“Brilliant.” The redhead cracks a cheeky smile. “Care to have a go on the dance floor with me, Princess?”
“Um . . . sure.”
He grabs my hand and leads me away from the table. With a fleeting glance, I notice that Arthur’s gaze is indeed on me. He continues to track me like a submarine’s sonar system. I have no doubts that nothing will escape his notice.
Six
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been our pleasure to perform for you at Club Babalou. We hope we made tonight a memorable one for all of you. Regrettably, our evening has come to an end, but not before we play one final song.”
The band picks up their instruments and begins playing “Cuban Pete,” one of the signature songs fromI Love Lucy. From my perch by the dessert table, I drum my fingers against the surface, humming along to the catchy melody.
“Are you done dancing?” Amanda asks, sneaking up to my left.
“It looks that way. I don’t have a partner,” I admit, continuing to watch the happy couples on the dance floor, swaying closely to one another. A small surge of jealousy flows through my veins, but my sitting out the last dance is my own fault. I’ve turned down the last few people who’ve asked me. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’ve danced with about twenty different blokes, and talking to them has mentally exhausted me. I like dancing, but I’m all talked out. I am not used to having so many people around me.”
“That’s the excuse, but my question is do you want to dance?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I wouldn’t mind it. I like this song.”
“Cool beans, because I see someone I know is quietwho you can dance with.” Tugging on my hand, she yanks me toward the adjoining table, where Arthur is standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. He sees us approaching and immediately stiffens, standing like a soldier at attention. “Hey, Arthur,” Amanda says.
“Ma’am.”
“Ali is looking for a partner, and seeing as you’re free, she’d love to have you take her out onto the dance floor.” She places my hand in his. “Problem solved. Now to go find Clara. She’s been sitting too long. One dance won’t kill her.” Amanda practically skips away from us.
“Um, sorry about that.” I quickly tug my hand away. “I had no idea she was going to ask you. You don’t have to dance with me. It’s not in your job description.”
“Technically speaking, it isn’t. Unless it’s something you ask me to do.” He extends his hand back to me. My gaze travels up the length of his arm to his face. “Are you requesting a dance?”
My throat goes dry. Idowant to dance. And not with any of the partners I’ve had tonight. I want it to be with someone who all I have to do is dance with. Not speak to. Arthur ticks all those boxes. “Yes.” My voice is an octave higher than normal. “I am.”
He nods and takes my hand in his. It’s warm, and the tips of his fingers are calloused. He hesitates before placing his left hand on the small of my back and pulling me in closer to him. I let him lead.
We move side to side in a simple box-step pattern in the small area between the surrounding tables. His body is tense. I’m nearly dragged along, like he’s using me as a broom to try and sweep up a trail of dust. He has a surprising amount of strength in those arms. His attention keeps returning to his feet.
“You won’t step on them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He lifts his chin and grunts.
His grip loosens, but he continues to hold his shoulders high and step with all his weight on his heels. There are deep-set concentration lines on his forehead. It’s not lost on me that he’s way outside of his comfort zone.
He’s probably counting down until we can leave. Nevertheless, his act of kindness isn’t lost on me. I’ll take it as an apology for the way our relationship has started. An olive branch of sorts.
“You’re doing brilliantly. One of the best partners I’ve had all night.”
Arthur’s lips twitch. The folds of his eyes crinkle. For the briefest moment, I’m rewarded with a flash of his dimples. My heart stops and my breath catches. Whoa. Is that what he looks like when he doesn’t have his mask in place? If Helen of Troy had a face that could launch a thousand ships, then Arthur has a face that could inspire a thousand sculptors. It’s a face that would be at home in a statue gallery of Greek gods.
As the music slows, the steady beats are replaced by a reserved, tranquil tune. He pulls me an inch closer to him. It’s a good feeling, but makes me nervous. I’m not used to being this close to a man. My body feels like it’s a glass of champagne and the bubbles are rising to the top.
We rock side to side. My hands travel farther up his back, feeling the hard muscles beneath the fabric of his coat, before looping themselves around his neck. I catch the faint whiff of his cologne. It’s a clean scent that reminds me of mint, vanilla, and some type of other herb I can’t put my finger on.
“Art.” He murmurs so low, I barely catch it.
“Huh?”
“I’d prefer going by the name Art. I’ve never liked being an Arthur.”
“Of course. Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
