Dancing in a Hurricane (15 page)

"Huh. He moves fast."

"Too fast."

Sixto paused. "Trouble?"

She shook her head and drew with her finger on the cool marble counter. "No, I don't think so. But I told him I needed a few days away from him. He's going to call if he's still interested."

"Sounds like he's interested in the wrong thing."

"Yeah." She grimaced, looked at Sixto. "I don't think he's as old as he says he is, either."

He shook his head. "Cradle robbing?"

Marisa slid back onto her barstool. "Who?"

"I think I might be," Bree answered.

Marisa studied her face. "You're what, 24?"

"25."

"You can get away with dating anyone out of college."

Sixto groaned. "Is there a rule book on this? One that only women know about?"

Marisa shook her head. "I'm running through my list of eligible bachelors, trying to decide who'd be good for Bree."

Sixto looked Bree over. "Someone young, like her. Not older, like us."

"I don't know." Marisa grimaced. "She's mature for her age."

"Sometimes." Sixto laughed. "You haven't been around her when she gets crazy."

"Crazy?" Bree thought of the pool, when she'd dumped water on him. She lifted her glass. "Go ahead and talk about me like I'm not here. I don't care." She sipped her wine.

"Oh, we will," Marisa snapped with a naughty grin.

The siblings switched to Spanish, Bree caught a few names, but understood little else. Sixto kept shaking his head whenever Marisa suggested someone. Her voice got louder, more animated. Sixto's eyes flared, his voice sounded angry. Finally, Marisa spouted, "If no one else is good enough for her then why don't
you
ask her—"

"
¡Callarse
, Marisa!" Sixto left the kitchen and stomped off to his room.

Marisa looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Bree. He and I argue a lot."

She shook her head, a little disconcerted by Sixto's anger. "I don't mind, but I think you've pushed your brother too far."

Marisa looked toward his room. "It's strange. All those men I suggested are awesome. I can't imagine why…" She looked at Bree. "You don't suppose he's—"

Bree held out her hand. "This conversation is over, Marisa. I wouldn't even attempt to discuss this with you."

"This? What do you mean by 'this'?"

Bree shook her head. "Uh uh. Don't twist my words. There's nothing between us. And there never will be. We want completely different things in life and there's no crossing the line."

Marisa stared at her then her mouth curled into a slow grin.

It looked downright sneaky. "Wait—"

"Okay." Marisa stood. "Whatever you say." She looked at her watch. "I've got to go, but I'll call you when I hear back from Dayami. Sound good?"

"Yep. And thanks so much for doing this for me."

Marisa waived away her gratitude. "It'll be fun. And…" She picked up her purse and slipped on her shoes at the garage door. "I hope we'll get to be good friends."

Bree smiled. "I know we will. See you tomorrow."

"
Ciao
."

Bree smiled at Marisa's Italian. She probably knew five languages, and Bree could barely keep up with one. Yet they both had scars. It bound them together, somehow. Bree felt a connection to Marisa.

As she walked into the kitchen, she picked up Marisa's plate and scraped it into the disposal, running the water and grinding the food. Rinsing the plates, she put them in the dishwasher, started it and wiped the countertops. She turned off the overhead light and turned on the chili pepper nightlight by the stove.

She sipped her chardonnay, looking out the kitchen window at their neighborhood. Every day it became more like home, more like she belonged here. She hadn't recognized how isolated she'd been in Port Angeles. After her closest friends married and had children, she dated less and babysat more.

Setting her empty glass by the sink, she wandered into the living room and turned off the lamps. She didn't feel like being alone in her room. A light shone under Sixto's bedroom door, but he was in a cranky mood. Again. She sat on the couch. Moonlight reflected languidly off the pool. She could soak in the spa, but it wasn't much fun alone.

Why hadn't Sixto approved any of the men Marisa mentioned? He looked more embarrassed than angry when Marisa shouted at him. Why had he stormed off to his room? Why didn't he just tell his sister they were…incompatible. A strong word, but true. She was looking for the whole life-long package, and he was looking for a few fun nights.

She stood and walked to the curtains framing the patio doors, looking across the terrace into his sliding door.

He sat on his bed, talking on the phone. He hung up, stood, and stepped into his closet. When he came out, he wore a button-front shirt and pants. He picked up a pair of shoes and left his room.

She didn't want to startle him so she stood quietly as he walked through the living room, through the dining room, and stopped by her closed bedroom door.

Chapter Eleven

Bree watched as Sixto lifted a fist to knock on her bedroom door, exhaled loudly. and touched his fingertips to the door. He turned away and walked into the garage. In a few seconds, the throaty growl of his truck broke the silence as he pulled away and left.

She remembered to breathe again. What was he going to say to her? What made him turn away? The affectionate touch of his fingers on her door caused a squeezing sensation around her heart. Her mind shouted the word—

Love.

"Oh, no. You are
not
falling in love with him." Though tears threatened, she swallowed the emotion away and forced herself to feel what it would be like to live her life as Sixto's lover, never finding the happiness of a husband and children. Spending hours, days, sitting in her room waiting for tiny pieces of his affection.

She had to be resolute, keep him out of her heart. Commit herself to find a man who could give her everything she wanted. Everything she deserved. Choking on a breath, she let go of her fear.

She'd been so good her whole life. Kind, accepting, and giving. Her heart was filled with love that had no outlet since her parents died, since Kyle left her and Cloe severed what was left of their family. Five long years she relied on her friends for emotional support. She would not settle for "just sex."

She wanted to love a man completely and know he loved her just as intensely.

Bree pressed her palm on the cool glass patio door. Maybe she was trying too hard. Did men see desperation in her eyes? Is that what Tim mistook for sexual interest? Was that what gave Sixto license to proposition her?

She sighed, padded to the kitchen for a glass of water. She carried her glass into her room and closed the door, closed the shades and turned on the small television on the dresser.

Picking up the few movies she brought from Washington, she selected two:
An Affair to Remember
and
Seven Year Itch
. "Cry or Laugh." She chose cry and slid
An Affair to Remember
into the player and sat in the comfy overstuffed chair. "I'll cry tonight," she promised herself, moving the box of tissue closer. "But starting tomorrow, it's going to be all laughter."

***

Shopping with Marisa turned into fashion boot camp. They started with lunch at noon. Afterward, Bree spent five hours trying on everything in Bloomies that was a size eight. She was grateful to have the personal shopper along to help her override Marisa's outrageous outfit choices, but a few of the slightly less hoochie ones she bought anyway, just for fun.

The lingerie proved most embarrassing for her. She kept imagining Sixto's reaction to the sexy bits of lace and silk, and having his sister tossing them at her was downright awkward.

When the clerk scanned the price tags, Bree almost fainted and held herself together by quietly repeating the balance in her checking account. And reminding herself there would be a large life insurance check coming any day. And convincing herself that if she felt confident and looked good, men would notice her and eventually she'd find The One for her.

"Charge it." She handed the clerk her credit card. This would rack up her frequent flyer miles, too.

Marisa walked Bree to her car and pointed the way to the package pickup. "Are you sure this will all fit in your little clown car?"

"I'm sure it will. Everything is so skimpy, it doesn't take up much room."

"Girlfriend, you look fantastic in all of it. What are you going to wear tonight?"

"Ugh. I'm so tired, Marisa—"

She fisted her hands on her hips. "No way are you getting out of it. I'll pick you up at ten. Go home and take a nap. Then drink some coffee." She slugged her gently on the arm. "I promise you'll have fun."

Bree admired Marisa's free spirit. If she could emulate it, she'd be swimming in admirers. "Okay. I'll be ready."

Marisa walked away. "And don't worry. We'll find you a few husband candidates tonight."

Bree blinked. Husband candidates? Is that what Sixto told his sister, in Spanish, that Bree was looking for? Crap. And Marisa suggested he date her himself? She smiled. Poor Sixto. No wonder he blew a nut.

She got into her car and put the top up. The trunk wouldn't hold all her packages and she would fill the seat next to her. She yawned. Definitely ready for a nap. Clubbing with Marisa would be an adventure, but she wasn't looking forward to spending the evening with Sixto, even though he'd be behind the bar.

"Live your life, Bree." Learning to dance with Élian and Rico should be worth the discomfort of seeing Old Crabby Pants.

She drove to the pick-up door and helped the young man cram the boxes and bags into every free space of her car. On the way home, she did a mental inventory of everything she bought. Which of the nine slinky dresses would be flirty, fun, and look so good, no one would notice her stumbling over her own feet on the dance floor?

***

Bree followed Marisa past the bouncer into Mango's Tropical Cafe as Salsa music poured out the door. "There's no line to get in?"

"Not yet." Marisa grinned. "We're early. But I thought you'd like to watch the dance lessons.

Bree nodded and swallowed the constriction in her throat. Watching would be fun. Participating would be dangerous for herself and those around her.

Élian and Rico sat at the bar saving two stools between them.

Marisa glided her way to Rico and hugged him. "Rico." Her voice was a whisper.

Were they dating?

"Marisa, you're more beautiful than ever," he murmured, and his voice carried a reverent tone.

Bree had been the recipient of Rico's smooth come-on lines. This was another side of him, speaking so sincerely. She felt as if she were imposing on a very intimate moment.

Marisa's cheeks were pink, her eyes shiny. Wow. Whatever was going on between these two was definitely not platonic.

Élian stood and held out his hand to Bree. "Hi. You look great."

She smiled and let him help her onto the barstool. "Thanks, Élian, you do, too."

He wore a dark button-front shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots. His smile was his best feature. He was a handsome man.

He looked at her hair.

She'd straightened it tonight and it hung almost to her butt. The chlorine from the pool and the hot Miami sunshine gave her sweet platinum highlights.

The dress she'd had on when Marisa picked her up was not the one she currently wore. Marisa suggested, strongly, that she put on the sleeveless silk dress in subtle dark patterns, ending in a ruffle mid-thigh. Marisa tossed the flat sandals back into the closet and looked through the neat rows of footwear. With a wicked grin that reminded her of Sixto, Marisa pulled out three-inch heeled sandals with an ankle strap—to keep her in her shoes while she danced.

"Hi, Bree," Rico looked her over, stopping for just a second on her thighs, where her skirt rode up, and ending at her sandals. His gaze shot back to her eyes. "You're looking especially nice tonight."

She fluffed the ruffle on her skirt. "Marisa took me shopping."

"She has excellent taste." He winked at Marisa. "Can I buy you ladies a drink?"

Marisa looked around. "Where's Sixto?"

"Getting ice," Élian said. The music changed and the dance instructor announced a rumba. Élian touched her shoulder. "Would you like to try a slow one?"

She smiled through the nervous jitters that tightened her stomach, wanting to say yes, but tempted to play it safe and say no.

Marisa nodded. "Go. Élian is a fabulous dancer. He won't let you fall on your ass, will you?"

"I promise. No falling." Élian jumped off his barstool, his face showing excitement, and held out his hand for Bree.

After a few seconds of hesitation, she put her hand on his and let him lead her toward the DJ. They mixed in with the other couples and Élian guided her around the floor, keeping their bodies a respectable distance apart.