Rachel Bailey - Countering His Claim

“Make a wish.”

A kiss. In that moment all Luke wanted was to turn her to face him, to lean down and touch her sweet lips with his.

“Like to know what I wished for?” he asked, voice low.

Della’s eyes drifted shut. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true if you do.”

“Maybe,” he said, his mouth so close to her ear that his lips brushed her lobe as he spoke. “But if you knew what the wish was, perhaps you’d grant it.”

He pressed a light kiss on her neck, just below her ear. Della held herself still but didn’t pull away. “I don’t have any magical powers to grant wishes.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Countering His Claim

Rachel Bailey

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHEL BAILEYdeveloped a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck), and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to earn degrees in psychology and social work but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living.

She lives in a piece of paradise on Australia’s Sunshine Coast, with her hero and four dogs, where she loves to sit with a dog or two, overlooking the trees and reading books from her evergrowing to-be-read pile.

Rachel would love to hear from you and can be contacted through her website: www.rachelbailey.com

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For Amelia.

For all the fun and love you bring.

Contents

Cover

Introduction “Make a wish.” A kiss. In that moment all Luke wanted was to turn her to face him, to lean down and touch her sweet lips with his. “Like to know what I wished for?” he asked, voice low. Della’s eyes drifted shut. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true if you do.” “Maybe,” he said, his mouth so close to her ear that his lips brushed her lobe as he spoke. “But if you knew what the wish was, perhaps you’d grant it.” He pressed a light kiss on her neck, just below her ear. Della held herself still but didn’t pull away. “I don’t have any magical powers to grant wishes.” “I’m not so sure.”

Title Page Countering His Claim Rachel Bailey www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author RACHEL BAILEY developed a serious book addiction at a young age (via Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddleduck), and has never recovered. Just how she likes it. She went on to earn degrees in psychology and social work but is now living her dream—writing romance for a living. She lives in a piece of paradise on Australia’s Sunshine Coast, with her hero and four dogs, where she loves to sit with a dog or two, overlooking the trees and reading books from her evergrowing to-be-read pile. Rachel would love to hear from you and can be contacted through her website: www.rachelbailey.com

Dedication For Amelia. For all the fun and love you bring.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

With a final, fond look at the Melbourne skyline, Della Walsh stepped onto the boarding bridge of the Cora Mae, the luxury cruise liner she called home.

Ahead on the deck, she spotted a group of people in business suits clustered around a tall man with his back to her. She hesitated, assessing the crowd. All she could see of the man in the center was broad shoulders encased in a tailored business jacket, a straight confident bearing and hair of darkest blond that tapered in against his neck. But that was enough to draw her attention and keep it there. The ship’s captain stood beside him and from various vantage points, beyond the grand foyer, groups of curious staff intently watched the interaction.

Which meant, most likely, the man in the middle of the action was him.

Luke Marlow, the man about to inherit the Cora Mae, had arrived.

Curiosity nibbling, she stepped into the foyer. Many senior crew members, including herself, had been invited to the reading of Patrick Marlow’s will today, and all of them had one question uppermost in their minds—what would his nephew and heir, Luke Marlow, do with the ship once he had control? Sell? Refurbish? Interfere with the day-to-day running?

Della was probably more interested in their guest than most—she’d been hearing snippets of Luke’s life from Patrick for years. It was possible she knew more about this man than she knew about some of her friends.

As she drew closer to the small crowd, she could hear Captain Tynan say, “We’ll get that cut seen to straight away.”

Luke Marlow held up a hand wrapped in what looked like a blue handkerchief. “No need. I’ll run it under the tap and throw on a bandage.”

The captain spotted Della. “Dr. Walsh! Good timing. Mr. Marlow has a cut that might need a couple of stitches.”

She pasted a smile on her face, and stepped forward, prepared to offer medical assistance as if he was any other patient, not the man who would soon be her boss. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marlow. If you’ll follow me to the medical suite, we’ll take a look at your hand.”

As she spoke, Luke Marlow slowly turned to her, his steel-gray gaze scanning her face before coming to land on her eyes. The air seemed to sizzle and spark; a wave of goose bumps rushed across her skin. Was she nervous because he held her future in the palm of his hand? Or was it his fallen angel’s face—sculpted cheekbones, strong straight nose and sensual lips—that unsettled her? Whatever it was, the effect was unwelcome and she squashed it.

“Now that you mention it,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes not wavering from hers, “I think it might need stitches.”

The captain nodded, satisfied. “I’ll take care of your staff and a purser will collect you from Dr. Walsh’s office and bring you to us when you’re done.”

As if in slow motion, the crowd parted and Luke Marlow covered the distance between them. He stood within touching distance, looking at her expectantly, and her heart thumped hard and erratically. Tall and charismatic, he filled her vision, making her breath come too fast, as if casting a spell over her....

Her smile slipped. This couldn’t be happening. She’d vowed never to let herself feel attraction to a man again. Ever. And this man was about to become her boss. Perhaps determine her future. Refusing to give in to her body’s blind response, she pulled herself to her full height—which leveled out in the vicinity of Luke’s chin—and found that professional smile again.

“This way,” she said, indicating the direction with her hand.

Luke inclined his head and stepped away from the dissipating crowd. When they walked farther into the foyer with its elaborate furnishings and chandeliers, she wondered if he noticed the eyes following him from every direction.

“Tell me something, Dr. Walsh,” he said, his voice pitched somewhere between sexy-low and curiosity.

Steeling herself against the shiver that threatened to run down her spine at the timbre of his voice, she led him through the foyer, to the bank of elevators. “If I can.”