Countering His Claim Page 10

  Seven

  Della froze at her desk as the nurse’s voice floated from the front room through her partially open door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Marlow,” Jody said. “How can I help you?”

  Hidden in her office, Della bit down on her lip and wondered if she could shut the door without drawing attention. She’d successfully avoided Luke Marlow since their bone-melting kiss. For a full day yesterday. Despite knowing she only had a short time to convince him about the Cora Mae.

  She sighed. Her procrastination had to end now.

  “I’d like to see Dr. Walsh about the stitches in my hand,” he said, voice deep and charming.

  Even from this distance, the timbre of his voice seemed to reverberate through her body, and her eyes drifted closed. Memories of their kiss surfaced in her mind—the way his hand had curled around the nape of her neck, the champagne fizz that had rushed through her veins the moment his lips had touched hers.

  “I’ll just see if she’s available,” Jody said out in reception.

  Della’s hands fluttered to the desktop and clasped together. Two years ago, she’d lain in a hospital bed critically ill with the injuries she’d received in the attack that had killed her husband. Shane had been her everything. Having his life ripped from her in that dirty street had been unbearable, overwhelming. In her grief, she’d made a promise to herself—never, never again would she love someone enough to leave her vulnerable to that much pain.

  Intellectually, she knew she couldn’t, shouldn’t, hold herself to that long-ago promise. But emotionally, she knew it still held sway over her. Exposing herself meant stripping bare in so much more than just a physical sense. And Luke would be horrified if he ever caught a glimpse of the puckered scars across her torso. He might think he knew about a couple of dainty marks, but the reality was uglier. Anything physical between them would end before it had begun.

  Not that it would ever get that far. All she was doing now was stopping things prior to reaching that point. Saving him the trouble. Saving herself the pain.

  Jody slipped in through the doorway and closed it behind her. “Do you want me to pass him to Cal?” she asked quietly.

  As strong as the temptation was, she knew she couldn’t. She’d asked Jody and the other staff in the medical suite to cover for her if Luke rang. She hadn’t explained why, and they’d been considerate enough to not ask questions. She simply needed time to get her bearings—to purge that kiss from her memory so she could focus on the reason for seeing him.

  So she could face him merely as a business associate, the other half-owner of Patrick’s ship. Calm, professional, unperturbed.

  That meant no passing him to Cal now.

  “That’s fine, Jody.” She drew in a fortifying breath. “Show him in.”

  All too soon, Luke sauntered into her office, one hand deep in a pocket, the bandaged hand held at chest height, his dark blond hair rumpled, as if he’d been on the top deck in the breeze. She remained behind her small desk, grateful for the illusion of protection it afforded her.

  “Jody tells me your hand needs attention?” she said, starting the conversation as she meant it to continue—on a professional basis.

  The arch of his eyebrow showed he’d noted her tone, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he glanced down at his bandaged hand. “I think you might need to check this.”

  “Certainly,” she said, smiling. “Jody? Can you come in here a moment?”

  The nurse appeared at the door. “Yes, Dr. Walsh?”

  “Mr. Marlow has some concerns about his sutured hand. Can you take down the dressing and check for signs of infection while I bring up his report, please?”

  Jody nodded, holding back a smile as she washed her hands in the sink. Surprise flared in Luke’s eyes, then an almost imperceptible frown as he no doubt calculated strategies to circumvent the proceedings, followed by amusement as his gaze flicked to hers and he realized he’d been outmaneuvered.

  She sat back down behind the desk, feeling unreasonably smug at gaining the upper hand.

  Jody moved to the table where Della had first sewn the sutures. “Mr. Marlow, if you’ll take a seat and lay your hand here, I’ll take a look.”

  In her peripheral vision, Della saw Luke set his hand out on the flat surface. After pulling up his info on the computer screen, she swiveled in her chair to find his eyes on her as Jody peeled back the bandage. As the wound was exposed, it looked exactly as Della had expected—a healthy pink with the skin healing around the sutures.

  Jody wiped the area with an alcohol-infused cloth. “There’s no sign of redness or swelling. Have you had any pain?”

  Still looking at Della, he said, “It doesn’t hurt, but I couldn’t say things have felt right.”

  Della’s stomach lurched as she took his double meaning, and she threw a quick glance at Jody, but thankfully the nurse didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

  Jody pressed Luke’s hand gently with her gloved fingers. “Any pain when I do this?”

  “No.”

  Della glanced at the screen to check the date. “The stitches have been in for long enough, anyway. Jody, you can take them out.”

  While the nurse efficiently removed the sutures, Della made a few notes in Luke’s file. With Luke watching her, the skin at the back of her neck tingled the whole time. A shiver ran up her spine, but she refused to look around.

  When Jody finished, she stood, stripped off her gloves and looked to Della. “Do you need me for anything else?”

  “No. Thank you, Jody,” Della said, and watched the nurse leave. Then her eyes strayed to the man who remained.

  “If that’s all—” Della said at the same time Luke said, “You didn’t return my call.”

  She took one breath, then another. “I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  “You were avoiding me,” he said softly, taking a small step forward. “You told me where you stand and I said I respected that. Why would that stop us from spending time together?”

  Something inside her trembled, knowing this was a make-or-break point. And she had to be completely honest. She moistened her lips.

  “You don’t expect more?”

  “I wouldn’t be averse to something more. But I think you already know that.”

  “There’s no future with me, Luke.”

  “I can accept that. I’m not after a future but I do want to explore what we do have here and now,” he said.

  She wrapped a hand around the taut muscles at the back of her neck. He wouldn’t be interested in something short-term either if he knew what she looked like under these clothes. A shipboard fling was all about fantasy, about glorious experiences. Her body allowed for neither.

  “Besides,” he said, moving to the side of her desk, “you were convincing me of the merits of keeping the ship sailing the high seas. Surely you haven’t given up on that?”

  “No,” she said slowly.

  “It’s much harder to convince me from the other side of the ship.”

  “I—” she paused and swallowed “—I just thought we both needed a bit of a time-out.”

  “But we’re past that now?” He stroked his fingers across his chin and her skin tingled as if he’d touched her own chin.

  She drew in an uneven breath. “Perhaps.”

  He nodded once, short and assured, as if she’d agreed with him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.”

  “I thought you might. But we—”

  “It’s about your scars, isn’t it? Your celibacy is because you don’t think you’re desirable.”

  She flinched. It was one thing to think about it, another to have her insecurities presented so boldly to her face. But she couldn’t lie. “Partly.”

  She didn’t elaborate—she wasn’t re
ady to talk about the pain of loving and losing with Luke Marlow, or anyone for that matter.

  He stepped closer. “It must be hard to contemplate baring yourself for the first time after what you suffered. Hard to trust that you won’t be rejected.”

  “Yes.” Her throat felt thick and tight. His understanding was her undoing.

  “You can trust me, Della,” he said, his voice low as he took another step closer.

  “You think that but you don’t know…you don’t know.” She swallowed.

  “Della—”

  “Anyway, it’s a moot point.”

  He looked at her with such genuine concern, she felt a tiny chink in her resolve.

  “What if I guaranteed my cabin would be in total darkness?” He reached out and cupped the side of her face in his palm. “Would your answer change if you had that privacy?”

  Her eyes drifted closed as she instinctively nestled her face into the warmth of his hand. He really did understand. There was a thrill in knowing he wanted her enough to create a way she could feel safe while being intimate. Intimate. Making love with Luke Marlow…

  She was sorely tempted.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Shane had been her only lover and she’d made vows before God that he’d be the only one. But her husband was gone forever. The scars on her body had insulated her from facing this decision…but now there was Luke. Could she take what he was offering?

  She swallowed. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “I’m having dinner in my cabin tonight.” His gray eyes sparked with invitation. “Join me.”

  “And if I say no to your offer to turn the lights off?”

  “Whatever your decision, you’re welcome to share dinner. I’d prefer your answer was yes,” he said with a smile in his voice, “but I’ll respect a no. We still have much to discuss with the Cora Mae, regardless.”

  Join him. Such a simple request.

  And maybe things between them should be that simple….

  Maybe she was making this into something bigger than it needed to be. They’d kissed. She’d told him they had no future. He’d accepted it. Time to move on. Back to the plan.

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “While you’re deciding, think on this.” He moved in close, crowding her, and then his mouth came slowly down until it softly, firmly moved over hers. A molten heat flared at her core, filling her body cell by cell and she moaned. The push of his tongue, the brush of his arms at her waist, his scent surrounding her…she was lost.

  Just when she was trembling with need, he slowed the kiss and eased away.

  “All right, then,” she whispered.

  She watched a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he turned and walked through the door. And her stomach fluttered as she realized she may have miscalculated her ability to handle Luke Marlow.

  * * *

  Della knocked on Luke’s cabin door that night, no closer to a decision about taking their attraction to the next level than she had been in the medical suite.

  Once taken, that step would be impossible to undo. And if he reacted badly to her body—if he was horrified, or pitied her—would she be able to continue to negotiate with him about the Cora Mae…or would she burn with an unhealthy mix of embarrassment, hurt and resentment making business discussions impossible?

  There was no way of knowing how any of the variables would play out.

  At her first knock, the door swung open and he stood before her in a black polo shirt and tan pants, stealing her breath. His gray eyes were dark, his chin freshly shaved and he filled the doorway as if it were a frame made just for him.

  For a charged moment, neither of them moved or spoke. The air was heavy with the possibilities of the night, sending a shiver through her blood.

  Then he reached out and drew her in, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?” she asked, her voice only a little unsteady. The merest contact of his lips with the side of her face sent magic shimmering across her skin, and she wanted to turn to him. Ask for more. But she wouldn’t let herself get carried away—she’d need a cool head to make a decision tonight that was right for her.

  As she passed him, he cupped her elbow. “I hoped you would, but I’ve learned not to assume anything with you.”

  She glanced around the room, taking in the soft lighting, the flickering candles, the two glasses sitting on the table. The stage was set for seduction. She swallowed. As for what may happen tonight, she was trying hard not to think about it just yet.

  Luke indicated the bottle of white wine in the ice bucket. “How about you pour while I organize dinner? Roxie Appleby sent me up a basket with instructions that are apparently foolproof.”

  “Sure,” she said, grateful for something to do with her hands. She normally wasn’t prone to restlessness, but standing close to Luke Marlow, close enough to smell his cologne, while they were surrounded by candles and low lighting, created an…unsettled feeling deep inside.

  An unsettled feeling? Is that the best you can do to describe it after all those years of medical training? Della laughed softly at herself as she poured the wine. Her amusement dissipated her tension just a little until she took the glasses to the kitchenette, where Luke was tossing a salad. The action drew her gaze to the solid breadth of his shoulders, and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to smooth her hands across them. She’d bet they were solid. And warm. And smooth. Her pulse raced erratically. If she said yes to his proposition, she could run her hands over those shoulders tonight. Impossibly, her heart beat faster.

  “Would you like yours in here?” she asked through a dry throat.

  “Here’s great.” He laid the utensils down and took the glass she held out, brushing her fingers lightly as he did.

  The temptation to let her fingers linger against his was crushing, so she quickly lifted her own glass to her lips. But before she could take a sip, he stopped her with his hand on her wrist.

  “Here’s to possibilities,” he said, his voice smooth and low.

  Everything inside her quivered. “To possibilities,” she echoed.

  They clinked glasses and, as he sampled the wine, Luke watched her over the rim. His gray eyes were dark, drawing her in. There was no use denying it to herself—she wanted him. Badly. Without losing eye contact, she sipped her drink, the cool liquid doing nothing to ease the flames that were coming to life inside her.

  Luke took her wine and placed the glass next to his on the counter, then tugged her closer. And kissed her. Gently at first, the taste of wine was on his tongue, but within moments, it wasn’t enough. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him in place, just as his hand crept up to cradle her nape. Heat shimmered between them, around them. Through her.

  “Della,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you so badly I can’t see straight.”

  With reluctance, she began to ease away, her breathing uneven. She didn’t want to lead him on. He’d been nothing but patient with her—she owed it to him to play fair.

  He ironed a palm down her back. “Let me turn the lights off, Della.” His voice was ragged. “Let me make love to you.”

  A ball of panic began to rise at the base of her throat, but she swallowed it away. She wanted this. Wanted him. And for the first time in a long time, the want was more powerful than the fear.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Then, stronger, “Yes.”

  “You won’t regret it, I promise.” His eyes blazed as he smiled. “Even if dinner will be later than planned.”

  He took her hand and led her up the stairs to the bedroom. The curtains in front of the sliding door to the balcony were already drawn. He clicked a remote and the lights downstairs went out, leaving just one lamp casting a soft glow in the bedroom. In
the gentle light, he resembled a fallen angel—dark blond hair framing his face, eyes brimming with temptation, strong nose and that mouth… Her breath snared high in her throat. She already knew the magic that mouth could create.

  As if reading her thoughts, he kissed her lightly, then pulled away, his endless gray eyes looking deeply into hers. “Tell me if you want to stop.” Another kiss, featherlight, lingering at the corner of her mouth. “But I’m telling you now, I intend to make sure you don’t need to.”

  He clicked another button and darkness softly shrouded them. Her heart beat loudly in her ears—it was a pivotal moment in her life, that much was obvious. If she went through with this, nothing would ever be the same. But she couldn’t walk away….

  Standing on tippy toes, she tentatively placed her lips on his. She had to show him this was her choice—she knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was Luke. At the contact, she felt a groan reverberate in his chest but he didn’t move, didn’t take control of the kiss. Emboldened, she tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth and skimmed a hand up to his shoulders, tracing the muscles she’d been admiring in the kitchen earlier. Even though she couldn’t see him, he filled her senses—the sound of his rough breaths, the feel of him under her fingertips, the scent of clean skin mingling with aftershave.

  With an arm around her waist, he drew her closer, flush against him, and she sighed. Her body felt heavy, sweetly drugged by his kiss.

  He turned her until her back was to him, leaving a trail of kisses as he went. Gently, he urged her arms up into the air, then slowly lifted her blouse. The double protection of the darkness and having him behind her allowed her to give in to the sensations and release the lurking fears. To just feel. His fingers lingered on her skin as they slid along her arms, teasing. Promising.

  Her blouse swished to the floor at her feet, the delicate sound filling her awareness…until Luke’s hands began their return journey from her fingertips high in the air, down her inner arms, to her sides and finally coming to rest at her waist. She almost melted in a puddle at his feet.

  Hot breath warmed her ear. “I’ve been crazy with wanting you.”