He went for big breasts. She was flat-chested—that much he could see. He went for women who were small and curvy—she was long and willowy. He liked them blonde and blue-eyed. She was copper-haired and brown-eyed.
Maybe it was the novelty... But whatever it was he was happy to go with the flow—not forgetting that she could also be a useful conduit to the information he wanted.
‘Don’t you have the rest of your travel plans already sorted out?’ Delilah was irritated to find herself lingering on the possibility that this man she had spent about fifteen seconds with might stay on for longer than he had originally suggested.
‘I try not to live my life according to too many prearranged plans,’ Daniel murmured, appreciating the delicate bloom of pink in her cheeks. ‘I guess we probably have that in common...’
Delilah grimaced. ‘I wish that was like me,’ she said without thinking. ‘But unfortunately you couldn’t be further from the truth.’ She reddened and spun round, away from those piercing unusual eyes. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘it would be lovely if you stayed on a bit longer. I’m sure you could become an able artist if you put all your efforts into it.’
She knew that the cruise ship was running at a loss. All the crew knew that. Gerry and Christine had not kept it a secret from them at all. In fact on day one they had called a meeting and apologised straight away for the fact that they couldn’t be paid more. None of the teachers on board had protested. They were there because they loved what they did, and the fact that there was sun and sea in the mix was enough for all of them.
But the Ockleys had suggested that if they could try and persuade some of the passengers to prolong their stay, or even tempt interested holidaymakers into hopping on board for a couple of days to try their hand at one of the many courses... Well, every little would help.
‘Persuade me over lunch,’ Daniel suggested. It felt like a challenge to get her to comply—and since when had he ever backed down in the face of a challenge? ‘Unless, of course, you find my company objectionable...?’
Realistically, he didn’t even countenance that.
‘I had lunch with you yesterday because you wanted to find out about the course.’
Delilah did her best to dredge up the memory of her disaster of a relationship with Michael and to listen to the warning voice in her head reminding her that she was still recovering from a broken heart—which, by definition, meant retreating from men, taking time out, paying attention to the value of common sense.
‘So? What does that have to do with anything? We’ve talked about the course and now I’d like to find out whether you think I’m a suitable candidate to be on it. I wouldn’t want to be accused of wasting your time...so why the hesitation?’
‘Perhaps a quick lunch,’ she agreed—for Gerry and Christine’s sake.
Daniel smiled slowly. ‘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