The Billionaire Bundle

by Michele De Winton

  “You can’t leave me.” Felicity pouted.

  “Oh, I’m not, don’t worry. Just dreaming.”

  She’d been doing too much dreaming lately. Too much by half. If she really was going to get off this ship in the next couple of months, she needed an impeccable performance record. Anything less and the captain would have an excuse not to give her the reference she’d need.

  “At least they did an excellent job with their recruitment this time,” Felicity said, pulling Michaela out of her thoughts. “My chocolate man is doing a fine job, and your dancer seems to have the passengers eating out of his hand.” Felicity pointed to Dylan, who was accompanying a large group of women—a hen party, Michaela thought with a pang of…jealousy?

  The women were fussing over his uniform, sneaking little touches of the simple gold strand that decorated his lapels and giggling. Unlike in her imagination, Dylan didn’t look harried at all. He took the hand of one woman—the bride-to-be, undoubtedly—and raised it to his lips in mock subservience. Then he winked at the group and made his excuses before leaving.

  The feeling of those hands on her waist washed over Michaela, and the thought of those lips covering hers sent a shiver of something hot and hurried through her whole body.

  For a moment, Michaela was back in Dylan’s arms. They were on the stage, picked out in a spotlight as he whirled her around. There was no awkwardness between them—Michaela could feel the rhythm of the music rather than having to listen to the beat, and the two of them were in perfect harmony. As the last note of the song hushed away, Dylan pulled her closer, and again his lips hovered over hers…

  “Oh.” Michaela let out a small whimper.

  “What’s that?”

  Felicity was still standing next to her, and Michaela shuddered at the thought of what else she might have said if she’d let her daydream continue any further. That kiss had affected her far more than she wanted to admit. “Nothing,” she said to Felicity.

  Yes, nothing. Nothing was going to happen. He wasn’t really a good listener. It had all been an act. “I was just thinking tonight’s party is going to be perfect.”

  “Of course it is, darling, you’re in charge.” Felicity gave her a bright grin. “I’m off to check on my team. They’re probably inundated already with questions about the gratuity system. And anyway, I must check that Mr. Chocolate is coping with all these new pressures. He might need a more experienced hand for support.” Felicity gave her a wicked wink and swanned away toward the pursers’ station below decks.

  Shaking her head to rid it of the last lingering traces of her Dylan memory, Michaela satisfied herself that everything was in order and went back to her office to finalize tomorrow’s roster, double-checking that her staffing requirements matched the activities listed in the paper for passengers. “Perfect,” she said.

  And very full. Dylan wouldn’t have a moment to fall for anyone, passenger or staff, because he would be too busy leading activities all over the ship.

  She smiled. That would keep him out of her hair.

  …

  “Did you see him in that first number? Oh my God,” the female passenger said, her eyes opening wide.

  “What a god, you mean. So powerful!”

  Michaela sighed as she overheard the gushing praise of passengers coming out of the second cabaret show. She didn’t need to ask who they were talking about.

  “If he hadn’t moved, I would have sworn he was marble.”

  “Oh yeah, but I bet he wouldn’t feel cool and stony when you had him under your hands!” The women cackled and continued on upstairs.

  Stop it.

  She almost said it out loud, and the frustration must have shown on her face, because the next group of passengers took one look at her and gave her a wide berth. At least this was only the first night, so no one really knew who she was yet. She scuttled away before anyone realized. It wouldn’t do for the cruise director to be seen as a sour mouth.

  Up on deck, the lights were on, and the background music was playing. By the look of the people already on the dance floor, this was going to be a very lively crowd.

  “Not a bad start,” a deep male voice said from behind her. “Passengers seemed to like the show, and I hardly broke a sweat. I must be fitter than I thought.”

  Michaela looked around and found the green eyes of the favorite dancer of every woman on board.

  When he said things like that, he sounded like such an arrogant ass. But the humor in his eyes softened the statement, and she couldn’t take the posturing seriously. Not after that first night on the deck. No man who was all ego would have been such a good listener.

  “I should hope you are,” she said. “Can’t have you disappointing all those legions of female fans you’ve accumulated already.”

  “Doing my best, ma’am,” Dylan growled, and Michaela felt the deep rumble of his voice in the pit of her stomach. Be still, she scolded her nerves.

  “It’s good for the passengers to have something to look at,” she said caustically. “It keeps them occupied.”

  Dylan raised an eyebrow. “When should we start the dancing for the party?”

  “I’ll just check with the band. If they’re ready, then we should probably get going.”

  The band was ready, and Michaela headed back to her spot by the bar as the drummer’s sticks kicked in one-two-three-four and a jazzy number filled the outdoor area. She’d only just made it through the crowd when she heard “Come on then” muttered in her ear and Dylan grabbed her hand, whirling her into his arms exactly as she had imagined.

  To start with, her feet refused to obey her, and she stood on Dylan’s toes. He just grimaced. “Stand up here, then,” he said. She almost squealed as he lifted her up and set her feet down on top of his. “There we go.” Smirking, he whisked her around the floor. She had to work hard not to let on how ragged her breath was. If he knew the effect he had on her—no, it didn’t even bear thinking about. Letting him lead, she put on her best smile.

  Well, I can’t cause a scene in front of the passengers.

  Still, she wouldn’t let him think she was enjoying herself. “Shouldn’t you be toying with your fan club?” she yelled in his ear, over the sound of the band.

  “I don’t like to play with my toys in public.”

  Huh. How did he make her despise and desire him all in one breath? As they spun, she breathed in his soapy scent, amused by the hint of floral bouquet from his roommate’s shampoo. “You really should get your own shampoo,” she said unconsciously.

  “Bit bloody flowery, isn’t it?” He looked down into her eyes, and she was startled again by just how brilliant his gaze was. The heat from his hands on the small of her back sent warm shivers up her spine, so she arched it just a little further. The movement brought her closer to his chest, and he grinned at her, far too triumphant for her liking, before spinning the two of them again. Michaela felt the looks she was getting from the female guests but shrugged them off.

  Just for this dance.

  “You move well,” Dylan growled in her ear.

  “You mean you move well,” she replied, anxious at the effect his mouth was having so close to her ear and acutely aware of what he’d said yesterday about her dancing.

  “No, really. I can feel the rhythm in you.” She smelled something else then, a base note. Something musky and earthy—his personal scent.

  All too soon, the song finished. “Now you have to face them,” she said. “To your fans! Go.” She gave him a little push, hoping the frustration in his face reflected at least a tiny bit of regret at having to be parted from her, despite what he’d said to Jake.

  “Madam?”

  Michaela didn’t have long to gaze at Dylan’s departing buttocks, because another man had his hand out, ready for her. Although she usually managed to shy away from dancing with the passengers—always able to rely on her very busy and important job to take her elsewhere—she could hardly turn this offer down when she’d been dancing wit
h Dylan only seconds ago.

  The man whirled her around with ample ability, but Michaela couldn’t help but compare his style to Dylan’s, and his face had none of the dancer’s immediate appeal. He could lead adequately, though. Michaela found she didn’t stumble or step on his toes at all. But his skill didn’t stop her from promptly and charmingly bowing out of the next dance when the song finished. She hurried to the bar to get an overview of the whole dance floor.

  “Everyone seems to be having a great time.” Felicity liked to perch on a particular stool during the poolside parties. Usually Michaela liked nothing better than to perch with her, watching over things and listening to Felicity’s running commentary.

  Tonight Michaela merely nodded, looking out in the crowd for Dylan. “Helps having a new entertainment crew. They’ve got boundless energy when they’re so new. Look at the lot of them.”

  “It helps having an Adonis to keep all the ladies happy,” Felicity drawled. “Poor guy.”

  Michaela spotted Dylan. “He’s hardly suffering. Look at him playing the crowd. I don’t think we need to worry about him.” He was dancing with an elderly woman, her face flushed and her hair a frizz, but the smile on her face said she was having the time of her life. The two of them were surrounded, a circle of women looking on eagerly. “Jesus, they look like they want to eat him.”

  “They probably do. It’s the same downstairs. Mr. Chocolate has his very own fan club crushing the purser desk. It’s causing a bottleneck, ‘cause no one wants to be served by anyone else. We might have to throw some acid at his face or something.”

  Michaela snorted. “Maybe you need to take him off the desk and put him on backroom duty.”

  “Now you’re talking. He could be my paperwork slave.”

  Michaela laughed again. Ah, Felicity was good for her sanity. Her insinuations about Mr. Chocolate were part of her charm, and anyway, it relieved the tension.

  Tension. Was that what this was? Just a buildup of tension from being alone for so long? Michaela examined her body, which was still thrumming from the contact with Dylan. Maybe the advice he’d given her came from personal experience, and she should give him enough rope to hang himself.

  Stop it, she told her body firmly.

  She sat with Felicity for the rest of the band’s set, sipping at the chilled lemon water she drank when she was on duty. It was difficult to see any stars in the open sky above them, as the lights flickering over the pool broke a hole in the night’s darkness. But the sense of being outside at sea was still very apparent, and the warm breeze was delicious. The band started to wind down. “Well, that’s it for tonight, at least.”

  “That’s it for you, maybe. This lot are going to keep the bar staff going until the wee small hours,” Felicity said. And it was true. There was no sign of the crowd dispersing. “It looks like our favorite dancer has no plans on slowing down, either.”

  Dylan approached them and held out his hand. “Michaela, I promised the ladies I’d demonstrate a rumba for them.”

  Her name sounded so good when he said it that instead of bristling at his lack of formality, she let it slide. “I’m no good. Get one of the other dancers to demonstrate.”

  “Can’t,” he said simply. Michaela looked around the dance floor and found he was right. All of the dancers were occupied by enamored crowds.

  Without waiting for her answer, Dylan pulled her a little way onto the dance floor, though not into the center of the crush. The warmth tingling from his hands went right to her head, stealing her protests, and again she felt safe, perfectly at home in his arms. When his hips swayed in time to the beat, Michaela found her own following, and rather than standing on his feet, the movements came without thinking.

  Breathe in, breathe out, you’re his boss, you’re his boss.

  “You don’t have to dance with me, you know. It’s not in your contract to keep me occupied,” she said.

  “Why would I do that?” Dylan looked vaguely puzzled.

  “So the other dancers don’t have to. I know I’m not that much fun to dance with.”

  He gave her a look that didn’t fit with her picture of a player and pulled her body closer. “Why would I bother to play those sort of games? Especially with you?”

  Michaela looked him full in the eye. There was no artifice there. Plenty of heat and promise, though. “So you’re not just talking to me to keep me out of the way?”

  “You talked to me last night, and you sat at dinner with me, too. I didn’t make you.”

  His earlier conversation in the canteen line played over in her head again. What had he actually said? It wasn’t Dylan who had promised to keep her out of the way of the others. He’d just nodded and smiled, perhaps humoring the other dancer the same way he humored the hungry female guests. Her heart hiccupped at the thought.

  “If you don’t want to talk, we can just dance. You really aren’t all bad on the dance floor,” he said.

  Good idea. She was just digging herself into a hole here. What a bitch she’d been—pumping him for advice, using him as a shield when she saw the captain at dinner, and then believing everything some practically teenaged dancer had said.

  Michaela tried to take the compliment gracefully and be a grown up. “Thanks, although I don’t have any of your training. It obviously makes a huge difference.”

  Nodding, he gave her an odd look.

  “I can see why all the women have been hogging you,” Michaela continued. “There’s something about the way you move.”

  Dylan’s eyes seemed to smolder at the compliment. “Is there, now?”

  She gave his shoulder what was meant to be a playful slap, though it turned into something more like a…oh hell, she was stroking him. He had such nice shoulders. She forced her fingers to behave. “Don’t be a pig. I meant what I said earlier at the rehearsal, you’re a great dancer. I should know. I’ve seen hundreds.”

  Shut up.

  Why was she building his ego up like this? Okay, maybe he didn’t agree with the other dancers that she was useless on the dance floor, but she didn’t need to massage his obviously well-endowed self-esteem. He’d kissed her just to prove a point, for goodness’ sake.

  Maybe he needed a little lesson in humility. Yes, maybe. Well, her activity schedule was definitely going to give him that. So why didn’t she feel smug about it anymore?

  Because you like him.

  She sure liked the way he made her feel. Feminine and delicate, like she needed protecting, rather than like the cold-hearted bully some of her other staff made her out to be. She wriggled her hips closer, feeling his hand tighten on her back in response.

  The song finished, but Dylan made no move to let her go. “I didn’t see you demonstrating to anyone there,” she said.

  Her heart sped up at the look he gave her. “It was just an excuse, really. I needed to get out of there, and no one is going to interrupt me dancing with you.”

  “You really don’t have to look after me to keep me off everyone’s backs,” she said, repeating herself because she felt a little guilty about all the activities she had given him in order to keep him out of her way.

  “Well, it seems a good way to while away the hours. And at least we might have a normal conversation, you know, rather than talking about what Demi Moore Twittered or something equally inane,” Dylan said wryly.

  “Are you calling me old?”

  “I think you’re probably the perfect age.”

  The easy conversation disarmed her, and every time Michaela looked into those eyes she melted a little more in his arms. Damn. This was not how it was supposed to go.

  They kept dancing through the next two tracks, but then she noticed a number of the remaining passengers giving her frosty looks. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess it’s quite late,” Dylan said. “Perhaps I’ll call it a night, too.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be allowed to.” She indicated the closest group of st
aring women.

  “You sure I have to?” he whispered into her hair.

  Michaela stiffened. His lips at her ear were pleasantly unnerving. “I’m afraid so,” she said and pushed him away. “Just for a couple of numbers. Don’t let them wear you out.” Without looking behind her to check his expression, she fled the deck, heading straight for her stateroom and a cold shower.

  …

  The next day Dylan read the rules to shuffleboard with growing despondency. It looked like a tedious game.

  When he’d seen his activity schedule, he hadn’t really grasped the enormity of what he was being asked to do. He’d thought Michaela legitimately liked him, but perhaps he’d misread the signals, because he wasn’t sure he’d have a moment to eat in between rushing to lead the various activities on his roster. When she’d been in his arms there hadn’t been a trace of the woman who could dish out this sort of punishment.

  Harden up. No need to get soft because the big mean boss gave him a nasty schedule.

  Then another thought hit him—perhaps she liked him too much. The idea warmed him, made him want to seek her out and encourage her to wind herself around him as she had when they’d danced. And when they’d kissed…

  When they’d kissed, there had been nothing but a woman seeking a man who knew how to please her. Their roles hadn’t mattered—boss and employee tags became irrelevant.

  His resolve hardened. You won’t frighten me away, Michaela Western. I’m made of much stronger stuff than your usual minions.

  Despite his determination, the day was a blur. Dylan forced out smile after smile and cheered at each and every activity. He literally fell into bed at the end of it.

  The day after that should have been better, as the passengers were due to go ashore to Norfolk Island, but the weather turned, becoming too dangerous for the tender boats to land. So instead of having a day off, Dylan found himself involved in emergency line dancing classes, as well as a host of other activities designed to placate grumpy passengers. By the time the evening show came again, he was exhausted.

  “Have you run yourself ragged?” George asked.

  “I think that woman hates me.”