Dancing in a Hurricane (14 page)

She'd picked up a few books at the library and spent a few relaxing hours reading one of her old favorites,
The Flame and The Flower
. Falling asleep, she dreamt of the perfect hero, chiseled features, beautiful, long hair, and a body that screamed to be appreciated by women.

"
Chica
."

She shook her head. "No, you're British."

"'Ellow, bird." He attempted an Austin Powers accent.

She laughed and opened her eyes. It was dark already. She must have slept for hours. Sixto sat next to her on the chaise, wearing a suit and tie.

"Nice." She felt the sleeve.

"Armani. What do you think? Am I the businessman type?"

"Mmm." She looked him up and down. "You could carry off the corporate raider look."

"It's for a Bloomingdale's ad."

"Do you get to keep the suit?"

"Yeah. It might come in handy for weddings and funerals."

"Or dates."

He shook his head. "That's not my idea of a date. Playing dress-up."

"I know." She smiled. "The last time I dressed formally was my senior prom."

He looked at her. "Kyle?"

"Mm hm. A lifetime ago."

He stood. "I'm going to get out of this and make something to eat. Join me?" He stared into her eyes.

She had to give him credit, he kept himself from looking at her bikini—the same one she wore the last time she swam. She needed to do some clothes shopping, if bikinis were considered clothing. In Miami, they probably were.

She sat up. "I'm not really hungry." Actually, she couldn't eat much in the evening. "But I'll sit with you."

"Deal." He walked around the pool toward the patio door to his bedroom and the motion light above the living room door snapped on.

She stretched and went into her room, freshened up, and put on a diaphanous white cover-up from her sister's swimsuit drawer. She went out through her sliding door to retrieve her book and walked around the pool to the door into the living room.

When she reached for the handle, the motion light came on, temporarily blinding her. As she slid open the door, she heard a woman scream. Bree jumped, her heart raced and she heard a thud, like something falling.

The woman screamed again and Bree held up her hand to block the light from her eyes. What was going on? Next to the couch, a beautiful dark-haired woman sat on the floor and the coffee table lay on its side.

Bree stepped into the living room and reached for the woman. "Are you okay?"

The woman immediately crossed herself. "Madre de Dio!"

Bree didn't move—was the woman afraid of her? She looked in the kitchen.

Sixto was bent over, holding his stomach.

Oh, God, was he hurt?

He sucked in a huge breath and thunderous laughter roared out of him. He bent double again, barely able to catch a breath.

The woman crab-walked backward into the kitchen, keeping a wary eye on Bree. Sixto collapsed onto the floor hooting, sitting with his back against the cabinet, his legs stretched out in front of him.

The woman scuttled next to him, sitting in a fetal position with her hands over her face.

Bree held out her hands, palms up. "Sixto, what's going on?"

"She…she thinks…" He dissolved into laughter again.

Bree set the coffee table back on its feet, put the magazines and papers on the bottom shelf, and walked into the kitchen.

"Tell me what's going on."

He breathed a dozen calming breaths, punctuated by hiccups. "My sister, Marisa."

Bree looked at the gorgeous woman and saw the resemblance. She was tall, built larger than Bree, her skin was perfect, lightly tan, her shoulder-length hair cut in a bob. She wore a tank top and shorts and Bree noticed an ugly scar on her left thigh.

Marisa peeked between her fingers and said something quietly in Spanish to Sixto.

He answered her then laughed again. "Marisa thought you were a ghost. She didn't know you were her twin."

Bree laughed and held her arms out to her sides. "I suppose this muumuu looked paranormal."

Marisa smiled. "I'm sorry, Bree. I feel like such a child."

Bree held out her hand. "Let me help you up."

Marisa grabbed on and stood, her gaze roaming over Bree's face. "It's good to meet you."

"Thanks. It's an introduction I'll never forget."

Sixto started to get up, but laughter overtook him. "Marisa's always believed in spirits. Maybe this will cure her." He laughed as his sister kicked the bottom of his bare foot with hers.

Sixto made it to his feet, wiping his eyes with the back of his arm. "Would you ladies like some wine?"

"Yes, please." Marisa held out a shaking hand. "I'm all jumpy. And I'm starving. What've you got to eat?"

He gestured to the counter. "Sit. I'll feed you."

Bree and Marisa sat and chatted while Sixto opened a bottle and kept their glasses filled. He reheated something impossibly aromatic, put a plate in front of Marisa, and asked Bree, "Would you like little?"

She nodded. "I can't resist that smell. Just a spoonful, please."

"Are you kidding?" Marisa teased. "Sixto's the best cook in Miami."

Bree sipped the fruity red wine and shrugged. "He is an amazing cook." She caught his eye at the stove for a second. "Everything has been amazing."

"Then, why just a spoonful?" Marisa played with her wine glass.

Marisa and Sixto were going to be part of her life, at least for a while. She decided to open up to them. "I haven't been able to eat much in the evening since I was a teen. I had a practical joke played on me and it soured me on supper." It was a relief to be able to explain to Sixto why she'd been avoiding his delicious food.

He set her plate in front of her and looked into her eyes. "Something Cloe did, right?"

She paused. Not willing to lie, she nodded.

"What did she do?" Marisa asked around a mouthful of food.

Bree pushed her food around with her fork. She'd only told this story to a few friends. Looking at Marisa and Sixto, her heart said she could trust them with her secret. They knew Cloe, so the story shouldn't be much of a shock to them. Talking it out might be a way for Bree to find a way over her irrational fear. "She heard that a boy she liked was going to ask me out."

Marisa shook her head. "But you were identical twins."

Bree looked at Sixto. He held a plate, eating while standing with his butt against the sink, his ankles crossed. He looked indifferent, but she could tell by the crinkle between his eyebrows he was listening. And he was pissed.

"Physically we were identical. But not psychologically. She was very…loose in school. With the boys. And I was quiet, studious. This boy was very good looking, but more my type. He and I were lab partners and we got along really well."

Marisa set down her fork. "And then?" She poured more wine for them.

"She came into the lab during class and called me a rat for chasing after this boy, embarrassed the hell out of me and him. When I got home that night, she seemed to have forgotten the whole thing. When we sat down for supper…" Bree shivered and pushed away her plate.

Sixto stared at her, his jaw clenched.

Marisa touched her arm. "Tell us, Bree."

Bile rose, but Bree swallowed it down. "She put a rat's tail—a whole rat's tail—in my food."

Marisa clamped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, shit!"

"Damn." Sixto murmured.

Bree shrugged. "Whenever I eat, I have to sift through everything, just to be able to take a bite." She laughed, but it sounded manic. "It's always interesting to watch my dates' faces when I dissect everything on the plate."

"That bitch," Marisa grumbled.

Sixto cleared his throat. "It's not right to talk about the dead that way, Riss."

His sister picked up her wine. "We called her that when she was alive. Why should we stop now?"

"It's sad to think Cloe never changed after all this time." Bree laced her fingers together. "I always imagined she matured, become a confident woman instead of the inconsiderate girl I lived with for twenty years." She found herself massaging her broken pinkie.

"She did that too, didn't she?" Sixto nodded to her finger.

Bree self-consciously dropped her hands into her lap. "Yes."

Marisa looked confused. "What? What are you talking about?"

Bree held up her hand. Her pinkie didn't straighten out fully. "She slammed it in a car door when we were ten."

"Jesus Christ," Marisa fisted her hand. "What was her fucking problem?"

The story she'd kept tightly bottled inside for years just seemed to flow from her. "We overheard our parents arguing. Cloe was always rambunctious and I was a little angel. A happy child, good grades, lots of friends, did my chores without being asked."

Sixto smiled and Bree lost herself in his expressive eyes for a moment.

Marisa prompted her. "What were your parents arguing about?"

Bree transported back in time. She and Cloe hiding under the dining room table, playing Nancy Drew and spying on their parents. "Dad asked why Cloe couldn't be more like me." Her heart ached for the pain Cloe must have felt that day.

Marisa sucked in a breath.

"Yeah, after that it was tough on all of us. Cloe felt inadequate. My parents didn't understand where her animosity came from. I happened to be a handy outlet for her anger."

Marisa took her hand in hers, squeezed it, and Bree saw tears shining in her eyes. Emotion gathered in the corners of her own eyes. Sixto's sister instantly made her way into Bree's heart. She finally found a friend in Miami.

Bree looked at Sixto. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at his feet. He blinked rapidly and another slice of her heart went out to him.

Marisa touched the jagged scar on her own thigh. "I have scars too, Bree. We can work through them together."

Bree opened her mouth to ask how she'd been injured, but Marisa shot a quick glance at her brother then shook her head at Bree.

Evidently, it was something even Sixto didn't know about, and Marisa didn't want him to find out. Bree squeezed her hand. "I'd like that." She swallowed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "Okay, enough of my pity party. Let's find something less depressing to talk about."

Marisa looked at Sixto. "Have you shown her anything of Miami?"

He shook his head. "She's got a boyfriend. That's his job."

Both Bree and Marisa stared at him. His moods bounced around like a ping-pong ball.

"He's not my boyfriend," Bree countered. "We dated twice."

Marisa turned to Bree. "Don't mind him. He's the baby of the family and acts like it. Are you free tomorrow evening?"

Sixto started the garbage disposal and made a racket with the dishes.

Bree winked at Marisa. "Yes, I'm free. What do you have in mind?"

"Come to the club." Marisa smiled at her. "Sixto's bartending, which means free drinks. Dayami, our sister, and Élian and Rico are going, too."

"I don't have anything to wear. I've been meaning to shop—"

Marisa snapped her fingers. "I'll go shopping with you tomorrow. I'm between jobs and you've got time, right?"

Bree could imagine a wild day shopping with her. "Okay, that would be great."

"You know what?" Marisa opened her purse and dug out her phone. "Dayami has a friend who's a personal shopper at Bloomies. Should I call her? See if she can meet us tomorrow?"

Bree shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Be right back." Marisa dialed as she walked into the living room.

Sixto strode to the counter and took Bree's plate. "Don't let her talk you into anything crazy."

She looked at Marisa. "She dresses normal."

"Ha." He scraped her food into the disposal. "She wears some flashy clothes to the clubs."

"Hmm. Maybe that's what I need. Flashy."

Sixto shut off the disposal and poured more wine for everyone. "You don't want to give men the wrong impression."

"No." While they were on the subject, she should get his advice about what Tim said to her. He knew about guys and the rules of dating, but how could she phrase this so he didn't think she was completely ignorant? "Sixto?"

He set down the wine bottle and lifted his brows.

"Does…is there a rule…like, do guys think that after a certain number of dates, a woman should be willing to have sex?" She felt her cheeks warm.

He laughed. "No, there's no rule. For women either. Some will sleep with a man on the first date, others wait for the fifth, sixth date. Sometimes longer."

He drank his wine, those perfect lips smiling slightly. "Why? What did the teacher tell you?"

She put her elbow on the counter and set her head in her hand. "He invited me to his house last night and said something about the second date."