Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2)

by Rebecca Heflin

  Franco recommended a busy little wine bar in the shadow of Trajan’s Column that served hot and cold dishes. And with strong grappa to wash it down, Nathan was feeling no pain after lunch.

  Weaving a little as they walked over to where Franco sat with the car, he remembered one of his grandmother’s favorite movies, Roman Holiday, he said, “Hey! Ever been to The Mouth of Truth?”

  “You mean La Bocca della Verità?”

  “Yes, Miss Smarty Pants.”

  “No.”

  “Then andiamo, Franco!”

  Fifteen minutes later, they stood in front of the iconic carving. “According to the movie Roman Holiday, The Mouth of Truth acts as a lie detector. Anyone given to lying who puts their hand in the mouth will have it bitten off.”

  Laura rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. I know.”

  “So, go ahead.”

  “Go ahead, what?”

  “Put your hand in the mouth.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I’m a gentleman, and ladies always go first.”

  “You and your chivalry.” Laura hesitated.

  “Scared?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffed. “It’s just a silly legend.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

  Laura swallowed hard, then stepped closer to the mouth of the carving and raised her hand. She glanced up to see a grinning Nathan. With some trepidation, she slid her hand into the mouth, half-expecting to have it bitten off at any moment given all her recent lies.

  Having met his challenge, she yanked her hand from the orifice and breathed a sigh of relief. “Your turn.”

  That wiped the grin from his face. “What?”

  “Oh, no.” She shoved him closer. “If I did it, you have to do it, too.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  Nathan lifted his left hand toward the mouth.

  “Aren’t you right-handed?” Laura asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Afraid you’ll have your hand bitten off, so you’re willing to sacrifice your left?”

  He snorted, “Yeah, something like that.” He sighed. “Okay. Fine.” Raising his right hand, he inserted it halfway into the mouth.

  “No cheating. All the way in.” Laura waved her hand at the carving.

  Nathan shoved his hand in the mouth before jerking it out.

  Laura’s laughter rang out in the enclosed space. “Not easy, is it?”

  “I don’t know about you, but that sobered me right up.”

  “Where to next?” Laura asked.

  “Do you want some gelato?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  Franco took them to San Crispino for arguably the best gelato in Rome.

  Sitting on the wall of the Trevi Fountain made famous in movies like Three Coins in a Fountain and La Dolce Vita, Nathan and Laura gorged on the cold treat. Hazelnut for Nathan, stracciatella for Laura.

  “Mmm. Taste this,” Laura said, holding out her dish of gelato. “The bitter chocolate, the sweet cream. Delicious.”

  Rather than taking a spoonful of gelato, Nathan leaned in, kissing her mouth, then licking his own lips. “Mmm. It is delicious.”

  Laura laughed, pushing him away. “I think you’re still drunk on grappa.”

  Nathan just grinned and polished off the rest of his gelato. Standing, he took a coin from his pocket and held it out to Laura.

  She lifted a brow. “What? Is that my tip for last night?”

  “Hardly. It’s for you to throw into the fountain.”

  Laura stood and took the coin. Nathan grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her away from the fountain.

  “You have to toss the coin in with your right hand over your left shoulder. The legend is that throwing a coin into the fountain will guarantee a return trip to Rome. So go ahead.”

  “Uh-huh. And just how do you know this?”

  “My grandmother was a classic movie buff. I kept her company.” Nathan gave a sheepish shrug.

  Laura’s heart squeezed thinking about Nathan as a teenager, keeping his grandmother company as she watched Three Coins in a Fountain. She didn’t know why, but she felt a little self-conscious with him watching her. Taking a breath, she tossed the coin over her left shoulder.

  Nathan held out a second coin for her. “If you throw a second coin into the fountain, you’ll discover romance.”

  Okay, she just got an odd tingle down her spine. Laughing it off, she said, “You’re crazy.”

  “Fine.” Nathan took the coin from her hand.

  She couldn’t say why, but just before he could throw it, she stole it back and tossed it over her left shoulder.

  He snagged her around the waist and pulled her in for a deep, terrifyingly intimate kiss. Easing back, he gazed into her eyes, almost as if he were searching for . . . something. Laura broke the hold.

  The moment gone, he said, “How about we reprise the fountain scene from La Dolce Vita?”

  Laura backed away. “How about we head over to the Pantheon instead?”

  Nathan prowled Laura’s living room, waiting for her to finish dressing. His fault she was running late. When he’d arrived at her door to take her to dinner, and found her in nothing but a flesh-colored lace bra and panties, he’d been too tempted to resist.

  As he headed for the bedroom, to ask whether he should change the time for their dinner reservations, he heard the blow dryer. Since he’d learned her routine in the last week, he knew it wouldn’t be long before she was ready. For a woman that always looked so put together, it didn’t take her long to achieve that image.

  Laura’s phone buzzed from where it sat on the bedside table, indicating an incoming text message. Thinking it might be important regarding the charity gala she’d been working on, he picked up the phone. The words ‘Hawk Media’ caught his eye.

  IMPERIAL WANTS TO SCHEDULE A PRE-PITCH MEETING WITH US AND HAWK MEDIA AS SOON AS YOU GET BACK. SHOULD I SCHEDULE IT?

  “What the—” He couldn’t quite wrap his head around what the text meant. He stared at it another minute, then collapsed to the bed as the truth dawned on him. Laura Danforth worked for Giddings-Rose. And, more importantly, was going after the very same account he was after. She was his competition!

  The realization that he’d been sleeping with, romancing, spending every waking hour with—and enjoying the hell out of every minute of it—the very woman who could stand in his way of the Imperial account, and the farm-saving bonus, hit him like a sucker punch. “Ho-ly hell,” he muttered. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he collapsed onto the bed.

  He felt sick. Heart sick. She’d lied to him. Told him she was a trust-fund baby—her words—talked about a charity gala she was working on. And all along she’d been communicating with her agency, no doubt.

  While he’d been busy romancing her, she’d been busy spying on him. A twenty-first century Mata Hari. Beautiful, sexy, capable of luring a man to her bed in the hopes of gaining his secrets.

  He thought back over their conversations. Had he said anything to her to tip her off? Had he revealed any thoughts on his approach to the account? Had he left his phone out where she could see emails? Text messages? No on all accounts. And thanks to her rule prohibiting exchange of personal information, which now made perfect sense, he’d refrained from sharing too much with her. At least there was that.

  Now what? Should he continue her ruse? Maybe even throw some false leads her way? No. She might not have a conscience, but he did. He couldn’t pretend. And he sure as hell couldn’t sleep with her again. Not knowing this.

  Had sleeping with him been part of her plan? Get him to let his guard down? After all, she’d initiated the fling, and wasted no time in doing it. She’d thrown it out there, the second day on the cruise on the Notre Dame de la Garde in Marseille.

  Well, she hadn’t succeeded. At least not at getting information out of him. What she had succeeded in doing was getting under his skin.

 
; “You’ve got a text message. Since it’s about the Imperial account, I figured it must be important.” Nathan stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his voice quiet, holding her smartphone out to her.

  She looked down at the phone and then back up into his face and she knew. He was the spy, not Greg. The jig was up. And so was her ruse. Her heart picked up its pace, moving into a sprint.

  When she didn’t take the phone, he set it on the counter with all the care he would a ticking time bomb.

  So many emotions to deal with, none of them good, and a few of them unfamiliar. Anger at herself that she’d been sleeping with the enemy the whole time. Anger at Nathan for his duplicity. Frustration that she’d let great sex blind her to reality. Possibly even talking herself out of seeing Nathan as the spy.

  And then, something deeper, stronger. Something she couldn’t put a finger on. Betrayal? Certainly. Disappointment? Possibly. Heartache? Before she could name it, he continued, his voice soft, but angry.

  “So, the whole trust-fund story, the disinheritance—was that all a lie, too?”

  “No. That was true.”

  “And the charity gala?”

  “True.”

  His disappointment in her enveloped her like a wet wool blanket. The feeling so familiar.

  Then she drew herself up, got her feet back under her. “Et tu, Nathan? Before you get all holier than thou on me, Mr. Maxwell, you didn’t exactly tell me the truth either. So, pot meet kettle.”

  Ignoring her comment, he rounded on her. “Did you plan to spy on me from the beginning?” He threw up his arms, released a laugh devoid of humor. “Did you really get your heel stuck in the sidewalk? Did we really end up on this ship together as a coincidence? Or did you orchestrate it all to distract me? To get information out of me?”

  Throwing off that wet, wool blanket, Laura jabbed a finger at his chest. “Me? What about you? Mr. Corporate Relations. And what about Amanda? Is she really your sister, or his she your wife? The flowers, the romantic dinners, the gestures? And what about that Rhett Butler accent? Was that part of your act, too?”

  “Sugar, nothing about me is an act. What you see is what you get. Trouble is, you don’t want to see too much. Better to remain ignorant. Can’t develop any attachments that way. Not that it matters now, but corporate relations is part of my job, as an ad executive you should know that, and Amanda is my sister. I never lied. Too bad I can’t say the same about you.”

  He opened the stateroom door, and looked back at her. “Rest assured, I’m going to get the Imperial account, and I’m going to use every weapon in my arsenal to do it.”

  “You’re going to need them . . . Sugar.” She shot back as she followed him to the door.

  Instead of slamming the door shut behind him, as she expected, he pulled it closed with a quiet click, leaving behind a deafening silence. Except for the thudding of her heart.

  Pacing the confines of his room, Nathan growled in frustration. With her. With himself. How could he have let his guard down? Everything about her should have sent off warning bells. Not that he knew anyone from Giddings-Rose was on the ship, but dammit. First, he pries her heel out of a sidewalk seam in front of Imperial’s offices.

  Then, she’s on the same ship where she initiates a fling—no doubt in the hopes he’ll reveal something about Hawk Media’s plans for the account. She has all her convenient rules about no personal questions, paying her own way, and no contact after they return to New York.

  “Christ Almighty!” There’d be hell to pay when Hawk finds out.

  Simmering down, he opened his balcony door and stepped out into the brisk wind coming off the water and sat staring out, seeing nothing.

  Then disappointment set in. Laura had been the first woman he thought he could have a serious relationship with. The first woman who he thought he could care about.

  “Ha!” How would he know if he could care about her? How could he tell the difference between the real Laura and the act that she’d put on? Then he thought about the vulnerability he’d seen in her eyes the day she’d received the telegram. That was difficult to fake. He ought to know.

  “What the hell difference did it make, anyway?” It was over. He’d be better off focusing this anger and frustration on the Imperial account, because the competition just got a whole lot tougher.

  Twisting her still-damp hair into a bun and knotting it, Laura padded barefoot into the living room, slid open her balcony door and inhaled the fresh salt air. She needed to clear her head, cool her temper, and regroup.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” she yelled into the blackness beyond. She was as angry at herself as she was at Nathan. She should have listened to her instincts. They’d always been dead-on. Instead, she’d let a man cloud her judgment. A really hot, charming— “Okay. Enough!”

  She had an account to snare, and snare it she would. Picking up the phone she ordered dinner to her room, grabbed her laptop and opened the file she’d started on Imperial. Making notes on the interactive tour app, real-time Twitter updates, and digital bulletins, she put Nathan’s treachery out of her thoughts. And tried like hell to ignore the emptiness of the stateroom without him. And if the stateroom felt empty without him, it was only because he’d made himself at home these past few days.

  Nothing more.

  The emptiness in her heart was another matter.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning, Laura signed up for another guided tour. This one a tour of Naples and its surroundings.

  The city itself seemed to tumble down the stone cliffs to the edge of the sea, as if stopping at the last moment. She’d originally planned to sit this port-of-call out, still so angry over Nathan’s deception, but she’d be damned if she’d let him get in the way of the Imperial account any longer. She’d let him in, let him distract her from her goal. Well no more. This was war.

  Her idea to create interactive tour apps had taken hold and she’d made voluminous notes the previous evening, throwing herself into her work, and telling herself she wasn’t hiding from him. No siree. She just wanted to give the creative team details so they could develop visuals for the pitch.

  Mr. and Mrs. Cybex walked past her down the aisle of the bus, smiling and nodding a greeting.

  And right behind them, Nathan. Damn. She’d hoped he’d either chosen another tour, or decided to stay on the ship. Ignoring him as he made his way down the aisle, she rummaged in the messenger-style bag with her belongings, a notepad and pen, and her phone. No point in hiding who she was and what she did for a living. She’d found her spy. Right under her nose. Or should she say, right under her. Over her. In her.

  Stop! Not a good line of thinking at the moment. She didn’t want to remember how amazing he felt in any of those positions.

  When they reached their first stop on the tour, Laura let everyone get off the bus first, so she could distance herself from Nathan. Naples was a big city. If he stayed away from her, she’d stay the hell away from him.

  Dammit. She missed Nathan. Missed him on the island of Capri when she took the funicular to Capri Town, the hilltop village. Missed him on the ferry ride to the town of Sorrento where she had lunch. Alone. And she missed him now, as she sat sipping her limoncello, watching the chaos that was Pompeii.

  She had wisecracks aplenty at the ready every time she saw a statue of an erect penis, which in Pompeii were as common as taxis in New York, and she had no one to share them with. At least no one who would appreciate them the way Nathan would.

  Exhausted from a very long day, she polished off her drink, and stood to take some photos outside the archaeological ruins of Pompeii. Damn Nathan and his charming personality. She had work to do.

  Standing a few feet away, her back to him, Laura made some notes in the small notebook she carried. Nathan couldn’t help himself. He watched her, as he’d done all day. Keeping her in his sites.

  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?”