“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.
Chapter Thirteen
Dylan’s PA had called first thing, arranging for Michaela to be collected from her hotel after work. When she put down the phone, Michaela paused. It was strange that Dylan hadn’t called himself. Though at least he had bothered to set up a date. It wasn’t like he’d known she was in Sydney before yesterday—he might be stuck in some multinational takeover bid for all she knew.
Finding a way to finish a little early, Michaela almost ran back to her hotel at the end of the day, allowing herself a full twenty minutes to get ready for Dylan. Her command to her nerves to be still was ineffective, and she had to almost sit on her hands when she was ready early. The knock on her door made her jump, but when she opened it to Dylan’s smiling face and a dozen red roses, she almost yelped in excitement. Man, she felt like a teenager.
“This time we’re going to my favorite restaurant,” he told her.
Michaela frowned, anticipating something five-star. “Do I need to change?” she asked, looking down at her slightly shabby dress.
He laughed. “You might be a little overdressed, but no one will mind. Come on.”
This time, the views weren’t spectacular. In fact, there wasn’t a view to speak of—they were pushed into a corner table while waiters circled around them calling loudly in Italian to each other.
“This is your favorite restaurant?” She couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Wait,” was all he said.
And it was worth the wait. The noise began to make sense as Michaela relaxed into the evening. She enjoyed hearing the waiters burst into song at regular intervals, and the food was better than anything she’d ever tried in the Italian restaurants she’d been to.
But the best part was the way they treated Dylan, as if he were family. When she commented on it, he smiled and gestured to the maître d’. “This is Lily,” he said.
“And who is this?” Lily asked. Michaela thought she caught a flicker of sadness in the woman’s eyes, though she smiled.
“This is the indomitable Michaela Western,” Dylan said. “A high flier in the entertainment industry.”
The two women shared a look, and Michaela thought, She’s totally in love with him. Lily’s eyes spoke clearly of all the heartache Dylan had caused her—was still causing her.
He didn’t mean to, she thought defensively. It’s different for us. We’ve been up-front about everything.