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He held such a lot of respect for women in business. And here he was in Sydney with a flourishing company and clearly plenty of money…
Don’t be a fool. You’re done with noncommittal men.
Nonetheless, her heartbeat stuttered again, a little hiccup of hope.
He seemed to straighten, and as his eyes met hers, he brightened. “I’m sorry to lay all of this on you. You’ve always been good to talk to.”
Was that a glint in his eye?
No, Michaela. Don’t go there. Not after a few words and a bit of flirting.
But yes, definitely a glint. She’d fallen into his trap again. “No, Dylan.”
“No what?”
“No, I’m not going to pretend all this never happened and we can start over.”
“Oh.” He looked genuinely crestfallen. Like a schoolboy. The innocence of it moved her more than she wanted. He looked up again, and the glint was back. “Maybe if we didn’t pretend nothing had happened. If we just started where we left off…”
“No, I’m not having sex with you tonight.”
Dylan had the decency to appear shocked. “I wasn’t even thinking about… Well, maybe a little. But I was wondering if, you know, seeing as we’re in the same city…”
“You could have another no-strings relationship with me? No, thanks.”
“Who said anything about no-strings?”
“You did. Don’t pretend you don’t have a bunch of women on call now that you’re back on dry land.” She fought to contain the bitterness in her voice. “I know how women react to you. I was on the Pacific Empress too, remember? And here you don’t have a contract saying you can’t go there with passengers.”
Dylan seemed genuinely affronted. “Is that what you think? That I lead women on like that? That I set out to hurt them?”
She raised an eyebrow at him, refusing to deny her ugly thought even though she wasn’t sure she believed it herself.
“God, here I’ve been trying to be better than Brian, and it turns out you think I’m worse than him.”
The statement caught her up short. Did she?
Of course she didn’t. But he could hurt her so easily. He didn’t believe in marriage or long-term compatibility—he’d told her so himself. So what kind of future could they have?
No kind of future at all.
Inhaling deeply, Dylan shook his head. “I have always tried to be up front. I was going to leave after three months, and I thought you’d still be onboard, or at least in a different country. But now here you are.”
Michaela looked up at him. Every time she thought she’d found a flaw in his excuses, he pulled out something like that. The glint was gone, and this was pure sincerity.
“But you don’t do long-term.” Someone always loves more, that’s what he’d said. That someone wasn’t him. Michaela sighed, realizing she might never get over Dylan Johns properly. What if she couldn’t?
“You can see why, can’t you? My life is complicated, too complicated to hurt another person by offering something I don’t know I can give. I have to make certain the business stays on track. There’s a considerable amount of damage control to be done, and that’s what I have to focus on.”
“Of course.” What he said certainly made sense—but she longed for him to want more, and to tell her just how much.
“But we’re grownups, busy grownups. We might be able to arrange something that works for both of us, don’t you think?”
She was busy, and she had been missing him. Wasn’t he offering her the perfect solution? “When you arrived onboard, you’d let go of everything to do with this life, your work life, and you could be another person,” she said, trying to make sense of it for herself.
He nodded his head.
“And you’re doing all this? Working all the hours there are and giving up on dancing again for your mother?”
“Well. I mean…” He seemed embarrassed. “It was her company. And she was my mother.”
“But she was a dancer, too. Are you sure she would have wanted you to give up again? Did you talk about it when you got back?”
He paused. “She wasn’t well enough. I’ll never know.” He looked out over the harbor, his thoughts obviously taking him miles away.
A waiter interrupted his reverie. “I’m sorry,” Dylan said once the entrees were in front of them. “Enough about me for a minute. How are you enjoying Sydney?”
Michaela was torn between pushing him to continue talking about his mother and letting him have some time off from the pain. The latter seemed the kinder option. She babbled for a bit about walking on the beach, shopping at the market, and as the conversation became lighter, a little of the old Dylan resurfaced.
But throughout the meal the question that had hung over her since she’d seen him outside his office sat between them unanswered. Could she do this? Could she be with him? She looked up at Dylan as he stole a piece of grilled haloumi from her plate. The bigger question was, how could she not?
Dylan had been right about ordering the chef’s special menu. The food was spectacular. As she licked the final mouthful of raspberry crème brûlée from her spoon, Michaela sighed in satisfaction. “I could get used to this,” she said.
Immediately, she felt Dylan’s eyes on her. “Really?”
“Of course. Fine food, fine wine, an amazing view, what’s not to like?”
“And how about the company?”
Taking a deep breath, Michaela looked into his eyes. Oh, I could get used to you. Her heart swum in her chest, and she had to work hard to not say yes immediately.
Calm down, girl. He’s not promising anything.
“Well, it might take some getting used to. But there’s definitely promise.”
A slow smile spread across Dylan’s face. “So it’s not like you’d never want to be seen with me again after tonight?”
“Not exactly.”
“And as we’re both here in Sydney…?”
She rolled her eyes at him as his smile broadened.
“Not so fast,” she said, retracting her hand, but the look in his eyes was chipping away at her resolve. “You just admitted you work every hour there is.”
“You’re right. I did. I do. But I would like to change that, especially after seeing you again.” Dylan said the words as if he were trying to convince himself.
