Page 37 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)
After the crew turns in for the night, Silas and I barhop our way down the boardwalk.
We have an early sail in the morning but tonight Silas is everything I always loved about him: charming, charismatic, hilarious.
Always two steps ahead, anticipating my thoughts before I even voice them, and by the time my jet lag is threatening to have me pass out cold, sitting at the last table, he’s already calling the waitress over for the final check.
When we walk out of the bar, into the balmy night air, I’m acutely aware of his arm brushing against mine as we make our way down the street.
Grant’s words fill the empty hollows of my mind, while Silas’ words join in next, like a chorus of reminders, compelling me to lean into him even more instead of pulling away.
Live because they can’t.
I link my arm through his like I’ve done a thousand times years ago, and he bends his arm at the elbow, locking me in.
We walk like that, listening to the sound of the waves striking the rocky shoreline below while tourists and locals mingle on the sidewalk, weaving around groups still standing outside bars and eateries.
The architecture here is pure magic and there’s something more beautiful to see on each block we pass, dating back hundreds of years, with hidden alleyways and wooden doors leading to delicious-smelling food and drink carts or street musicians making the most of the crowds heading home in the dark.
The faint echo of a Spanish guitar rings out when we turn the corner onto an old, narrow walkway that’ll lead us back to the hotel.
There’s a small group of people gathered here, listening to a musician pluck the strings with an empty guitar case sitting open at his feet.
It’s scattered with loose change and crumbled bills.
A few couples dance on the cobblestone, gently swaying in each other’s arms, illuminated by an old streetlamp flickering periodically overhead.
Silas pauses beside me.
“I think you owe me a dance,” he says. It’s not a question, but a command.
Before I can tell him no, he turns me toward him, pulling me in by the waist with one hand while grabbing tightly onto my free hand with the other.
“Si, you can’t be serious—” I begin to protest, but he holds me firmly against him, making me forget the rest of my words. I swallow the rest away and let him lead me, chuckling.
“A deal’s a deal,” he says, reminding me of our negotiation back at the hangar in Switzerland.
I groan, remembering, looking around at who may be watching us awkwardly sway on the cobblestone but no one seems to care.
“Forget about everything else and dance, Jules.”
“Forget?” I repeat.
“Focus on the music.” His face curls into a grin. “It’s gorgeous.”
He’s not wrong. The musician’s fingers fly up the neck of his guitar as his other hand expertly plucks the strings. The Spanish melody is sexy and slow.
Silas’ grip on my spine grows more firm. His body tenses against mine, and my heart begins to beat even louder.
I glance at the other dancers, positive that we’ll stick out like a sore thumb. These people all look as if they might have grown up in a flamenco studio. My body feels stiff, but my feet slowly begin to follow his steps.
“Out here? In the open like this?” I bite my lip as we begin to move.
He leans down and rests his cheek against mine, his lips gently brushing across my ear when he speaks.
“Right here.”
I swallow. The heat of his breath near my skin sends a shiver down my entire body starting where his lips brushed the space beneath my earlobe.
It’s gentle, like a feather. Barely whispering past my skin, so much so that I’m not sure whether it was meant to be or just a miscalculation of the space left between his lips and me.
I close my eyes and tilt my chin up toward the black sky filled with stars, giving him more access to my jaw, faintly wishing his lips would find that spot again.
Not thinking about whether it’s right or wrong.
Just wanting so desperately to feel that simple jolt of electricity again.
The one that reminds me I’m here. Living and breathing on a sidewalk, now in Spain.
He bends to speak again, and this time I know it wasn’t a mistake. “Forget everything else, Jules. Just move your body with me.”
There’s no point in fighting a man like Silas when he wants something, so I do exactly as he says.
I forget everything that brought us here to this exact moment.
I let the people, and the sidewalk, and the waves crashing below all fade into a hazy background of noise, and instead of focusing on how we look, or who might be watching me dance with the one man I started this trip out loathing, it all turns to gray.
And we dance.