Chapter Six

Once in her office, Michaela sat down suddenly, her strength sapped with the withdrawal of passion. The message triggering her pager had been nothing, really. Just one of her team checking that she’d okayed the next day’s activities.

“Bloody lucky escape,” she muttered. “All he does is show you a bit of understanding, and you melt in his arms?” She shook her head, confused at her own weakness.

The interruption did give her the chance to make good on her promise to Dylan, however. She excused him from taking yet another shuffleboard session, blithely co-opting her deputy to take his place and telling him to page Dylan to let him know.

In her stateroom, she spent the rest of the night in a restless state, replaying the scene in the theater over and over, perplexed that she had both allowed herself to reach such a state of blind desire and offered her own stateroom to consummate it.

“Michaela Western, what’s come over you?” she whispered to her pillow. Was she really ready to let down her guard and move on from the failed relationship that had made her promise never to go there again with a fellow worker?

Of course, the affair with the captain had been a long time ago, and she knew how to handle herself better now.

“And anything with Dylan Johns wouldn’t be a relationship,” she said aloud.

She planned to begin a new phase of her career soon, but that didn’t lessen the risk. She could destroy her whole future by getting into bed with a colleague. If the affair went south—if the captain found out and got angry about it—he could refuse to give her a reference for another job.

But why should she assume the worst? Other people had shipboard affairs all the time without derailing their whole lives.

Michaela looked around her stateroom and tried to imagine Dylan’s tall frame in the small space. He would fill it almost entirely, his long legs reaching the end of the bed and his broad chest taking up a good section of the width.

Giving up on sleep, she got up, turned on the shower, and stepped under the cool spray. It gave her no relief. The shower cubicles onboard were necessarily small. Trying to fit thousands of passengers and hundreds of crew onto the ship meant that some things had to be sacrificed, and despite the fact that these rooms were big in comparison to those on some ships, the space was still very tight. The slow billow of the shower curtain, the water against her skin, the scent of Dylan still in her hair—Michaela couldn’t help but imagine him crushed into the shower with her. His naked body pushed hers against the wall, and the water and thoughts of his tongue combined to make her wet all over.

“Stop it,” she berated herself. She turned the shower onto full cold. With the tropical heat of the Pacific permeating even the staterooms, the temperature wasn’t unpleasant, and it did help a little with her internal overheating.

As she toweled herself down she felt calmer. As if to confirm it, she said to the room, “I’ll deal with Dylan Johns tomorrow.”

…

The next day was another busy one, and Michaela didn’t have a chance to stop and think about the previous night’s passion. But once the last daytime activity came to an end, she looked at the clock, realizing that the first theater show would be starting soon.

“No, I’m not going,” she said, to prove…something. She wrote a memo to staff about a missing shuffleboard pole, refilled the printer cartridges, and filed a stack of papers that had been sitting on her desk waiting for attention. But as the minutes ticked into an hour, she sighed and shut down her office computer, then walked as if in a trance to find a seat for the second theater showing.

The dancers were all smiles, but this time Michaela could see the strain that having to learn all these routines in such a small amount of time was putting on them. Their smiles didn’t move with the natural contours of their faces—they were almost painted on. Sometimes she noted the stiffness that came from a moment of panic when the steps to a routine disappeared out of one of their heads.

The only dancer who seemed completely at ease was Dylan, his body moving naturally in between cues, even when he was cut off by the impromptu exit of another dancer.

The audience would never have known, but having seen a few of the numbers from this show many times with various dancers in the different roles, Michaela could see the places where he didn’t quite have the timing right or where he added an extra step or two. It didn’t change the fact that he was astonishing. He leapt and strode over the stage as if the work had been choreographed just for him. His muscles glistened as he worked them, and Michaela noticed every woman seemed to lean forward in anticipation when Dylan moved to center stage.

He’s an incredibly talented dancer, that’s all. And an incredibly talented kisser. She touched her lips at the memory. If she let herself, she could almost taste him still.

Peering down from her second-level seat, Michaela could see the front-row couch where she and Dylan had fallen into each other the previous night. The thought that someone could have walked in on them clutched in each other’s arms filled her with a strangely erotic panic. And as to him striding out of the theater with her in his arms, her shirt open, skirt hitched up, and bra undone…

“Oh, God,” she moaned quietly. “It just can’t happen. The ship is too public.”

She left before the end of the show, slipping out so no one would notice her when the lights came up. But she knew that the real reason she had to disappear was to prevent Dylan from seeing and devouring her with his eyes. Her body wanted him more than her mind could ignore, and under the scrutiny of his full gaze she became more helpless than she cared to admit. She hurried off to the staff canteen, hoping she could eat and leave before the dance team got there.

Despite almost gulping her food, Michaela was still eating when she heard a familiar male voice from behind her. “Mind if I join you?”

Her heart leapt and fell simultaneously, and she looked to each side of her, making sure no one saw her blush.

Dylan drew out a chair and pushed his tray next to hers. “Don’t worry, the others ate earlier.”

It was true, there were hardly any people left eating at this time. “We can’t do this. I—”

He hushed her with a quick finger to her lips, and just as she feared, she felt herself melting under his intense gaze. “I know this makes no sense, I know we shouldn’t, I know there are a thousand reasons not to.” He put his other hand on her thigh under the table. She looked around again, checking for curious eyes. Her leg flared with heat under his touch.

Dylan must have seen her pupils dilate and heard her breath catch. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it.”

Damn him, but he read her like a book.

“We’re two fully consenting adults.” He let the words drift around their heads, their meaning brilliant with promise. “But I’ll give you one chance. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll leave you alone.” As he spoke, he worked his hand farther up the bare skin of her thigh, inching her skirt upward. He brushed his fingertips across the crease where her thighs met, then trailed the hand back down her leg to the comparative safety of her knee.

“We can’t. My stateroom…” The thought of rubbing the captain’s face in her romantic potential was tempting, but not tempting enough to risk what nasty revenge he would undoubtedly make her suffer. He was the captain, after all.

“No need,” Dylan said and stood, tugging at her elbow.

Her lips opened to speak, to deny the fever she felt even now building inside, but the words wouldn’t come. Her body wouldn’t let them.

“My roommate is out for the evening. I know I shouldn’t tell you this, but he and Marvin have gotten together, and Marvin got the only solo room for the team.” A dry smile spread over Dylan’s face.

“I shouldn’t. I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Shouldn’t is no excuse,” he said. “And you didn’t say no, so I’m taking you out of here. Now.”

She opened her mouth again to protest, to say…something.

“No more excuses,” he said. “Come.”

Michaela watched him push her chair back under the table. Trying to retain a semblance of control, she smoothed her skirt down from where his hand had drawn it upward. His eyes were like fire on her skin. If it was already organized and there was no danger of anyone finding out, would it hurt to have a little fun?

His hand moved to the small of her back, guiding her away from the smells of food, away from the bright lights and prying eyes of other people. Where he touched her, the warmth spread out, and a hint of what might be in store for her—coupled with anticipation—clanged at Michaela’s nerves like the ship’s warning bells.

Dylan and Jake’s room was on the fourth floor, almost at the bottom of the ship, but it seemed only a minute before Dylan had his plastic room card out, ready to open his stateroom door.

“Wait,” Michaela hissed. “Are you sure he’s out?”

“I’ll check. Keep walking and meet me back here in two minutes.”

Doing as he suggested, Michaela walked to the end of the corridor, but she had to pass through the heavy blue crew door into the passenger area to get out of sight of anyone who might have remained in Dylan’s room. As she walked, she smiled and nodded to the few guests who lingered around their rooms before turning and heading back toward the crew quarters. She almost lost her nerve and continued walking, but the door to Dylan’s room was ajar. As she passed, Dylan leaned out, grasped her firmly about the waist, and dragged her inside.

“Oh,” she gasped. Dylan had stripped off his dance clothes and wore only a small white towel wrapped around his waist. He’d turned on the shower in the bathroom—tinier even than the one in her stateroom—and steam was starting to gather.

“I need to take a shower,” Dylan said as he pulled her to his chest and kicked the door fully closed. “The show got me all hot. Maybe you could wash my back for me.”

“I don’t think—” Michaela was stopped by Dylan’s finger over her lips. For a moment, she thought of continuing her protest, but the sizzling desire in his eyes stopped her. As he dropped his hand and leaned in, she closed her eyes.

The first kiss was gentle, but it was only a warm-up. The second came strong and hard. Michaela thought she had been melted by his previous kisses, but they were nothing compared to these.

She’d never known such a strong, yearning need, and she couldn’t have stopped herself from kissing Dylan if the ship had run aground. He covered her moist lips with his own, dipping his tongue in and out of her mouth, and she felt a soft whimper escape her throat.

Her skin heated. Her spine arched toward him. His hungry hands moved up her body, firmly outlining her hips, waist, and chest. “If you’re going to tell me we shouldn’t be doing this, that I should stop, tell me now, before it’s too late,” he whispered.

“Don’t stop.” The words came out hoarse. Michaela dropped her head back, and he followed the invitation, his mouth biting at her neck and down, down toward her cleavage. With no one to stop them this time, he unbuttoned her shirt, opened and peeled it away in one easy movement. She kicked off her shoes and gasped when her skirt fell to the ground in a soft slither.

Standing now only in her white lacy bra and skimpy underwear, she looked him full in the face. Dylan paused, easing back to admire her willowy frame. The thin scraps of white lace she wore offered little protection from his hungry eyes. Leaving her no time to hesitate, he pulled her back toward him, his hands moving under her buttocks to lift her. She wrapped a leg around him. His hardness pushed against her, and as he eased her into the bathroom the towel fell away, leaving him proud and erect.

“In,” he commanded as he lowered her, then pointed to the shower. She meekly let him push her under the water.

When the water from the shower hit her body, Dylan groaned. “Not bad, Cruise Director.”

Michaela looked down to see the curls of her sex and the thrust of her nipples outlined beneath the translucent white lace, but her nipples were suddenly released as Dylan pulled the cups of the useless wet bra down and greedily sucked at each breast in turn. “Please,” she whimpered, and he chuckled low in his throat. His tongue twisted around her nipple. Oh!

No. Wait. She needed more control. The hot water, the steam, his wet hair under her fingers—it was too perfect for safety. Too close to the fantasy that had played out in her mind only yesterday. His mouth went back to her nipples. “Nice?” he said, and she whimpered again. Then his hands were on the thin lace of her panties.

“No, not yet.” Michaela squirmed out of his hands. Two could play at the passion game. “I want you,” she purred, grasping at his erection and pushing him against the opposite wall.

“You’ll finish me if you touch me like that,” Dylan managed.

“Good.” The shock of seeing him fully undressed was tempered now by the water, her desire, and the need clearly etched on his face.

He was big—very big—and hard. Oh, boy.

Her fingers wrapped around the skin of his rock-hard cock, stroking up and down, teasing him into a groaning frenzy. Dylan thrust out his arms to press his hands against the sides of the shower as his face convulsed with the pleasure of her touch.

“Don’t, you’ll—”

Michaela ignored his warning and ducked her head under the water to take his whole thick length into her mouth. She loved the way he groaned when she ran her tongue over the sensitive head, loved the way his body moved—his narrow hips thrusting gently as she moved her mouth over him. She loved the taut feel of his butt under her hands, the muscles clenching, then releasing. His hands wrapped in her hair. His passion mounted, his stomach tensing more with each stroke as her face came close to his body.

She felt the beginnings of his release and rolled her tongue again for good measure, only pulling back as his body finished its shuddering climax.

Sure, she was a little out of practice with getting naked, but he wasn’t the only one who knew a few tricks.

Dylan panted. The water dripped from his nose as he hung his head and caught his breath. His arms were still braced against the sides of the shower, and he looked spent, but not weakened by any stretch. Michaela stepped back, turning to get out of the shower.

“Not so fast, young lady.” Dylan grabbed her wrist and spun her back toward him. As he pulled her into his heaving chest, his lips nuzzled her throat, and he growled, “cheeky.”

She smiled, but he gave her little time to rest on her laurels. The kiss that followed was a merciless tease, feathery light, then hard and deep. A mere flutter of his tongue on her still-moist lips, then a sharp nip from his bared teeth.

“You don’t think you can pull that trick on me and get away with it?” He pushed her back against the wall, his hands again stroking her breasts before they slid down, following the path of the shower water toward the translucent lace scrap of her briefs. With his hard body pressed against hers, she was helpless to escape. He pushed her hips against the wall with his own, and she felt his full strength.

“My turn.” The words emerged from his throat as little more than a sexy snarl.

Michaela gasped. “What are you—”

But his lips captured her mouth and silenced her once more. Releasing her only when she’d stopped protesting, Dylan clenched her firm buttocks in both hands, lifting and putting her down on the small ledge set into the shower wall to hold soaps. “It’ll break,” she said, but he hushed her again, lifting her arms above her head and guiding them to hold on to the sturdy curtain rail that ran the whole way around the shower box.

His eyes had turned as liquid as the shower water, their emerald depths steamier by far than the vapor that circled their heads. His hands smoothed the water across her body, massaging the firm flesh of her arms, her breasts, her stomach and thighs. Then he knelt before her, the water pouring off his broad shoulders, and gently blew a hot kiss against her sex. One of his hands moved up her body again to palm her breast, and he half stood to take it again in his mouth while leaving the other hand to massage between her legs.

When she thought she wouldn’t be able to take it any longer, his hand slid beneath the waistband of her sodden panties and ripped her last piece of protection away. He kneeled again between her legs…and waited.

“Oh, please,” she moaned, and with a grin he obliged her, sliding a finger deep inside her. She shuddered as he stroked back and forth, gently probing her inner secrets and reaching the deepest parts of her. When he withdrew the finger, slicked it over her clitoris, and moved it back inside, Michaela clenched at the curtain rail, desperate to pull him toward her, to force him to enter her more fully and ride her all the way to climax. Yet she was afraid that if she let go, she would fall from the ledge—or worse, break it. She would hate to have to explain to housekeeping just exactly how the shower had come to be in such disarray.

Slowly, very slowly, he pulled his finger out again. This time, he used two fingers to circle and massage her clit until her muscles clenched, then thrust both fingers inside.

“Michaela.” The smile was obvious in his voice. “You’ve been without a man for far too long.”

“I don’t think—” He put his other hand up to her mouth, quieting her, and plunged the two fingers back inside to completely distract her. Letting his hand fall away from her mouth, Dylan trailed it down her body, then stopped to tweak her nipples and toy with each breast as he kept the steady rhythm of his fingers in, out, swirling around her clit, back in.

Her arms started to shake, and she opened her legs wider. “Please,” she said. She’d forgotten this need—or maybe never experienced it before. This need to be filled. “I want you,” she said, barely able to get the words out.

“Of course you do, but you can’t have everything you want. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?” He punctuated his teasing comment with a deeper trust of his fingers. “But perhaps you can have a little taste.”

He dipped his head between her thighs and pulled her clitoris into his mouth. The flicker and chase of his tongue built her up and then released her so that she rose again and again, only to be gently let back down to earth to rest for a second before he started over.

“Now?” he asked, and she just nodded, unable to speak. Then, finally, he brought her to the peak, thrusting and circling with both his mouth and fingers until her whole body shook as she came and came and came.

She tasted sweet, hot and slippery from the shower. Michaela’s soft, tanned thighs trembled around his face, and he held her up so her orgasm would go on and on. As she spasmed, she began to call his name, and Dylan had to hurriedly cover her mouth for fear that the whole floor would hear her.

When her shaking finally ceased, he raised his head and saw her tawny eyes glossed with satisfaction. He stood, lifting her gently down from the small ledge and tucking her breasts back into the bra, which was now stretched and sodden.

She looked down at where his hands lingered. “How am I going to wear this out of here?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.” The thought of her bare breasts pressed against her tight white uniform shirt as she walked through the ship almost made him hard again. “Promise me you’ll never wear underwear again.”

Michaela laughed and slapped his hands away, apparently much easier in his company now. Good.

As he reached above her head to turn off the shower, she sniffed. “You smell good.”

“I’ll smell better when I don’t have to use Jake’s shampoo anymore.”

“True.” She smiled. “I better go.” She stepped out of the shower and into the fluffy white towel he held open for her.

The strength of his disappointment surprised him. “Really? But we haven’t even—” The sound of a plastic key card in the lock interrupted him.

Michaela’s eyes blazed. “You said—”

Jake walked into the room, stopping short when he saw Michaela. “Cruise Director,” he said, nodding to her.

“I… My shower isn’t working, and Dylan offered to let me use yours…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m hardly going to tell, am I? Where would I say I’d been?” Jake gave an exaggerated wink.

“Um, indeed.” Michaela fixed him with what she probably thought was a very stern look. Dylan would have laughed if the situation had been different.

“Don’t worry,” Jake assured her again. “I’ll just pop out for a few turns on the deck. Evening constitutional and all that.” Chortling, he turned on his heel before anyone could protest.

Dylan watched as the ease Michaela had projected only moments before disappeared and she became so stiff, it was a shock she could bend over to pick up her shirt and skirt. “Oh, God. I really am going to have to take this wet bra off or my shirt will turn see-through!”

Damn Jake for being early. He’d wanted to take her to bed and luxuriate with her in his arms for a while.

Dylan cut off the thought and the growing disappointment before it could fully form. She had been about to leave anyway. He’d just have to make sure Jake’s intrusion was only an interruption, not an ending. The little taste he’d had of Michaela Western only made him want more of her.

Fully dressed but with no underwear to speak of, Michaela turned to leave.

He caught her around the waist. “There’s no need to rush, he won’t be back for a good ten minutes yet.”

“No,” she said. “Imagine if he had come back earlier… Oh, no, don’t.” The blush ran from her toes to her cheeks.

“Michaela.” Dylan tilted her face to his. “There is nothing wrong with this, with us. I know you have your position to think of, and I will be discreet, I promise. But we have nothing to hide.”

As he said the words, he almost laughed at their irony. If she knew who he really was, how he got here, she would probably boot him off the ship the first chance she got.

The more time he spent with her, though, the more it seemed worth the risk.

Her eyes softened. She wanted to believe him, he could tell. “We’ll see,” she said quietly.

He had to fight to keep the triumph from his smile. Excellent.

If she couldn’t resist him, all would be well. Next time, he’d make sure they had more time, and he’d relish the chance to delve more into her mind.

The more time he spent with Michaela, the longer her list of good traits became. He mentally ticked them off: smart, driven, independent, values her family, and a tiger in bed.

Sensing some indecision in her, he took advantage and swept down, kissing her in a hot farewell. “Goodnight,” he said. “Sweet dreams.” With those last words, his hands smoothed down her uniform skirt, and then…

“Stop it!” She slapped at his hand. “Your roommate will be back any minute.”

“Well then,” he said, pulling her back to him for one last, lingering kiss. “I hope your dreams are anything but sweet.”

He watched her force herself to turn the door handle and walk out of the room, her nipples pressing against the thin white fabric of her shirt and scraps of wet white lace clutched in her hand.