Cora Mae is a luxury cruise liner. Our guests expect nothing less than absolute quality.” She tilted her head to indicate the expansive dining room, decorated in opulent whites and sparkling crystal, its walls draped in lilac gauzy fabric. In the soft glow of the room’s light, she was breathtaking. His pulse picked up speed. She wore a simple teal evening gown and the lightest of makeup, her nut-brown hair hanging in loose, shiny curls. Yet, for all her understatement, there was a magnetic charge that surrounded her.
He cleared his throat. “Have you had a busy time in the medical rooms since I was there?”
“I was only on duty until the will reading, so there wasn’t too much,” she said, absently wiping a finger through the condensation on the side of her glass.
“No other stitches?”
One side of her mouth pulled into a reluctant smile. “You were the only one. After you left I saw a case of sunburn, a twisted wrist from a fall over a mat and one child with a bee sting.”
“Was the mat on the ship?” he asked casually, words like liability and lawsuit flashing through his mind.
She shook her head. “A guest who’d been ashore for the day.”
He nodded and sipped his wine. He’d only just inherited the ship—well, half the ship—and legal action or other complications weren’t the best way to start.
He tipped his glass toward her. “So I was the most interesting patient of the day?”
“You could say that,” she conceded with a smile.
“Then I’m glad my suffering was of service,” he said slowly. For a fleeting moment, the veil lifted and awareness flashed in her toffee-brown eyes. Something in that awareness, in the yearning that lay behind it, called to him on a primal level, made his blood pump faster, hotter. His muscles tensed, then she blinked and the expression, and the moment, were gone. He’d felt a similar pull when she’d first arrived at the table. There was some chemistry between them, no denying it. Also no denying that Della wasn’t happy about it.
He’d never had to try too hard with women before—even Jillian, the wife who’d left him in such grand style, had practically handed herself to him on a platter. The fact that Della—despite her attraction to him—would be more comfortable somewhere else fascinated him more than he would have predicted.
Their meals arrived and Della was drawn into other conversations. Luke talked to the captain beside him and others around the table, but part of his attention remained on Della, whether he wanted it to or not. He knew when she took a bite of her roast vegetable salad. Knew when she touched her mouth with her napkin. Listened to her gentle laugh. Smelled a faint vanilla fragrance when she ran her fingers through her hair. And he silently cursed himself for it. Because in less than an hour, she’d once again be his opponent.
Della unlocked the door to the ship’s library and led the way, flicking on the lights as she went. The room was usually staffed by a crew member for the few hours a day it was open, and outside those times it had become her secret space.
Luke glanced around at the shelves of books and nodded. “Will we be interrupted by people needing a book for nighttime reading?”
“Opening hours are long over. No one will come in until ten tomorrow morning.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is it normal for the ship’s doctor to have a key to the library?”
“Not especially,” she said and felt the corners of her mouth tug into a smile. “My father used to be captain of this ship, and he gave me the key because he knew how much I loved it in here. I let the new captain know after Dad’s retirement and he was happy to leave the arrangement as is.”
The librarian had also told the new captain that Della helped keep shelves in order on her frequent visits, so on that point alone he’d been keen to keep her access unfettered. When she couldn’t sleep, she liked handling books. Putting them in their proper place. Creating calm and order from chaos. She’d also occasionally bought books when she went ashore and donated them to the library, loving the feeling of being part of this special place.
“Of course,” Luke said. “Your father is Dennis Walsh. Patrick mentioned him occasionally.”
She wasn’t surprised Patrick had mentioned his friend, but she didn’t want to discuss her family with Luke Marlow. So she indicated two upholstered armchairs, arranged at right angles to each other, and they sat. Then she waited.
Luke rested an ankle on his knee and steepled his fingers. “I’ve been thinking. For whatever reason, Patrick wanted to leave you something more than, say, a rare bottle of wine. He didn’t have much cash or other assets since most of his wealth was tied up in the Cora Mae, so by giving you half the ship, knowing I’d buy you out, he was able to leave you a generous financial gift.”
Luke seemed so sure, so confident of himself and his words. It was in the set of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw. She hadn’t had that sort of confidence in years—and she certainly didn’t have it about Patrick’s intentions.
She tilted her head to the side as she studied him. “What makes you think he didn’t want to leave me half a ship?”
“Patrick’s father was Arthur Marlow, my grandfather,” he said without hesitation. “He started a company called Marlow and Sons. It owned many ships, including the original Cora Mae, which was named after his wife.”
She knew the ship’s history from Patrick, and had a feeling where Luke was going with this. “There’s a portrait of your grandmother hanging in the lobby. I’ll show you later if you like.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” He nodded in acknowledgment of her offer. “When Arthur died he split the company equally between his two sons. My father sold his ships and bought hotels instead, which he passed to me when he died. Patrick stayed in ships—he started with several but during some lean times, consolidated down to the flagship, the Cora Mae. After it became apparent he wouldn’t have children of his own, Patrick made it very clear that he wanted to reunite the family company through me.”
She leaned back in her chair. There was logic to his story, to his sense of expectation of inheriting, but life didn’t always fit into neat boxes, or sit on the shelves in the correct order like the books that surrounded them. Sometimes the unexpected and the irregular were part of life, too. She had no idea what Patrick had been thinking, but he must have had some reason for leaving her half a ship. She just had yet to understand his purpose.
“So,” she said, choosing her words with care, “because the Cora Mae has been in your family, it should simply stay in your family?”
His eyes narrowed. “Cora Mae was my grandmother. We’re talking about more than an asset owned by someone I’m related to. This ship is part of the fabric of my family.”
“And you think Patrick didn’t intend for me to keep the half he gave me?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’ll buy your half-share and you get the windfall my uncle wanted you to have.”
She glanced through the porthole at the moonlight glinting on the
