The Boss and Her Billionaire (8 page)

Dylan approached them and held out his hand. “Michaela, I promised the ladies I’d demonstrate a

rumba for them.”

Her name sounded so good when he said it that instead of bristling at his lack of formality, she let it slide. “I’m no good. Get one of the other dancers to demonstrate.”

“Can’t,” he said simply. Michaela looked around the dance floor and found he was right. All of the

dancers were occupied by enamored crowds.

Without waiting for her answer, Dylan pulled her a little way onto the dance floor, though not into the center of the crush. The warmth tingling from his hands went right to her head, stealing her protests, and again she felt safe, perfectly at home in his arms. When his swayed in time to the beat, Michaela found her own following, and rather than standing on his feet, the movements came without thinking.

Breathe in, breathe out, you’re his boss, you’re his boss.

“You don’t have to dance with me, you know. It’s not in your contract to keep me occupied,” she said.

“Why would I do that?” Dylan looked vaguely puzzled.

“So the other dancers don’t have to. I know I’m not that much fun to dance with.”

He gave her a look that didn’t fit with her picture of a player and pulled her body closer. “Why would I bother to play those sort of games? Especially with you?”

Michaela looked him full in the eye. There was no artifice there. Plenty of heat and promise, though. “So you’re not just talking to me to keep me out of the way?”

“You talked to me last night, and you sat at dinner with me, too. I didn’t make you.”

His earlier conversation in the canteen line played over in her head again. What had he actually said? It wasn’t Dylan who had promised to keep her out of the way of the others. He’d just nodded and smiled,

perhaps humoring the other dancer the same way he humored the hungry female guests. Her heart

hiccupped at the thought.

“If you don’t want to talk, we can just dance. You really aren’t all bad on the dance floor,” he said.

Good idea. She was just digging herself into a hole here. What a bitch she’d been—pumping him for

advice, using him as a shield when she saw the captain at dinner, and then believing everything some

practically teenaged dancer had said.

Michaela tried to take the compliment gracefully and be a grown up. “Thanks, although I don’t have any of your training. It obviously makes a huge difference.”

Nodding, he gave her an odd look.

“I can see why all the women have been hogging you,” Michaela continued. “There’s something about

the way you move.”

Dylan’s eyes seemed to smolder at the compliment. “Is there, now?”

She gave his shoulder what was meant to be a playful slap, though it turned into something more like

a…oh hell, she was stroking him. He had such nice shoulders. She forced her fingers to behave. “Don’t be a pig. I meant what I said earlier at the rehearsal, you’re a great dancer. I should know. I’ve seen hundreds.”

Shut up.

Why was she building his ego up like this? Okay, maybe he didn’t agree with the other dancers that she was useless on the dance floor, but she didn’t need to massage his obviously well-endowed self-esteem.

He’d kissed her just to prove a point, for goodness’ sake.

Maybe he needed a little lesson in humility. Yes, maybe. Well, her activity schedule was definitely going to give him that. So why didn’t she feel smug about it anymore?

Because you like him.

She sure liked the way he made her feel. Feminine and delicate, like she needed protecting, rather than like the cold-hearted bully some of her other staff made her out to be. She wriggled her closer, feeling his hand tighten on her back in response.

The song finished, but Dylan made no move to let her go. “I didn’t see you demonstrating to anyone

there,” she said.

Her heart sped up at the look he gave her. “It was just an excuse, really. I needed to get out of there, and no one is going to interrupt me dancing with you.”

“You really don’t have to look after me to keep me off everyone’s backs,” she said, repeating herself because she felt a little guilty about all the activities she had given him in order to keep him out of her way.

“Well, it seems a good way to while away the hours. And at least we might have a normal conversation, you know, rather than talking about what Demi Moore Twittered or something equally inane,” Dylan

said wryly.

“Are you calling me old?”

“I think you’re probably the perfect age.”

The easy conversation disarmed her, and every time Michaela looked into those eyes she melted a little more in his arms. Damn. This was not how it was supposed to go.

They kept dancing through the next two tracks, but then she noticed a number of the remaining

passengers giving her frosty looks. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night,” she said.

“Yeah, I guess it’s quite late,” Dylan said. “Perhaps I’ll call it a night, too.”

“I don’t think you’ll be allowed to.” She indicated the closest group of staring women.

“You sure I have to?” he whispered into her hair.

Michaela stiffened. His lips at her ear were pleasantly unnerving. “I’m afraid so,” she said and pushed him away. “Just for a couple of numbers. Don’t let them wear you out.” Without looking behind her to

check his expression, she fled the deck, heading straight for her stateroom and a cold shower.The next day Dylan read the rules to shuffleboard with growing despondency. It looked like a tedious game.

When he’d seen his activity schedule, he hadn’t really grasped the enormity of what he was being asked to do. He’d thought Michaela legitimately liked him, but perhaps he’d misread the signals, because he wasn’t sure he’d have a moment to eat in between rushing to lead the various activities on his roster.

When she’d been in his arms there hadn’t been a trace of the woman who could dish out this sort of

punishment.

Harden up. No need to get soft because the big mean boss gave him a nasty schedule.

Then another thought hit him—perhaps she liked him too much. The idea warmed him, made him want

to seek her out and encourage her to wind herself around him as she had when they’d danced. And

when they’d kissed…

When they’d kissed, there had been nothing but a woman seeking a man who knew how to please her.

Their roles hadn’t mattered—boss and employee tags became irrelevant.

His resolve hardened. You won’t frighten me away, Michaela Western. I’m made of much stronger stuff

than your usual minions.

Despite his determination, the day was a blur. Dylan forced out smile after smile and cheered at each and every activity. He literally fell into bed at the end of it.

The day after that should have been better, as the passengers were due to go ashore to Norfolk Island, but the weather turned, becoming too dangerous for the tender boats to land. So instead of having a

day off, Dylan found himself involved in emergency line dancing classes, as well as a host of other

activities designed to placate grumpy passengers. By the time the evening show came again, he was

exhausted.

“Have you run yourself ragged?” George asked.

“I think that woman hates me.”

“Who, the cruise director? Oh, I don’t think so. Michaela Western doesn’t really hate anyone. She just likes the job to get done. It’ll probably take a while to get used to. You have to learn to pace yourself.

Don’t think you can go dancing until the wee small hours, then throw yourself into cheering on every

activity on board and expect to be full of energy for the show, as well.”

“Sure.” High energy was Dylan’s natural state of operation, although he had to admit his usual energy requirements didn’t include rehearsals and activities and two full-throttle dance shows every night. It wasn’t mental exhaustion giving him trouble, just physical demands his body hadn’t dealt with for many years.

“You’ll get there. Set for tonight, though?” George asked, his eyes twinkling.

Dylan nodded. Tonight’s show was a Broadway tribute, far less taxing than the cabaret numbers, thank

goodness.

The show opened, and the audience was as packed as the previous night, but this time Dylan’s nerves

were jangling. When he got on stage, the movements didn’t come easily. He had to look at the other

dancers to remember his cues, and he fumbled a few partnering moves with one of the Australian twins.

“Watch it, you almost dropped me there,” she hissed.

“Watch it yourself,” he whispered back.

By the time the final curtain came down, Dylan was fuming, angry with both his stroppy partners and

himself. He’d missed three cues and almost missed the turns on two of his duets.

“Not such a superstar after all,” one of the twins said.

“Happens when your ego gets too inflated. Bursts like a balloon and goes hissing all over the stage,” the other said.Dylan felt his expression darken. He’d always been driven to be the best he could. Boardroom or dressing room, it didn’t make any difference. “Well, perhaps if you didn’t keep me waiting for cues…”

“Don’t worry, darlings.” George stepped in between them. “The audience didn’t even notice. Off you go, girls.”

The twins stalked off, noses high.

“Sorry, I…”

George held up a hand. “You and I know you missed a cue, but hardly anyone in the audience even

knows what a cue is, let alone whether you missed any of them. You have that rare gift, faking it till you make it.”

Dylan tried not to let the alarm show on his face. He knows I lied my way into that audition.

“You can swoop in and start dancing out of cue,” George continued, “but because you do it with such

aplomb, everyone thinks you’ve started exactly where you should have.”

Relief washed over Dylan. He didn’t fancy the fallout if people discovered that he had next to no formal training—especially on a night when he’d let himself and the other dancers down.

“Now go to bed early, and don’t give yourself away so easily tomorrow. Those women will eat you alive if you let them.”

“I thought I might go through tomorrow’s routine a couple of times first.”

George gave him a careful look. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. You need to rest.”

“I know, and I will.” Dylan was suddenly determined. “I’ll get it soon enough. But I need it clear in my head, or I won’t sleep well.”

“I guess we can’t have you tossing and turning,” George said.

“And I just have to check in with Michaela—I mean, the cruise director—to see if I can be excused from anything tomorrow. My schedule today was almost twice everyone else’s.”

“Good luck with that,” George said over his shoulder as he left the theater. “She’s not much of one for letting people get out of anything she wants them to do.”

Dylan thought of how she’d melted under his kiss.

Neither am I.

“Someone paged me?”

Michaela found Dylan rehearsing in the theater by himself, with the sweat from two shows shining on

his skin and overpowering his usual soapy smell.

He stopped moving, and she heard the strains of tomorrow’s show coming from a small CD player in the

corner.

“Hi,” he said. “I needed to ask you about the activity roster. But before that, I just need a partner for this part.” He took her hand and pulled her firmly into a spin.

“Excuse me?” She allowed the incredulous tone sharpen her voice.

“Seeing as you’re here…just for a second.”

His dark smile held something indefinably attractive in it, but Michaela shook her head.

“Just stand there. That’s it,” he said, ignoring her refusal.

There wasn’t an opportunity to move as he leapt around her, pulling her into spins and then releasing her to eat up the stage with his grand jeté. She gave up trying to escape and enjoyed the spectacle of his muscles tightening and releasing, his long frame a perfect swath of movement through space.

Thoughts of wrapping her own legs around that waist and running her hands over his broad, strong

shoulders brought a quiver to Michaela. When the music finally stopped, she had to take a few deep

breaths to stop herself from stammering her words.

He walked to his bag and took a swig of water. “Thanks. Glad you didn’t mind being used like that.”

Mind? Michaela ducked her head, hoping the blush wasn’t obvious.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” he said with a sly look.

Michaela drew herself up, trying to cover her desire with officiousness. “You are familiar, aren’t you?

You page me to come down here, which isn’t correct procedure with a superior, you drag me into your

dance rehearsal and sweat all over me, and now you want a favor? You’ve got cheek, I’ll give you that.”

His face turned stony. “I thought… I didn’t know about procedure. Would you like to sit down?”

Dylan took her elbow and led her into the seating. Choosing a plush couch, he sat. With him still holding her elbow, she was forced to sit, too.

Michaela watched him wipe a bead of sweat from his brow. Her hand almost reached for his towel to do

it for him. The masculine face, neatly framed as it was now by his dark hair, just begged to be touched.

Stroked. And those lips—a straight line on top but a full, cushiony pillow on the bottom—just begged to be kissed. Again.

Stop it.

Dylan pulled her out of her reverie. “I’m being run ragged, as George puts it. My full schedule, two

shows a night, and all those women trying to get my attention…”

She rolled her eyes at his robust ego, but he continued with apparent sincerity, “I don’t want to burn out on this first cruise. Wouldn’t help anyone.”

Michaela bit her lip. His exhaustion was her fault. She shouldn’t be trying to punish him for getting in her head or for being so good-looking. If she was honest, her prickles at his breach of procedure came from the same source, too. While it wasn’t really done to page a superior officer to come to where you were, people did it all the time, and she didn’t mind when she wasn’t busy. “I can probably shift a couple of your activities onto someone else.”