Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Donovan
Delia Hawthorne is a much better dancer than I am and that’s saying a lot since I consider myself an above average partner on the dance floor.
I attribute those skills to my maternal grandmother who decided that all of her grandchildren had to know how to cook, sew, and dance by the time they graduated high school.
The cooking came in handy because take-out is not sustainable when you’re a kid in college trying to make ends meet on a meager part-time salary. Having rudimentary sewing skills gave me a leg up when it came time to perfect the art of suturing.
As for the dancing, I didn’t see the value in it other than it put a smile on my grandmother’s face whenever I asked her for a dance when I visited her. I suspect that was her true motivation for insisting I learn every ballroom dance ever known to man.
“You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be.” Delia glances up at my face as I twirl her around the crowded dance floor.
This ship has three separate venues that offer passengers the chance to cut a rug, so we made a point to visit each one so we could rank them at the end of the night.
The one we’re currently enjoying tops my list since we’re beneath the stars with the added benefit of a cool ocean breeze nipping at us.
Goose bumps trail up Delia’s arms but I can’t tell if that’s courtesy of the light wind or my hand on her waist.
“Is that so?” I question back as I squeeze her hand in mine. “You thought I’d be a shitty dancer?”
“Average,” she clarifies. “Most men aren’t that great at dancing.”
I give her a tight, unexpected spin that draws a small moan from her lips. I realized the move resulted in that reaction when I took her into my arms as we waltzed to an old-time classic in the first club we visited.
The music that’s pumping out of the speakers now is fast paced, but we’re not keeping time with it. Instead, we’re still moving in tune with each other while everyone in our vicinity dances circles around us.
“Is that common knowledge or are you speaking from experience?”
That earns me a small laugh. “I’ve danced with my fair share of men.”
I’ve danced with my fair share of women, too, but none of that matters at the moment.
I study her face carefully. “In other words, many if not most of the men you’ve danced with haven’t impressed you?”
She tilts her head slightly. “They haven’t.”
“I’m impressing you,” I say with confidence.
She doesn’t argue the point. Instead, she offers me a slight nod of her chin.
“You’re impressing me too, Delia,” I tell her something I sense she already knows since I’ve hummed in appreciation repeatedly as she’s kept in step with my every move.
She let me lead each dance without question. I have no complaints, but she strikes me as the type of woman who has no issue with making her preferences known to her partner. Whether that’s on the dance floor or in bed.
“I know.” She smiles. “I can tell.”
If she’s talking about my semi-erection, I’m fine with that. She’s a beautiful woman and she’s been pressed up against me for the better part of the past two hours. I’m actually shocked that the raging hard-on I was fighting when I first took her to the dance floor has lessened at all.
Her gaze leaves my face to float past my shoulder. Tension tightens her body almost instantly.
“What’s wrong?” I question before I glance in the direction she’s looking to see trouble on the approach.
Clever, still dressed in his all black magician outfit, is sprinting toward us. The sparkly top hat on his head can’t be necessary at this point since the talent showcase shut down twenty minutes after he finished his set.
“Delia!” he calls out to her with a raised hand.
Her gaze darts to my face. “Clever is here.”
“He should make himself disappear,” I whisper.
Her head falls back in laughter as he comes into view next to us. He’s not alone, though. Another blond-haired guy is right behind him and he’s dressed in what looks like a skin colored loincloth. That’s it. Not another stitch of clothing.
Naturally, Delia’s eyes widen when she spots him because it’s obvious that he hits the gym more times a week than is humanely possible if one wants to make time for eating, sleeping, and anything that doesn’t involve working out.
“Delia!” Clever yells her name again, even though he’s less than a foot away from her. “I wanted to know if you know my friend. He lives in New York City, too.”
As do eight million other people.
Delia keeps her eyes pinned on the face of the guy in the loincloth. “No. We’ve never met.”
“Are you sure?” Clever pushes. “You’re both thirty-one. Maybe you went to school together.”
“I already told you I don’t know her.” The guy smiles at Delia like he really wants to know her. “I’m happy to meet you, though. I’m Matt.”
Delia’s gaze darts to my face. I see a flash of something there. I’d label it as panic or surprise. Maybe she does actually know this guy, or her reaction could be based on the fact that he shares a name with her brother.
“Hi, Matt,” she almost whispers. “I’m Delia Hawthorne.”
“Matt works as a concierge,” Clever explains. “He was first up in the talent showcase. He showed off his acrobatic skills but you arrived too late to see it.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“I’m Donovan.” I step in to give Delia a chance to catch her breath since it’s obvious something has thrown her way off the course we were on before we were interrupted.
Matt takes my hand for a hearty shake. “Now, you look familiar to me. Do we know each other?”
“He’s a vet,” Clever offers.
Matt narrows his eyes. “Premier Pet Care, right? I brought my iguana there years ago. I’m talking six or seven years.”
I rarely forget a patient, but the people who bring them in are often forgettable. Apparently, Matt fits that bill, but I don’t clue him into that. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” He shakes my hand again. “If you need anything, let me know. That goes for both of you.”
I watch as he catches Delia’s eye once again. She breaks the shared gaze to look up at me. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night. I’m going to head back to my cabin.”
“I’ll walk you,” I offer, wanting at least a few more minutes with her tonight.
“No, that’s all right.” She squeezes my forearm. “It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”
Without another word or a glance back at me, she leaves the deck and disappears into a group of people, leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened?