Is that music?
A melody lifts through the darkness. The parking lot is lit by old-fashioned lamps, two rows of them flanking the path to the center of the park like dutiful soldiers.
Miles is by my side a beat later, and we hang the helmets on the handlebars.
“Dance with me?” Miles laces his fingers through mine.
What? No, I cannot dance. At all.
Reluctantly, I follow where he leads me.
When I shiver, he tugs me into his side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, dropping a kiss into my hair.
I look up at him.
Blue eyes are stuck on my face as we move forward, neither of us paying attention to the path ahead.
It’s only when the brightly lit center of the park makes me squint that we both turn to take in the musicians and their folksy tunes. Couples dance while others sit at small café tables. A handful of stalls stand behind the center platform hosting the instruments.
“Miles,” I utter.
He holds out a hand.
The captain wants to dance . . . with me?
With a nervous laugh, I admit, “I can’t actually dance.”
“Need to stand on my feet, beautiful?”
The feminist in me just died a little, and I’m not even mad about it.
“Sure, but if I hurt your big clodhoppers, that’s on you, buddy.”
“Oh, Christ. On you get, but one condition,” he says as we move toward the dancing space.
“What’s your condition, Miles?”
“Don’t ever call me buddy again.”
“Huh, right. How about mate?”
His face pulls tight over a cringy grin. “Nope, that’s not going to cut it, either.”
“Okay,” I say, stepping onto his feet. “What, exactly, can I call you?”
His head dips until his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “You can call mesir, beautiful.”
Oh shit.Heat flings through my veins.
Too much, this close is too much.
On second thought, I think I’ll wing it. I step down and let the music move my body as my hand stays wrapped in his. Heat creeps up my neck and I duck my head, scrambling for my next breath. My body is lit with something I’ve never felt before with his low tone, his warm hold on me as we move around with the music.
I slide my arms around his neck, and he smiles at me. “Well, in that case, sir. How is this for dancing?”
I twist, sway, and roll out of his hold before making a dramatic return to his space.
He tosses his head back, chuckling. “It’s good, London.”
