Laura reached out and placed her hand on Jack’s thigh. He flinched.

She assumed it was a shudder of desire, but when he glanced at her with a wary frown, she removed her hand. Maybe he liked to take things a little slower. Patience was not her strong suit, as Nathan often reminded her.

Now why had she thought of Nathan when she had a handsome guy next to her?

“I understand you were on the
Nave dei Sogni
. How’d you like her?”

“She’s quite a ship, but I’ll save my thoughts for Giddings-Rose’s pitch.”

He laughed at that. “Fair enough. But you can tell me about your land-based experiences.”

They spent the remainder of the trip back to Manhattan discussing France and Italy and travel abroad in general. The earlier tension dissipated.

When he pulled up in front of her building, the doorman came out to assist, but Jack waved him off. “Thank you for having dinner with me. I can’t remember when I enjoyed an evening out with a woman as much as this one.”

She waited for him to make his move—to kiss her, invite himself up to her apartment. But he didn’t. Not one to sit idly by and wait, she slid over in her seat and leaning across the console pressed her lips to his. This time the flinch was clearly that. A flinch.

She recoiled, hurt, and not a little shocked. She’d rarely been rejected by a man, her father excepted, especially with such . . . obvious disgust. After all, he’d asked her out, hadn’t he? Did she need a breath mint? Maybe it was the onions in the salmon ceviche.

“Well. Thanks for dinner.”

Jack grabbed her wrist when she turned to open her door. “God, Laura. I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“You’re right.” He sighed. “We haven’t seen each other in over a decade, and I expect you to know I’m gay.”

Oh, snap!
“Gay? You?” How’d she miss that?

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely audible even in the quiet confines of the car’s dimly lit interior.

She couldn’t deny his confession came as a shock. She knew plenty of people who were gay. But this was Jack, the high school quarterback that had taken them all the way to state finals. The guy who was the subject of every teenage girl’s wet dream. The guy who married Miss New York, for Christ’s sake!

“But—how long have you known?”

“It’s hard to put a specific age on it, but probably since I was about fifteen. All the guys were talking about boobs and asses, and . . . well, you know”—he waved his hand in the general direction of her crotch—“and I just . . . had no interest. At first I thought it was because I was focused on sports. But when a guy’s body held more interest for me than a girl’s, I kind of knew.”

“Oh, Jack.” Laura reached across and placed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze. At least he’d never had to face the ridicule of his teenage classmates.

“But what about Stephanie and your marriage?” And the subsequent divorce?
Light bulb moment.
Well that explained it.

He shrugged with an air of regret. “I really tried at first. I thought I could make it work. I thought maybe it was just a phase.” He laughed and shook his head. “But I was miserable, and I made her miserable right along with me.”

“And your parents?”

“They took it far better than I thought. Better than I could have hoped, really. Funny thing is, so far I haven’t met anyone I thought I could have a relationship with. So here I am, gay, out—sort of—and no one to love.”

She sat back and looked Jack over. She’d really had no clue. Not that she expected to see it tattooed across his forehead, but seriously, a hint might have been nice. Save her the humiliation.
Okay, enough about me.
“Did you ever think that maybe your, um, non-gayness was the problem?”

“No. We know. Trust me.”

“Okay. Then it’ll happen, Jack. A guy would be crazy not to snap you up.”

“Thanks, Laura.” He gazed down at her hand on his. “I hope we can be friends.” He turned his palm up so they held hands.

“Give me the Imperial account and I’ll be whatever you want.”

“How about I give you a
fair shot
at the Imperial account?” he responded with a grin.

She released a dramatic sigh. “If that’s the best you can do, I guess I’ll take it.”

“One more thing. While I’m not trying to hide my sexual orientation, I don’t exactly advertise it.”

“No kidding.”

“So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, you know, spread it around.” He fiddled with the cocktail ring on her left middle finger.

She raised her right hand and crossed her finger over her heart. “Advertising executive/client-to-be privilege.”

“So, how was it? Tell me all about it. How’s Rhett Butler?” Darcy
started in as soon as Laura sat down at the little sidewalk café in the Theatre District.

“Oh, you mean The Liar?” Laura placed the napkin across her lap and picked up the menu.

“What?” Darcy narrowed her eyes. “He isn’t married, is he?”

“No. Worse.”

“What could be worse?”

“He’s the competition.”

“The competi—” Darcy gasped. “He works for—” She waved her hand, unable to come up with the ad agency.

“Hawk Media. Yes. He’s the VP of Business Development, and he’s heading up the pitch for Imperial’s account.”

Darcy sat back in her seat, mouth agape. “When did you find out?”

“Rome.”

She sat forward again. “Wait a minute. What did you tell him about yourself?”

Laura fiddled with her flatware and tried to still her bouncing leg. “Not much. You know my rules.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “You had crazy monkey sex with a guy, for what? Ten days?”