LITMIR.BIZ

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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 in another country, he had at least been spared the horror of either of them knowing about the unholy mess and the financial cost to him because he had taken his eye off the ball. But he had learnt a valuable lesson, and now, whilst it cost him nothing to be generous with his money, he made damn sure not to be generous with his emotions. Those he kept firmly under wraps. Considering his women exited their relationships with him better off by furs and diamonds and cars, he didn’t think it was an unfair trade-off.

      ‘What?’ he asked.

      Their eyes tangled and he didn’t look away. But she was desperate to. He could see it in those sherry-coloured eyes and in her sudden flush. She wanted to look away but she was drawn to look at him.

      What would she be like under those clothes? What noises did she make when she made love? What would it feel like to touch her between her legs...to hold her small breasts in his big hands...to lick her nipples...?

      He cleared his throat, got a grip. He liked the fact that he never lost control when he was with a woman. Never. He had no idea why he kept veering off in that direction now. Was it the salty tang of the sea air? He was here on a fact-finding mission and yet he felt as though he was playing truant from real life. Was that it?

      ‘I’ve known lots of art students...’ She tiptoed around her words, not wanting them to sound offensive. Artists could sometimes be very sensitive souls. ‘And you’re nothing like any of them...’

      ‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ Daniel drawled. He immediately sideswiped a sudden twinge of guilt at his masquerade. ‘I pride myself on being one of a kind.’

      ‘That’s what I mean,’ Delilah blurted out. ‘You’d never hear an artist come out with something as arrogant as that.’ She pressed the palms of her hands against her cheeks, mortified. ‘I’m so—so sorry...’ she stammered.

      When Gerry and Catherine had made noises about the crew trying to persuade their guests into prolonging their stay, she didn’t think that one of the methods they would have advised using would have been insults. Delilah was horrified at what she had said. She was not the sort who ever did anything but encourage.

      Having grown up with her wildly unorthodox background, she knew only too well the frailty of human beings—the way they could be lovable and exasperating at the same time. She had seen the way her sister had made allowances for their mum and dad, and she, too, had fallen into line, doing the same. She also knew how hurtful unintentionally blunt statements could be. Her mum had once told Sarah, without meaning to offend at all, that too much maths was turning her into a very boring person. Delilah didn’t think that her sister had ever forgotten that stray remark, which had been accompanied by a merry laugh and a fond ruffling of her hair.

      She impulsively rested her hand on his and Daniel looked at her earnestly.

      ‘I think I’ll survive,’ he said, making no move to remove his hand.

      She had beautiful fingers. Long and slim and soft—the fingers of an artist or a musician. He was tempted to ask if she played any instruments...

      ‘In fact, you aren’t the first person to have told me that I can sometimes be a little arrogant,’ he confessed, with such a rueful, charming, self-deprecating smile that Delilah could feel all her bones begin to melt.

      Which made her yank her hand away at the speed of light. Her heart was beating so fast that she would have bet that if everyone in the bar fell silent they would all hear it.

      ‘But I prefer to think of it as being self-confident...’ he expanded softly. ‘Now, if you insist on buying a drink for me, then I will graciously accept—but on one condition...’

      ‘What’s that?’ She barely recognised her voice, which sounded high-pitched, girlish and breathless. She cleared her throat. She was a teacher, being paid to do a job. He was her pupil. She was also sworn off men.

      Her ego had been battered and bruised by her experience with Michael. She wondered whether, instead of toughening her up the way it should have, it had somehow made her more vulnerable to someone like this guy, with his smooth charm and his insanely sexy good looks... Or was he the equivalent of a strong dose of pick-me-up tonic? Was that light, musing, flirtatious banter just a soothing balm, restoring her fragile self-confidence, making her feel good about herself?

      And if it was then why should she be nervous around him? It wasn’t as though she was going to actually let him get under her skin, was she? He was nothing more than a passing stranger whose innate charm made her feel better about herself.

      She relaxed when she looked at it in that light. It made sense.

      ‘I buy you dinner.’

      ‘What for?’

      ‘Why not?’ Daniel frowned.

      ‘You’ve already bought me lunch. Twice. So that we could talk about the course I offer and your contribution.’ She was doggedly determined not to let a couple of non-dates and a dinner invitation—extended because he was obviously a very sociable animal, probably accustomed to an abundance of female company—go to her head. ‘I don’t see the point of dinner. What do you want to talk about now?’

      ‘Good God...what sort of an answer is that?’

      Delilah thought it was a very good answer to give a guy who was probably bored by the lack of female eye candy on the ship. A bit of mild flirting might do her the power of good, but it was important for him to realise that she wasn’t easy. She was probably over-thinking the whole thing, because she knew that she was no supermodel—and he was good-looking enough to have supermodels banging on his door even if he wasn’t made of money. But still...

      ‘How old are you?’ Daniel asked, while she was still in the middle of getting her thoughts together.

      ‘Twenty-one, but...’

      ‘We’re not at school, Delilah... Do you mind if I call you by your first name? We’re two adults on a cruise ship. I think it’s fair to say that accepting a dinner invitation from me doesn’t actually require hours of mental debate and indecision. It’s a simple yes or no scenario...’

      ‘Of course, but...’ But why did it feel so dangerous? Like he said, they were both adults—and why not?

      ‘Besides...’ He leaned forward, drawing her into an intimate circle where only the two of them existed. ‘I was given a little money before I...er...embarked on this adventure, and I promised myself that I would spend it buying dinner for a beautiful woman...’

      Delilah felt a thrill of forbidden pleasure race through her at his blatant flattery. He was so utterly serious that she could feel herself going hot and cold. Gripped with sudden panic and confusion, she tried to remember if she had ever felt like this when she had been with Michael—or had that been more of a slow-burning attraction? The meeting of two minds, connected, she had thought at the time, at the same level? Of course he had been a very attractive man, too, but certainly not in this full-on, sledgehammer-to-the-ribs kind of way.

      Two different situations, she told herself, frowning. This was pure lust—her body reminding her that whilst her emotions had been knocked for six, she could still respond to other men. Reminding

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