Read Online Scent of a Woman by Joanne Rock - Free Book Online

deck facing away from Corfu. He hurried to hold the door for her, realizing she’d cleverly chosen the quiet side of the ship. Unused shuffleboard courts sat beneath rows of lifeboats. It wasn’t the most scenic of Alexandra’s Dream ’s decks, but the element of privacy made it perfect for what he had in mind.

    “I like your taste in private spaces.” Adam followed her to the end of the rail, where the polished mahogany bar met a wall with a “staff only” door.

    “I feel a little guilty for keeping you on board when Greece awaits us on the other side of the ship.” She reached up to tug a pin from her hair and the silky mass tumbled about her shoulders, tossed gently by the sea breeze drifting in off the water.

    “The only thing I’m interested in is still on board.” He studied her carefully, looking for cues she wanted the same things he did as she tucked the hairpin inside a tiny purse.

    The strapless dress she wore clung to her curves through a miracle of nature, held together with nothing but a zipper snaking up one side. He was all too aware of how easily it could slide right off her slender body.

    His fingers itched to touch the fabric to see if he was right.

    “Sometimes our true interests come as a surprise to us, don’t they?” Her accent was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard.

    She watched him closely, and he had the distinct impression that she’d surprised herself by agreeing to be alone with him. He would make sure she didn’t change her mind. He hadn’t expected such a sophisticated, worldly woman to be nervous.

    “I can tell you where your interests lie.” He reached for her fingers where they rested on the rail. “Give me your hand.”

    Her gaze narrowed but she obliged him.

    “I hardly know myself most days. I do not think—”

    “You would know yourself better if you’d ever had your palm read before.” He wasn’t above dusting off an old parlor trick as an excuse to touch her.

    “You’re kidding.” She fisted her right hand, hiding it from him while he held it fast.

    “No, I’m not kidding.” Gently, he pried her fingers open again. “I had a Czechoslovakian nanny for a few years and she taught me all about the fine art of palm reading.”

    Marenka had been a grounding force in his life during the years his mother had been sick and his father had started to lose himself in his business. The time he’d spent with Marenka had been the least harried of his life. The rest had been a roller coaster.

    Hell, most days he was convinced he still rode that same damn amusement park ride but without the thrill—until he met Danielle.

    “Do not tell me my professional future,” Danielle warned, bending her head with his to study her palm. “I do not want you to jinx my ability to promote Les Rêves to Ahmed this week and, yes, I am a bit superstitious.”

    He smoothed a finger down the center of her palm and familiarized himself with the shape of her.

    “Done. Mum’s the word on your company’s future.” Not that he even remembered where the lines for financial success were located. He struggled to recall what Marenka had taught him. “This is your dominant hand, correct?” He hadn’t seen her write, but she seemed to use her right hand more than her left.

    “Yes. Unless my life looks better on this hand.” She scrutinized her left palm and compared it briefly to the one he studied.

    “I think we’re safe with this one.” He struggled to focus on his reading. What he really wanted to do was to place her hand on his chest and then wrap her in his arms. “You have long fingers and a cone-shaped hand which suggest you are an artist at heart.”

    “Are you making that up?”

    She sounded serious. Concerned.

    “A lot of palm reading is in the interpretation, but according to Marenka, those are signs of creativity. She said my square palm indicated a life of hard work and less creativity.”

    “But you’re independently wealthy.” Skepticism