‘Shame the choice of food is so limited,’ he said, rising to his feet and giving his effort at drawing the jug a cursory glance.
If he had really been interested in learning how to draw then she would have had to commit to an indefinite period of time explaining to him how he might set about improving his skills, because he clearly had none. Fortunately he had no intention of spending too long on that particular subject.
‘And it’s below average...’
‘Sorry?’ Delilah, in the act of washing her hands, turned round and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘From what I’ve sampled, the food onboard doesn’t exactly set the culinary world alight, does it?’
He moved to stand by the door and watched as she gathered her bag—some sort of tapestry affair that could have held the kitchen table and sink. Again, her hair was pulled back, with strands escaping round her face, and she absently shoved the stray strands behind her ear.
‘It’s okay...’ she said cautiously.
‘You don’t want to rat on your fellow crew members,’ Daniel murmured, with a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘I understand that. But just between the two of us, I’ve been disappointed with what I’ve been served so far...’
‘I don’t think the passengers come for the food...’
‘It’s all part and parcel of the package,’ Daniel said expansively. ‘You said that the chef is allowed free rein...?’
‘But he has to stick to a budget,’ Delilah qualified uncomfortably. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t really matter, does it? I mean, if you’re really unhappy, then perhaps you should mention something to Christine...’
‘Who is the head chef?’
‘Stan...and he works really hard to do the best he can with the money he’s allotted...’ She tripped along behind him, riveted by the long, lean lines of his muscular body.
‘Don’t worry,’ Daniel said in a placating voice.
They had reached the bar and, as usual, people were tucking in to the offerings in a desultory fashion. Salads...baguettes with a variety of fillings...jacket potatoes...
It beggared belief that the owners of the liner had got their mismanagement down to such a fine art. Had they no concept of the importance of good food onboard a cruise liner, where the passengers did not have the option of scouting around for alternative restaurants?
‘I’m not going to accost your pal in front of the chip-fryer...’
‘Can I tell you something?’ She reached into her bag for her wallet and insisted that she paid for his drink, as he had paid for hers the day before. This wasn’t a date.
Daniel was chuffed. He couldn’t remember the last time any woman had offered to pay for anything for him—not that he would have allowed it. But, no...the offer had never been made anyway. And yet this girl, who clearly bought her clothes from charity shops, was offering to buy him a drink. He was oddly touched by that. If only she knew!
His inherent cynicism quickly rose to the surface. If only she knew how much he was worth, then there was no chance in hell that she would be dipping into her wallet to buy him anything.
Once upon a time, in the tragic wake of his mother’s death, he had foolishly allowed his emotions their freedom. He had fallen for Kelly Close’s sympathetic ear. He had harboured no suspicions about the sweet-natured primary school teacher who had been into doing good and giving back to the community. He’d enjoyed lavishing gifts on her, enjoyed basking in her shyly endearing acceptance of whatever he bought for her.
Until he’d glimpsed the band of pure steel underneath the shyness when she had ditched her job and suggested that they make their arrangement permanent. It had occurred to him then, belatedly, that when you got past all the coy dipping of the eyes and trembling, grateful smiles, she had managed to acquire quite a substantial nest egg of priceless jewellery—not to mention the studio apartment he had bought her because the lease on her own flat had supposedly expired, and the countless weekends away.
At that point he had tried to pull back and bring some common sense to bear on the proceedings. He had discovered then that gold-diggers came in all different shapes and sizes and, his guard temporarily down, had realised that Kelly Close had found her way through the cracks in his armour and staged a clever assault, with her eventual aim being a wedding ring on her finger and a claim to his vast inheritance should they ever divorce. Which, he had seen very quickly, would have happened sooner rather than later.
A clean severing of the ways, however, had turned into a cat fight. Threats of a kiss-and-tell exposé to the tabloids had resulted in money changing hands—a vast sum of money, which had hit him at the worst possible time. In return he had managed to secure a contract with a privacy clause, prohibiting her from ever mentioning his name in public, but the emotional cost to him had also been steep.
With his brother and his father in another country, he had at least been spared the horror of either of them knowing about the unholy mess and the financial cost to him because he had taken his eye off the ball. But he had learnt a valuable lesson, and now, whilst it cost him nothing to be generous with his money, he made damn sure not to be generous with his emotions. Those he kept firmly under wraps. Considering his women exited their relationships with him better off by furs and diamonds and cars, he didn’t think it was an unfair trade-off.
‘What?’ he asked.
Their eyes tangled and he didn’t look away. But she was desperate to. He could see it in those sherry-coloured eyes and in her sudden flush. She wanted to look away but she was drawn to look at him.
What would she be like under those clothes? What noises did she make when she made love? What would it feel like to touch her between her legs...to hold her small breasts in his big hands...to lick her nipples...?
He cleared his throat, got a grip. He liked the fact that he never lost control when he was with a woman. Never. He had no idea why he kept veering off in that direction now. Was it the salty tang of the sea air? He was here on a fact-finding mission and yet he felt as though he was playing truant from real life. Was that it?
‘I’ve known lots of art students...’ She tiptoed around her words, not wanting them to sound offensive. Artists could sometimes be very sensitive souls. ‘And you’re nothing like any of them...’
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ Daniel drawled. He immediately sideswiped a sudden twinge of guilt at his masquerade. ‘I pride myself on being one of a kind.’
‘That’s what I mean,’ Delilah blurted out. ‘You’d never hear an artist come out with something as arrogant as that.’ She pressed the palms of her hands against her cheeks, mortified. ‘I’m so—so sorry...’ she stammered.
When Gerry and Catherine had made noises about the crew trying to persuade their guests into prolonging their stay, she didn’t think that one of the methods they would have advised using would have been insults. Delilah was horrified at what she had said. She was not the sort who ever did anything but encourage.
Having grown up with her wildly unorthodox background, she knew only too well the frailty of human beings—the way they could be lovable and exasperating at the same time. She had seen the way her sister had made allowances for their mum and dad, and she, too,
