Page 164 of Merciless Daddy

My breath caught.

Lena.

He had used it before, but not like that. Not in a room where nobody could hear.

A song started on the jukebox.

Old. Slow. A man singing about home in a voice roughened by longing.

Sal stood.

He came around the booth and held out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

I took his hand.

He drew me into the small open space between empty tables. One hand settled at my waist. The other held mine. I put my free hand on his shoulder.

We moved slowly.

I had danced at weddings. At galas. I knew how to follow a man in a ballroom where everyone watched for weakness.

This was different.

His chest was warm beneath my palm. His hand was firm at my waist. He smelled like clean linen and dark cologne and fries.

I stepped on his shoe.

Sal looked down.

“Sorry,” I said.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Prove it.”

“You are smiling.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“By assaulting my shoes.”

“Well, they’re very arrogant. Look at the lip on them.”

His laugh brushed my hair.

Then he turned me under his arm, brought me back against him, and held me close enough that I could hear his heart.

For one song, nothing was burning.

For one song, I was not a daughter or a bride or a problem somebody needed to solve.

I was on a date.

I was dancing with the man I wanted.

And he was smiling.