“It does. It sounds intriguing.” The thought of seeing Nathan in a tux made her toes curl. He did more for a man’s suit than Armani. Nathan in a tux—well, it was beyond words.
“Did you bring an evening gown?”
“Please.” She waved her hand as if he’d asked if she’d brought her toothbrush. “Of course I brought an evening gown.”
The waiter delivered their breakfast, and Nathan dug into his eggs benedict. “What would you like to do today?”
“What? No itinerary? You’re falling down on the job.”
He lifted a brow. “My time was otherwise occupied, if you’ll remember.”
“That’s no excuse.” But Laura remembered quite well how he’d occupied his time. In the shower. Lathering her all over. Before pinning her against the shower wall, and—
“Well, I understand there are some beautiful museums in Monte Carlo, if you’re so inclined.” The knowing look in his eyes as he gazed into hers told her, her trip down memory lane was written all over her face.
“Sure. I could use a day of culture.”
Museumed-out, she and Nathan boarded the ship to change for dinner.
“I don’t know about you, but if I have to look at another piece of Grace Kelly memorabilia, I’m going to poke my eyes out.”
Nathan’s rich laugh sent quivers of delight up her spine, and she couldn’t resist the urge to tug him beneath the ship’s exterior stairs for a quick grope session.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and drew his lips down to hers.
His hands glided up her butt to the small of her back, where they slipped beneath her blouse.
Leaning into him, she pressed her breasts against his chest, as her hands slid down his back to his fine ass. “Um, your butt’s buzzing.”
“Hmm?”
“Your butt. It’s buzzing.”
“Ignore it. I intend to.” He changed the angle of the kiss, and before long Nathan’s butt wasn’t the only thing buzzing. Now she had a delicious little foreplay buzz going.
“I’ll come by your room at six-thirty.”
“Or we could go back to my room now,” she purred, running her fingers up his chest.
“You said you had some emails to handle for the gala.”
“Party-pooper. We’ll pick up where we left off.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Before tackling those aforementioned emails, some about the gala, some about work, she laid out the evening dress she’d packed for just such an occasion—dinner and gambling at the Monte Carlo casino. The halter style dress in classic black made her appear even taller than her five-foot eight inches, and emphasized her curves. The pair of strappy silver Manolo’s and a Judith Leiber handbag in the shape of a Fabergé egg finished off the ensemble. Other than a pair of diamond stud earrings, she’d go sans jewelry tonight.
Her phone buzzed. Seeing a text from Katie, she frowned.
CAREFUL. THERE’S A SPY ONBOARD.
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Laura texted back.
SOMEONE FROM HAWK MEDIA IS ONBOARD.
Damn. She paced into the living area, scanning through the passengers she’d encountered so far, and discarding them without a second thought. Most were well-past retirement age—too old to be with Hawk Media. And any person with Hawk Media wouldn’t be traveling first class. Another reason she’d booked the penthouse.
Closing her eyes and tapping her temples to focus her thoughts, she skidded to a halt. “No!” Nathan. He was the right age. She didn’t know what his accommodations were, but he traveled alone, like herself.
Could she be sleeping with the enemy? Damn. That would really suck if she couldn’t hook up with him again. Then again, what was that saying, Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? Couldn’t get much closer than having wild . . . scorching sex . . . all night long.
No. That’s a win-at-all-costs tactic her father would use. And she wasn’t her father. If Nathan proved to be the enemy, no more sex. Which would be a damned shame, since it was the best sex she’d ever had. And considering how much sex she’d had, that was saying something.
Focus, Laura. Returning to her dissection of Nathan as the potential enemy, she recalled his Cartier watch. The cut of his suits. The Italian leather shoes. Hermès ties. His ad exec salary might cover such expenses, but his rent in New York would eat up a chunk of it. He didn’t strike her as careless with his money. Plus, she hadn’t heard anything about Hawk Media hiring someone new.
Still. He stayed on her list of potential candidates until another more suitable candidate won out.
Pacing again, she continued her passenger inventory. “Wait a minute.” The middle-aged guy with glasses. He’d chatted her up a few times. “What was his name?” George? Gary? Something with a ‘G.’ Greg? Greg. That’s it.
He’d asked her several probing questions about her experience on the trip so far. How she liked her stateroom. What she thought of the food. Whether the service met her expectations. She’d also seen him carrying an electronic tablet around with him. Not very subtle. But then again, maybe he hadn’t expected to encounter his competition on the ship.
She recalled his wedding ring. That tipped the scales in his favor. A married man on a cruise alone meant a) He was on the prowl, in which case, he’d remove his wedding ring, or b) He was traveling for work. “Ding, ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.”
She texted Katie back. THANKS FOR THE HEADS UP. I THINK I’VE FIGURED OUT WHO.
Momentarily her phone buzzed again. DAMN YOU’RE QUICK.
DAMN RIGHT, she texted back. Too much was riding on this account not to be all-in. She’d just keep an eye on Greg.
The Casino de Monte Carlo teemed with tourists and jetsetters alike, of all nationalities. The palatial landmark, with all the opulence and grandeur of the Belle Époque, took Nathan by surprise. The movies he’d seen didn’t come close to capturing the sumptuous decor, gilded details, and crystal chandeliers. Outside, they’d passed cars that cost more than his annual salary with pedigrees like Mercedes, Bentley, Rolls, Maserati, and Ferrari.
He paused to take it all in, trying not to act the star-struck yokel that he was.
“Oh, look. There’s Roger Moore,” Laura said, as if she rubbed elbows with famous actors who were Knights of the British realm all the time.
“Double-oh-seven himself,” Nathan murmured. “Is that—” He pointed to a leggy blonde to their right.
“Yes. That’s her,” Laura said, talking about the Sports Illustrated swimsuit-model-turned-actress.
“Well, I’ll be.”
“She’s beautiful if you like that sort of . . . perfection.”
“Did I say she was beautiful? She pales in comparison to you.” He pulled her close, and nuzzled her neck, savoring her shiver and sharp intake of breath. She smelled warm, feminine, and sophisticated. Erotic.
“Good answer,” she murmured.
When he’d picked her up from her suite, her beauty had overwhelmed him. She’d skipped her favored sleek ponytail for loose flowing waves that spilled over her shoulders and down her back. He’d wanted to fist his hands in that sexy bedroom hair, bury his face in it, let it fall like a curtain around them as she rode him into oblivion.
Later, he’d told himself. Something to look forward to. Her dress fit her like a glove, the slit up the side revealing a leg he couldn’t wait to feel wrapped around him again as he buried himself deep inside her.
Groaning, he retreated to whisper in her ear, “Sugar, I’m of a mind to take you to the nearest dark corner and show you just how gorgeous I think you are.”
“You keep calling me sugar, and I’ll lead the way.”
Chuckling, he took her hand and guided her toward the Le Bar Américain for a drink before checking out the casinos.
They’d dined at Le Louis XV in the Hôtel de Paris on a meal so sublime Nathan doubted he would ever experience its like again. Pulling out all the stops, they’d ordered caviar and Mediterranean sea
bass, indulged in poached pear, with lavender honey crémeux and emulsion for dessert, and gone through two bottles of wine.
He’d winced when he received the bill, and felt a stab of guilt at the money he was spending. If Hawk didn’t fire him when he received the credit card bill, it would be a miracle. Good thing Laura had Rule Number Five about paying her way. The gentleman in him didn’t like it, but with the mortgages on the farm, he’d cut back on his spending, no new suits or shoes, no new Hermès ties, and her dinner was one expense he could do without.
Enough of that. According to his grandmother, life’s too short for regrets. Tonight was a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Enjoy it.
Le Bar Américain boasted an elegant ambiance with soft lighting, leather-upholstered armchairs, rich wood, and live piano music.
Laura approached the bartender and ordered a Cosmo.
“Sir, what can I get you?” the bartender asked Nathan.
“A martini—shaken, not stirred.”
Laura groaned, and the bartender rolled his eyes.
“I’ve always wanted to say that.” A roguish grin spread across Nathan’s face.
“Like he hasn’t heard that before.”
“I wish I had a euro for every time I’ve heard it,” the bartender returned in a heavy French accent. “I’d be living on the French Riviera by now.”
Laura stepped back and gave Nathan a once-over. Damn, if he didn’t look scrumptious in a tux. She patted his rock hard chest, “You could give James Bond a run for his money.” She tilted her head. “Maybe instead of the traditional British spy, they should consider a southern James Bond. Shake things up a bit.”
“And instead of a martini, he could drink a mint julep,” Nathan replied with a grin.
“Yeah, something like that.” She shook her head.
“What should we try our luck at tonight? Roulette? Black Jack? Craps?”
“Hmm.” She sipped from her Cosmo. “Why do we have to choose?”
“Good point.”
A short time later, they stepped into the noise and buzz of the casino. Laura’s gaze drifted over some of the world’s most glamorous people. Movie stars rubbed elbows with royalty. Rock stars partied with business moguls. The tourists were easy to spot. Mouths agape, eyes wide, pointing out this notable personage or that diamond-studded neck.
She cut a glance at her escort, as he placed a hand at the small of her back, directing her to a just-vacated Black Jack table. Nathan Maxwell held his own. He possessed a quiet confidence. Nothing flashy, but nothing to be ignored either. Polite. Polished. Debonair.
She couldn’t help notice the way women looked at him when he entered a room. And the man knew his way around a woman’s body, too. She could attest to that. Yessiree, her dry spell was over and in a big way.
Nathan stood at the craps table in the Salle des Amériques, an ever-growing stack of cheques in front of him. “Give me a kiss for luck.” She’d kissed him before every roll of the dice, and it seemed to by paying off. Why stop now? “Come on, baby needs a new pair of shoes.” Or in his case, sister needs two mortgages paid off.
“Seven!” the stickman called.
The crowd that had formed around the table cheered, and he cupped Laura’s neck, hauling her in for another deep steamy kiss.
They’d played Black Jack first, and Laura had won a few hundred dollars, while Nathan had lost nearly the same amount, then they’d moved on to roulette, where she’d promptly lost her winnings. Lady Luck finally smiled on Nathan at the craps table.
Eyeing the stack of cheques on the table, he’d decided not to push Lady Luck’s generosity, and called in his winnings, to the disappointment of the crowd. He figured he’d won close to ten thousand euros. While it wouldn’t pay off the mortgages, it might keep the wolves at bay for a time. He’d wire the money to his sister at his earliest convenience.
Tipping the boxman, he and Laura gathered his cheques to cash them. Folding the check the casino paid him with and slipping it into his jacket pocket, he guided Laura out of the casino, into the cool night air.
“What a way to end the evening,” Laura said, laughing, her eyes bright.
“Sugar, this evening isn’t even close to over. I’ve got a few more things in mind.”
“Like what?”
He leaned in and whispered something naughty in her ear.
Her eyes widened. “That’s a new one,” she replied.
The ship’s horn blasted as they ran for the port and up the gangplank. Breathless, Laura grabbed Nathan’s hand and dragged him toward the elevator, eager to fulfill his wicked fantasy.
“Whoa, Nellie! We have to wait until we’re out to sea,” Nathan said with a laugh.
“But nothing’s stopping us from a little foreplay.” She reached up and tugged on his bow tie, untying it, giggling as a passing couple cast a reproachful eye.
Giggling! Where had that come from? Laura Armstrong didn’t cry, and she certainly didn’t giggle. The giddiness she experienced now was far better than any alcohol buzz, and the thought of getting Nathan in her room and out of his tux left her lightheaded.
When they finally made it inside her stateroom, she pressed him against the door and ran her hands up his chest, to his hair, tangling her fingers in the silky brown tresses. “I want you, Nathan Maxwell.” She molded her lips to his, her tongue grazing his lips.
The ship’s engines started.
Moaning, he pulled her hips against his, then reaching around, squeezed her ass. “Dear God, woman. Your foreplay will be the death of me.”
Taking each end of his bow tie, she led him into the bedroom. “Why don’t I give you a little striptease? That should pass the time until we’re out of port.”
He closed his eyes as if in pain. “Sugar, if you’re wearing what I think you’re wearing underneath that dress, your striptease won’t last until the anchor’s weighed.”
She laughed, deep and sexy. “Maybe you’re right. So I’ll sit here”—she dropped into a chair, and crossed her legs, the slit revealing every inch of her bare leg—“while you do a striptease for me.”
He choked out a laugh. “Oh no. I don’t think so.”
“Oh sure. You were all onboard when it was me doing the stripping. Now I’m asking you to strip, and you go all shy on me.”
“Not shy, just self-aware.” He chuckled, looking a little self-conscious.
“Come on, Nathan. Let me see you strip. Nice and slow, then before you know it, we’ll be out at sea. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”
She untied the halter straps at her neck, dropped first one, then the other.
“You’re a brazen hussy, you know that?”
“And you love it.” She flashed him her most seductive smile.
He groaned, but began to slowly remove his tie. Then moved to his cuff links before removing his jacket.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
She twirled her finger in the air. “Turn around.”
He complied.
“Now remove your shirt.” In control again. It felt good. “That’s it.”
He slipped the shirt off his shoulders, glanced over his shoulder, and flashed her a grin.
“You may have missed your calling. Nathan Maxwell, Male Stripper.”
He chuckled, the sound scraping deliciously over her aroused nerves.
“Shoes and socks next.”
“Are you going to tell me how to undress?”
“Yes.”
He sat on the bed, toed off his shoes, slid off his socks.
“Now the pants.”
He obliged her, slowly unzipping his fly, the sound rasping in the quiet stateroom. She bit her lip in anticipation.
Stepping out of his pants, he tossed them on the floor.
She lifted a brow. “Apparently stripping for me was a turn-on for you.” Her gaze slipped below his waist to his erection.
“You sitting there bare-breasted was a turn-on for me.”
“No
w it’s your turn.”
She stood and shimmied out of the dress, and stood in nothing but her birthday suit and silver stilettos.
“Good God,” he breathed. Tugging the blanket off the bed and taking Laura’s hand, he led her out onto the balcony for a little love beneath the stars.
Chapter 10
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starved,” Nathan said.
They’d opted to spend their day in the port of Portofino in the small old resort town of Santa Margherita Ligure, with its candy-colored buildings and trompe-l’oeil frescoes, embraced by the sea on one side and the mountains on the other.
“I could eat. If you can hold out a bit, there’s a hilltop restaurant overlooking the town,” Laura offered.
Nathan shrugged and grinned. “I’m game.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Taking it out, he glanced at the screen and frowned. “I need to take this, do you mind?”
“No, of course not.”
“Hey, Amanda,” his voice going all sweet. “Thanks for calling me back. I forget about the time difference.” Nathan stepped into a tiny square where a fountain bubbled cheerfully.
Amanda? Hmm. Who was Amanda? Laura wondered. Did she need to remind Nathan that she didn’t play ‘the other woman?’
He turned his back to her. She didn’t like eavesdropping, and while she wasn’t close to him, she could still hear his end of the conversation. Laura strolled over to the fountain, away from Nathan, and perched on its low wall.
“Listen, I had a big win last night at the craps tables in Monte Carlo—what? No, I haven’t started gambling. It was just for fun. Amanda—chill. I’m not going to have to join Gamblers Anonymous when I return.”
Nathan paced over to the fountain, as if he were oblivious she was there. So much for offering him privacy. Oh well. If he didn’t want it, she wasn’t inclined to give it to him. Especially when the conversation was just getting juicy.
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