Dancing in a Hurricane (13 page)

Possessive act? His hands fisted. It was completely innocent. He just moved closer to see her computer and the hot rush of desire overwhelmed him. Ah, hell. In her mood, she wouldn't believe him.

Going on the offensive, he said, "
Chica
, I saw your face. You were just as affected as I was."

"No,
chico
, I was not!" She pointed to him. "You were affected." Her hands dropped to her sides, her shoulders slumped, and she looked away. "I was embarrassed."

That drained away his anger. Shit, he was officially the biggest ass on the planet. Every move he made seemed to backfire and end up hurting her.

Rico laid on the horn. Damn him, the neighbors would leave another note on the garbage can complaining about his noisy friends.

"Sorry, Bree." It was the minimum he needed to say. He walked to the garage door, pulled on his snakeskin boots, and left, not wanting—not brave enough—to look at her again.

***

Rico watched Sixto stomp out of the garage. Élian was oblivious, digging through eight-tracks. He popped Al Green into the vintage player.

Sixto opened the back door and fell in, shaking the whole car. He took his usual place in the middle of the back seat, belted himself in, and crossed his arms.

Rico looked at him in the rearview mirror and saw hellfire in his eyes. He shook his head, shifting into reverse. His
socio
didn't get pissed very often and when he did, it was usually Cloe's fault.

Rico slung his arm over the bench seat, watching out the rear window as he backed down the driveway. "What's the problem, man? You look like you're ready to kick shit outa somebody."

"I can't get it right lately."

Rico swung the car into the street, shifted, and assumed his cruising position: a hand on top of the wheel, leaning into the middle console. "Since when?"

Sixto shrugged, but didn't say anything.

It had to be Bree. The way Sixto wrapped himself around her on the couch, Rico had no doubt the man was marking his territory. When Rico followed her into the kitchen, the look on Sixto's face turned predatory. Whether Sixto knew it or not, he was falling hard for the blonde.

Élian pointed to a gas station. "Pull in, man, I need to get some mints."

"Sheeet, mint's ain't gonna help you none,
mucha
coba
." Rico flipped on his blinker.

Élian gestured one-finger at Rico. "Yeah, I'm a hot shot. You guys want anything?"

Rico and Sixto shook their heads, Rico parked, and Élian jumped out.

Sixto's phone played a Heavy D rap song. Rico watched him in the mirror.

"Who the hell is this?" Sixto's eyebrows drew together. He pressed answer. "Hello?" His jaw tensed. "All right. Thanks." He hung up.

Rico turned to the back seat. "Bree?"

"Yeah. New cell number. She wanted me to have it." He pressed buttons on his keypad.

"What's happening with you and her?"

Sixto glared at him. After a second, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. Nothing. Nothing's going on, nothing's going to happen. She told me she's fucking celibate. Waiting for the right guy to come along." He put his phone in his pocket. "A guy with an engagement ring."

"No way she's…" Rico stopped. "Yeah. Yeah, you know, I think I see it now. She didn't respond to me the way babes usually do."

Rico was a hound, but women liked him, for some reason. But the man was too damn cocky. "They usually slap you and throw a drink in your face."

Rico gave a sharp laugh. "Wrong. I got what they want,
socio
." He eyed Sixto. "So, what are you gonna do about her?"

"I'm not ready for anything serious." Sixto put his head back on the seat, looking at the sky out the rear window.

Rico never heard Sixto talk about a woman in terms of a future with her. "Man, you're screwed if you're even thinking about that shit."

"Yeah, I'm screwed."

Élian got into the car.

"
Yo
estoy metiendo en camisa de once varas,
" Sixto muttered.

Élian looked at Rico then at Sixto. "What? Why are you in big trouble, man?"

Sixto gave Rico a warning look and answered Élian, "I need a sweet little
chica
tonight, or I'm going to have trouble walking."

Élian laughed. "Here,
mucha
coba
, have a mint."

***

Bree met Tim the teacher at the movie theater. He offered to buy the movie tickets and she let him. When she offered to buy the cocktails, he let her. They chose a comedy that they'd both heard was hilarious.

They found seats toward the front and ordered mojitos. Tim suggested they share a dessert and ordered cheesecake. They chatted through the previews, sipping their drinks and commenting on which upcoming movies they'd like to see. He insisted on feeding her cheesecake until she told him she was full. It felt a little odd that he wanted to feed her. She'd played that game with her ex in private, but never in such a public place.

When the movie started, he lowered the table between them, put his arm around her, and kissed her temple. She'd never been with a man this demonstrative. Did he have a little bit of an exhibitionist streak in him? Kissing, feeding, snuggling. She hoped that was the extent of his public displays of affection. She'd have to watch him, slap his hands if he went too far.

The theater was dark, so she let her worries fade away and snuggled closer, warm and secure. Her thoughts drifted to Sixto sitting next to her on the couch. She may have misinterpreted his intentions. He'd seemed just as surprised by the zing of lightning between them as she was.

"Bree? You don't like the movie?"

Her mind snapped back to the present. "Sorry, I was lost in thought." She leaned closer to him. "I'm back with you."

He was into the movie, laughing and smacking his leg. Bree chuckled at a few scenes, but the humor seemed juvenile, fraternity house kind of jokes.

She looked at Tim's profile. Had she misjudged his age? He just started teaching this fall, but she assumed he finished his master's degree. What if he only had his bachelor's? Crap, was he even 21?

After the movie, he walked her to the parking lot, his arm around her shoulder. At her car, he slid his hands to her lower back, pulled her close, and kissed her. It started sweet but quickly turned hot.

Bree slid her hands up his arms and let herself relax and feel the passion.

His tongue began probing and he moved his hips against hers, his erection evident. Against her lips he asked, "Would you like to come to my place for a drink?"

"I think it's too soon, don't you?" she whispered.

"No. Second date."

"What does that mean?" She pushed him back an inch.

"It's not like we don't know each other." He ran a hand up her waist and pressed his palm on the side of her breast.

She pushed him another inch. "You're assuming too much, Tim."

He stepped back, a confused look on his face. "I'm into you, Bree. I thought you were into me, too."

She wanted to laugh at his petulance, but this was serious. Either she gave off a totally different vibe than what she felt, or he read way too much into their conversations.

She opened her car door, got in. "We should probably take a few days and think about this." She started the car.

"Aw, Bree, did I blow it?" His voice seemed so sad, she almost felt sorry for him.

"No, Tim. But just think about what you want from our relationship and give me a call, okay?"

"All right." He turned away, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

She jammed the shifter into drive and got the heck out of there. Damn it, if he thought second date meant sex, she'd have to straighten him out.

She drove home, thinking of nothing, letting the wind whip through her hair, the salty ocean spindrift land on her lips. The closer she got, the more her tension eased. Was it just being farther away from Tim? Or was it because she was going home to Sixto?

Crap, she'd been rude to her roommate earlier. She owed him an apology.

She walked into her bedroom and went to the patio door to shut the blinds, but saw a light on in Sixto's room. Looking at her watch, she saw midnight. What was he doing home so early? Oh, maybe he wasn't alone… She looked again and saw him sitting in his Lazy Boy watching television.

She dropped her sandals in the closet and trudged out of her bedroom. No time like the present.

Knocking on his door, she heard voices from the television. "Sixto? Are you awake?"

The TV muted. "No."

She smiled. "May I come in?"

The TV started again. "If you have to."

She opened the door, loving the masculine smell of his room. And neat. No dirty socks on the floor, no piles of laundry. The realization that he kept it tidy in case he brought a lady home gave her a hollow feeling.

"You here to yell at me somemore?"

"No. I'm here to apologize."

He gestured to the two recliners next to his. "Have a seat. Want a beer?"

"Mmm, no thanks." She sat next to him, pulling her legs up under her. It seemed dangerous being in his room, on his territory. She felt somehow vulnerable, unsure. She looked at the bed. She felt like…prey.

He muted the television, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You have something to say?"

She made a pitiful face, hoping to soften him up. "I overreacted. I'm sorry."

He grunted, turned the volume back up.

She spoke over the Austin Powers soundtrack. "I realized after you left that maybe you hadn't meant to be so alpha dog."

He laughed. "Now you're calling me a dog. I just can't get a break tonight."

"Things didn't go well at the club?"

He looked directly at her, his gaze so devoid of emotion, it silenced her. After a few seconds, she turned her attention to the TV. Did she ruin his evening by picking a fight? They shouldn't be so emotionally tied to one another.

Austin was in the Electric Psychedelic Pussycat Swingers' Club and Bree smiled, fascinated by the '60s décor and clothes. She laughed at the crazy dialog and looked at Sixto. He was sitting stiff in his chair, his jaw clenched, evidently not in the mood for a comedy—or for her.

She stood. "Well, anyway, maybe we can talk tomorrow. If you want."

"Sure." He didn't meet her eye.

"Good night."

"Night."

She walked out, quietly closing the door. "Someone has his crabby pants on tonight."

Chapter Ten

Sixto breathed deeply when Bree left his room. She must think he was still mad at her. Better than knowing the real reason. When Austin Powers entered the swingers' club, Sixto's heart palpitated.

Before she knocked, he'd been trying to decide how to handle the situation with the management company and the east warehouse. The freaky thing was how she walked in right when Austin walked into the club. Was that fate telling him what to do? Lying to her weighed heavily on him—even if it was a lie by omission. She deserved to know the truth. To know how Cloe made all her money and why the revenue still poured into her bank account.

He fisted his hand, pounded the arm of his chair. But if he told her, she'd close it down and he'd lose his income. Shit, with the housing market, he'd probably have to sell his half of the house at a loss.

He turned off the television, went into his bathroom, and brushed his teeth. He looked at himself in the mirror. What was more important to him? Money or integrity. He prided himself on his honesty. And now, when it seemed like he found someone who might be compatible, he lied to her.

He spit toothpaste and looked at the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. She deserved to know she owned a private swingers' club.

The last few years, since Cloe hired him to maintain the warehouses, he'd convinced himself that it was okay to be on the payroll. Whatever happened at Club Quay was between consenting adults. No one got hurt. Applicants were carefully vetted before they were accepted as members.

Stomping out of the bathroom, he switched off the lights. He flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He'd rationalized the morally ambiguous money as being his only way of helping his family. The Dorias had a long tradition of the men taking responsibility for all the financial needs. He'd been brought up to believe it was his duty.

All great excuses.

"Bree." He owed her the truth. But…just not yet.

***

Sixto was gone most of the next day at a photo shoot and Bree used the time to contact the State of Florida to find out how to apply for a license to practice Physical Therapy. She checked online for jobs and found a half dozen that interested her.

She drove to two gyms she found on the internet and took tours, let the salespeople give her their pitch. At home, she slipped into her inherited swimsuit and lay by the pool, enjoying the last of the October sunshine. She'd have to ask Sixto what Miami did for Halloween.