Countering His Claim. Rachel Bailey

man hovered at Della’s shoulder and she began to turn, but Luke tightened his grip on her forearm to a firm but gentle hold. Della held his gaze and the man stepped away.

      “We can’t talk privately here,” Luke said. “As soon as dinner is over we’ll go somewhere where no one can interrupt.” He glanced around at the people nearby who were subtly—or not so subtly—watching them. “Or eavesdrop.”

      She scanned his face for long moments before nodding. “I know a place.”

      “Good,” he said and turned to face the table again. “As soon as we’ve finished eating, you’ll take me there.”

      He’d prefer to go at once, but was prepared to be civilized. And it was better for the crew to see them handling this in a calm manner. Skittish crew members would spook the passengers.

      As would a challenge to Patrick’s will through the courts. Which was why he’d prefer to resolve this as quickly and as privately as possible. Of course, if he couldn’t obtain the outcome he wanted privately with Della, a legal challenge was still plan B.

      Della smiled at an older couple taking their seats on her other side. “Welcome back, Mr. Flack, Mrs. Flack.”

      She turned back to Luke. “Mr. Marlow, this is Mr. and Mrs. Flack. They’re regular patrons of the Cora Mae.”

      Mr. Flack leaned across to shake Luke’s hand while his wife said, “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Marlow.”

      Luke stood and reached down in front of Della to shake the guests’ hands, an action that gave him a burst of her perfume, a brush of her arm. He refused to let it affect him, and took his seat again.

      The wine waiters came and delivered their drinks, and soon all ten seats at the table had filled and Captain Tynan led the conversation among the group. He was obviously an old hand at this, and it gave Luke an opportunity to observe Della some more. Preparation was the key to any confrontation, and he had a lot riding on their meeting after dinner.

      After the waiter had taken their meal orders, the main conversation trailed off and Luke turned to Della. “Tell me about yourself.”

      She took a sip of her wine before answering. “You didn’t come to dinner to talk about me. How are you finding your cabin?”

      Luke toyed with the stem of his glass as he watched her. In some ways, Della reminded him of a cat—detached and ready to turn and walk away at the slightest provocation. What would make a professional, independent woman like Della feel that way? Was it the conflict with him over the Cora Mae, or her reaction to him personally? It was an intriguing question. But he allowed the change of subject to pass without comment.

      “Surprisingly comfortable,” he said and leaned back in his chair. The duplex suite they’d been able to find him at short notice was much more spacious and luxurious than the cruise ships of his childhood. Ships had come a long way in twenty-five years, or at least his uncle’s had. “To be honest, I’m a little surprised at the high standard.”

      “The Cora Mae is a luxury cruise liner. Our guests expect nothing less than absolute quality.” She tilted her head to indicate the expansive dining room, decorated in opulent whites and sparkling crystal, its walls draped in lilac gauzy fabric. In the soft glow of the room’s light, she was breathtaking. His pulse picked up speed. She wore a simple teal evening gown and the lightest of makeup, her nut-brown hair hanging in loose, shiny curls. Yet, for all her understatement, there was a magnetic charge that surrounded her.

      He cleared his throat. “Have you had a busy time in the medical rooms since I was there?”

      “I was only on duty until the will reading, so there wasn’t too much,” she said, absently wiping a finger through the condensation on the side of her glass.

      “No other stitches?”

      One side of her mouth pulled into a reluctant smile. “You were the only one. After you left I saw a case of sunburn, a twisted wrist from a fall over a mat and one child with a bee sting.”

      “Was the mat on the ship?” he asked casually, words like liability and lawsuit flashing through his mind.

      She shook her head. “A guest who’d been ashore for the day.”

      He nodded and sipped his wine. He’d only just inherited the ship—well, half the ship—and legal action or other complications weren’t the best way to start.

      He tipped his glass toward her. “So I was the most interesting patient of the day?”

      “You could say that,” she conceded with a smile.

      “Then I’m glad my suffering was of service,” he said slowly. For a fleeting moment, the veil lifted and awareness flashed in her toffee-brown eyes. Something in that awareness, in the yearning that lay behind it, called to him on a primal level, made his blood pump faster, hotter. His muscles tensed, then she blinked and the expression, and the moment, were gone. He’d felt a similar pull when she’d first arrived at the table. There was some chemistry between them, no denying it. Also no denying that Della wasn’t happy about it.

      He’d never had to try too hard with women before—even Jillian, the wife who’d left him in such grand style, had practically handed herself to him on a platter. The fact that Della—despite her attraction to him—would be more comfortable somewhere else fascinated him more than he would have predicted.

      Their meals arrived and Della was drawn into other conversations. Luke talked to the captain beside him and others around the table, but part of his attention remained on Della, whether he wanted it to or not. He knew when she took a bite of her roast vegetable salad. Knew when she touched her mouth with her napkin. Listened to her gentle laugh. Smelled a faint vanilla fragrance when she ran her fingers through her hair. And he silently cursed himself for it. Because in less than an hour, she’d once again be his opponent.

Three

      Della unlocked the door to the ship’s library and led the way, flicking on the lights as she went. The room was usually staffed by a crew member for the few hours a day it was open, and outside those times it had become her secret space.

      Luke glanced around at the shelves of books and nodded. “Will we be interrupted by people needing a book for nighttime reading?”

      “Opening hours are long over. No one will come in until ten tomorrow morning.”

      He arched an eyebrow. “Is it normal for the ship’s doctor to have a key to the library?”

      “Not especially,” she said and felt the corners of her mouth tug into a smile. “My father used to be captain of this ship, and he gave me the key because he knew how much I loved it in here. I let the new captain know after Dad’s retirement and he was happy to leave the arrangement as is.”

      The librarian had also told the new captain that Della helped keep shelves in order on her frequent visits, so on that point alone he’d been keen to keep her access unfettered. When she couldn’t sleep, she liked handling books. Putting them in their proper place. Creating calm and order from chaos. She’d also occasionally bought books when she went ashore and donated them to the library, loving the feeling of being part of this special place.

      “Of course,” Luke said. “Your father is Dennis Walsh. Patrick mentioned him occasionally.”

      She wasn’t surprised Patrick had mentioned his friend, but she didn’t want to discuss her family with Luke Marlow. So she indicated two upholstered armchairs, arranged at right angles to each other, and they sat. Then she waited.

      Luke rested an ankle on his knee and steepled his fingers. “I’ve been thinking. For whatever reason, Patrick wanted to leave you something more than, say, a rare bottle of wine. He didn’t have much cash or other assets since most of his wealth was tied up in the Cora Mae, so by giving you half the ship, knowing I’d buy you out, he was able to leave you a generous