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“I’m glad you trust me with them. Tell me where you’re going to be in ten years.”
They sat for another hour, simply talking, and at the end of it all Michaela realized she’d told him all about her dreams, her five-year promise, her desire to somehow mix an international career and family. But she didn’t feel embarrassed anymore. Quite the opposite, the ease she had felt with him during their time under moonlight had returned.
He reminded her of her earlier confession. “There’s nothing to be scared of here, but I can’t protect you from yourself. You have to decide what it is that you want in life. And if I can be a small part of that for a short time, well, don’t you think that would be fun? I appreciate your overlooking how I got this job. It was a total spur-of-the-moment thing, auditioning, but now you know why I needed something to get me out of my head. Something completely outside of my normal life. Like I said, I don’t do holidays. If I’d had to sit around and read a book for this long, I already would have gone crazy.”
He smiled at her, a coronary-inducing, thigh-quivering smile. She wanted to throw herself at him, but he stood up. “So, ready for some fun?”
He’d said it again. Fun. Of course. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something different. That there might be something more between them than a bit of fun. But no, fun was just what she needed. At least for now.
“Can we start again?” she asked.
Dylan’s smile was delicious—the green of both ocean and forest in his eyes, and the heat in their depths sparkled. “To fun?” he asked and held out his hand.
“Fun,” she said, taking it, her heart racing.
“Now, about that snorkeling,” he said. “Race you to change?”
Michaela wondered at what his definition of fun might be. As she changed into her pale blue bikini in the luxurious bathroom, her skin tingled, and when she emerged she felt Dylan’s gaze as if his eyes had physically stroked her.
In the water, however, she forgot about her desire, reveling in the expanse of brilliant coral and the hundreds of species of tropical fish. “Did you see that tiny one?” she called as she came up after a long bout of snorkeling. “It was so cute and so bright blue. I wonder if it has competitions with its friends to see who can be the brightest. And those yellow-and-black striped fish, one of them came right up to my mask. And another one nibbled on my finger! Oh, I’d forgotten how much fun this is.”
Dylan swam over beside her and lay floating on his back. She couldn’t help herself—she ran a hand down his smooth chest. The warm ocean water made his skin silky. She glanced at his face and caught him looking at her, a hot smile on his lips. His hand reached for hers as his feet found the ocean floor, and he pulled her fingers to his mouth.
“Sorry,” she said.
He frowned. “Sorry for the debacle on the ship, or sorry that you’re going to deny me again?”
“No. Yes. Sorry for before, but—” She lowered her eyes. “—could we pretend we really are starting again? And, you know, take everything a little slow?” At least that way she might be able to retain a modicum of control.
“I don’t recall taking anything slowly to start with,” he teased. “But I can try and be slower this time. Although don’t blame me if you’re the one begging me to up the tempo.” Slowly, very slowly, he stroked her chin, turning her face up toward his. The kiss was gentle, a mere breath, and she raised her arms to wrap around his shoulders as he pulled his lips away. Dylan’s arms encircled her waist in return, and they stood, gently buffeted by the movement of the water for just a moment.
Oh, man, having fun tasted really good. As one, their heads moved together again. This kiss was luxurious, a deep, easy hello with a hint of the spice that was to follow. When she surfaced, Michaela looked into Dylan’s eyes and smiled. Hello, indeed. As she unwrapped herself from him and went to dive back under the water, he stopped her, his hands firm on her bare stomach. Kiss me, kiss me again.
“Hello again,” he said, stooping to kiss her neck as if, once again, he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
Rather than it being unnerving, this time Michaela found his uncanny clairvoyance reassuring. They were in tune. She smiled as he straightened, and he squeezed her before he released her waist. “Slow, hey? Well, you certainly know how to toy with a man.” Before she could protest, he took her hand and dived under the water again.
They splashed around in the water a while longer, diving down to peer into the haven of tropical fish, and to Michaela’s delight a large sea turtle even paid them a visit, its mottled shell a rippling kaleidoscope of ochre and brown as it glided effortlessly past. But with every stroke her arm made through the water, she remained constantly aware of Dylan’s presence, of his form through the water, his muscles eating up distance when he put on a burst of speed.
Occasionally, his arm would brush against her bare skin, sending tingles throughout her whole being. We’re taking it slowly. There was no doubt her body wanted to betray this resolve, and despite the wonders of the marine universe, she found her thoughts straying to what might be in store for them if they let themselves collide in this warm water paradise.
“Should we stop for lunch?” she asked, attempting to distract herself from wanting to touch him.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He caught hold of her arm, pulling her close. “I’m famished.” He brought his mouth down over hers in a kiss that was anything but slow or gentle. The tingling of her skin became an electrified demand. “You seem to be starving, too,” he said, gesturing to her nipples, peaked against the clinging fabric of her bikini top. “I think I’ll have cruise director de jour first, followed closely by a helping of cruise director à la mode.” With that, he picked her up out of the water and strode the short distance back to their room with her and their snorkeling gear in his arms.
“Stop it! We were going to take it slow, remember?” But she was smiling as she spoke, and she could see him trying not to laugh at her feeble protest.
“It will be slow,” he promised. “So slow that you’ll beg me to speed it up. But don’t worry,” he said, as she started to protest again. “I’ll make sure that this time neither of us arrives too quickly.”
Setting her down in their suite, Dylan let her squeeze the water from her hair, then wrapped a towel around her to take off most of the ocean’s wetness before whipping it away, leaving her standing only in her bikini.
