Read Online Ship of Dreams (Dreams Come True Series Book 2) by Rebecca Heflin - Free Book Online Page A

about to start now. Even one whose kisses knocked her Louboutins off, made her spine turn to jelly when he said her name with that ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof Southern accent,’ and, as of last night, starred in her X-rated dreams.
    She’d set her sights on him, and just like everything else she set her sights on and accomplished, she’d be kissing her dry spell goodbye. Then by the end of the cruise, she’d send him on his way, never to see him again.
    She stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner. Nathan stood at the rail looking out over the commercial port to the city of Marseille beyond, the wind ruffling his hair. The only two times they’d met, he’d been wearing a suit. Although last night after a few rounds on the dance floor, he’d stripped off his jacket and tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing a tan throat and muscular forearms.
    Today, he wore dark-wash jeans, a white button-down, un-tucked, and driving mocs, no doubt Italian. She tilted her head for a better view of his ass. And what a fine ass it was. Le sigh .
    Damn, but the man knew how to wear a pair of jeans. Aviators covered his eyes, and a day’s growth of stubble covered his jaw. Just your typical casual guy-wear, but he gave it an added dash of sex appeal.
    No. He wasn’t her typical ‘prey,’ as Josh so crudely liked to put it. But maybe she’d been in a rut, and it was time for a change.
    Slipping on her sunglasses, she stepped up to the rail beside him. “Ah, Marseille, Gateway to Provence, one of my favorite regions of France.” The salty air cleared the sleep-deprivation cobwebs from her head and energized her.
    He turned, took a step back, and gave her an appreciative once-over that she felt down to her toes. Without her four-inch heels, she felt small in comparison to his height.
    He raised a brow over his sunglasses. “No stilettos?”
    “No. I can be practical when it’s called for. And walking miles on paved streets calls for practicality.”
    “You’ve been to Marseille?”
    “I came with my parents when I was a little girl—too young to enjoy it, really—and then again when I was a sullen teenager, angry that I couldn’t go to camp with my best friend instead.” Laura laughed and shook her head. “I was such a little bitch.”
    Nathan chuckled.
    “But after college I took another trip over, and discovered what I’d missed the first two times. Wine. And while most people head for the countryside, I prefer the grit of the city.”
    “Wine, huh? I like wine,” he said.
    “Well, you’re in for a treat. Although known for their rosé, I prefer the spicy, full-flavored reds. And of course no visit to Marseille would be complete without dining on bouillabaisse.”
    “Sounds like I’ve hooked my wagon to the right train. You can be tour guide for the day.”
    “All right. We can take the Petit Train de la Bonne Mère—”
    “You say that like you mean it.”He looked impressed.
    Laura made a face. “I speak fluent French, Spanish, and Italian. My mother insisted. I also speak fluent sarcasm, when the occasion warrants. Which my mother had nothing to do with.” Unless you count her very existence.
    “I see. But do you speak Southern?” His lips curved into a sexy smile.
    “No. But I’m a fast learner.” Her gaze flicked to his mouth.
    “I’m sorry, I interrupted your review of the itinerary.”
    She blinked, distracted. His lips were so close to hers. “Yes. Anyway. We can take the Little Train,” she said with a smirk, “up to the hilltop basilica Notre Dame de la Garde and its breathtaking view of the city, then back to the Vieux Port, or we can take the path less traveled, the Corniche Président JFK, along the rocky Mediterranean coastline. If I recall, even the sullen teenager in me appreciated the views.”
    “Why do we have to choose?”
    Smiling, she said, “Good question. I like the way you think.”
    The panorama from the Notre Dame de la Garde wasbreathtaking with all of