Chapter Three

“Stupid, stupid.”

If it hadn’t been sure to make her deputy suspicious, Michaela would have beaten her head on her desk the next morning. Spilling everything to a dancer she’d only just met? What an idiot.

“I’m never drinking again,” she promised.

There was little time to wallow, though. This was a busy job. She hadn’t been laying it on thick for the new recruits for nothing.

“Coming to rehearsal, Michaela?”

George, the choreographer, burst into her office as if he was on stage. Despite her hangover and the mortification of what she’d told Dylan the night before, Michaela couldn’t help smiling.

Buck up, girl.

Dylan had promised he wouldn’t say anything, and the captain couldn’t lord their tryst over her forever. In fact, Dylan’s advice made as much sense in the light of day as it had in the moonlight. Taking this job had been her choice—her choice to try and prove herself in this sea of men. The captain was bound to do something stupid enough to mess up his career all on his own. Time to get on with it and leave the captain to destroy himself.

George did a little dance with a spare chair, and Michaela laughed. He was a hard taskmaster, but he produced wonderful results, giving the Pacific Empress a reputation as the best in the business.

“Sure,” Michaela said. “I’ll come see what the slave master has created.”

He took her hand and guided her around the edge of her desk, spreading kisses from her fingers to her elbow in exaggerated French style.

“Those poor boys and girls, are they exhausted yet?” she asked.

“No, but they soon will be,” he said triumphantly. “These twelve-day cruises are a bit of a killer—so many routines to learn with a show on every night. I almost feel sorry for the poor little babies. But I have a special treat this time. Did you arrange it for me? That Dylan is hardly a baby. And he’s lovely, so big and strong.”

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 said 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.

Dylan saw Michaela walking toward the food queue, and a physical memory of the kiss rippled through him.

Act professional.

He was never like this back home in the boardroom, even when he was hunting down a competitor’s assets.

The room was large. Not large enough to accommodate all the crew at one time, but certainly large enough for the hundreds of crew members to eat as their shifts dictated, and at this time of the evening the long tables were mostly full. He took a breath and approached her and the food.

“Hi,” he said into her ear, stepping up behind her in the queue.

Michaela jumped. “Stop doing that.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mean to put you on edge.”

She eyeballed him with a tawny glare that met his challenge. Nice.

“That was a quick shower,” she said, then wrinkled her nose, sniffed the air, and smirked. “Pretty perfume. Is that vanilla? Or peach? Interesting choice.”

Great. Bloody Jake and his girly shower stuff.

“I had to steal some of Jake’s shampoo. Smells a bit weird,” he said. Dylan watched her face, trying to decipher her thoughts, but after that initial taunt she had thrown her guard back up. Are you just being professional, or do I make you nervous?

He couldn’t resist probing her a little. Dylan glanced at the food, looking for a topic to get her talking. “Italian, my favorite,” he said.

“It’s spinach cannelloni,” she stated flatly.

“Great. I’m starving.”

“Yes, I guess putting on weight isn’t much of a worry for you,” she said, patting her trim waistline.

Was she looking for compliments after all? It was his turn to smirk. “You hardly have to worry. You look like you’ll never really have a problem with putting on weight. Fit young thing like you.” He paused and shook his head. “You didn’t tell me your age last night, but maybe you’re older than you look. You can’t have risen through the ranks fast enough to make it if you really are only in your twenties.”

Michaela seemed to search his eyes. “Indeed.”

Lazy flirting wasn’t going to work. He should have known that—she was smart enough to see right through him. They filled their trays with the piping-hot cannelloni, salad, and juice, and Dylan headed over to the table with the rest of the dancers.

“Coming?” he asked.

It seemed like she was about to refuse when the captain walked in. Scanning the room, Dylan noticed that apart from the seats with the dance team, there was only room at one other table.

“Sure,” Michaela said as she stole a glance at the captain.

His hackles rose on her behalf. “No need to let him rattle you, remember.”

His words worked—she visibly relaxed.

Great. He’d meant what he said about letting the captain make his own mistakes. He’d wanted to give similar advice to Lily countless times, but it was difficult to tell your sister-in-law that your brother was almost certainly going to hurt her all over again, so he’d bitten his tongue.

Following Michaela to their table, he wanted to put his arm around her, show the captain what he’d missed out on.

Calm down. Too much too soon, and she’ll run scared or get the wrong idea.

“So where did you learn to dance like that?” she asked as he sat, interrupting his musing.

This wasn’t what he’d been planning. He wanted more of her story, not to be grilled on the half truths he’d told to get onboard. Dylan paused and checked her eyes before continuing. “I’ve had an old Russian teacher for years. He gives me private lessons.”

Hoping to divert her, he asked, “Where are you from originally? Your accent is a bit mixed.”

Michaela nodded. “I was born in Wellington, in New Zealand, but my family moved to Canada when I was a teenager. I went back and forth for a while until this job, where I’m back and forth even more.”

“Must have been a bit hard.”

“Not really. I got the best of both worlds. The small-town freedom of New Zealand and the opportunities of education and work in Canada.”

Better. “I guess that’s true.” Through a mouthful of cheesy pasta, he smiled. “You miss anything from home? Wind through the trees perhaps? Wellington’s good for that.”

She smiled. “I’m not sure I’d say I missed it, but the big greenbelt up behind where we lived when I was a kid did have a magical quality when the wind whistled through it.” Forking up some more pasta, she paused. “My sister and I used to make hideouts and tracks through the macrocarpa pines when we were growing up. We hid secret messages for each other—oh, and for the birds. That’s probably the bit I miss most, spending time with my sister.”

A sister. Dylan added to his mental list of Michaela’s qualities: smart, independent, driven, and values family.

She fixed him with a careful stare. “So you know Wellington, then?” She set her fork down.

“Oh, yes. I…” He stopped himself. He didn’t want her getting too close to the truth of his background. “I’ve done quite a lot of work there. I was living in Sydney most recently. I do sometimes miss the sound of the Wellington wind in the trees, though.”

“You’ll get used to not hearing the wind in the trees. The music the ocean makes will replace it. You might even like it better. It’s a pretty beautiful soundtrack with the slap of the water against the side of the ship, the pull and ping of the rigging on the lifeboats, and the sea birds as we come into port.”

Her eyes glazed, as if seeing what she described. There really was something about her that was enticing. Dylan found himself wanting to drag her to bed so he could have her all to himself for a lot longer than dinner.

Soon.

He smiled. Thank goodness she hadn’t seemed to notice how he’d fudged where he grew up, or his reluctance to talk about his dance training. Old Mr. Grevorgian had been elated when Dylan told him he was taking a break from work so he could dance for three months. The private lessons from his Russian neighbor over the last ten years had been Dylan’s secret release.

Thank goodness Mr. Grevorgian was a masterful teacher—so much so that Dylan had been able to fake his way through the cruise audition.

Dylan searched for other topics to keep Michaela’s attention away from his background. “What are the ports like?”

“Some of them are really beautiful. Everyone is always excited about New Caledonia and Fiji, but I love Vanuatu. Oh, and Norfolk Island, too.”

“Really?” Everything he’d read about Norfolk Island, the small subsidiary of Australia, had made it seem a bit dowdy. Certainly not the sort of glamorous location he’d assumed a cruise director would be attracted to.

“There are wonderful forest walks and loads of birds. And it’s easier to get away from the crowds. I’m not such a fan of all the organized tours. I prefer to go off on my own.”

Dylan looked at her. That was exactly the way he felt, but he’d never believed others onboard would feel the same. He had assumed that a love for the shiny gloss of package tours would be inbuilt into the DNA of cruise staff.

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself agreeing with everything she said.

You were the one who wanted to talk more.

Yes, but he hadn’t figured on enjoying her conversation so much.

He watched his boss as she kept talking. It was obvious she was enjoying the conversation, too. The way she coiled her hair around a finger, the way her body leaned in toward his—her whole posture spoke volumes.

Dylan felt the familiar glow of pride in a job well done.

She was as good as his.

Michaela was shocked at how relaxed she felt. Again. And this was a man who had only minutes ago kissed her in front of her whole entertainment team.

He’d changed into casual clothes after his shower, and the soft hug of his white T-shirt and faded denim shorts made her more aware of his pale-olive skin and toned body.

Dylan’s bare arm next to hers was flecked with golden hair, and the muscle underneath the warm skin called out to be touched.

This conflict of attraction and relaxation was alarming, Michaela decided, admitting finally to herself that she was very much affected by Dylan Johns.

“I think I’m going to go again. Do you want another serving?”

His words snapped her out of her reverie. “No, thanks,” she said. “I don’t have George to make sure I burn every calorie I put between my lips.”

He smiled and stood to refill his plate.

Michaela thought about his lips. Oh, she would like to feel those lips again. Her mention of George made her remember their earlier conversation.

He’ll need a woman.

She’d be just the woman.

God, no. Dylan might be a great dancer, a good listener, and give good advice but…but what?

But she was his boss.

She looked over at the food line and spotted the captain going up for seconds. What had she ever seen in him? Further up the line, Dylan bent to reach for something, the movement tightening his shorts over his butt. He was so much more of a man than anyone else on board, and he treated her like an adult. It was wonderfully refreshing after spending so much time with all the young kids on her team, who just seemed to want to hide from her.

Dylan Johns. Even his name felt good in her mouth.

Could she?

She didn’t have long to go on her contract, and she’d promised herself she’d look for a new placement after this. Michaela looked around her at the world she’d called home for the last six years. The cafeteria’s walls weren’t dirty so much as worn, the tables scuffed, the floor scratched after so many chairs being pulled out and pushed in over and over.

That’s a bit like how I feel.

It was time. Time to move on.

She turned to talk to one of the female dancers at the table, but the girl ducked her head, afraid of talking to her boss.

Am I that scary?

Dylan didn’t seem to think so. She looked over at him again.

Jake, the youngest of the male dancers, came up behind him, and his words drifted toward Michaela. “You poor darling,” the man said. “How are you holding up? Sorry we haven’t rescued you from the cruise director, but no one else wants to sit with her. Thanks for being such a superstar.”

Oh, God. They did all think she was cold and heartless.

“No problem,” Dylan said. His eyes darted in her direction, and she looked away, not wanting him to know she was listening.

“You’re the perfect choice,” Jake blurted enthusiastically. “You can sweep her off her feet with your dashing good looks, despite it being a cruel waste. Kissing her was a stroke of genius—unbelievably risky, but genius. She’ll leave us all alone in case you leap at her again. I almost died at the look on her face. Perhaps she’ll let us get on with our own wonderful pleasure now.”

Dylan simply nodded.

A hard knot of anger slowly built inside Michaela.

“I’m just so lucky that Marvin the marvelous is such a wonderful dancer. I think our timing is going to be perfect.”

“I’m sure.”

Michaela wanted to curl up under the table. It was too much like the conversations the captain would “accidentally” let her overhear. He’d belittle her to other men in his team, but when she confronted him about it, he always claimed to be doing it for her benefit. Michaela had never believed that all the men in his team really needed to be so reassured that having a woman in charge wasn’t a threat to their masculinity. And she’d never believed the captain didn’t derive enjoyment from knowing she overheard.

“It’s so important for one’s lover to be able to dance, don’t you think?” Jake asked. “I don’t think I could ever be with someone who couldn’t dance. I did feel for you, having to dance with the boss. The poor woman has two left feet.”

“Uh-huh. Must be why I’m single.”

“Oh, darling. I think it’s because you’ll never find a woman who can dance like you. Keep up the good work, though. You’re giving us all space to breathe by wooing madam cruise director.”

Michaela had heard enough. She shook off her fury and embarrassment as she stood. “Just remembered some paperwork,” she muttered to the rest of the table and fled the room.

When would she ever learn? Relationships and cruise ships did not mix.

“It’s his damn eyes,” she whispered, and sighed. He’s not all that. So what if I can’t dance? I’m still his boss.

She smiled as she realized the full potential of her own words. She was his boss, and she was going to make sure he knew it.