From its high-gloss black walls and cream trim, which lent a tuxedo effect, to its Murano glass chandelier and mirrored accents, the room begged for Fred and Ginger to come waltzing in.
While she appreciated the grandeur and sophistication of the décor, she thought something more casual yet refined would appeal to the target demographic better. Like her penthouse stateroom, which offered a soothing respite from the rich colors, bold geometric shapes, and distinctive drama and elegance of the rest of the ship.
Decorated with a muted palette of creams and browns, dark woods, and an eclectic collection of furniture and accessories, complete with a sunburst motif, the stateroom offered polished luxury without ostentation. And Katie had been right. The bathroom was bigger than many New York City apartments, with a huge white marble soaker tub alongside a picture window.
With job perks like this, who needed vacations?
After her arrival in Barcelona the evening before, she’d had a little time in the morning to explore the two-thousand-year-old city before boarding the ship. She’d walked along La Rambla, a favorite destination of tourists. The tree-lined street had been crowded with people where languages and accents from all over the world blended with local Catalan.
The Mercat de Sant Josep, or simply La Bouqeria, with its almost endless stalls of fruits, vegetables, cheeses, meats, and herbs, tantalized her senses with the astonishing array of colors and aromas, and whetted her appetite for the five-star cuisine of Imperial’s world-renowned chefs.
A short nap, hot shower, and quick email check in her luxurious stateroom had refreshed and revived. Before heading to Deco-Page she’d taken a selfie standing on her balcony and sent it off to Darcy with a text with the trite expression, ‘wish you were here.’
From her perch at the bar, Laura eyed the other passengers, most of whom were much older than she. Except for the bleach-blond with the impressive girls squeezed into a black and gold lamé dress. She’d seen her earlier as she’d boarded the ship, on the arm of a man who looked old enough to be her great-grandfather. If he made it through the cruise alive, it’d be a miracle.
She also spied a tall, attractive, middle-aged man with wire-rimmed glasses and a wedding ring, chatting up a couple from California whom she’d met in her hotel in Barcelona. He, an author and motivational speaker; she, a jewelry designer.
Other than that, the cruise didn’t promise much hope for excitement, but since she’d be working, it was just as well. She offered a pleasant smile to a gentleman with a bad comb-over and received a glare from his diamond-studded wife. Sheesh. Don’t get your support hose in a twist, madame. Just trying to be friendly. As if she would go after her portly, pasty-faced husband.
Laura turned back to the bar and signaled the bartender for another martini. Italian. The bartender, not the martini. At least she could enjoy the view, she thought, as Sexy Sergio expertly mixed her drink. And what a view it was. Jet-black hair thick with waves, the strong facial features of his Greek and Roman ancestors covered now with a five o’clock shadow, full mouth. Sergio turned to grab a bottle off the mirrored shelf behind the bar. A nice tight ass. And, of course, an Italian accent. What more could a girl wish for?
Adjusting his tie, Nathan stepped into the lounge, and surveyed the crowd, mentally tallying the age ranges of the clientele. It looked like an AARP-convention.
He halted his survey. “Well, I’ll be,” Nathan muttered to himself. If it isn’t Laura with the kissable mouth. What the hell were the odds? As he stood rooted to the spot, she swung those luscious legs around, crossed one over the other, slow and seductive, attracting the attention of just about every male in the room, and some females, too, before turning back to the bartender.
The black dress she wore opened down the back almost to her tailbone, offering a delectable view of smooth skin. Her hair, which she wore in the same sleek tail as before, draped over her shoulder, and jet-black earrings dangled from her ears. He’d like to pull that band from her hair and spread it around her shoulders, run his fingers through it. On her feet, hot pink stiletto pumps screamed ‘sex-me-up.’ Hellfire and damnation.
Giving himself a mental shake, he reminded himself this was a business trip. He started to walk in the opposite direction, then recalled what he’d told Cassie about work and pleasure not being mutually exclusive, and changed course. He could at least buy a beautiful woman a drink. After all, it was the gentlemanly thing to do. He approached the bar just as she reached for her drink.
“Put it on my tab.”
Laura recognized the bourbon-infused voice without the need to see its owner, but that didn’t diminish the surprise over its owner’s presence onboard a ship churning through the Mediterranean Sea. Covering her astonishment, she slowly turned to face Nathan. “Well, if it isn’t the Southern Prince Charming. Rescue any more damsels-in-distress lately?”
“Does the woman who got lost on her way to the dining room count?” His eyes lit on her face, all warm and obliging.
Her imagination hadn’t run away with her. He stood behind her barstool, looking as handsome and polished as she remembered him from their brief encounter. This time she also got a whiff of his spicy cologne.
She glanced back at Sexy Sergio. There was something a little dangerous about Sergio. She could see it in the eyes, around the stubborn mouth. More her type than the man who stood behind her. And yet, when she’d heard that voice, her insides had gone a little gooey.
“Sir?” Sergio of the Dangerous Eyes asked.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Thank you for the drink–even if the cruise is all-inclusive.” She raised the glass to her lips, took a sip. “I pictured you as a scotch man.”
“I like my Macallan as much as the next person, but when you’re surrounded by this much glamour”—he swept his hand around the room, ending with her, as his gaze traveled the length of her—“it only seems fitting to have a martini.” The passenger next to Laura vacated the bar stool, so Nathan claimed it. “I must admit I’m surprised to hear you pictured me at anything.”
“Well, Nathan, you are a fine specimen of a man.” Black suit, blue shirt, Hermès red and blue silk tie. All on a six-foot-two-inch athletic frame. Oh yes, he was one fine specimen. Too bad he didn’t have the rough-around-the-edges image she preferred.
He flashed her a grin, acknowledging her compliment.
“It’d be a cold fish who didn’t picture you at . . . something.” She plucked the olive from her drink, popped it into her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully as she eyed him. “This is quite the coincidence.” Laura pointed between the two of them. “I suppose I should say something about a small world. After all, we met only once and briefly, in Manhattan, and here we are four thousand miles away on the same ship for ten days.”
“Considering we met outside the cruise lines’ offices, perhaps not such a coincidence.”
She tilted her head. “I suppose.”
“Are you traveling alone?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.”
Laura had already developed her story. Using her middle name, she was Laura Danforth, bored trust-fund baby, taking a short vacation from the exhausting round of galas, theater performances, and multi-million dollar fundraisers after her parents had to back out of the cruise they’d already booked.
“Since we’re both alone on what appears to be primarily a, er, ‘silvered-hair couples’ cruise, may I escort you to dinner?”
She considered Nathan and his offer for a moment. A quick glance at this left hand revealed no ring. “You’re not married, are you? Because I don’t play with married men.”
“No, I’m not married or otherwise committed. I don’t even have a goldfish.”
Laughing, Laura thought, Why not have a little fun? Who needed rough edges when the man looked like Nathan. “Then how can I turn down such a genteel offer? Your grandmother would be so proud.”
Since she and Nathan were both traveling alone, ne
ither one had made dining reservations, but rather chose to eat in the main dining room. Imperial’s boast of five-star dining didn’t disappoint. The service was impeccable, and the food as pleasing to the palate and the eye as that found in any top New York restaurant.
They’d been seated with two other couples, an American investment banker and his plastic-surgeon wife who looked like she’d had one too many of her own procedures, and an Italian politician and a woman he introduced as his mistress. Laura had to bite her tongue to keep from asking where the wife was. Shopping in Milan, perhaps, or home with their precocious brood?
The banker introduced himself as Gordon Vogler, and his wife as Veronica. Veronica Vogler the Vampire—lovely alliteration, that—her plasticized skin lending her the well-preserved appearance of those mythical bloodsuckers. The politician, Franco Abruzzo, glad-handed everyone at the table as if they could all vote for him in the next election.
The mistress, Natalia Brusca, had that sexy, tousled, heavy-lidded Sophia Loren look. The politician, however, sported a bad toupee and a paunch. What could she see in him? Laura wondered. She mentally snorted. Other than money, judging from the carat-weight of the diamond pendant around her neck. And perhaps power.
“So, Mr. Maxwell, what is it that you do?” Gordon asked.
“Nathan, please,” Nathan responded, wiping his mouth with his white linen napkin, before placing it back in his lap. Taking a sip of his wine, he cut a glance at Laura and the other table companions. “I’m in corporate relations. Nothing as interesting as banking or politics, I’m afraid.”
“And you, Ms. Danforth?”
“Please, call me Laura.” She waved her hand in the air, “Nothing as interesting as corporate relations, banking, or politics.” Here was the opportunity to try out her story, sticking as closely to the truth as possible, without giving away her clandestine purpose. “Right now I’m taking some time away.” Not a total lie. She was taking some time away—from her dysfunctional family.
“I’m a—how you say?—exotic dancer,” Natalia piped up in tortured English. She reached out for Franco’s hand, patting it. “We met when Franco, er, view my interpretazione of Swan Lake, right, cucciolo?”
Oh no, she did not. Did she just call him puppy? Laura covered her mouth with her napkin to cover the snort that almost escaped. Swan Lake? Alrighty then.
Nathan shot her a glance, eyebrows raised.
Instead of being embarrassed by her revelation, Franco beamed with pride.
An awkward silence fell over the table.
“Do you take cruises often?” Nathan tossed out.
Anxious to fill the void, Veronica the Vampire said, “Gordon and I take two or three cruises a year, always with Imperial.”
“I’ve taken numerous cruises, some with my wife, some with my mistresses,” Pauncho Villa interjected.
Everyone turned to Franco, bug-eyed, requiring Laura to cover a laugh with both a cough and her napkin.
Mistresses. Plural? My, my. Maybe there was more to Pauncho than meets the eye.
“This is my first cruise,” Nathan said, making it Laura’s turn to look at him bug-eyed.
“What do you recommend for the first-time cruise experience?” he continued.
As their table companions began giving cruise advice, Laura took a moment to observe Nathan. He spoke with a lazy Southern drawl, but had the polish of education. He dressed with the urbanity of the wealthy, but hadn’t taken a cruise until now. A perplexing mix of disparate qualities.
Gordon began speaking specifically of Imperial and what they had to offer, regaining Laura’s attention. Perfect. Nathan had presented an opportunity to pick the brains of Imperial passengers, and she’d zoned out.
“We appreciate the level of service we receive on an Imperial ship,” Veronica said. “I never have to lift a finger. The staff seem to anticipate my every need, even before I know I need it.” She could barely crack a smile what with all the collagen and Botox in her lips.
“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 out 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 lips, 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 disappoi
nted 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.
Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) Page 5