Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (8 page)

The panorama from the Notre Dame de la Garde was
breathtaking with all of Marseille spread out before them, and the sparkling Bay of Marseille beyond. Some five hundred feet below, the city’s white stone buildings with their terracotta-tiled roofs fell in a jumble at their feet, like a child’s discarded building blocks. Above, a sky so clear and blue, it almost hurt to look at it.

The splendor of the scene outside competed with the magnificence of the basilica’s interior. Nathan had never seen anything like it. The church’s mosaics had fascinated him with their brilliant palette of colors and depth of detail. He wasn’t a religious man, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the architecture and artistry of the Neo-Byzantine structure.

“I’m not often rendered speechless, but this does it,” Laura said as she gazed out over the vista.

“Ditto.”

The salt tang drifted in on the breeze, and Nathan filled his lungs with it. As work assignments went, this one was off the hook.

He and Laura stood in companionable silence, too awestruck to do anything else. She removed her sunglasses, lifting her face to the sun, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face. The breeze teased a few strands from her braid and fanned him with the scent of her perfume. He could see the pulse in her neck, enticing him to press his lips to her sun-warmed skin.

“You should know I’m not opposed to a shipboard fling.”

He glanced up and into her open eyes.
Yeah.
The chemistry couldn’t be denied. He’d felt it the instant he’d wrapped his hand around the ankle of her imprisoned foot. Should he forego the opportunity fate presented to him on a silver platter? He’d regretted not asking for her phone number that day and now here she stood offering him what any man would be crazy to refuse.

She turned to face him. “I’m a big girl, Nathan. I’m not dreaming of white dresses and china patterns. I’m receptive to a purely physical relationship with no strings. Clearly there’s attraction here.”

Sweet Jesus.

She stepped closer, but didn’t touch him. Didn’t matter. His body responded as if she had. Yep, crazy. So let the romancing begin. Snaking an arm around her waist, he drew her in for a kiss sure to be as soul-searing as their first.

He touched his lips to her sun-drenched mouth, tasting the heat and desire there. Clutching her hips, he felt her sway toward him, her hands pressed to his chest. Vaguely aware of the crowd, he sought to deepen the kiss without making a public spectacle. His tongue tangled briefly with hers, before he withdrew, taking a tender nip of her lower lip as he retreated. He gazed down into eyes so blue and unwavering they gave the sky a run for its money.

She flicked her tongue over her lips before sucking her lower lip into her mouth.

He groaned, closing his eyes. “God, woman, you’re killing me.”

She smiled, slow and seductive. “Wait ‘til I get you to bed. Hope your insurance is paid up.” She lifted a shoulder. “Just saying.”

His knees threatened to buckle. But wait he would, and so would she. The patience he’d learned as a boy on the streets of inner-city Atlanta, then later in the hills of rural North Georgia, had taught him as a young man that the anticipation of obtaining the object desired only heightened the experience once it was obtained. And he had hours left in the day, and the evening, to romance her. And romance her he would.

Nathan shook his head as he studied the view.

“What?” Laura asked, co
nfused.

“I feel as if I’m on the set of a movie or something. It just can’t be real.”

Their table at Chez FonFon in the picturesque Vallon des Auffes
,
a small fishing port off the Corniche
,
overlooked the little harbor where colorful wooden fishing boats bobbed at their moorings.

Earlier they’d walked along the Corniche JFK, tracing the rocky coastline of the Mediterranean, stopping to appreciate the beauty of the villas and gardens that dotted the route.

Then they’d ordered what was touted to be the best bouillabaisse in Marseille, and at Laura’s recommendation, to accompany it, a fine red from the Bandol region of France.

“Mmm.” Nathan swallowed the wine he’d just sipped. “Great recommendation.” He swirled the wine in his glass. Watched as the dark legs ran down the side.

“I’m glad you like it.” She gazed out at the view. “There’s so much of the world to see and experience. And so many fabulous foods and wines to be tasted.”

“Here’s to fabulous food and wine.”

Laura lifted her glass and tapped it to his. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes, and held the wine on her tongue, before swallowing. “Black fruit, vanilla, cinnamon, and leather. Full-bodied and rich.”

“You’re quite the connoisseur.”

Laura lifted a shoulder. “I appreciate the craftsmanship that goes into nice things, be they stilettos or fine wine.”

“I’ve come to appreciate stilettos myself.” A slow grin spread over his features. “Especially when they grace a pair of legs like yours.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“No. Definitely not. I don’t flirt. I woo.” He winked.

“Woo. Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in, well, ever. Unless you count the occasional steamy historical romance novel.”

The waiter brought the first stage of the traditional bouillabaisse, the saffron-rich broth topped with croutons, accompanied by a fragrant roasted garlic clove and
rouille
for spreading on the croutons.

Nathan lifted a dubious eyebrow.

“The fish is served separately,” Laura supplied.

“I knew that,” he said with a sheepish grin. He lifted his spoon, sipped the broth, and nodded. “Delicious.”

“I’m hurt. You doubted me. Do I look like someone who would steer you wrong in anything to do with the finer things in life?” She waggled her spoon at him.

“No, ma’am.”

Why did that Southern courtesy send a little tingle through her? she wondered. “Speaki
ng of sex and that shipboard fling.”
Wow.
She just gave
herself
mental whiplash.

He choked on his bouillabaisse, and placing his spoon in the bowl, wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Give a guy a little warning.”

“I have a few rules, so there are no misunderstandings.” She set her spoon carefully in her bowl.

“Rules are good. Let’s hear ‘em.”

“Rule Number One: I won’t be the other woman.” She let that sink in. “I don’t have flings with married, or otherwise attached, men.”

“As we’ve already established, I’m not married or otherwise attached.”

“Good. Rule Number Two: Just because we’re having sex doesn’t mean you get to monopolize my time. Sex is sex, and the rest of our time is our own, unless we mutually agree otherwise.”

“Understood.”

“Rule Number Three: This is just a fling. It ends with the cruise, so don’t expect anything once we’re back in the States.”

“Agreed.”

“Rule Number Four—and this one’s important: No personal questions. I’m not going to share my deepest, darkest secrets and I won’t expect you to share yours. No stories about our dysfunctional families, our formative years, or our teenage traumas.”

“Fair enough. Anything else?”

She thought about it a moment. “Rule Number Five: I pay my way.”

“No. That’s a deal-breaker.”

“I won’t have you paying for my meals, or anything else for that matter. I didn’t come on the cruise expecting to find a Sugar Daddy, even if he is Southern. You pay your way, and I pay mine. Then no one is beholden to the other.”

When he didn’t respond, she ran her foot up his leg almost to his crotch. He jumped at the intimate contact then closed his eyes and groaned.

“If you want some of this”—she swept her hand up her body—“those are my conditions.”

“Damn, sugar, you drive a hard bargain.”

She laughed. “I’m worth it. I promise.”

He groaned again. “Fine. I’m afraid to ask if there’s anything else?”

“That about covers it. What about you? Any rules?”

“Just one. I don’t do sleepover.”

“Fine. Rule Number Six: No sleepovers.” She could accept that, even though she had no issues with waking up to a warm naked man with a morning hard-on.

She raised her glass of wine. “To a no strings, Ship of Dreams fling.”

He smiled at her across the table and lifted his glass to hers. “I can get onboard with that.”

Chapter 7

“How’s the cruise?” Darcy asked.

“Fine.” Laura shifted the phone so she could open an email on her laptop. She’d barely glanced at her smartphone all day. Unusual for her, but she’d been preoccupied with Nathan. Having fun and all that. Thinking about dinner with him tonight. Followed by her version of dessert.

She’d called Darcy while she was still in port and had a signal, but she also needed to reply to emails. Good thing multi-tasking came naturally.

“Have you hooked up with an Italian? I don’t think you’ve ever, er, dated an Italian.”

“There was that guy from Sicily, oh, what was his name? You know, the Formula 1 racecar driver.”

“If you can’t keep all your conquests straight, how do you expect me to? Maybe you should keep a spreadsheet. And you didn’t answer my question. Any accented hotties on the ship?”

Laura bit her lip. For some reason, she didn’t feel like discussing Nathan. “It’s like an AARP convention. Everyone here is old enough to be my father. And a few, my grandfather.”

“Oh, that sucks. What a drag for you.”

“Well, it isn’t a vacation after all.”

“I know, but all work and no play makes Laura a very bitchy girl.”

“Ha, ha. So, what’s new with you and Josh? You settling in to connubial bliss?”

“Happy as clams.”

“Really? And just what makes clams happy?”

“We’re redecorating some of the rooms on the upper floors, and I’m secretly working on an office for Josh. You know, the junk room on the third floor? I’ve been stripping wall paper and painting while Josh is at work.”

“Sounds dreadful.” Laura couldn’t imagine performing backbreaking labor for herself, much less someone else. “Why don’t you just hire someone?”

“Then it wouldn’t be as special. Doing it with my own two little hands makes it mean more. It’ll be great when it’s finished.”

“Shouldn’t you be working on your next book instead?” Laura frowned over an email from Celeste, the head of the creative team, regarding the drink company’s campaign.

“Oh, I am. And it’s going like gangbusters. Who knew how productive wedded bliss would make me. It’s like a six-pack of Red Bull for my creativity.”

“You leave next week for California, right?”

“Yes, and as much as I hate leaving Josh, I’m so excited about the trip. Did I tell you how awesome you two are?”

“Well, I am anyway.”

“Oh, Fudgesicle, there’s the bell. I’ve got the upholsterer coming over with some fabric swatches.”

Laura laughed at Darcy’s go-to F-bomb substitute. “Okay. Go look at your swatches. Tell the ambulance-chaser hello.”

“Laura.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t work too hard. Enjoy yourself a little.”

She thought again about the afternoon she’d just spent with Nathan, and the evening to come. “I’ll try.”

Hitting ‘end,’ she checked her watch. She still had time to jot down some of her thoughts on her Imperial experience so far. Then she’d take extra care with her appearance, because unless her signals had gotten crossed, her drought would meet its end tonight.

Scrolling through emails, Nathan c
aught up on those that couldn’t wait. A question about the creative brief for the new tech company campaign. An issue with the media buying for a local Mercedes dealership. Just the typical day-to-day fires that had to be put out. Thankfully all were little hot spots, and not conflagrations.

A text from Amanda asked how his first day in France was. After giving it some thought, he replied, “Well, it didn’t suck.”

Disasters averted and business handled, he stepped out onto his balcony to breathe in the fresh scent of the water and enjoy the remaining rays of the sun before it set.

The ship had left port over an hour ago and was headed for St. Tropez, followed by Monte Carlo a day later. Nathan tried to envision spending an evening in the Casino de Monte Carlo, home of many a James Bond film. Shaking his head at how far he’d come, he grabbed a chair from the bistro table and propped his feet on the ship’s railing.

From the mean streets of inner-city Atlanta to the mountains of rural North Georgia. From the Southern hospitality of Atlanta to the hustle and bustle of New York City. And now, the glamour and beauty of the Mediterranean. What would his grandmother think of him now?

And then there was the gorgeous, intelligent, and worldly Laura Danforth. He’d dated some beautiful women. Smart, capable women. But Laura shined like the Hope Diamond among a display of third-rate fakes. Their afternoon together had been entertaining for many reasons, chief among them, the chemistry between them.

He’d been pretty good at chemistry in school, and not just the sexual kind. Tonight, he’d mix the perfect blend to produce a chemical reaction, preferably a highly combustible one. One part atmosphere, one part romance, and one part heat. The result should be a chemical reaction of epic proportions.

For the atmosphere, he’d reserved a table at the intimate onboard restaurant, La Presse du Vin, which featured wine flights from around the region. For the romance, he’d give her roses, and for the heat, well, from what he’d gleaned so far, a touch was enough to ignite the heat. Mother Nature could take it from there.

The waiter placed the white linen nap
kin on
Laura’s lap. She gazed across the candlelit table at Nathan, his white dress shirt open at the neck revealing a tanned throat. A single red rose lay on the table at her elbow.

He’d arrived at her door promptly at seven-fifteen bearing an armload of red long-stemmed roses, and wearing a charming grin. She’d rarely received roses, or flowers of any kind for that matter, from a man. Romance had nothing to do with what she wanted from men. She’d been shocked by her reaction to his thoughtfulness. A flutter in her chest, and a pleasant warmth in her belly.