Countering His Claim

by Rachel Bailey

  And after that? A devil on his shoulder prodded. You’ll have finished your business together. Are you ready to let her go?

  His gut fell away, leaving black emptiness. He held Della tighter and willed all the uncertainty away. It was far too soon to think about losing her. Not now that he finally had what he wanted—Della in his arms, in his bed.

  Eleven

  Della let Luke lead her back to his cabin. He was right—she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She wouldn’t change her mind, but neither did she have the mental space to discuss the details of selling her share tonight.

  When they arrived, Luke picked up the phone and ordered dinner. “But don’t deliver it to my cabin for forty-five minutes,” he said and disconnected.

  Della’s stomach growled, as if in protest. “Why not as soon as it’s ready?”

  He took her hand, laced their fingers and led her upstairs. “You need a chance to clean up first. You have soot smudges on your cheeks, and your hair smells of smoke. Everything will seem better after a shower.”

  “Good point.” She’d been drenched with sweat at the first-aid station after the air-conditioning was turned off and she felt grimy. If she hadn’t been so tired, getting clean would have occurred to her earlier.

  Fingers still entwined, he guided her into the bathroom then turned and took her face in his hands. “Della, I know you haven’t wanted me to see your scars, but let me look after you. Trust me, I promise you’ll be safe.”

  Della let out a sigh. She was so tired, and his voice was so sure, so persuasive. And really, what did she have to lose? Their time was over—she’d sell him her share in the morning and he’d leave, probably before lunch tomorrow.

  Biting the inside of her cheek to tame the butterflies in her belly, she lifted her shirt over her head and let it fall from her fingers. Then she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra before dropping it, as well. Goose bumps raced across her skin, both from the sudden contact of the cool air, and from fear of his reaction. She stood before him, exposed from the waist up. It was the first time anyone besides her doctors had seen her scarred chest.

  She braced herself, heartbeat hard and erratic, and lifted her chin, waiting for his response, hoping it wasn’t pity. Praying it wasn’t revulsion.

  Yet he simply turned her until her back was to him, unzipped her trousers and slid them, with her underpants, down her legs, pausing to let her step out of them. She frowned. Had he seen her chest? She heard the shower start, so turned and saw him pulling his own clothes off. He stepped into the shower, adjusted the water and gently tugged her in with him.

  Light-headed with surprise, she looked up into his face for clues, but found only acceptance. He hadn’t taken any notice of her scars. All that time worrying, and he was treating her as if she had a normal body. The relief of it brought tears to her eyes, and the weight of everything else that had happened in the previous twelve hours, from the fire to her decision to stop fighting about the ship, pushed the tears down her cheeks.

  Under the warm spray, Luke encircled her in his arms and she rested her cheek against his shoulder, not bothering to hide that she was softly crying. He stroked her hair and murmured comforting words above her head.

  Patrick had been right—Luke really was a prince among men.

  Within a couple of minutes, the tears stopped coming. All the emotion that had bubbled inside her had been released, leaving her almost lethargic, calm.

  He reached for a sponge and squirted it with soap that smelled like sandalwood and Luke, and lathered her back in slow, thorough strokes. Then he ran the sponge down her legs and along her arms. The sensation was undemanding, yet its inherent sensuality roused a heat in her bloodstream. He turned her and repeated the soaping process down the front of her arms, across her chest and belly, then along her legs, unhurried, reverentially, as if honoring her body as he cleansed her. Then he lifted her feet, one at a time, and washed beneath them, water running from his hair down his fallen angel’s face in rivulets.

  Straightening, he rinsed out the sponge and put it back on the end of the bath, then squirted more soap into his hands, rubbed them together until it formed a lather and gently washed her neck, up to her chin and cheeks, then nose and forehead. Della’s eyes drifted closed as she allowed herself to be washed, to be nurtured. She’d never loved this man more.

  With a hand supporting the nape of her neck, he rinsed her face then placed a chaste, albeit lingering, kiss on her mouth. Emotion welled up from her heart, filling her. Engulfing her. Wrapping her hands behind his neck, she captured him before he could pull away, eliciting more heat from the kiss. Her pulse jerked erratically at the slick feel of his skin against hers, the scrape of his teeth over her bottom lip, the groan that seemed to come from deep in his chest.

  Before she became too carried away, she laid a hand on his chest and tore her mouth away. Then, breathing still uneven, she took the sponge, soaped it and began to wash him. She ran it over the golden skin of his back, then across his powerful shoulders. As the soap was rinsed from each area, she kissed the skin she’d cleaned. Down his arms, his chest and the ridges of his abdomen, then lower still, to the apex of his thighs. He was already aroused, and her soaping only increased his reaction, but he didn’t move. Just let her continue her path down his muscular legs, washing and leaving a trail of kisses. When she stood, she soaped her hands, as he had done, and washed the planes of a face that had become so dear to her.

  She ended as he had done, with a chaste kiss on his mouth, but within moments, the kiss became more. Became everything. The wet slide of his body against hers was a sensual feast, the gentle abrasion of the peaks of her breasts against his hair-roughened chest exquisite. He whispered her name against her lips and the word seemed to reverberate around the shower stall—or perhaps he was repeating it. It barely mattered as long as he kept kissing her.

  She reached down, held his fullness and was rewarded with a groan. And suddenly, kissing was no longer enough. Had it ever been?

  As if he could read her thoughts, Luke shunted the tap off with an elbow and grabbed a thick white towel from a shelf just outside the shower. He patted her down in the same methodical way he’d washed her, but this time he had a shade less composure as he completed the task. His eyes were darkened, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He quickly rubbed himself over with another towel, then took her hand, leading her to the bed.

  When he was sheathed and balancing over her on the mattress, she cupped his face in her hands, making him pause. It was imperative that he know how much tonight had meant to her, that he’d accepted her body so unquestioningly. In one simple shower, he’d given her back her self-worth. Given her back the completeness of her sexuality. The desire in his eyes now, while her imperfect body was on display, was something she never thought she’d see again.

  “No matter what happens tomorrow,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion, “I’ll always remember our lovemaking. I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done for me.”

  * * *

  Luke looked down at Della lying beneath him, trying to think through the fog of desire that filled his head.

  Had she just thanked him? He was crazy with lust for this woman, and she was grateful? As if their time together had been nothing more than pity sex….

  It would have been one thing to thank him for looking after her tonight, but it was obvious that wasn’t what she meant. His gut clenched tight. Had she simply been dealing with her issues while he’d been so lost in want for her he could barely see straight?

  “Let’s be clear about one thing,” he said fiercely. “This has been about desire and need for me.” Brain-melting need. He leaned down, captured her mouth in a fiery kiss, showing her what she did to him, how wild she made him. He lifted one of her legs and hooked it over his elbow, entering her in one smooth stroke. �
�I’ve wanted you from the first day,” he said through a tight jaw. “I want you even more now.”

  He’d planned to hold himself in check, to make tonight tender, gentle. But it seemed more imperative now that he not hide his passion. Not hide how close to the edge he was, so she knew that this was real between them.

  More real than anything else in his life.

  She had nothing to feel grateful for.

  He thrust harder, faster, telling her in plain language the effect she had on him. Her fingers bit into the flesh on his shoulders, arms, wherever she could reach, and he welcomed the tiny points of pain as proof that she was as crazy with lust as he was. Her movements beneath him became more frantic, and he reached down with one hand, found her center and felt tension fill her body then implode around him. Within moments he followed and, as he floated, he had the strange sensation that nothing would be the same ever again.

  Nor would he want it to be.

  * * *

  Della blinked as she woke then looked around. Luke was sitting on the side of the bed, already dressed for the day in casual trousers and a polo shirt, and holding a tray with a steaming coffeepot, two glasses of orange juice and an assortment of pastries.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Morning,” she said over a muffled yawn. “That coffee smells like heaven.”

  He held the tray aloft while she sat up and tucked the sheet around herself, then set it on the mattress. “You look like heaven,” he said, surveying her with a lazy smile.

  A cozy warmth rose inside her, until memories of the day before came flooding back. She was giving in on the Cora Mae. Luke would be leaving. Probably today. Everything inside her sank low and shivered.

  “What time is it?” she said through a dry throat and tried to blink away the grittiness in her eyes. She’d spent much of the night staring into the darkness, contemplating her future, so she hadn’t had much sleep.

  He poured a coffee and handed it to her. “Six o’clock. I wasn’t sure if you were working this morning.”

  “No, Cal has the morning shift, but I should get up, anyway.” She sipped the coffee and closed her eyes as it slid down her throat, the heat calming her a little.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said as he poured another coffee. His posture was relaxed, but there was a spark in his eyes.

  Any hope of enjoying what was in all probability their last breakfast together evaporated—his tone said they were talking business. “If this is about me selling you my share, I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “I have an alternative.”

  She was instantly wary. Luke the businessman wasn’t someone to underestimate.

  “Tell me.” She took an apple pastry from the tray and sampled it.

  “I’ll be ringing my office this morning and instructing them to put several of my hotels up for sale. I’m going to use that money to start my own cruise line.”

  Della almost choked on her pastry, and Luke smoothly passed her an orange juice. “Your own line?” she asked when she could talk, trying to comprehend his meaning.

  He nodded, as if this was a logical progression from his position only yesterday. “Three ships sounds like a good place to begin,” he said, “then I’ll grow it from there.”

  “Three ships,” she repeated faintly. All this time she’d been trying to talk him into keeping one, and now he wanted three. His gray gaze was completely serious, perhaps even excited. She could see him making mental calculations as they were talking.

  “I might not live full-time on board the way Patrick did, but I’ll spend the majority of my time on the ships.” He stood and paced around the room, as if the energy of his new plan wouldn’t allow him to stay still. “I’ll be able to work long hours, just like in the city, but afterward, I’ll have all the resources and entertainments of the ship at my disposal. Not to mention days off in various ports.”

  It was as if their roles had been reversed and now he was selling her on the cruising lifestyle. Della sipped her coffee to give herself a moment to think.

  “This is a pretty big turnaround,” she finally said.

  He sat back on the bed beside her. “The fire gave me a lot to chew over. Crystallized my thinking. The camaraderie of the crew during the fire and its aftermath was impressive, but I’ve also grown to love the lifestyle of a cruise ship.” He took her hand in his. “That’s thanks to you.”

  “I didn’t think I was having an impact,” she said faintly.

  He gave her a crooked smile. “Being on the Cora Mae has helped me relax for the first time I can remember. On my deathbed, I don’t want to just look back on a career. I want to look back on both a career and a life well lived. No regrets.”

  He’d never reminded her more of Patrick. She smiled. “I’m starting to see the family resemblance.”

  Luke’s eyes crinkled at the edges. He was obviously pleased by the comparison. “Uncle Patrick lived his life on his own terms, and I bet he had few regrets at the end.”

  “You’re right.” She bit down on her lip, wondering how much to say about Patrick’s thoughts at the end, but Luke had a right to know. “He said his regrets were mainly about you. Wishing he’d spent more time with you.”

  Luke blinked hard then looked away. “Patrick often invited me to stay on the Cora Mae, and his other ships before this one, but after I took over Marlow Corporation I was always too busy, so I only saw him when he came ashore.”

  “He knew you loved him. The way he spoke about you, he knew.”

  He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot.”

  “And he’d be thrilled if he knew about your plans.”

  “Now I understand why he lived here—now I can see what I’ve been missing—and I don’t want to wait. If nothing else, Patrick’s death has taught me that life is short.”

  “I’m happy for you, Luke, I really am.” When they’d been in Melbourne she’d thought he was turning from the relaxed man on holidays who’d played mini golf with her into Luke the businessman. But now she could see that he’d managed to integrate all of those parts of himself, perhaps to become the man he’d always meant to be. And it made her heart sing even as it was breaking—the man he was meant to be wasn’t a man she could have. He’d been clear that he’d never marry again, and she wouldn’t settle for anything less than forever. Being in love and waiting for the inevitable end to their relationship would break her heart by a thousand little cuts. “Seems it’s even better timing to sell you my share.”

  “There’s a new offer on the table. I’ll convert your half-share of the Cora Mae to 20 percent of the new company that will own and run the fleet of ships. You can be a silent partner, or you can have a more active role. It will be up to you.”

  She put her coffee mug down on the side table before she spilled it, then checked Luke’s face to make sure he was serious. His gray eyes were dark and steady. Seemed he was, despite his new offer not adding up. “But 20 percent is a bigger share than what I’d be bringing.”

  He waved the quibble away and picked up another pastry. “Without you, the new company wouldn’t exist. You’re the one who sold me on the concept of cruising. You deserve the extra few percent.”

  A vision of the life he was suggesting rolled out before her. She’d be a shareholder in a cruise ship line, as active as she wanted to be, safeguarding the Cora Mae. Having regular business contact with Luke after he’d moved on from their personal relationship. Having to work with him, loving him, when she knew he was seeing someone new. Bile rose in her throat, and she rubbed her arms that were suddenly cold.

  She refused to subject herself to that torture.

  Besides, it was time she took control of her own life. Alone. “Luke, I’ve been doing some thinking, too.” She�
�d lain awake most of the night, unable to sleep with all the thoughts chasing each other in circles in her mind. “I’ve realized that I’ve been hiding on this ship. Patrick was living the life you’re talking about, but I’ve been staying here out of fear since my husband died.”

  He rubbed a thumb over the frown line that had appeared in his forehead. “But you grew up on ships. You said you wanted to live at sea like your parents.”

  “I thought I did. But it’s one matter for my parents and Patrick to make those choices. I’ve been scared of living on land again, which is something entirely different.” Luke’s acceptance of her last night had given her the insight into herself. Into the way she’d been hiding. “I realize now that I have to leave and face my fears.”

  “What exactly does facing your fears entail?” he asked warily.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them tight, as if she could physically control the anxiety that was rising. “Setting up a life on land again. Getting a job in a hospital, finding a place to live. And if you still want it, I’ll sell you my share of the Cora Mae. You have great plans for her. I know I’ll be leaving her in safe hands.”

  * * *

  Luke stilled. He’d just decided to live on board…and Della was leaving? He cleared his throat. “You’re going?”

  “Yes,” she said and didn’t meet his eyes.

  He stood and stalked across the room, a rising blackness filling him. “When?”

  “Soon. Now that I’ve made the decision, there’s no point putting it off. I’ll talk to Captain Tynan about Dr. Oliver, the doctor who did the locum for me while we were in Melbourne, and if he’s happy with her, I’ll ring her and see if she wants to apply. It could all be quite soon if things fall into place.”

  Soon? He was nowhere near ready for her to leave his bed. Especially not after last night. She’d shown him such trust—he’d really thought something had changed between them.