Dancing in a Hurricane (16 page)

She watched his feet, counted her beats, and felt confident in the basic steps. "This is fun!"

He leaned close. "You've never danced before?"

"Not really. At weddings and the prom, but my…" She almost said fiancé, but she wasn't ready to explain that mess. "My boyfriend in high school and college didn't like to dance."

"It's good that you dumped him."

She took a wrong step and kicked the toe of his boot. "Sorry."

"No problem, Bree. I wore my steel-toed boots tonight."

She laughed. "Just for me?"

"I take no chances."

Bree liked him. His personality seemed a lot like hers. He joked, teased a little, but he didn't have the biting sting Sixto used for humor.

He pulled her closer. "Ready to try something fancier?"

She shook her head, but he led her in a side step that had her feeling like a ballet dancer. "Élian, you're a miracle worker. I never thought it would be this easy."

"I get out dancing a few times a week. Maybe you'd like to join me—us, Rico and me—sometime." His eyes shifted, as though searching for the courage to ask her out.

She grinned. He was so cute. "That would be fun. Since I'm not employed yet."

"Any luck finding a job?"

"I haven't really started looking. I need to register with the state first." Had Sixto told her what Élian did for a living? "Do you work?"

"I work at a hotel. I'm the front desk manager."

"That sounds interesting," she encouraged. He should have some funny stories.

"No. It's deadly boring."

She laughed. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He swung her into another series of fast footwork. "Once I put in a few more years, I should be able to move to a better position."

The dance instructor tried to teach another couple the step Élian just danced her through. "Have you ever thought of being a dance teacher?"

He shook his head. "No money in that."

"You know…" She tipped her head. "Money isn't everything."

"Easy for you to say." He looked too serious.

That seemed harsh. "I've had money for about a week, Élian. Before that, I lived in a little house my parents built in the '50s, drove a used Camry, and made barely enough to pay all my bills."

His brows drew together. "Sorry, I didn't mean to insinuate—"

"No need to apologize. I'm only trying to make a point. Because I loved my job, I didn't feel I needed to make a lot of money. I was happy. Happy to go to work, happy to lead a simple life."

"I hear you. But I have expenses. Rico and I rent a condo, I've got car payments. I can't ignore my responsibilities. And some day, I'll make enough to afford everything I want."

"The trouble with that is, the more money you earn, the more you spend. And the richer your lifestyle becomes, the more you need to make."

He grinned. "I hope so." The song ended and Élian gestured toward the bar.

She turned to walk back with him, feeling uneasy about their conversation, and his fixation on money. She glanced up.

Sixto stood behind the bar, staring at her. His eyes focused intensely, making her feel spotlighted. Marisa spoke to him, but his attention was all on her.

Marisa stopped chatting and looked her way, smiled, turned to Rico and said something. They both watched Sixto.

Crap, what was that about? Were they planning something sneaky?

Bree felt Sixto's gaze slide over her like a touch as he looked down her body then back up again. She glanced away, but the closer she came to him, the stronger the urge to stare back became. Every inch of her skin tingled with desire.

He turned away, but the residual effects of his stare rioted through her.

She climbed up on her barstool, listening to Marisa and Rico talking in Spanish. She thought she heard her name. She definitely heard Sixto's. She needed to stop them right now, before they—

Sixto put his hand on the bar in front of her, drawing her attention. "What would you like to drink?"

Looking into his soulful eyes, she lost track of her thoughts. She swallowed. "Um…"

A half grin turned him too sexy. "You want a Sixto? On the beach?"

On the stool beside her, Élian snorted.

Her imagination went wild thinking just how sexy that would be. Sixto, in the sand. She took a deep breath. "Oh, no. If I have to dance, I should at least be able to walk." Chances weren't good, with her knees jittering with awareness. "How's your white wine?"

"Not bad." He set a stemmed glass on the bar and poured her an ounce. "Try it."

She sipped then nodded. "It's good."

He filled her glass, opened a beer for Élian.

"Thanks,
socio
."

Bree turned to Élian. "What's
socio
?"

"It means friend."

"It means friend who gives him free liquor," Sixto snapped.

Élian looked embarrassed.

She shot Sixto a glare. His words effectively doused any warmth she'd felt toward him.

He threw his hands up and walked down the bar. The DJ announced the dance lessons were over, the lights dimmed, and the dance floor cleared. She looked around as people came in, filling stools at the bar and chairs at small tables around the room. When she turned to Élian, she followed his gaze to the door. A tall woman with long, straight brown hair walked toward them, swinging her hips as loosely as she swung her purse.

She walked right up to Bree and looked at her face. "Damn, chica, you look just like the bitch."

Élian groaned. "Nice," he shook his head. "That's her sister you're talking about."

The woman winked at Bree. "No offense. We've called her that for so long, I don't remember her real name."

Élian glanced down the bar. "Don't let Sixto hear you say that."

"Like I'm afraid of him."

Who was this sassy woman? She was absolutely gorgeous and Élian started acting jumpy when she'd walked in.

"I'm Dayami."

Another of Sixto's sisters. Bree held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Bree. It's good to meet you." Dayami looked a lot like Sixto but very little like Marisa.

Dayami looked at Élian. "Dance with me." She tossed her purse on the bar.

He looked at Bree as if he needed her permission. She nodded and he followed Sixto's sister to the dance floor.

The music pulsed through Bree, making her wiggle in her seat. Rico had his hand on Marisa's thigh and she licked her lips, her eyes hooded. With a feral growl and a flash of white teeth, he stood and lifted her from her barstool by the waist. They went to the dance floor, leaving Bree alone.

She did not mind at all. She'd much rather watch than actually attempt this tricky dance. The lights flashed and the volume increased, she tried to count the steps but each couple seemed to be doing a different dance.

Sipping her drink, she watched Sixto fill a beer cooler at the other end of the bar. The muscles in his forearms bunched and elongated as he worked. His uniform red polo shirt fit tightly against his biceps and chest, accentuating his buff body. The pulse of the exotic music charged her, made her think of steamy tropical nights, hot glances, and arousing touches by a sensual Cuban—

Damn. She was undressing Sixto with her mind.

Another bartender leaned on the bar across from her. "Hi there. The guy in the suit wants to buy you a drink." He pointed to a man ten stools down who saluted her with his beer. He looked to be in his thirties, well built, military haircut.

She smiled slightly, shook her head, and mouthed, "No, thank you."

She turned to the bartender. "Would you please tell him no, but thank you?"

"Sure." He turned away but looked back at her. "Wise choice."

She smiled. How nice that this young man was looking out for her. A few minutes later, she heard fluid tinkling into glass. The bartender refilled her wine.

"This one's on me."

"Thank you."

He laid his hand palm-up on the bar. "I'm James."

"Hi, James." She looked at his shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes, and killer smile. "I'm Bree." She put her hand in his and they shook. "I'm Sixto's roommate."

He looked surprised. "The sister from up north?"

"That's right. Seattle. Did you know Cloe?"

"No. She never came in here."

"Mmm. Well, I like this place. Are the tips good?"

He busied himself washing glasses. "Not bad." He glanced at her. "Are you looking for a job?"

She shook her head. "I've never waitressed. Other than bringing window trays full of food to cars at the Cup-N-Cone Drive-in back home." She smiled. "They wouldn't let me wear roller skates because I don't have good balance."

"I don't know. I saw you out there dancing. You looked like you were keeping up with Élian."

She turned to watch Élian and Dayami tear up the dance floor. Spins, intricate footwork, fancy moves. She sighed. Wouldn't it be amazing to be able to move like that? "I'd never be able to…" She stopped. Sixto stood next to James.

James told Sixto, "Your roommate here doesn't think she can dance."

Sixto glanced at her. "Anyone can dance."

She couldn't read his mood, but he seemed closed in, somehow.

Marisa and Rico came back to the bar, breathless. She asked Bree, "Why aren't you out there?"

She made a face. "Too fast for a first-timer."

"No it's not." Marisa eased onto her stool. "Sixto, take her out there. Show her how to
Salsa
Cubana
."

He reached down into the beer cooler and opened a fresh one for Rico. "Too busy."

"Busy?" James laughed. "It's dead in here, bro. Go on, I can handle it."

Bree caught Sixto shooting a meaningful look at Rico. Great, not only were Marisa and Rico conspiring, now Sixto and Rico had secrets, too. She shook her head. "I'd rather watch. Thanks anyway, Sixto."

Marisa scowled at her brother. "You leave James alone at the bar all the time to dance with the
chicas
."

Sixto sighed and stalked away.

Bree released her pent-up breath and took a sip of wine. That was uncomfortable.

Sixto appeared on her side of the bar, right in front of her, his hand out. "Dance?"

Chapter Twelve

Bree considered saying "no" to Sixto's request to dance, but would that give everyone the idea that she was avoiding him? That there was something going on between them?

She set down her glass and put her hand in his. His big, warm hand. The tingling sensation started in her palm and raced up her arm, spiraling through her to end low in her belly.

He led her to the floor. He stood stiffly, put his hand on her waist, and took her other hand in his. The other couples pressed against each other and she waited, breathlessly, for the crush of his body to hers. It didn't come.

He danced slowly, their hips a foot apart. His face seemed pinched, his eyes unreadable. She followed his lead, he told her when to step a different way, or turn under his arm. She forced herself to forget that where he held her hand, her palm warmed at his touch. She tried to ignore where his palm pressed hot and firm against her hip through the thin fabric of her dress. Her hand on his muscular bicep felt every sexy flex of each tempting muscle in his arm. She made herself forget that, too.

In less than a minute, the song ended and she stepped away from him.

They dropped their arms, and Bree sucked in air. Without his touch on her skin, her heart slowed from its manic race, and the heat drained from her cheeks. The next song started. A slower, song with a tantalizing rhythm.

She looked at him, his face looked fierce, his eyes severe.

"One more?" he grumbled.

He wanted her to say no, wanted her to run from him and be her usual cautious, conservative self. Well, she'd had enough wine tonight that her backbone was right where it should be. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying no. She nodded and stepped closer to him.

A muscle in his jaw worked for a moment, as if he considered walking away. Taking her hand in his, he put his other palm on her waist. He taught her the steps. They were easier than the last dance and she didn't have to concentrate as hard. The song grew more intense, the primal beat stirred her soul, made her warm deep inside, made her feel sexy. She watched other women gyrating their hips and she let her body move to the rhythm, taking away her inhibitions.

"Goddamnit, Bree." His eyes burned with passion. "What the hell are you doing to me?" He stared into her eyes, put his hand on her lower back, and pulled her tight against him. Pausing for a moment, he groaned and began moving again, sensually, demanding her response.

She gasped, his hard body pressed along her soft one. Breasts, stomach, thighs. A mudslide of sexual awareness covered her, tingled in her nerve endings. He moved his hips the same way she was grinding and she felt every inch of his hard cock against her stomach.