The strength drained from her body, leaving her cold. How could she be thinking such things? Wanting to kiss a man who wasn’t her husband? Wanting to start something that could only lead to another ending either sooner or later.
She stumbled to a stop, thoughts clashing in her mind, the rigidity returning to every part of her body. How easy it was to counsel others on the stages of grief, on the turmoil of the road to recovery. The importance of not being crippled by guilt when normal needs and desires start stirring again.
She looked up at Luke. “Would you mind—?”
“Can I get you a drink?” he smoothly interjected.
“Thank you,” she said, more grateful for his understanding than the drink. “A lime and soda.”
He guided her over to two vacant bar stools and ordered her drink plus a scotch. Then he turned and casually surveyed the room. Perhaps to give her more time to recover.
“Looking for anyone in particular?” she asked.
“Not really.” He turned back to her, all relaxed charm. “I’ve run into a few acquaintances in the corridors and around the ship, but you’re the only person on board that I actually know.”
His words unsettled her. “You don’t know me, Luke,” she said softly. There were so many things about her that he didn’t understand.
“I think I do.” His gaze rested on her mouth. “Or at least I’m coming to.”
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. “Are you also coming to know the Cora Mae?”
He looked from the pianist sitting at the baby grand to the twenty-foot-high wine rack behind the bar and nodded. “I believe I am.”
Their drinks arrived and she flashed a smile of thanks to Tommy, the bartender. She took a sip, then put her glass down on the polished wood bar. “Dare I hope she’s growing on you?”
“I’ve become very fond of her,” he said, but she couldn’t tell if he really meant it, or whether he was humoring her.
Swirling the ice around her glass, she asked, “Can you see that she deserves to stay cruising the South Pacific?”
“I see your point, Della, I do,” he said, spearing his fingers through his hair. “But this has to be a business decision, not a sentimental one.”
She laid a hand on his forearm. “Surely it wouldn’t be charity if it makes a profit.”
“I don’t know anything about running a cruise ship.” He placed a hand over hers as it lay on his forearm. “If I take the time to learn, it will divert my time and energy away from my own business, so I need to be very sure.”
Her chest tightened and she withdrew her hand. She’d thought it was a simple matter of convincing him about the merits of cruising, but she now saw the mountain she’d need to overcome before he’d agree to leave the Cora Mae alone.
He took a sip from his drink and swallowed. “Tell me more about yourself, Della.”
“There are so many more interesting topics.” She resisted the impulse to squirm in her seat.
“You said I didn’t know you. I’d like to.”
“But it’s not necessary, is it? Not part of the business we’re involved in here. Time is precious and I need you to know about the Cora Mae and her crew.” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Did you know we have a three-story auditorium with live shows?”
Slowly, deliberately, he sat back on his stool and regarded her. Della held her breath. He was deciding whether to pursue the topic or let her off the hook—it was in the look he leveled at her. And she had a feeling that if this man pushed hard enough, she might just tell him anything he wanted to know.
“All right,” he said finally, lifting his glass. “Tell me about the crew.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. For whatever reason, he was allowing her to change the subject. “Well, there’s the medical team, of course. Then there’s our social activities team,” she continued. “They organize the program of events such as the games and yoga in the mornings.”
“Do you join in the organized activities?”
She practiced yoga on her own during quiet times at the gym, not in the group sessions. Having her scars peek out of her leotard during a pose and catching people’s attention was not her idea of relaxation or recreation. “I’m not much of a joiner.”
His slow blink told her she hadn’t fooled him. “You never miss the land, yet even out here you’re not much of a joiner. Interesting.”
Her chest tightened. “Stop trying to decode me, Luke,” she said and picked up her drink.
* * *
Luke could see he was losing her again. She’d begun to relax when they were dancing, then something had made her pull away. Despite knowing it was a bad idea, part of him wanted her back there, wanted her in his arms again. Having her there had felt damn good. Better than anything had in too long to remember. He held back an oath. Time to leave the dance club.
“I’ve only caught glimpses of the top decks so far,” he said. “Will you show me?”
She nodded, relief sliding over her features. “Of course.”
He settled his hand at the small of her back as they wove their way through the throng, and had to restrain a sigh at how good even that small touch felt. The thin fabric slid smoothly over her skin and he had the illusion that at any moment he could pull her close and wrap her in his arms—closer than she’d been when they’d danced. Close enough to feel her pressed against him. He curled the fingers of his free hand into a fist then stretched them. How would he keep his reaction to her under control for three weeks?
The clear glass doors of the elevator opened and they stepped in. As they began the ascent, he glanced at the passing levels…until he realized Della was watching his reflection. His breath caught. When his gaze met hers in the glass, she didn’t look away. The effect of the stolen glance was electric, and his shirt collar was suddenly restrictive around his throat.
After an eternity encapsulated in mere moments, the elevator slowed and the doors whooshed apart, taking the reflected image of the two of them with it, and the tension that had been building in his chest dissipated.
“This is the second highest deck,” Della said as they stepped out. The oddly intimate connection was gone and she was all business as she pointed up, to their left. “That’s Deck Thirteen, the highest, but it only has a bar and a cluster of heated spas.”
He looked up and saw people spilling out the doors of the bar, the beat of rock music floating down to where he stood. Their deck—Twelve—had only two other people, a couple strolling much farther along, absorbed in each other. “It seems fairly empty.”
“It usually is at this time of night. Most people are at dinner, or the night entertainments like the theatre, or they’re at a bar.”
“Or dancing,” he murmured, remembering the feel of her in his arms.
“Or dancing,” she agreed neutrally, seeming not to be as affected as he was by the memory. “During the day, this is a popular area, though. This pool is always full of guests, and the deck chairs are used by people reading or relaxing.”
They walked past a long, curved pool, with underwater lights that made the water sparkle. Before their picnic at the Bay of Islands, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been for a swim. It must have been years—leisure activities weren’t high on his priority list. He worked out at the gym in his office building, sure, but that wasn’t for fun, that was to keep himself healthy. He paused and looked down into the glittering depths; depths that were unexpectedly enticing. “With these facilities, you must have a dip in the water every day.”
“I don’t swim here,” she said smoothly.
He turned to her and sank his hands deep into his pockets. “You swam with me in New Zealand.”
“Usually I prefer privacy.” She moved away and pointed to their left. “Have you seen the life-size chessboard?”
And it clicked into place. Her scars. She was self-conscious about her body. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and tell her she shouldn’t worry—a few scars couldn’t ruin her beauty. But he knew that would fall on deaf ears. He stared at her a moment longer before turning to the chessboard and her question. “I can’t say that I have.”
She ran a hand over the smooth top of a white pawn that came up to her shoulder. “Can you play?”
“Sure. Can you?”
“I haven’t in years—” she hesitated and her eyes flicked to him and back to the board “—but I’ll give it a go if you’d like a game.”
Luke arched an eyebrow. This was a diversionary tactic. Della obviously wanted them occupied in an activity that didn’t involve touching. Sensible woman. Logically, he should be striving for the same thing. No, not should. Would. He would be aiming for such activities.
“I’ll take black,” he said, moving to the opposite side of the board.
Della stepped across the squares and pushed one of her pawns two squares forward.
“Predictable start,” he said as he picked up his knight and placed it on a square in front of his line of pawns.
She moved another pawn out. “Just because something is predictable doesn’t make it wrong.”
“Perhaps.” Lifting the pawn diagonally to the right of his bishop, he moved it out one square. While she thought about her move he watched her, but he saw her sneak a self-conscious look at him from under her lashes. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She was a mass of contradictions—she surveyed the world with calm composure, rarely missing a thing he was sure, yet didn’t want to be observed herself.
And whenever he asked her a question about herself, she gave brief replies, but talking about the ship or her crew, you couldn’t switch her off. It wasn’t modesty holding her back in discussions about herself—sharing personal information made her uncomfortable. Why would that be? Was it connected to the personal history she’d shared that day on the beach?
He looked up to the stars and a flash of movement caught his attention. Within an instant he was beside Della, one arm around her waist, pointing skyward. “Shooting star.”
“Oh,” she said on a long breath, her gaze following his finger.
The feel of her against him was mesmerizing. Absorbed in the moment, she’d forgotten to be on her guard and allowed her soft curves to meld into his side, her head resting back on his shoulder as she tracked the star’s path.
“Make a wish,” he murmured beside her ear.
A kiss. In this moment, all he wanted was to turn her to face him, to lean down and touch her sweet lips with his. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but the blood in his veins thundered and a delicious heat began to rise.
The star faded and the night sky again grew still, the only movement the ship’s steady forward progress and the gentle breeze that danced in Della’s hair. But she didn’t move away. Part of him dared not move and break the spell, but the larger, rebellious part of him—surrounded by the scent of vanilla and woman—risked inclining his head down to hers, and was rewarded when she shivered.
“Like to know what I wished for?” he said, voice low.
Her eyes drifted shut. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true if you do.”
“Maybe,” he said, his mouth so close to her ear that his lips brushed her lobe as he spoke. “But if you knew what the wish was, perhaps you’d grant it.”
He pressed a light kiss on her neck, just below her ear. Della held herself still but didn’t pull away. “I don’t have any magical powers to grant wishes.”
“I’m not so sure.” He pressed another kiss to her soft skin, this one at the edge of her jaw.
As he cupped the side of her throat with one hand, he felt her racing pulse and turned her to face him. A small sound of protest passed her lips even as she leaned in and placed the lightest of kisses on his mouth. It took everything inside him, but he locked his muscles tight and didn’t move an inch. Della had held herself back so much, he wouldn’t ruin this by pushing too far, too fast. Instead, he waited for excruciating seconds for her to come back to him. Her warm breath caressed his face as she looked from his mouth to his eyes, fighting some inner struggle. Then she tilted her head forward and stole another butterfly kiss, and again, he gently moved his lips but nothing else, despite the protests of his straining body.
Her scent curled around his thoughts, leaving little reason in its wake, but he held firm until she tipped her chin up for a third time. Now, her lips were more confident and she wound her arms up around his neck. That was all the permission he needed, all the permission he could wait for. With a groan, he pulled her in.
He deepened the kiss, tasting her, needing to be close, connected to her. Holding her flush against him with the hand she’d stitched, he traced a path over the curve of her spine with the other, down over her hip, back up to feel the swell of the side of her breast. He’d wanted her from the moment she’d first appeared like an angel from the crowd on the deck the day he’d boarded, but now, he craved her with an urgency that rocked him. His body was ablaze; the kiss was nowhere near enough. Her fingers wound up into his hair and dug into his scalp, her mouth demanding against his.
“Della,” he rasped as he wrenched his mouth away to drag some oxygen into his lungs.
She stilled and looked up at him with eyes that were suddenly alert…and stunned.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as he rubbed a thumb over her damp bottom lip.
She unwound her arms from his neck and let them fall to her sides. “No, it’s not.” She said the words quietly, almost to herself, her eyes averted. Then she drew in a deep breath and met his gaze. “Luke, you don’t want to do this.”
He almost laughed at how far that was from the truth. “I can tell you that my body disagrees in the most strenuous of terms.”
“That’s because it’s under a misapprehension.”
“What would that be?” he murmured as he skimmed his fingers down her spine to the dip in her lower back, trying to bring the two of them back to the place they’d been only moments earlier.
For a full second, her eyes darkened in response to his caress, before she blinked the effect away. “Your body thinks there’s a chance this will go further.”
“Hate to be the one to break it to you,” he said lazily, “but your body agrees with mine.”
She pressed lips still rosy from his kiss tightly together. “Luke, you have to know something.”
“I’m listening,” he said, watching the way her mouth moved, wanting to lean in again and—
“No, you really need to hear this.”
His gaze flicked up to her eyes. She was right. He was paying more attention to her mouth than the words coming out of it. Summoning all his self-discipline, he took a small step back and rested his hands on his hips. “Okay, shoot.”
“I’m celibate.” There was a pause as he thought he’d misheard or she’d been joking, all while she watched him warily.
“Celibate?” he finally said, frowning. “Are you serious?”
She nodded as she folded her arms under her breasts. “I don’t want to lead you on, to waste your time.”
His mind grappled with the concept, which seemed so alien to his hormone-drenched body. “You took some kind of vow after your husband died?”
Della drew in a breath and moved the short distance to the guardrail. He followed and rested his forearms on the top rail, facing slightly away from her to give her some space.
But she apparently didn’t need it—she turned to him. “No vow, but this is not a flippant lifestyle choice. I’m serious.” A soft pink flush touched her cheekbones—this was difficult for her to share. Which just made it harder to understand.
“You don’t kiss like a celibate person,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry about the kiss. That was a mistake,” she said, her gaze not wavering.
Something deep in his chest protested. “Not from where I’m standing.”
“It was the first time I’ve kissed anyone in two years. It won’t happen again.” Her voice was filled with quiet certainty. When he opened his mouth to reply, she held up a hand, palm out. “There’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind. Please don’t make this awkward by trying.”
He let out a long breath then gently tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Even though I’d love you to change your mind, I do respect that you’ve made your decision.” He rubbed an index finger across his forehead. “I’m asking questions because I’m intrigued.” Everything new he learned about this woman intrigued him.
“Is this about your scars? Do you doubt I desire you?”
She shook her head slowly. “It’s more complicated than that, but please don’t ask me more. You’re the first person I’ve told, and I’m only doing it now to stop you wasting any more time pursuing an impossibility.” A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, but it was unconvincing. “I’ve tried to head this off a few times but you’re persistent.”
He returned the smile, acknowledging the truth in that. “I appreciate your honesty. I’m more disappointed than you know, but it’s your decision to make,” he said, still not understanding, but willing to leave it for now.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
After he’d walked her back to her room and left her without so much as a kiss on the cheek, Luke went back to the deck and leaned on the same railing they’d shared minutes before. Dragging in a deep breath of ocean-fresh air, he looked up at the stars again. He sure hadn’t seen that coming. How could a woman who kissed as passionately as Della be celibate?
And, though he was serious that he would never push her to breaking a decision like that, he was more keen than ever to understand what made her tick.
Countering His Claim Page 9