Chapter 10

Garnar and I aren’t the only ones surprised by Miles sudden request. Many of the nearby guests, mostly high society socialites and their eligible daughters, gasp and take more interest in our conversation.

I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way the younger single women at this party have followed Miles around like lost puppies with hearts in their eyes, but so far, he’s denied all of them any extra attention beyond base politeness.

Despite that subtle rejection, it seems as if a line has been forming to try to encourage Miles to dance with them, one at a time.

Yet here he is, extending an invitation to dance with me, a married, older woman, mother of two.

Whispers sound all around us. I can’t properly discern them, but from their sharpness and the way the speakers glare at me, they are clearly making comments at my expense.

I’m not stranger to hearing hurtful comments. My husband regularly casts criticisms my way, based on my weight and age, sometimes even about my intelligence. So it’s not the remarks about me that are making my blood cook up to a boiling point right now.

What fires me up is the blatant disrespect such comments imply against Miles. The man is allowed to dance with whoever he pleases, me or otherwise. To be skeptical of that decision is to insult the man himself.

Though, even with that line of thinking, I still worry that he only means to dance with me as some kind of continued mischief, either against me or Garnar or both.

Garnar, glowering, doesn’t seem like he’ll let any of this happen, however. “My wife is a lousy dancer. Surely you can find someone more suitable.”

Shame courses through me. What am I thinking? Garnar would never let me dance with Miles.

Miles, looking at Garnar, narrows his eyes. “I wish to dance with Esther, whether or not she is a good dancer.”

The eligible women around us whisper louder. I can hear some of them now more clearly.

“Who does she think she is?”

“Is Miles into old cows now?”

“Doesn’t she work here? Why dance with the help?”

Garnar reaches toward me and grips me by the wrist. “Esther doesn’t want to dance. Do you, dear?” The dear is heavy with threat. As a good wife, I’m supposed to agree.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

Garnar swivels his angry glare on me. “Esther.”

“If you agree to allow me to dance with Ester,” Miles coolly adds, “I might reconsider my rejection of your company’s contracts.”

Garnar’s hand tightens on my wrist so hard that I wince. Miles notices at once, and starts to step forward. My warning glance stops him.

“Fine,” Garnar snaps. Though, before releasing me, he turns to me and hisses, “Apologize and fix this for us. Don’t you dare further jeopardize our business.”

“I won’t,” I whisper.

“And tonight, you will apologize for making Thea cry,” Garnar adds, lip curling up into a snarl.

Why should I need to apologize? I’m not the one who spoke up and tried to humiliate my sister. I didn’t even say anything at all!

Miles steps closer, breaking our private conversation. He holds his hand out to me. “Esther. If you please.”

If I look at Garnar anymore, I’m liable to scream, so it is no great effort to place my hand in Miles’s and let him lead me out to the dance floor.

We cut through the whispering women. Miles pays them no mind, so I try not to, lifting my head high.

Other couples have already begun dancing. The crooner sings a low and steady melody, as the orchestra provides his big band backdrop.

When we reach the center of the dance floor, Miles turns and pulls me closer. One of his arms slips around my back, his hand settling against the small of my back. His other hand continues to clutch mine, pressing our conjoined hands against his chest.

At first, I try to maintain a respectable distance, but Miles is insistent. He tightens his hold around my waist, bringing me closer against his firm chest.

Like this, our faces are close. I don’t know where to look, so I turn my head away. This puts my ear very near his mouth. I can feel his warm puffs of breath against my skin.

I shiver at the closeness, memories seeping into my thoughts once more. The night we were together, Miles held me so close. He grabbed my hand when we’d made love and did not let go until we both finished.

I know what this hard chest looks and feels like without clothes in the way. Despite my best efforts not to think of it, I can’t keep my mouth from watering. I placed hickeys on that chest. I wonder if they are still there.

My cheeks heated up at once in embarrassment. I feel like I’m about to combust at any moment.

“Didn’t expect to see your call boy again, did you?” Miles asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.”

“You could have told me…”

“I tried,” Miles says. “I called you. You are the one who wouldn’t hear me out.”

“Oh.” I did hang up on him, not giving him any time to explain. “You could have said something that night. Maybe you enjoyed hiding your identity.”

“I enjoyed a lot of things about that night,” Miles says.

Shocked, I miss a step and nearly trip. Fortunately Miles’s strong hold on me keeps me from falling.

“Careful,” he laughs lightly. “We wouldn’t want you to take another tumble.”

“I just don’t understand,” I say. “Why me?”

His laughter ebbs, but his bright mood remains. “Why not you?”

“No, I mean… Why dance with me? The other young women here are clearly a better fit for you than me. I’m married, and older…”

“You aren’t making sense, Esther. You want me to dance with someone else?”

“No,” I say quickly before I can stop myself.

Miles hums with obvious satisfaction. “Esther. Won’t you look at me?”

I really don’t want to. Seeing Miles’s handsomeness up close is sure to scramble my brain, and I need the whole of my brain in full functioning order so that I don’t embarrass myself again and make things worse for Garnar’s company.

But when Miles hand presses harder on my back, bringing my front flush with his chest, I can’t resist a tiny peek up at his face.

“There you are,” he says and smiles. God, he’s handsome. Instead of a congressman, he could be a model. He even has a pair of dimples right there in the middle of his cheeks.

My heart thunders loud in my ears. Even knowing it’s a treacherously bad idea, I want to press my lips to his just to see what he would do.

Fortunately, despite his overwhelming attractiveness, my willpower reigns supreme and I’m able to hold onto some of faculties.

Kissing a congressman in front of a bunch of people, including my husband, would be devastating to all our reputations. I’m not some horny teenager. I can keep myself in check.

Mostly.

“Tell me again that you don’t want me to dance with someone else,” he says.

He’s demanding, but I refuse to answer, knowing that if I do, I’ll only implicate myself farther.

He already knows the answer though. I’ve already given myself away.

My non-answer does nothing to dampen his spirits. He simply looks at me intently and says, “Esther. Are you jealous?”