“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 Laura’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.”
<
br /> 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?”
“Nine, but who’s counting?”
“Apparently you are.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “And what exactly is monkey sex, anyway?” She lifted the glass of ice water to her mouth.
“And didn’t tell him what you did for a living?” Darcy continued, ignoring Laura’s rhetorical question.
Laura shrugged. “It didn’t come up.”
Darcy snorted.
“We were busy having sex.” Laura smirked.
The waiter chose that moment to walk up to the table. “Ahem, should I come back?”
“No,” Laura said.
“Yes,” Darcy interrupted.
He raised a brow, before beating a hasty retreat.
“So it was a lie by omission,” Darcy pointed out after the waiter left. “And clearly he omitted what he did for a living, or he wouldn’t have taken you by surprise.”
“No. He lied about what he did.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he was in corporate relations.”
“So, Ms. Armstrong”—Darcy folded her arms on the table—“as an ad agency executive, is corporate relations not part of your job?”
“You’ve been spending too much time with the Shyster.”
“Just answer the question.”
“Yes,” Laura muttered.
“Then he didn’t exactly lie.”
“Fine. I hate when you turn all lawyer-like on me.”
“Did I tell you my new hero is a litigator? Josh has been instructing me on the fine art of cross-examination. Comes in handy.”
“Perfect. Can we just order, and forget about The Spy?”
“The Spy?” Darcy set her menu down again. “You think he intentionally spied on you?”
“What else could explain the chance encounter in front of Imperial’s offices, and then his appearance on the ship?” Laura had been giving this some thought. Nathan thought she was spying on him, but she thought he said that just to throw her off.
“I thought you got your heel stuck in a sidewalk seam. Are you saying he orchestrated that?”
“No. It just worked to his advantage, that’s all. I was a sitting duck.”
“And how would he know which ship and which itinerary you’d chosen?”
Damn, she hated it when Darcy got all logical. She counted on her more ditzy side in conversations like this.
“I don’t know. How does any spy find out . . . things? Anyway, let’s talk about something else. I had dinner with Jack Jeffries last night.”
“Imperial’s Crown Prince? Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest for him . . . or you?”
“Pfft. We’re not lawyers. Besides, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“And as I recall, you had a crush on him in tenth grade.”
“I did not. Besides, he only had eyes for Miss New York.”
The waiter returned to take their order.
After he walked away, Darcy said, “So how was it? Your date with Jack?”
Laura hesitated. She couldn’t share Jack’s secret, even with Darcy.
“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” Darcy whispered across the table.
“No.” Though not for lack of trying.
“Well, that’s good. All you need is for the competition to think you slept your way to the account.”
“No chance of that. There’s just no spark there.” And, oh yeah, he’s gay. More’s the pity.
Laura was convinced that if she slept with someone else, she’d forget Nathan Maxwell. Trouble was, other than Jack, no one floated her boat, and he’d barely floated her boat above the minimum draft.
“Moving on. How was your trip to California Wine Country?”
Brigh
t and early the following Friday morning, Laura smoothed her hands over her skirt as she walked down Imperial’s carpeted hall. She’d gone with a classic white silk blouse, black pencil skirt, black patent Louboutin platform pumps, and simple silver jewelry. Professional and poised, with a hint of sexy. Eat your heart out, Nathan Maxwell.
Taking a deep breath, she entered Imperial’s boardroom for the pre-pitch meeting. It wasn’t the meeting that had her nerves on edge. It was seeing Nathan for the first time since Naples.
Ridiculous. He was just a man.
But what a man. Nathan already sat at the table with a couple of other members of the Hawk Media team, including Hawk himself. Nathan chuckled at something the woman said. His eyes crinkled at the corners and Laura’s stomach did a back dive off the Empire State Building.
Light-gray suit, white shirt, navy tie. She remembered with startling clarity what the superb cut of that Italian suit covered.
Ever polite, he nodded a curt greeting to her.
She studiously ignored him, turning to Celeste, the head of the creative team who’d be working on the pitch. “Laugh.”
“What?” Celeste looked up in confusion.
“Laugh. I want the Hawk Media team to think we’re just as relaxed as they are.”
“But—”
“Just laugh,” Laura ground out.
“All right. Sheesh.” Celeste obliged with a cackle.
Great. She’d forgotten Celeste’s laugh sounded like the Wicked Witch of the West. Taking a seat opposite Hawk, she opened her iPad case, and tried to quell her bouncing leg.
Jackson Jeffries entered the room, followed by Jack. After the men circled the room, shaking hands with everyone, they took seats, Jack at the head of the table.
Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) Page 13