Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) (9 page)

The restaurant’s understated décor provided a welcome respite from the high glamour of the rest of the ship. Vintage winepresses stood around the room beneath down-lighting like works of art. Wine corks in a herringbone pattern covered an accent wall, while the other walls were a rich Merlot color. A large glassed-in wine room with rotating racks provided ample storage for the diverse collection of wines available. Small pub tables topped with old wine cask lids stood near a mahogany bar accented with wrought iron.

An eight-glass wine flight waited at their table when they’d arrived. She’d glanced over at Nathan, confused, thinking that the
maître d
had escorted them to the wrong table.

“I thought you’d like to sample some of the region’s other wines. Some rosés as well as the reds you love.”

Another thoughtful gesture that left her off balance. “Ah. I thought you just wanted to get me drunk.”

“A gentleman never gets a lady drunk.” He indicated the glasses. “But it is all part of the seduction.”

“Seduction?” She drew back in surprise, then leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Let me make it easy for you. I don’t need seducing. I’m a sure thing.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“Well, then. Maybe I should be seducing you instead.”

“That sounds intriguing. We’ll try that tomorrow.”

“It’s just meaningless sex.”
Dammit!
Did she just say that out loud? It was meant to be a reminder to herself.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, as he gave a shake of his head. “Nothing you do in life should be without meaning, least of all sex. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“All right. It’s just sex then.”

This time his eyebrows shot up. “Just sex? Again, what’s the point if the act is, well, pointless. Sugar, for someone who says she appreciates the finer things in life, your view of sex is rather . . . jaded. Sex should be savored, just like a fine wine”—he selected a rosé—“or a rich bouillabaisse.”

She lifted a brow in response.

“Fair warning,” he continued. “Sex with me will be neither meaningless nor pointless.”

Laura’s breath caught as he pinned her with his gaze. Her breathing shallowed as she watched those full lips caress the rim of the wineglass. Biting her lip, she pressed a hand to her bouncing knee. Men, even those with whom she expected to have sex, did
not
make her nervous.

He took a sip of the wine. “Mmm. Try this.” He handed the glass to her.

Their fingers touched as he passed the wine to her and she felt it like a bolt of lightning. All this talk of sex, meaningless or otherwise, had simply heightened her reaction. At least that was what she told herself.

Suppressing a shiver, she took a mouthful of the wine, let the flavors explode on her tongue before swallowing. “Crisp. Refreshing.” She tilted her head. “What did you taste?”

He looked thoughtful a moment, and a little self-conscious. “Let’s see. Citrus, red berries, and . . . peach.”

“You have a connoisseur’s discerning taste buds.”

He shrugged. “I just know what I like.” He reached across the table and took her free hand, rubbing the back with his thumb.

Goose pimples crept up her arm, as her lips parted.

“And I like how your lips taste.” His eyes drifted to her lips. “I can’t wait to taste the rest of you.”

Holy Rhett Butler!

They sampled several more glasses of wine before ordering. But rath
er than savoring her meal, Nathan could tell Laura was chomping at the bit to get the dinner over with. He enjoyed watching her squirm in her seat and smiled over the jittery leg bounce beneath the table. “Do you always do that when you’re nervous?”

“Do what?”

“Bounce your leg.” Not getting an answer, he chuckled. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“What?”

“You know . . . patience is a virtue.”

Laura snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly virtuous.”

She sure as hell didn’t look virtuous in a sleeveless dress with a neckline that dipped south of her sternum, baring lots of luscious skin, including the curve of her breasts, her hair pulled back in her customary tail.

First on tonight’s agenda, sliding the tie from her hair and running his fingers through it. Next, tasting all that skin. Heat flared in his abdomen, and he admonished himself about the aforementioned patience.

“What do you think of the ship’s décor?” he asked, redirecting his thoughts. Might as well pick her brain.

“I appreciate Art Deco as much as the next person, but like Christmas decorations, a little goes a long way.”

He nodded in agreement.

“I’d prefer something in relaxing neutrals, something contemporary but warm.” She waved her hand at their surroundings. “Something like this.”

He made a mental note. Laura’s sophisticated taste level couldn’t be ignored, and he’d been thinking the same thing himself. The new ship needed a more relaxed feel. “I can’t help but think I’ve stepped into a Fred Astaire movie.” He chuckled over a fond memory of his grandmother watching the old black and white movies after a long day on the farm. She’d always been a very practical woman, but her face turned dreamy when she watched Fred and Ginger glide across the screen.

“Or Jean Harlow,” Laura offered.

“You a classic movie buff?”

“No, her image is in the ad for Indulgence, one of my favorite perfumes.”

“Oh, right. Great ad. Saw it in
GQ,
I think.” He tilted his head.
“So, what should we order for dessert?”

“Dessert?”

“Of course. We can’t pass up the decadent desserts offered.” He almost chuckled at the petulant expression on her face. “How about we split the melting chocolate cake? You like chocolate, right?”

“I’m female.”

“That you most definitely are.” He signaled the waiter and placed their order for dessert and coffee. As their plates were cleared, he asked, “Do you live in Manhattan?”

“Yes.” She picked up her wine glass. “And you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you from New York?”

“Born and raised.” She squirmed a little more in her seat.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“That’s Rule Number Four. No personal questions.”

“Right. Sorry. Just making conversation.”

She set her glass down. “Look, Nathan. I appreciate all the effort to make this a romantic evening, but I’m not interested in baring my soul to you or anyone else. I’m interested in . . .”

She hesitated, and he knew she’d been about to say ‘meaningless sex’ but thought better of it. “A fling. Nothing more.”

Nathan nodded. He didn’t know what made him ask those questions. Even if they were superficial, he didn’t usually go there. And he appreciated it when no one tried to take him there. “You’re right.”

She flashed what appeared to be a smile of relief. “Now, about that fling.” The smile transformed to seductive, as her eyes glittered with desire.

Nathan jumped when her bare foot snaked its way up his leg, getting closer to his crotch by the second. He latched onto her ankle before she reached her goal.

“We’ll pass on dessert,” he ground out as the waiter approached with their coffee.

Nathan towed Laura along the empty corridor to the elevator and impatiently pressed the up b
utton. He pulled her in for a kiss that quickly turned sultry. So much for patience.

“Your place or mine?” Nathan asked between kisses.

“Mine,” Laura breathed as she nipped his lower lip.

“Mine’s closer.” Nathan changed the angle of the kiss.

“I have the penthouse.” Laura groped his ass.

He pulled back. “Really?”

She nodded.

“Yours. Definitely yours.” He’d just pressed his lips to hers again when the elevator
dinged.

The door opened on a blissfully empty elevator. Reaching out, Laura grabbed Nathan’s jacket lapels, hauling him into the corner as the doors slid shut. She wrapped her leg around his, pressing her hips against his, feeling his impressive erection. She groaned as she pressed hot kisses along his jaw.

Nathan slipped his hand inside her dress, baring a breast, and eliciting a gasp from her. “What happened to patience?”

The elevator came to a gentle stop and Nathan pushed away from her, then, reaching out again, covered the delicious breast he’d just bared. Both were panting like they’d just run a marathon, and Laura’s hair was mussed where he’d had his fingers in it.

An older couple stepped on, gave them a knowing glance. The woman leaned over to her husband and said in a stage whisper, “Remember the first time we had elevator sex? Of course the elevators moved much slower in those days.”

Laura’s hand flew to her mouth to cover an unladylike snort as she shot Nathan a look.

He ran his fingers through his rumpled hair and stifled his laugh with a cough.

The elevator stopped on the next deck and the couple stepped off. The man gave Nathan a thumbs-up as the elevator doors closed.

“Wasn’t that the man in the fitness center this morning?”

Nathan nodded. “Mr. Cybex.”

Nathan grappled with the key card, cursing when he missed the slot. Finally the green light came on a
nd he threw the door open.

Laura stepped into the room, softly lit with lamplight, the blackness of the Mediterranean Sea beyond the picture windows. Before he could say a word, she’d slipped her dress from her shoulders, where it glided to the floor, leaving her standing in nothing but a pair of strappy silver stiletto sandals.

“Have mercy!” He nearly choked. “You—you’ve been naked except for that dress all evening?”

She simply lifted a hand. “As you see.” The corner of her mouth lifted, bringing out the dimple he’d wanted to kiss since the day he met her.

His body told him to dive in. His brain told him to savor everything about her. All that silky skin, beautiful breasts, firm tummy, and those legs. Yards of lean sexy legs. His gaze traveled over her as she stood brazen and unrepentant. His eyes met her deep blue ones, hooded now with desire.
Breathtaking!

“Take your hair down.”

She complied, lifting her arms, she freed her hair, spreading it around her shoulders, covering her breasts. A modern-day Lady Godiva. As his breath came out in shallow huffs, he had to remind himself again to take it slow. She licked her lips, and he stifled a groan.

He approached her, taking her hips in his hands. She reached out for his belt buckle. “Uh-huh.” He cuffed her wrists and held them behind her back, making her breasts thrust forward. “We’re on Nathan-Time now. Slow and easy like a southern summer.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts.’” He spun her around and steered her toward the bedroom and got an eyeful of a glorious tight ass for his trouble, lifted even higher by those killer shoes.

The bed had been turned down and the lights were low. Laura tried to spin around, but he held her. “No.” He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her against him, pressing her delicious derriere into his erection. He skimmed his other hand up her breasts, sweeping aside her hair, before cupping the column of her throat, and gently held her there while he rained kisses down her neck to her shoulders. She tasted better than any fine wine. Like hot, juicy summer peaches.

He inhaled her scent, the same expensive perfume she’d worn when they’d had a chance encounter on a busy Manhattan street. But this time he could smell the woman underneath. Heady and erotic.

Her hands reached behind her back for him. He grasped her wrists again and dragged them back in front of her. “Am I going to have to tie you up?”

“Been there, done that.” Her breath came out in ragged gasps.

His stomach knotted with desire at the image of Laura laid out on a bed, hands tied. Almost on the verge of sensory overload, he turned her in his arms and gazed into a face so sensual, lips still swollen from his kisses in the elevator, eyes blurred and drowsy. He cupped her jaw. “Laura, look at me.”

She raised her eyes to his.

“It may take all night, but I’m going to kiss every inch of you. You think you can handle that?”

She nodded.

“Good. I think I’ll start here and work my way down.” He pressed his lips to the dimple at the corner of her mouth.

Chapter 8

Laura groaned. Her standard romps were a frenzy of heated kisses, discarded clothes, and lecherous gropes. Your basic wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am encounters. Couplings so physical and unemotional they might have been between two wild animals.

But this. This was delicious torture. Like slowly roasting alive, while enjoying every minute of it. Nathan knelt in front of her, his mouth and tongue leaving hot trails across her bare stomach, while his hands performed wicked delights in their wake. Grasping her hips, he pressed his face to her core. Her legs buckled and she collapsed onto the bed.

How had Nathan taken control? How had she
let
him take control? Control was her middle name, and the bedroom was no exception. But as she lay back on the bed, she realized she liked it. Giving over to someone else was just as heady as taking control. She indulged in a languorous stretch while she watched as Nathan removed his jacket and shoes, unbuttoned his shirt. His eyes never left her. She could feel them caressing her like a lover’s hand.

Peeling off his shirt, he tossed it on a chair atop his jacket, revealing a muscular chest and a tight belly. A light-brown patch of hair trailed down his abdomen and disappeared into his waistband. She licked her lips when his hands dropped to his belt buckle, the evidence of his desire for her straining against his zipper.

He stepped out of his trousers and boxers and stood in all his long, lean, naked glory.

As he approached the bed, she reached for him.

“Oh no. I’m not finished,” he said, his voice raspy with desire.

She groaned both in exasperation and anticipation.

He grasped her ankles and began kissing his way up her legs, stopping at her Achilles, then her calves, finding a sensitive spot behind her knees she never knew she had, where he licked and nipped until she thought she might spontaneously combust. When he reached her thighs, she could no longer lie still. “Please, Nathan,” she panted.