Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (6 page)

Laura knew she couldn’t completely escape from her family’s influence and DNA. She’d learned her haughty stare and overbearing manner from her grandmother, but she liked to think she only dispensed them when they were well-deserved. She’d inherited her father’s workaholic tendencies, her mother’s glorious mane of hair and blue eyes, and her grandfather’s determination.

It was this determination that often made her and her grandmother butt heads. Her grandmother deplored her ‘loose’ lifestyle, and while her grandmother was outspoken, she found it unflattering in her only granddaughter.

Laura sighed as her aimless wandering took her to her favorite room, the solarium just off her bedroom that connected with the garden terrace, which thanks to her skillful gardener, bloomed in a riot of color and texture.

She collapsed into an upholstered chaise and drained the last of her port. She’d succeeded in everything she set her mind to. Except gaining her father’s love and affection.

She glanced at a photo of herself with Darcy’s family. Laura found solace in them. Their support was a balm to her soul, but could never be a substitute for that of her parents.

She and Darcy met in kindergarten and stayed together until they each went to college, Laura in Chicago at Northwestern—to get away from her family—and Darcy in New York at Columbia—to stay near her family.

“Enough of the pity party.” She glanced down at her empty glass. “I’ve got some packing to do. Look out Mediterranean! Here comes Laura ‘Bad-Ass’ Armstrong.”

Chapter 5

The
Nave dei Sogni
lived up to its name, from its hip Art Deco décor to its luxurious appointments. With a style reminiscent of the great ocean liners of the 1930s, the public areas of the ship boasted unapologetic glamour. Deco-Page, the elegant lounge, where she sipped her vodka martini from etched glass, could have come straight out of a classic Hollywood movie.

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 alo
ne, neither 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.

Mistress
es
. 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.