Countering His Claim

by Rachel Bailey

  “Profit is the bottom line,” he said patiently. “That’s the way the business world works.”

  “And the way you work.”

  “To me, it’s second nature.” Something in his expression flared to life as he spoke the words.

  She lifted her wineglass and sipped as she considered him. She needed to understand him to have any chance of changing his mind. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, conceding her point. “It’s life itself. My business is the only thing in my life that’s never let me down. The only constant and reliable aspect. People, on the other hand, shift their loyalties with a change in the wind. They can never be relied on in the tough times.” His gaze suddenly snapped back to hers as if only now realizing how much he’d revealed. Deep frown lines appeared across his forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. It wasn’t her place to pry. “I shouldn’t have—”

  He shook his head, dismissing her concern. “If nothing else, I think we’ve established that we’re coming from two completely different places, so we’ll have to agree to disagree on certain aspects of our situation.”

  He was right, of course, but there had to be another way. There was always another way.

  “Tell me, what do you think of the ship so far?”

  “She seems nice enough,” he said as he refilled their wineglasses.

  “She is. You could live here full-time and never miss the land.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You never miss the land?”

  “Never. But I meant the guests,” she said before he could use her comment to focus back on her. “We have all the services you could possibly need, from hairdressers to a day spa to fine restaurants.” She ticked off amenities on her fingers as she went. “You’re already familiar with the business resources, the internet and cell phone access. And for recreation, the rock climbing wall, tennis courts and ice rink are hard to beat. There’s even half an acre of lawn on Deck Twelve if you miss the feel of land beneath your feet or want an on board picnic.”

  Luke arched an eyebrow. “So you never yearn for a city or a town?”

  “There are more facilities here per person than in a city, and every few days we stop at one of the world’s most exotic locations.” And that was the key. Sailing from port to port was the essence of cruising. Of the Cora Mae.

  Luke put his knife and fork on his empty plate and pushed it to the side. “I can see the appeal, Della. But I won’t base a business decision on the idea that sailing is a charming lifestyle.”

  Della rubbed a finger against her temple where the pressure was building from her mind whirling. Sailing was about more than charm—she had to find a way to show him. It seemed there was only one option left.

  “Luke, I have a request. Give me one month aboard the Cora Mae to convince you of the merits of cruising, of changing ports regularly. Before you make any other decisions about its future or we make any agreement about ownership, give the ship a real chance.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table and she wondered if she’d asked too much. A month for a businessman in Luke’s position was a long time, even with the resources the Cora Mae had at his disposal for keeping in touch with his office.

  Then he steepled his fingers. “I’ll give you three weeks, but while I’m being open about the idea of a cruising ship, you need to be sincerely considering selling me a portion of your half-share, regardless of whether the ship is permanently anchored in the future or not.”

  “I can do that,” she said, relieved. Convincing him in three weeks wouldn’t be easy, but this was a challenge she couldn’t back away from.

  Luke raised his glass to make a toast and when she lifted hers, he clinked them together.

  “Let the persuasions begin,” he said with a smile.

  * * *

  Della floated in the crystalline blue water off a secluded beach in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands. Days ashore weren’t always something she took advantage of given that each location came around every four weeks, but the Bay of Islands was one place she always sneaked out to when she could. Cal Bateman was on call today, so Della was gloriously free.

  Well, except for her Luke Marlow mission.

  She glanced over at her mission a few body lengths away, swimming farther out in long, easy strokes, then back again. Did that man ever relax? Even when he was still, he was like a tightly coiled ball of energy.

  He surfaced near her and wiped a hand across his face. His hair was much darker when it was wet, and slicked back it accentuated his gray eyes. Made them hard to look away from. Here, insulated from the real world by the blue, blue water and the powder-white crescent of beach, she could almost believe they were just two people spending time together because they enjoyed each other’s company. Where she could swim the short distance separating them and wrap her arms around his broad, bare chest.

  He moved through the water with the ease of a seal, and when he surfaced again, closer this time, his bare torso was slick with water. Her fingers wanted to reach out. But that would be to fall into the delusion that they were just two people out for the day, together because they wanted to be.

  Instead, she was here to sell him on the concept of South Pacific cruising.

  “You really take those sun safe messages you give the passengers to heart, don’t you?” Luke said, indicating the long-sleeved Lycra shirt over her swimsuit.

  She shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s the result of having very fair skin, combined with knowing too many medical facts about the skin cancer rates in Australia and New Zealand.” With the added advantage of making absolutely sure none of her scars peeked out.

  “Among the highest rates in the world,” he said, drifting closer. “I saw the information in the passenger briefing notes. In fact, I paid attention and applied a generous layer of sunscreen, Dr. Walsh.”

  “Very good,” she said, trying to sound professional. Because she’d noticed. And despite making herself look away from his hand rubbing over his chest and shoulders as he stood on the sand, she’d still managed to watch from the corner of her eye.

  “This place is great,” he said, taking in the scenery that surrounded them. “I’ve been to New Zealand more times than I can remember but never this spot.”

  “I’m guessing you usually fly over for meetings?”

  “And there aren’t too many of them on the beach,” he said, acknowledging her point. “Though, much as I’m enjoying myself, why exactly are we here?”

  She arched an eyebrow. At 7:00 a.m. she’d left him a message to meet her in the lobby and bring his swim trunks, and he’d been there, ready and waiting. She’d assumed the reason for their excursion had been self-evident.

  “You’ve forgotten our agreement already?” she said sweetly. “Too much sun, Mr. Marlow?”

  “The agreement was about the Cora Mae. Unless you’re on the payroll for New Zealand tourism on the side?”

  “Cruising is about so much more than the ship. It’s also about the locations you can access, like this place.” She swept her arm in an arc. “You spend a day or two in the luxury of the ship, then you arrive at another exotic destination. That’s something a floating hotel can’t offer.”

  “Fair point,” he said, but she couldn’t tell if he was humoring her or not. “So, what’s in that basket I carried here?”

  “Picnic lunch courtesy of the restaurant.” The lunch baskets were one of the ship’s specialties and passengers were invariably impressed with the quality of food as well as the small touches.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Is eleven too early for lunch?”

  She smiled widely. “The beauty of life on a cruise is it’s never too early or late for anything. The day is ours to order how we want. It’s a step further removed from the everyday than a vacation at a hotel.”

 
“Well, we wouldn’t want to waste the opportunity.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the shore. His fingers were strong and warm and they sent a spray of champagne fizz through her blood, from her fingertips, to her arms and out to every cell in her body. There was no stopping it, so she dived under the water, using the action as an excuse to break the skin contact with Luke, then slicked back her hair when she emerged.

  As she walked up the white sand to the shade where they’d left their things, she kept a respectable distance from the man walking beside her. This was not the time nor the man to allow herself to indulge in flights of fancy over. Especially when she had no idea if the charm he was displaying today was genuine or if it was part of his not-so-subtle plan of convincing her to sell her 50 percent. Tricky man, Luke Marlow. One not to underestimate.

  She pulled the Lycra sun-shirt off over her head, and rubbed herself down with the large beach towel. As she grabbed her T-shirt she saw Luke’s gaze land on her collarbone. She glanced down and saw the shoulder straps of her conservative swimsuit had moved enough to show the edges of her scars. Hands moving quickly, panic flaring in her belly, she adjusted the straps and pulled the T-shirt over her head.

  * * *

  Luke watched Della and frowned. The way she tracked his eyes and shied away told him something was wrong and for some reason, he wasn’t prepared to let it go. She’d pulled the T-shirt on to cover any trace of the marks that marred her skin, but he stepped closer and gently pulled the neckline to one side to expose them. To prove to himself they hadn’t been his imagination.

  “Della, what happened?” he whispered.

  “It was nothing.” She turned but he moved with her, his fingers still brushing her collarbone.

  “Scars like that don’t come from nothing.”

  She didn’t move. Not a single muscle. “I meant nothing important.”

  “It looks important. Della, won’t you tell me?”

  She winced. “You could find out how I got them with a simple internet search. It was in all the papers at the time.”

  A sense of foreboding filled the air, surrounded him, almost choked him. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to read impersonal newspaper articles. I want you to tell me.”

  She looked out to sea, her face too pale, her features pinched tight. “It was two years ago. There was a woman,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Walking through Melbourne late at night, my husband and I heard her screams. Shane was a doctor, too, so we went to see if we could help.”

  Luke picked up her hand and gently stroked the creamy skin from her knuckles to her wrist. “Of course you would.”

  “She was down a laneway, where it was dark and deserted.” She paused. Swallowed hard. “Alone except for the four men who surrounded her.”

  His heart thudded hard against his ribs, as if ready to physically leap to her defense. But he was several years too late, so he stood silently instead.

  “We couldn’t leave her,” she said urgently, finding his gaze.

  Squeezing her hands, he held her eyes. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave her, either.”

  She nodded. “Shane started down the laneway, calling out, hoping to distract them. I pulled out my mobile phone and rang the police. Before I could give my location, one of them grabbed the phone from me and smashed it on the wall. They’d left the girl and were heading for us.”

  “Oh, Della,” he said on a long breath. His whole body was too tense, wanting to stave off what had already happened.

  “When I looked past the men, the woman was gone, which was the good news.” She smiled, but it was the saddest expression he’d ever seen.

  His eyes flicked to the scar peeking out from under the collar of her T-shirt. “The bad news being that now there were four men focused on you and Shane.”

  She was silent for a long time, and Luke waited. His fingers stroked the back of her hand, his other hand rubbing up and down her back. Inside he was burning with anger, with the injustice of it. But Della didn’t need his anger. She needed strength, comfort and support, so he stuffed it all down as well as he could and kept rubbing her back.

  “I woke up in the hospital. Thankfully, the woman had run for help. They were too late for Shane. He’d been stabbed in the chest multiple times, and the blade had pierced his heart.”

  Her hand felt cold, so he reached for her other one, too, and held them between his, as if he could will heat and strength into them. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears slipped over her cheeks and she looked out to sea.

  “What did they do to you?”

  “The same. Left me for dead, but they weren’t as thorough and the surgeons repaired the damage.”

  There was nothing he could say, so he pulled her close and held her against his chest, hoping that he could soothe the tiny tremors, and that, as she relived the memory, she at least felt safe in the present moment. What had he been thinking? He was ten kinds of stupid for making her tell him the story.

  Part of him wanted to distract her so she didn’t have those images in her head. Kissing her senseless was the option of choice—she wouldn’t be able to think of anything else, and it would satisfy the clawing need inside him. But that would be taking advantage of her at her most vulnerable. So instead, he continued to hold her.

  One thing finally made sense—her aloofness with men, whether it was the flirtatious steward who’d delivered their dinner or, not least of all, Luke himself. The reason she’d pulled away when he’d noticed her scars had been embarrassment, possibly even shame. Della Walsh was unsure of her desirability. He could tell her how ridiculous that was, how she affected him, but she wouldn’t believe him. And it was definitely the wrong time to show her. No matter that his pulse had spiked the moment he’d felt her soft curves against him as he held her and that it had yet to settle.

  Finally she stirred and pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she swiped at her face.

  “No, Della, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You should have told me to go to hell.”

  One corner of her mouth twitched and his chest expanded with satisfaction that he could relieve her darkness even a little. “In fact, you can tell me to go to hell now.”

  Her lashes lifted as she looked up, checking to see if he was serious. “I’m supposed to be on a mission to convince you of the merits of cruising. So I don’t think I’ll be saying that.”

  But there was a spark returning to her features, and her face wasn’t as pale.

  “To be honest,” he said, running with the idea, “you’d be doing me a favor. If we leave it like this, I’ll be weighed down with more guilt than I’ll know what to do with. At first it will affect my mood, but eventually it’ll affect my interactions with people and my work. I could lose my friends. My company could go bankrupt.”

  “Is that right?” she asked, amusement beginning to dance in her eyes again.

  “It would be devastating. The only way I can see to avoid total destruction is if you retrospectively pull me into line.”

  She ran a hand over her damp hair. “I don’t—”

  “Make sure you use my name when you do it. I’d be very grateful.”

  She chuckled and, after her desolation minutes before, it was a sound sweeter than any he could imagine.

  “Go on,” he urged and nudged her shoulder with his. “You know you want to.”

  She broke into a proper laugh and held up a hand. “Okay. Just give me a moment.” Her expression turned somber but her eyes still danced. “Go to hell, Luke.”

  “That was good, but I didn’t believe you. Try again.”

  Her mouth fell open in amused outrage then she took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes. “Go to hell, Luke.”

  There had been more heat in her words this time, but as soon as she finished, it a
ll fell away and she bit down on a smile, as if surprised at her own daring. “Better,” he said softly.

  “You should be careful,” she said with an arched eyebrow, “or that might become my new favorite phrase.”

  He’d thought he wanted to kiss her before. Now the need to draw her close and capture those lips was as strong as any need he’d felt. To fit her along his body and feel her curves against his skin. The air was suddenly too thick to breathe; he couldn’t fill his lungs. Her eyes darkened and the pulse at the base of her throat fluttered. She felt it, too. There wasn’t a thing in his life he wouldn’t give to be able to lean in, to touch that mouth.

  He wouldn’t. She was still vulnerable from retelling that story and he would never be a man who took advantage of that.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face and looked out to sea.

  But it wouldn’t be long.

  Sometime soon, he’d find the right time and place to kiss Della Walsh.

  Five

  The next morning, Della met Luke for a tour of the ship—one of her “persuasions” to convince him to keep the Cora Mae in her current state. She’d racked her brain for little bits of information, any anecdotes that Patrick had told her about Luke that she could use now. She had a lot of material to work with, from an ex-wife who Patrick had hated, to Luke’s impressive grades at university. But nothing that would work for her in this situation.

  Then she’d recalled the perfect detail. A cook in one of the galleys had worked on one of Patrick’s ships when Luke was a child and, when Della had checked with her, the cook remembered him. It was the ideal place to start. If they could get Luke to make an emotional connection to the Cora Mae, he might let his heart contribute to his decision.

  He was so focused on cold, dry factors such as profits and spreadsheets, that before she could convince him not to permanently anchor the Cora Mae, they needed to be at least talking the same language. A combination of head and heart. To do that, she had to engage his emotions in the debate. Only then would she have a chance to change his mind.