a sweet moment before her attention was snared by a woman at her elbow. Beautiful was such an inadequate word.
He stared at her for a full five seconds after she looked away, only vaguely aware of whatever the captain was saying beside him. Then he pulled himself up. He’d met a lot of attractive women in his life—some he’d dated, some he’d merely admired, one he’d married. But he had a golden rule: never be distracted by a woman; never rely on anyone.
Aside from his disastrous marriage, he’d managed to live his life pretty much according to that rule. The only exception was for his three friends—the blood brothers he’d made at boarding school, where he’d made the cut in his thumb that Della had noticed when she’d done his stitches. He still saw them regularly, particularly to play billiards, but even with them he’d always managed to keep part of himself hidden. Safe.
He wasn’t in danger of breaking the second part of his golden rule—to never rely on anyone—with the ship’s doctor. But it seemed he might need to watch himself in terms of being distracted by Della Walsh.
He’d admired her this morning when she’d done his stitches, but watching her now as she came another few steps closer before she was waylaid again, his reaction was stronger. Deeper. Perhaps it was seeing her in an evening dress. Perhaps he was more keenly attuned to her since the will reading. Whatever it was, he would not be distracted from the pressing issue: the unresolved questions involving ownership of the Cora Mae.
Della finally made it to their table, and an usher seated her in the vacant seat to Luke’s right.
“Good evening, Dr. Walsh,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow, obviously noting his use of her title after making a fuss about using first names in her medical suite. But he needed to remind himself that they were now locked in a business situation. He wouldn’t jeopardize the future of his family’s assets over a beautiful woman. He’d learned that lesson already and wasn’t in a rush to repeat it.
Luckily, when his ex-wife had taken him to the cleaners, his father had still been alive and Luke had yet to inherit the family business. If he’d been blind to Jillian’s machinations for another year or two, the outcome would have been much worse.
Della shook out her napkin and laid it across her lap. “Good evening, Mr. Marlow.”
“I hope you had a pleasant afternoon. Unfortunately, I had no luck locating you to continue our discussion.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said pleasantly enough, but it was clear she wasn’t sorry in the least. “How fortunate that you’re on a cruise ship equipped with many ways to fill your afternoon.”
Before he could reply a middle-aged man in the crisp white uniform that indicated his senior crew member status stopped at Della’s shoulder. “Della, I was so pleased when I heard the outcome of Patrick’s will. We’re all so glad for you.”
“Thank you, Colin.” Her chin lifted ever so slightly, as if she was meeting a challenge. “I appreciate it.”
He glanced at Luke, as if remembering he was there. “And you, too, Mr. Marlow.”
“Thank you,” Luke said. But he’d caught the undercurrent—the crew was pleased that one of their own had inherited a share of their home and workplace. Understandable, even if the situation wouldn’t stand like this for long.
Colin turned back to Della. “You’ll be resigning your post as doctor, I assume.”
“I haven’t made any decisions yet,” she said calmly. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to leave Dr. Bateman in the lurch.”
The man laid a hand on her shoulder and gave a friendly squeeze before moving along. Uncomfortably aware that he hadn’t liked seeing another man’s hands on Della’s bare flesh, Luke watched her over the rim of his wineglass as she straightened the cutlery beside her plate. She’d changed when the man had said he was happy for her. And now a woman sitting two seats farther along than Della leaned over and congratulated her, and again, Della seemed uncomfortable. Almost as if her colleagues being happy for her made her nervous. Interesting.
When Della turned back, Luke laid a hand over her forearm to ensure her attention wouldn’t be stolen this time. She glanced up, as if startled by the touch, but he left his hand on the warmth of her skin. “We need to talk. To finish the conversation we started earlier.”
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “I know.”
A 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
