A Bride for the Maverick Millionaire. Marion Lennox

she told him. ‘They were tired of playing families. Thank heaven for grandmas.’

      ‘I’d say that, too,’ he said. ‘Grandparents rock. As do dogs. Gran and Pop were too old to keep me company, so I got my first dog when I was six. Wolf even climbed the tree with me.’

      ‘Wolf?’

      He grinned at that. ‘He was a bitser,’ he admitted. ‘Contrary to his name, he’d lick you to death before he’d bite, but he gave me courage. Kid roaming the night with Wolf… cool. I’d never have had the same street cred with a dog called Fluffy.’

      ‘I called my dog Buster,’ she said, smiling back at him. Finally relaxing. ‘Maybe naming him Wolf would have been better—but I suspect people would have laughed. It’s too late now.’

      ‘You only had the one?’

      ‘I only have the one. Buster’s staying with Amy during this cruise.’

      ‘How old is he?’ he asked, startled.

      ‘Ancient. I didn’t get him until I reached my teens and I’ve had him ever since. And yes, he’s been my only one. When Grandma was alive we lived in apartments, no dogs allowed. When I found Buster we were with foster parents, and Amy and I had a heck of a job to persuade them to let us keep him.’

      Foster parents…

      Uh oh. The word made Finn take a mental step back. Warning bells were ringing. Petite and vulnerable…

      But maybe vulnerable wasn’t the right word.

      ‘But, despite no Wolf, we learned martial arts,’ she continued, reflective now, looking back. ‘Amy and I are both black belt. That’s served the same purpose as your Wolf, I reckon. You needed Wolf for protection, but we’re fine with Buster. Amy and I can take on guys twice our size and win.’

      ‘That would explain the kick,’ he said faintly.

      ‘I guess it would.’ She eyed him with speculative enjoyment. ‘If I’d really needed to get free… We can throw men bigger than us. Do you want a demonstration?’

      ‘No!’

      ‘Pussycat.’

      ‘I’m only a he-man when I have Wolf,’ he admitted, growing more and more fascinated. The thought of Rachel climbing out of the pool and trying to throw him…

      He could let her try.

      Dripping wet woman. Body contact. Darkness.

      Not a good idea, no matter how tempting—but heaven only knew the effort it cost to refuse.

      She was still watching him with eyes that saw too much. He had to say something. Something that didn’t evoke the image of Rachel in her swimming costume, trying to throw him…

      ‘Wolf… Wolf died when I was fifteen,’ he managed, moving right on. Or trying to move on. ‘After Wolf came Fang—he was a Labrador who could leap tall buildings if a sausage was at stake. Now Connie has a cat called Flea.’

      ‘Flea,’ she said faintly. ‘That’s a horrible name.’

      ‘The fleas were horrible, too,’ he admitted, settling a little. Starting to enjoy himself. Starting to enjoy her. ‘He was a stray who came with attachments. But we’ve conquered Flea’s fleas.’

      ‘I’m glad.’ She gave a decisive nod, tucked her chin further down onto her folded arms, then proceeded to survey him with concentration. Her concentration was unsettling. He was developing an unnerving feeling that he wasn’t able to hide from what she was seeing.

      How much had her Koori grandma taught her? How to see past a man’s defences? How to read lies?

      Like who were these kids he talked of?

      Don’t ask, he pleaded silently, wishing suddenly that he hadn’t mentioned Flea, a cat who led to his siblings.

      ‘The kids…’ she said.

      He’d asked for this. ‘Yes?’

      But his tone must have instinctively said Don’t go there, and she got it. She looked at him for a long moment and said, ‘You don’t want to talk about them?’

      ‘I don’t.’

      When had that ever stopped a woman asking more? he thought. But, to his surprise, she nodded and obliged. With only the one sideways question.

      ‘You’ll go home to them when this cruise finishes?’

      ‘I will.’ He could answer that without lying.

      Implying they were his had been stupid, he conceded, but his reasons for the defence they gave him still stood. And explaining now was unnecessary.

      She had no need to know, and she’d moved on. ‘Fair enough,’ she said, and turned her attention upward. ‘Do you know the southern sky?’

      That unsettled him again.

      This woman was a geologist. She knew the forms of meditation. She knew stars as well?

      ‘Am I about to learn?’ he asked dubiously.

      She chuckled. ‘This is no dinner date,’ she assured him. ‘So no lectures. And actually I’m not all that honed up on the constellations. The Southern Cross is pretty cool, though, isn’t it?’

      ‘It is.’ It was. He’d been staring out into the darkness for the last few hours. The Milky Way was spread across the vast night sky and from here he could pick out thousands of individual stars; dot points of light that combined were a mass to take a man’s breath away.

      As was the woman smiling up at him.

      The desire to slide into the pool with her was almost overwhelming.

      He was fully clothed. He was sensible.

      A sensible man should leave.

      He couldn’t. He physically couldn’t.

      Maybe he could compromise. He slipped off his shoes, rolled up his trousers and slid down to sit on the edge. Not so close to be intimate. Close enough to be companionable.