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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 hips 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 hips 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.
