Chapter Twelve

She walked back to her office in a daze. Dylan was here in Sydney, and he wanted to see her. The glimmer of hope flared, but she pushed it aside to concentrate on what had just happened. He wanted to see her. Was that what he’d said, that he wanted to see her? Or did he just want to end their affair properly?

Had she been mistaken, or had he actually looked guilty?

Angry and confused, she tried to make sense of the little he’d told her, but it was impossible. She didn’t know enough to make sense of it.

The towering office blocks transformed themselves into a dense forest, and Michaela became disoriented. She found it difficult to distinguish between the grays of the buildings and those of the road, and it wasn’t until some stranger grabbed her arm that she realized she had almost walked out in front of the busy oncoming traffic.

Snap out of it.

When she finally reached her office, she went straight to the toilets to splash water on her face.

The surprise both of seeing Dylan in his real world and of his effect on her scattered Michaela’s concentration as effectively as an elephant sitting in the corner of the office. She pushed through a few phone calls and managed a paragraph on the report she was supposed to be writing, but mostly she stared out the window, looking at the city she now called home. The city that Dylan apparently called home, too.

Just before six o’clock, she nipped back to the bathroom, this time to check her hair. She smoothed it into a neat ponytail and dabbed on a slick of lip gloss. Her tan hadn’t yet faded—she’d topped it up over the weekend, strolling along the coastline walk at Bondi Beach—but as she looked at herself she shook her head.

Perhaps she shouldn’t go to dinner.

Get real. She wanted to see him, needed to hear how Dylan would explain why he’d ended their affair so abruptly. No, she would go to dinner, but that would be all. After confronting him about his callous abandonment, she could finally get Dylan Johns completely out of her mind, out of her life, and out of her heart. He’d been sneaking in to torment her thoughts more than she liked to admit. The wolf dream was a sign she hadn’t moved on. Tonight, she’d find out what she needed to know, and then she’d wash her hands of Dylan Johns for good.

She put a hand to her belly. No. There was nothing to worry about there. No reason for Dylan to be tied to her life anymore.

With a sigh, she gave her hair a final pat and went downstairs to meet the driver.

She’d expected a cab or perhaps a modest sedan, so when the sleek new Jaguar pulled up alongside the curb, she paid it no attention.

“Ms. Western?” The driver was in a suit as sharp as Dylan’s, and Michaela had to shake her head to believe what she was seeing. “Mr. Johns asked me to collect you. He said he’d spoken to you and you’d be expecting me. Is there something wrong?”

With a start, Michaela realized she was staring, and she gave the driver a tight smile. As she slid into the black leather interior, she realized why Dylan had been so keen to pay for all their excursions off the cruise ship. She’d thought he was just trying to be gentlemanly, especially as she knew she was making more money than he was, but it seemed his small dancer’s salary was irrelevant to his day-to-day life.

The car was impeccable and still had that indefinable but immediately recognizable new car smell. Touching the cool leather hand rest, Michaela pictured Dylan sitting in this car, driving this car, even accompanying other women in this car. She shivered and banished the thought. She looked down at her pale blue silk shirt and the simple black pencil skirt she’d bought in her first few days in Sydney. They were smart enough for the office—indeed, they fit in well with the business uniform of most of Sydney’s female workforce—but in this car they were entirely too reserved, lacking the glamour the Jaguar promised.

The car whisked her through the Sydney city streets, making good time despite the heavy traffic. The late summer evening was cooling when the driver pulled up outside an exclusive restaurant overlooking the harbor, and Michaela wished she’d brought her jacket.

Dylan was waiting for her, his hair whipped by the wind, apparently impervious to the cold. She scolded her heart to stop its happy skipping so she could concentrate on the anger she needed to get through the evening unscathed.

A gust of wind whipped through her thin blouse, bringing goose pimples to her skin as she stepped out of the car. “You came.” Dylan tried to take her elbow, but she shrugged him off, not prepared to test her resistance to his touch just yet. Be calm, be calm, be calm.

“Of course I came. I figured I might as well get a nice dinner out of you.” She tried to keep her face serious, her eyes hard even while her heart was cracking. The pain of his abandonment felt as fresh now as it had been at first.

He straightened, his jaw locking. “A nice dinner you shall have. I should’ve called you, even if I couldn’t face you at the time. I made the wrong decision, Michaela. I’m sorry. Come in, we have a table with a wonderful view.”

Michaela followed him into the restaurant and congratulated herself on being strong. Let him think she was just after some payback. After all, he was loaded. Thinking about him as nothing more than an arrogant, rich man might keep him out of her heart until she could move on.

Dylan was right about the view. Their table, perched on a private balcony, provided a spectacular ocean vista. The candles were already flickering, and this coupled with the descent of the sun gave Sydney a magical quality. But still Michaela shivered.

“You’re cold. I’m sorry. I thought it would be a warmer evening. Would you prefer an indoor table?” Dylan asked.

“No, this is fine.”

“Well, take my jacket then.” He shucked off his beautifully tailored suit jacket.

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” she said firmly and sat down so he couldn’t drape his jacket over her.

After a moment’s silence, he sat down, too, putting his jacket over the back of his chair. He opened the wine menu with a flourish.

A waiter appeared from nowhere, and Dylan ordered an outdoor heater and a bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc. The heater appeared and was lit before Michaela had a chance to protest, but she was ready when the waiter reappeared with the bottle of wine.

“No, thank you, not for me.” She didn’t want to blur her reason with wine…or let the alcohol go to work on her lust. Why did Dylan Johns have to be so sexy?

Dylan gave her a strange look but said nothing until the waiter had retreated. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Here, have a tiny taste.” He poured a generous measure into her glass before she could get her hand across the top. As he did so, Michaela saw the label and remembered she’d had it at a wedding once. The vintage was expensive and—when she let her resolve down and tasted it—delicious. Just a few sips wouldn’t hurt.

“The Australians can pride themselves for their reds all they like,” Dylan said, his eyes following her as she took one more sip of the crisp wine, “but nothing beats a New Zealand sav.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to verbally agree with him on anything yet. Another silence descended over the table. She was sure he’d be able to hear her heart racing in the midst of the quiet. “So you’re just a glorified money man?” Not exactly polite table talk—and was he blushing?

Dylan simply nodded and pointed to the waiter behind her. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering the chef’s special menu for both of us.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Trust me, you’ll be pleased I did when it arrives. The woman is a magician.”

“Woman?”

“Yes, the chef here trained in Paris, but she’s Australian born and bred. And she definitely knows what to do with the local produce.”

“You know her very well, then, do you?”

Dylan paused, regarding her calmly. “She did some catering work for the firm when my mother was alive.”

“Your mother died?” Michaela had to force her hands to stay still as she watched Dylan’s face crease.

The sigh seemed to spread throughout his entire body. “Her illness was the reason I had to leave. Brian was using her absence from the office as an excuse to do some risky deals. I couldn’t let that happen—it was adding extra stress my mother didn’t need. I thought I’d be able to take some weight off her shoulders, help her get better, but I was too late. It happened too fast.”

His mother had been sick—and died! Why hadn’t he just said so? All pretense of holding him at arm’s length left Michaela’s head, and her hand reached to cover his before she realized what she was doing. The flare of contact was immediate.

“I’m sorry to have left you like that,” he said, “but I was going anyway and…”

“If you’d just said your mother was ill—you didn’t need to explain that. Of course you had to go.”

Dylan put his other hand over hers. “Yes, but then you might still have had questions about us. I was always going to be stuck here, and you were going to be travelling the world, following your career. It was only ever going to be short-term. I should have told you more about my family from the beginning, but to tell you the truth, I wanted to walk away from it. The office, my brother and his wife, all of it… I should have realized I couldn’t do that. I have responsibilities. What I did wasn’t fair to anyone.”

No, it certainly hadn’t been fair. But she could understand it.

She understood him far better than she wanted to. Understood that he felt trapped, and that this Dylan—this man with the tension in his shoulders and the harried look in his eyes—was living the wrong life. But knowing that didn’t mean she needed to fall over herself trying to change it.

“What now?” she asked.

Shrugging, Dylan looked down at their hands. “I’m back at the firm, and I’ll be there for years. It turns out Brian doesn’t really care about family at all. Thank God Lily’s kicked him out once and for all. He’s been seeing his mistress for years. Apparently, he just came back because she convinced him to. They were after the money. I’ve never been so angry in my life. And to think what he did to Lily and the children.”

His face showed the strain that the last few months must have put him under. His brother sounded like a complete ass. Damn it, her heart was going to melt before they even got to dessert. “Why don’t you just hire a manager?”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

Michaela bristled slightly. Nothing was ever simple. But usually nothing was ever as complicated as people made it, either—a lesson she didn’t take enough heed of herself.

He must have noticed her stiff posture. “Sorry. You’re a smart woman, Michaela. I’m sure if someone could work out a way to get my firm going, it would be you. But without Mom here, and with Brian out of the picture, it’s pretty hard to find time to concentrate on anything but problem solving. I can’t let the firm dissolve. Mom would have hated that. She wanted me happy, but she spent decades building the business, and I can’t walk away. You have to understand that?”

Did she?

She let the question pass her by. “So you are based here in Sydney?” she asked, changing tack.

“Our head office is here, yes, but we have operations all over the world.”

So polite. Was that what they were going to be left with? Polite conversation?

“It all started in New Zealand,” he continued, “with my father and then my mother. I was supposed to study dance in Wellington but had to switch to business when Brian disappeared the first time. Mom built up the international part of the business, and then I took over the Sydney office. She was a smart woman, my mother, and she got a bunch of very lucky breaks early on. There aren’t many firms that can boast what McCray’s have done. In fact, there aren’t any in the Australasian finance world that come even close to our size and success. And it was all due to her.”

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.

“Well.” Michaela’s head was spinning, her heart hanging onto a hope that…

No, think about what he said. Think about what he wants. Company. Pleasure. Nothing more.

Damn it. Why did she want more?

“We’ll see.”

Dylan took both her hands this time, and the smile heated the green depths of his eyes. “Michaela Western, if there was ever someone who could get me to rearrange my calendar, it’s you. Work shouldn’t be everything, should it? I’m going to make damn sure you get used to me.”

She beat down a giggle at his affected growl.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Dylan said.

They rose from the table, and Michaela finally accepted his jacket against the cold of the evening.

He went to put his arm around her in the back seat of the car, but corrected himself. Good. This time, taking it slowly would mean exactly that.

At her hotel he walked her to the foyer. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

She checked his eyes, but there was only sincerity there. “I want to hope so,” she said. “But I don’t know if I should.”

“You should,” he said simply.

“Then I hope I will.”

“I hope so, too.” Dylan dipped his head to kiss her hand. The smallest sweep of his lips against skin, a fleeting moment of warmth before it was gone. Michaela stood watching his broad shoulders walk away until they disappeared back into the car.

Gone again, she thought.

But he’d been the one to suggest they try again. Maybe it would be different this time. That’s what he’d promised, wasn’t it? There was no pretense this time, and no expiration date. She thought about what he’d said and smiled. Maybe she’d be the one to break through his commitment phobia.

Don’t get your hopes up. And anyway, you’ve got a career to focus on, remember?

But her stern internal censor was no match for the bright flow of hope that spread throughout her body. In her room, Michaela fell onto the bed, spreading herself over the soft cover in luxurious anticipation.

Dylan was here, in Sydney, and there was no three-month deadline in sight.

…

“Mom would have liked you,” Dylan whispered to Michaela as he left her hotel.

The two women were very alike. His mother had always been strong and positive, and Michaela was the same. Even when he could tell she was hurt and afraid he would run out on her again, Michaela had managed to turn the tables on him, focusing on how he should be following his dreams. Not only that, but their conversation had cut right to the heart of his fears about being like his brother. “Which I’m not,” he said aloud.

“Everything all right, sir?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. Muttering to myself a bit, aren’t I?” Dylan had forgotten the chauffeur at the wheel of his Jaguar.

“No problems, sir. Expect a young woman like that would make your head spin.”

She did that, thought Dylan. Michaela Western had made him spin from the moment he saw her.

He turned and looked out the rear window of the car, trying to picture her looking down at him from her hotel room. It would be good to have her in his life again. More than good. It would be perfect having her in his life again.

The company would still have to come first, but he would find room for Michaela—make his secretary schedule a weekly time to see her, if he had to. Michaela helped him relax, helped him see his way more clearly. He already felt more alive and focused than he had all week. He could do his job better with her in his life.

The thought was a revelation. It could be the perfect mix of both worlds, pleasure and business working cooperatively in his life for a change.

He sighed. It would be perfect for as long as it lasted.

When she got tired of him, ready to find her happily-ever-after with another man, he would let her go.

The thought of not having her unconditionally brought a tightness to his chest, but he ignored it. He was who he was—who he had to be, for the sake of the company and his mother’s memory, and for Lily and the children’s stability. He couldn’t change. Not even for Michaela Western.