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  Michaela straightened at the mention of Dylan’s name. “Only the best for you, George.”

  “Thanks for trying, but you got it completely wrong. It’s such a shame.” George paused, waiting for her response, but when she said nothing, he clarified, “He’s straight, darling.”

  Michaela cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. George didn’t need to know she’d already found that out for herself.

  “I knew it as soon as I saw him. I can always tell. Straight as a fence post. But at least he’s nice about it. The other two boys don’t believe him, but they’ll soon be put right. The girls are over the moon, of course.” George sighed. “It’s all going to be in vain, though, you mark my words. This one is a man, and he won’t put up with the pantings of little boys and girls. He’ll need a woman.”

  “Not on this ship,” Michaela said despite herself.

  “I think you’re absolutely right, my dear. That one’s got a hard edge, despite his floppy touchable hair. He’ll keep himself to himself, and I’ll be mopping up tears from everyone as they work out that he wants none of them.” He raised a hand to his forehead and winked at Michaela.

  It was just foolish gossip, but nonetheless she felt a flutter in her heart.

  …

  “All right everyone, are we ready?”

  George and Michaela were up front, viewing from the audience. This was the full dress rehearsal, and George always tried not to interrupt the run if he could possibly help it. The dancers had been taught the routines onshore, but today was the first time that all the elements came together, including the dancers, the live music and singers, and the set.

  “Okay then, bandmaster. Take us away,” George called and sat back in his seat.

  The band started up, a soaring number with orchestral strings and a fabulous cello part played on the bandmaster’s keyboard. Her heart was swept up with the incredible music to a point somewhere close to the center of the high-arched theater ceiling. Her head swayed, and she wanted nothing more than to be pulled up into someone’s arms and swung around the stage. Someone with a broad chest at the perfect height for her to rest her head on. Someone just like Dylan Johns.

  Stop it. You’re working.

  The stage began to brighten, and in among the props Michaela discerned the smallest amount of movement. “Oh,” she gasped. Two statues were actually people, painted white and now moving through the set.

  “You like?” George’s grin flashed brightly even in the dimmed light of the audience. “That Dylan makes a better statue than anything made of stone,” he whispered.

  He was right. Dylan’s perfectly ripped stomach muscles could have been made of marble, and the set of his jaw under this lighting was heroic. He was simply pure man. Michaela’s eyes almost licked his body as Dylan moved lithely to grasp one of the female dancers and toss her effortlessly into the air. The two of them glided through a duet, elegant and athletic. It was the single sexiest thing she’d seen in a long time. A memory of being forced to attend ballet lessons as a child flooded back to Michaela, but this was nothing like the stilted recitals she remembered. This was hard, fast, and delicious—and definitely not just for little girls. As she watched Dylan’s muscles ripple through each move, she shook her head.

  “How do they get out of all that makeup in time for the next number?” she asked.

  “It’s only makeup on the face. It’s a skintight sheath over the rest of them—barely opaque.”

  “Oh,” Michaela said, suddenly disappointed. She had visions of the body paint coming off on her hands as she stroked Dylan’s torso.

  “Where did you find him?” George asked.

  “He was given to me.”

  “Well, you should thank your guardian angel. He is going to make my life such a lovely one, and in return I’m going to produce the most amazing dance works you have ever seen. This ship is going to be famous, darling.”

  Michaela felt the smile settle over her like warm sand, and she relaxed into the rest of the performance. Clapping and cheering when the other numbers were performed, she enjoyed the whole spectacle as the six dancers built up into a frenzy of French cabaret complete with electric cancan and acrobatics as the boys tossed the girls around.

  At the end, George grabbed her hand and dragged her up onto the stage. The two of them applauded the dancers, singers, and band.

  “Spectacular, darlings. Jake, you were a bit off in that second piece, but we needed you to be out of time, otherwise how would we have a spectacular opening night? Thank you, sweet thing.” George waved his hand enthusiastically. One of the shorter male dancers blushed beneath his makeup.

  “I didn’t even notice,” Michaela said, her mind full of the thrill of the show. She felt uncharacteristically magnanimous.

  “You hear that? Our cruise director thought you were beyond wonderful. And that’s huge. She only gives out praise when it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “I don’t believe that,” said a strong male voice.

  Michaela looked up.

  “I think she just knows a good thing when she sees it,” Dylan said defiantly.

  George laughed. “Perhaps you’re right. You were wonderful, all of you. I feel a little dance coming on myself. Bandmaster, give us something to celebrate!”

  The band kicked into a sassy rumba, and George grabbed a young dancer and led her through a hip-wiggling routine. The band showed no sign of slowing down, so the other two boys grabbed the twins who made up the rest of the dance team and joined in. That left Michaela standing about awkwardly until Dylan took her hand and pulled her into his chest, just like she’d pictured. Her head was at the perfect height to rest on his broad pecs, and his hand encased her smaller one completely. Somehow he managed to part her legs a little with his own, and soon her groin was pressed into his as they swayed to the music.

  Breathe in, breathe out, you’re in control, you’re in charge.

  Her mantra didn’t work. In fact, the proximity to him made her nervous and clumsy. It had been well over a year since the heat of a man had transferred to the skin of her body, and it sure was showing.

  Damn, damn. Breathe in, breathe out.

  Her awkwardness made her doubly self-conscious. “I’m sorry, sorry,” Michaela kept saying as she stumbled and tripped through the steps, even with her legs guided by his and her hand and back held firmly by his large, warm palms.

  “Stop apologizing. Let the music take you,” Dylan said gruffly. He pushed her out into a twirl before whipping her back into his chest. “That’s it. Let your hips go, and relax your shoulders.”

  He made it sound like she was messing up the steps on purpose. How could one man generate such contradictory emotions in her? Safe and warm in his arms, and yet flustered and out of control at the same time. Michaela tried, but she didn’t feel like she was getting it at all, especially as the thrill of being in Dylan’s arms threatened to turn her whole being to jelly. And she felt even worse when she looked up for a second and saw the other dancers performing spectacular triple spins and lifts.

  “You don’t have to do flashy moves for a dance to be good,” Dylan said. For the first time, she looked up into those green eyes at close quarters. They might as well have been dynamite for the effect they had on her concentration.

  She’d never seen eyes like his before—light liquid at the center, with a ring of deep blue-green, almost aquamarine, on the outside. They really were like the Pacific Ocean. Framed by his light olive face, the color was brilliant—luminous, even—and entirely unsettling. She stumbled yet again.

  But as the music continued, she did relax a little and found that she stopped thinking so much about the steps, instead following Dylan’s lead. Her proximity to his body, coated as it was in a layer of perspiration, sent shivers up her spine.

  By the time the music stopped, all her muscles hummed with warmth, and she found she was actually enjoying herself. Sheesh, with her determination to be taken seriously in her senior role, she’d forgotten
the simple pleasure of being held by another body

  As the last note died away, the others all clapped and cheered, but Michaela found herself dropped into a dip, and Dylan’s lips descending over hers.

  His mouth was perfect. Hot and soft, yet firm enough to—oh my God, was that his tongue?

  As he urged her lips apart, Michaela was torn between falling into the kiss and struggling away from him, but his arms held her tight. Bent over in a low tango dip, she had nowhere to go. His hands were firm behind her head and at the base of her spine and he tilted her head a little more to better access the depths of her mouth.

  Damn, it shouldn’t be this good.

  Her hands on his chest, she thought about beating against his strong pectorals, but as he continued to kiss her all thought of struggling weakened along with her knees. Lucky he was holding her. Just when she thought she might start dripping into a puddle of hot need if the kiss went on any longer, he pulled his mouth back from hers and raised her to standing.

  “Wh-what the…” She slapped him hard across the face, even while part of her wanted to pull his head down and kiss him all over again.

  “Just proving a point,” he said, holding his jaw and smirking at the rest of the crew. Michaela opened and closed her mouth, her blush covering her whole body.

  “Not necessary,” George said, flashing a warning look at Dylan.

  “It wasn’t for you,” Dylan growled. He looked at the other male dancers.

  “That was…completely inappropriate. I could have you up on sexual harassment charges,” Michaela finally managed.

  “Oh no, oh dear, we don’t need that. It was just a simple misunderstanding, wasn’t it Dylan?” George asked. He nudged Dylan.

  Finally, Dylan’s shoulders softened, but the fire didn’t go out of his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “My apologies.”

  “There we go. No harm done.” George swept in and spun Michaela in a twirl. “Perhaps we’ll have you join the entertainment team when you have time off from bossing us all around. You’ve been hiding a secret talent from me.”

  No one laughed, and Michaela felt every eye on her as she straightened. “Well done again, everyone,” she said, and turned to clap for the bandmaster and his band. “And what a great sound you all have this season.” Everyone turned to look up and clap for the band, which was nestled on the upper floor, stage left, looking down over the stage and the audience. “And now,” Michaela continued through the thick, awkward tension, “I think it’s time for dinner.”

  “Let’s be civilized and shower first,” George said. “Not that you show you’ve even raised a sweat,” he said to the twins. “Oh, to simply glow like a girl.”

  Michaela was still furious both at herself and at Dylan, but with George’s concerted effort, the tension eased. “Come on, don’t stand about all night,” he chided. “Shower, eat, sleep. I want you rested and ready for tomorrow. You’re all going to be fabulous.” George bustled about like a mother hen, and finally the dancers began to smile again.

  “Coming to shower then?”

  The question came from a young dancer from London, and Michaela started when she realized it was aimed at Dylan. She tried not to glare at the girl, but Dylan waved her off in any case. “I’ll make my own way down, thanks. See you at the canteen.”

  The dancer pouted her lips, and Michaela saw Dylan nod discreetly in her direction.

  “Yes, George is right,” Michaela said sharply. “Go eat. The guests are counting on you being amazing, so don’t let them down.”

  Everyone trailed out, but the lingering taste of Dylan on her lips made Michaela slow. Perhaps Dylan felt the same, because he followed her up the stairs. She noticed and stiffened as he came up to her.

  “No hard feelings?” he asked.

  Oh, an apology of sorts. Why had she thought it would be something else? “Hmm,” she managed.

  “I just figured it’s best to clear these things up.” His face gave away nothing.

  “Ha! Because everyone throws themselves at you, I guess?” She put a spike in every word.

  Dylan shrugged.

  “I’m sure a simple conversation would have sufficed.”

  “I tried that. George was the only one who believed me, I could tell.”

  “Nonetheless…”

  “Yes. Well, sorry.” He seemed sincere.

  The kiss had been too good, and it was all she could do to stop herself from leaning over and putting a hand to his face. God, what was she thinking?

  Michaela tried changing tack. “I really did enjoy the performance. And George is right when he says I don’t give out compliments easily. You dance very well.” She half turned to leave.

  “Thank you,” Dylan said, putting an arm out to stop her from going.

  Was there something else? He wasn’t leaving. In fact, it felt like he was stalling to spend more time with her. Perhaps?

  She thought about what had happened between them. She’d felt so rigid when they started dancing, she suspected he’d almost given up, but she’d managed to relax and then…then the kiss. It had felt…

  The heat of his passion coursed through her body. The kiss had felt too good. Her eyes scanned him again. Damn, he didn’t have the right to be so hot, standing there all tall and powerful.

  “Thank you,” he said, pulling her out of her memory. “For saving me from her.”

  Michaela stopped in mid thought. “Saving you?”

  “That young dancer has been trying to get her hooks into me ever since I said I wasn’t gay. I’m sure she’s nice,” he said a bit too quickly, “but I prefer my women… Well, I prefer women over girls.” The words came out a low growl.

  That was definitely a well-used pickup line, and Michaela’s ego bucked. Of course. She’d simply been a convenient body to help demonstrate his masculinity. Even after she’d told him how she’d been burned by the captain. Even after she’d thought last night that he was…

  That he was what? Different?

  He wasn’t different. And even if he were, what would it matter?

  Michaela tried to smooth down her prickles. Why did this man provoke such a rush of emotions in her?

  Did you really think you had some special connection because he listened to you rant about your problems?

  Maybe. He’d seemed genuinely interested, and what’s more, his advice had been pretty good.

  Then there was the way he looked at her. The way he held her when they danced. The kiss. That would have been better under moonlight.

  Enough, already. He was just a hot guy looking out for number one.

  There had been attractive men onboard before. Felicity had once had a filthy-handsome assistant, with bright blue eyes and a charming smile.

  But he’d been Felicity’s.

  There had never been anyone in Michaela’s circle of onboard acquaintances who had caused a real reaction before—except the captain. Yes, and what a mistake that had been.

  “Finished?” Dylan was still looking down at her.

  “Sorry?”

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No. But I’m not eating with you.”

  He shrugged. “Guess I should shower first anyway.”

  Michaela clenched her hands at her sides as the image of Dylan under a spray of hot water appeared unbidden her mind’s eye. She watched the steam roll off his shoulders as he came out of the shower, the beads of moisture pearling down his smooth skin, the towel dropping in a damp pile on the floor of his stateroom…

  Her hands twitched, slick with perspiration.

  “Cruise Director?”

  “I’ll see you later.” Michaela forced herself to unclench her hands, but even so, she sighed and followed his long frame with her eyes as it effortlessly ate up the stairs.

  No! No, she was not going to think about him in the shower. No, she was not going to eat with him. And no, she was not going to have anything else to do with him.

  “Well, as little as possible, anyway,” she sai
d as she reminded herself that he was part of her team. The team she saw and worked with every single day.

  …

  You idiot.

  The kiss had seemed like a good idea at the time. The cruise director had appeared to enjoy the dancing, her hips pushed hard up against his. Dropping her into a dip had been an impulse, really, but the fire in her eyes when he released her was plenty more than Dylan had bargained for. Those eyes had been full of fury and—and something even hotter?

  Probably not the best way to put the matter to rest quickly and quietly.

  Well, it was done now. At least Jake and his mate had backed off completely. Perhaps now that he’d asserted himself so vigorously, he’d be able to calm down and concentrate on dancing and—and what? Winning over Michaela Western, cruise director, for real?

  Her name sat like a plump cherry on his tongue.

  The kiss had shown him her heat, but their moonlit conversation had shown him her substance, too. Dylan was surprised that she slipped into his mind so easily. This was supposed to be about taking time off from work. Giving Lily and Brian some space. Doing something for himself. It was supposed to be about dancing, not dating. Wasn’t that enough of a challenge?

  You just want to prove that you can get your boss.

  Maybe.

  Pursuing his boss might not be a good idea in the real world, but this wasn’t his real world. He shook his head. It wasn’t just about winning her over to see if he could. Michaela Western was smart, driven, and independent. He wanted her—all of her—pure and simple. No holiday was complete without an affair to remember.

  Dylan walked toward the staff canteen on one of the bottom floors of the ship. Passengers probably didn’t realize it was there, he thought as he walked through its swinging doors. In fact, they probably wouldn’t even smell the food from the canteen, as it and the staff quarters were clumped together in the stern area of the ship and hidden behind heavy double doors.