The Boss and Her Billionaire (10 page)

her into his mouth.

Delicious.

He wasn’t one for s that were too big—a handful was just perfect. Turning his attention to the other , he repeated his licking and sucking motion. Oh, but she moved so wonderfully on top of him. The hard, icy core she presented to her staff was melting now. And he wanted her melted all over his body.

“Your place or mine?” he asked. He tore his hands and mouth away from her chest, scooping her up and

standing in one swift movement. They both paused, and he almost kissed her again when her amber-

flecked eyes gazed up into his.

“Best we use mine,” she said. “You’re probably sharing a room.”

Dylan started striding up the stairs with her still in his arms, wanting desperately to pull the rest of her uniform away and gaze at her tanned, slender body. He smiled as he thought of what they would do in

her room. He wanted to throw her onto a bed, to spread her out and investigate the far reaches of her body. He wanted—oh, he wanted her. His pace quickened.

“Wait,” Michaela said, and struggled against him. “You can’t carry me out of here. And we…” She

squirmed again. He set her feet on the floor. “We can’t do this.”

“Are you sure?” He walked her backwards until she was pressed against the wall, leaning down to kiss

her again. Perhaps they could just take each other here in the theater, since there was no one around. If they turned the stage lights off, it would be almost pitch black. “I want you now. Don’t tell me you don’t want me, too.” He exhaled a hot breath against her throat, his hands reaching for her, but her pager

beeped to life, and reality pushed its way into their situation.

“See, I have to go.”

She looked up into his eyes, and he tried to let her know what he was promising. It would be fantastic.

They would be fantastic.

She pulled her bra back into place, tugged down her skirt, and fumbled the buttons of her shirt through their holes. He put his hands on her chest, finding her s still hard, ready for his touch.

“Tomorrow?” The word came out strangled. How could she turn off the passion that had sprung up

between them tonight? He whispered hot air over her neck, wanting to ensure she would give him the

answer he craved.

“Yes,” she said. But something flashed across her face, and she paled. “No.”

“What?”

“We can’t use my cabin. I’ve been moved.” Desire and desperation mingled in her expression.

“So?”

“I’m on the same floor as the captain now. He’ll know you’re miles away from your floor if he sees you anywhere near my stateroom. I told you the history. He’ll use this to destroy the reputation I’ve worked hard for. We can’t do this. I can’t do this. I’ve got to go.” She pushed him away.

Dylan cursed under his breath. He’d come so close to releasing a passion that he hadn’t even known was in him before tonight.

But perhaps her leaving now was good. If she felt half as unquenched, as unfulfilled as he did, she

wouldn’t be able to forget about him.

Was that all he wanted, for her to want him as much as he wanted her?

Yes. It’s just like a business merger. Weaken the target and move in.

“I’ll take care of it,” he muttered, not even sure if she was listening as she strode up the stairs. “And believe me, you won’t want to walk away from me a second time.”

Once in her office, Michaela sat down suddenly, her strength sapped with the withdrawal of passion.

The message triggering her pager had been nothing, really. Just one of her team checking that she’d

okayed the next day’s activities.

“Bloody lucky escape,” she muttered. “All he does is show you a bit of understanding, and you melt in his arms?” She shook her head, confused at her own weakness.

The interruption did give her the chance to make good on her promise to Dylan, however. She excused

him from taking yet another shuffleboard session, blithely co-opting her deputy to take his place and telling him to page Dylan to let him know.

In her stateroom, she spent the rest of the night in a restless state, replaying the scene in the theater over and over, perplexed that she had both allowed herself to reach such a state of blind desire and

offered her own stateroom to consummate it.

“Michaela Western, what’s come over you?” she whispered to her pillow. Was she really ready to let

down her guard and move on from the failed relationship that had made her promise never to go there

again with a fellow worker?

Of course, the affair with the captain had been a long time ago, and she knew how to handle herself

better now.

“And anything with Dylan Johns wouldn’t be a relationship,” she said aloud.

She planned to begin a new phase of her career soon, but that didn’t lessen the risk. She could destroy her whole future by getting into bed with a colleague. If the affair went south—if the captain found out and got angry about it—he could refuse to give her a reference for another job.

But why should she ume the worst? Other people had shipboard affairs all the time without derailing

their whole lives.

Michaela looked around her stateroom and tried to imagine Dylan’s tall frame in the small space. He

would fill it almost entirely, his long legs reaching the end of the bed and his broad chest taking up a good section of the width.

Giving up on sleep, she got up, turned on the shower, and stepped under the cool spray. It gave her no relief. The shower cubicles onboard were necessarily small. Trying to fit thousands of passengers and hundreds of crew onto the ship meant that some things had to be sacrificed, and despite the fact that these rooms were big in comparison to those on some ships, the space was still very tight. The slow

billow of the shower curtain, the water against her skin, the scent of Dylan still in her hair—Michaela couldn’t help but imagine him crushed into the shower with her. His body pushed hers against the wall, and the water and thoughts of his tongue combined to make her wet all over.Stop it,” she berated

herself. She turned the shower onto full cold. With the tropical heat of the Pacific permeating even the staterooms, the temperature wasn’t unpleasant, and it did help a little with her internal overheating.

As she toweled herself down she felt calmer. As if to confirm it, she said to the room, “I’ll deal with Dylan Johns tomorrow.”

…

The next day was another busy one, and Michaela didn’t have a chance to stop and think about the

previous night’s passion. But once the last daytime activity came to an end, she looked at the clock, realizing that the first theater show would be starting soon.

“No, I’m not going,” she said, to prove…something. She wrote a memo to staff about a missing

shuffleboard pole, refilled the printer cartridges, and filed a stack of papers that had been sitting on her desk waiting for attention. But as the minutes ticked into an hour, she sighed and shut down her office computer, then walked as if in a trance to find a seat for the second theater showing.

The dancers were all smiles, but this time Michaela could see the strain that having to learn all these routines in such a small amount of time was putting on them. Their smiles didn’t move with the natural contours of their faces—they were almost painted on. Sometimes she noted the stiffness that came

from a moment of panic when the steps to a routine disappeared out of one of their heads.

The only dancer who seemed completely at ease was Dylan, his body moving naturally in between cues,

even when he was cut off by the impromptu exit of another dancer.

The audience would never have known, but having seen a few of the numbers from this show many

times with various dancers in the different roles, Michaela could see the places where he didn’t quite have the timing right or where he added an extra step or two. It didn’t change the fact that he was

astonishing. He leapt and strode over the stage as if the work had been choreographed just for him. His muscles glistened as he worked them, and Michaela noticed every woman seemed to lean forward in

anticipation when Dylan moved to center stage.

He’s an incredibly talented dancer, that’s all. And an incredibly talented kisser. She touched her lips at the memory. If she let herself, she could almost taste him still.

Peering down from her second-level seat, Michaela could see the front-row couch where she and Dylan

had fallen into each other the previous night. The thought that someone could have walked in on them

clutched in each other’s arms filled her with a strangely erotic panic. And as to him striding out of the theater with her in his arms, her shirt open, skirt hitched up, and bra undone…

“Oh, God,” she moaned quietly. “It just can’t happen. The ship is too public.”

She left before the end of the show, slipping out so no one would notice her when the lights came up.

But she knew that the real reason she had to disappear was to prevent Dylan from seeing and devouring her with his eyes. Her body wanted him more than her mind could ignore, and under the scrutiny of his full gaze she became more helpless than she cared to admit. She hurried off to the staff canteen, hoping she could eat and leave before the dance team got there.

Despite almost gulping her food, Michaela was still eating when she heard a familiar male voice from

behind her. “Mind if I join you?”

Her heart leapt and fell simultaneously, and she looked to each side of her, making sure no one saw her blush.

by Mgid

Dylan drew out a chair and pushed his tray next to hers. “Don’t worry, the others ate earlier.”

It was true, there were hardly any people left eating at this time. “We can’t do this. I—”

He hushed her with a quick finger to her lips, and just as she feared, she felt herself melting under his intense gaze. “I know this makes no sense, I know we shouldn’t, I know there are a thousand reasons

not to.” He put his other hand on her thigh under the table. She looked around again, checking for

curious eyes. Her leg flared with heat under his touch.

Dylan must have seen her pupils dilate and heard her breath catch. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it.”

Damn him, but he read her like a book.

“We’re two fully consenting adults.” He let the words drift around their heads, their meaning brilliant with promise. “But I’ll give you one chance. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave you alone.” As he spoke, he worked his hand farther up the bare skin of her thigh, inching her skirt upward. He brushed his fingertips across the crease where her thighs met, then trailed the hand back down her leg to the

comparative safety of her knee.

“We can’t. My stateroom…” The thought of rubbing the captain’s face in her romantic potential was

tempting, but not tempting enough to risk what nasty revenge he would undoubtedly make her suffer.

He was the captain, after all.

“No need,” Dylan said and stood, tugging at her elbow.

Her lips opened to speak, to deny the fever she felt even now building inside, but the words wouldn’t come. Her body wouldn’t let them.

“My roommate is out for the evening. I know I shouldn’t tell you this, but he and Marvin have gotten

together, and Marvin got the only solo room for the team.” A dry smile spread over Dylan’s face.

“I shouldn’t. I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Shouldn’t is no excuse,” he said. “And you didn’t say no, so I’m taking you out of here. Now.”

She opened her mouth again to protest, to say…something.

“No more excuses,” he said. “Come.”

Michaela watched him push her chair back under the table. Trying to retain a semblance of control, she smoothed her skirt down from where his hand had drawn it upward. His eyes were like fire on her skin.

If it was already organized and there was no danger of anyone finding out, would it hurt to have a little fun?

His hand moved to the small of her back, guiding her away from the smells of food, away from the bright lights and prying eyes of other people. Where he touched her, the warmth spread out, and a hint of

what might be in store for her—coupled with anticipation—clanged at Michaela’s nerves like the ship’s warning bells.

Dylan and Jake’s room was on the fourth floor, almost at the bottom of the ship, but it seemed only a minute before Dylan had his plastic room card out, ready to open his stateroom door.

“Wait,” Michaela hissed. “Are you sure he’s out?”

“I’ll check. Keep walking and meet me back here in two minutes.”

Doing as he suggested, Michaela walked to the end of the corridor, but she had to pass through the

heavy blue crew door into the passenger area to get out of sight of anyone who might have remained in Dylan’s room. As she walked, she smiled and nodded to the few guests who lingered around their rooms

before turning and heading back toward the crew quarters. She almost lost her nerve and continued

walking, but the door to Dylan’s room was ajar. As she passed, Dylan leaned out, grasped her firmly

about the waist, and dragged her inside.

“Oh,” she gasped. Dylan had stripped off his dance clothes and wore only a small white towel wrapped

around his waist. He’d turned on the shower in the bathroom—tinier even than the one in her

stateroom—and steam was starting to gather.

“I need to take a shower,” Dylan said as he pulled her to his chest and kicked the door fully closed. “The show got me all hot. Maybe you could wash my back for me.”

“I don’t think—” Michaela was stopped by Dylan’s finger over her lips. For a moment, she thought of

continuing her protest, but the sizzling desire in his eyes stopped her. As he dropped his hand and

leaned in, she closed her eyes.

The first kiss was gentle, but it was only a warm-up. The second came strong and hard. Michaela

thought she had been melted by his previous kisses, but they were nothing compared to these.

She’d never known such a strong, yearning need, and she couldn’t have stopped herself from kissing