Dancing in a Hurricane (17 page)

She told herself to move away, but it was too intoxicating for her body to ignore. He spun them to the middle of the floor, away from the prying eyes at the bar. His breath caressed her face, hot and fast. He stared down at her, her gaze collided with his.

"You shouldn't be in my arms." He tightened his hold on her. "Next time I ask you to dance," he said between clenched teeth, "say no."

Her emotions burned too intense to ignore. Against his chest, her nipples puckered and her breasts tingled, starting echoing vibrations in her core. She slid her hand from his shoulder to his neck, feeling his heated skin. His hair touched the back of her hand, its softness tempting her to pull the band loose and run her fingers through it.

Their gazes locked, they danced a foreplay so erotic, her sex moistened, quivering between her legs. He blamed her for this fire between them? She'd never experienced anything like this in her life.

"If you don't want to dance with me…" She paused to catch a breath. "Don't ask me."

His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared as if he smelled her musky scent. "You have a power over me, Bree. I forget our boundaries when you're close."

She shook her head. What was she doing? "We both know what it is, Sixto. It's just sex. And it should be easy to remember why we can't."

She slid her hand from his neck.

He pulled her closer. "Remind me." His hand slid lower, to the top curve of her ass.

The feel of his powerful muscles holding her where he wanted her made her every nerve ping with desire. Her skin flushed in response.

Her own words echoed in her mind.
"Just sex."
She couldn't do this. She wouldn't settle.

Bree stopped dancing. "You're not what I'm looking for." She tried to push his arm from around her, but he was solid steel. "And you don't know what you're looking for."

He stared deeply into her eyes, his relentless brown gaze shifting back and forth. Suddenly, he released her, released the hand he held and stepped back. He didn't say a word.

She brushed past him, her knees shaky, her vision clouded. She glanced back.

He stood there, his gaze fixed on her. He let her walk away.

She made it back to the bar without collapsing. Dayami and Marisa were chatting, Élian and Rico stood talking with a group of men
.
Bree picked up her purse and raced to the ladies' room.

She leaned against the counter, her body still betraying her, every nerve ending craving Sixto. God, he made her feel intensely, intimately female. Every move he made inflamed her. She had to cool off. Looking at her face in the mirror, she whispered, "I've got to get away from him." As she washed her hands, she ran through a dozen excuses for leaving early. She would ask James to call a cab for her.

Leaving the bathroom, she bumped into Élian.

"There you are," he shouted over the music. "Would you like to go outside and talk for a minute? Get away from this noise?"

Get away from Sixto. "That would be nice."

He led her to an exit door, they had their hands stamped, and stepped out into the sweet night air.

"Thanks, Élian, I needed a break. It gets hot in there."

Without touching her, he guided her toward the beach. "Sixto said they keep it hot to make people buy more booze."

Élian found a quiet spot by a palm tree. All around them, couples kissed, getting very close to each other. He shrugged. "It's hotter out here than in there."

She laughed. "It is a romantic setting." She looked across the beach, the waves gently pulled at the sand and the moon glinted off the water.

"Really?" He sounded uncomfortable. Or was it hopeful?

She shook her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that I expected…" She cleared her throat. "Let's start over. So, what's new with you?"

They talked for a half hour, the couples around them came and went, and vendors walked the beach selling flowers, shells, handmade trinkets. A ripe smelling gentleman handed Élian a business card and mumbled, "Put some adventure in your romance."

Élian held it up to read it in the moonlight. "Club Quay, Miami's hottest…oh hell." He looked around him. "I need a trash can."

Club Quay? That name was familiar, but from where? "May I have it, Élian? I've heard the name before."

He handed it to her. "I hope not. It's a swingers' club."

She glanced at it and slid it into her purse. That's right, she saw the same card in her sister's wallet. "I must have seen it on TV."

"I doubt it. That type of place…" He pointed to her purse. "Is still illegal in Florida."

"Oh. Why?"

He shuffled his foot and looked down. "I guess they allow the 'swinging' to happen right there in the building."

She tried not to smile at his aw-shucks act. She couldn't believe he was as shy as he appeared. It was cute, though. He probably got a lot of girls that way. "Well, I think I'm going to head home. I'm really wiped out."

"Already?" He shrugged. "I thought you'd like to dance again."

She wanted to get away. Away from the music's seductive beat, away from the hot air that seemed to double the potency of the wine, away from Sixto.

 "Maybe another night," She offered. "I'm going inside to say goodbye to everyone."

He followed her into the building, opening the doors for her. She said goodnight to the girls and Rico and when James passed behind the bar, she asked him, "Would you please call a cab for me?"

Three voices chorused:

"No!"

"I'll drive you."

"You don't need to take a cab."

Dayami looked at James. "We don't need no stinkin' cab."

The group laughed.

"I'm sorry, Bree." Élian looked flustered. "I thought you had a car here. I'd be happy to give you a ride home."

"Thank you." She smiled at him. An uncomfortable sensation had the hair standing up on her arms. Her gaze shot to the bar. Sixto stood watching her, his face tight, his eyes blazing.

A shiver tore through her. "Good night, Sixto." She left quickly with Élian jogging to catch up to her.

***

Marisa didn't watch Bree and Élian leave, she watched Sixto. He stared at them as they walked out the door. Why was her brother so damn stubborn? He'd shot down every suggestion she'd had for men Bree could date. He'd told her he wasn't even remotely interested in Bree, but it was blatantly evident he was.

She wanted Bree for her brother. They were perfect for each other. Easy-going, happy people, but both so busy looking for someone else that they didn't see their perfect match standing right in front of them.

She'd asked Rico a few questions about Bree and Sixto tonight, but he'd been evasive. He knew something, but wasn't telling. She had ways of making him talk. Grinning, she sipped her beer.

Sixto went back to work and Marisa listened to Rico's sexy voice as he and James talked baseball. Rico. He took her breath away. He wore his hair a little long, slicked back, and in profile, his face looked sculpted. Perfect nose, great lips, a strong jaw. He'd grown into a fascinating man. Rico had chased after her since they were kids. Well, he'd been a kid, she was much older. Seeing the way Sixto and Bree wasted time acting oblivious to their attraction, Marisa was more certain than ever that she needed to grab hold of love. Her heart ached for Rico.

The beer didn't taste right tonight. She set down her bottle and stood.

Rico glanced at her, she gestured to the bathrooms, and he smiled and wagged an eyebrow at her. God he'd gotten so far under her skin already, she'd like to jump him tonight, but… She touched her stomach. Something was wrong with her plumbing. She had to go a lot lately. Did she have a bladder infection?

She walked into the bathroom. A woman squealed and laughed, and the sound made Marisa jump. That was her. Jumpy. Always looking over her shoulder, worried something bad would happen if she wasn't vigilant. A habit she learned from her last relationship and one she couldn't shake. She rubbed her thigh, the scar a potent reminder of her past.

She washed her hands and left the ladies' room, smiling as Rico stood when she walked up to him. His eyes burned dark with desire. They always did, always had, when he looked at her. She'd moved to Orlando after college to find a life for herself, to give herself a different perspective. Disney World was the happiest place on earth and the values and ethics she learned as a Disney employee would stay with her forever.

She made only one mistake in Orlando; falling in love with the wrong man.

Rico led her to the dance floor and took her firmly in his arms. Being held by him soothed her soul, made her feel adored. And safe. She wanted a safe, pain-free relationship. She'd give him a chance, see if they could make it. She touched her tongue on her upper lip, watching Rico's eyes follow it as she moistened her lips.

"Kiss me," she mouthed.

He groaned, laced his hand in her hair at the back of her head, and touched his lips to hers, gently, the kiss of a man who'd waited ten years to do this.

She pressed her breasts to his chest.

Against her lips, he said, "You're perfect."

No, she was less than perfect, less than worthy of this man's praise. Goddamnit! Another leftover from her bad relationship: nonexistent self-worth.

He opened his lips on hers, tipping her head, touching his tongue on her lips, coaxing her. She opened for him, her tongue tasting him, tasting beer. He knew how to kiss, how to trigger emotions in her that melted her bones. If he let her go right now she'd become a puddle on the floor. His gentle touch, his tentative kiss, made her dizzy.

He slowed the kiss, ended it by brushing his lips over hers. "Marisa. Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night."

She smiled. Such an old-school request. Most men asked if she would go home with them. "Sure. Your parents' restaurant?"

He laughed and his dark eyes sparkled. "Hell no! Someplace nice."

She ran her fingers along his jaw. "Will you pick me up in the
cacharro
?"

He squeezed her. "Don't talk bad about my car. It's old. It's not beat up."

"You love that car. What does it get for mileage? Seven?"

He shrugged, his smile teasing. "Seven highway, three city."

"Pick me up in it anyway. I want to ride around in luxury."

"Is seven o'clock okay?"

She caught sight of Élian walking back into the bar and her mind snapped onto another subject. "Has Élian said anything to you about Bree?"

"He said he asked her out when they were dancing." Rico glanced across the room and his brow furrowed.

"Why did he ask her out?"

Rico looked at her. "Why? Why shouldn't he… Hey," His grip tightened. "Are you jealous?"

"Me and Élian ? Oh, God, no! But did you see Sixto watching her? And the way they danced tonight,
caliente
. Very hot."

Rico nodded and looked away, his lips tightening into a thin line.

She tapped her fingers on his shoulder. "You're not saying anything. That means you know something."

"I'm not responding right now. You've got plotting going on in your head and I want to avoid it."

Interesting. Her brother must have confessed something to Rico. "One favor?"

He eyed her. "Mm hm?"

"Can we double date?" She nodded toward the bar.

Rico looked at Élian. "I can ask him. He might want to be alone with her."

"That's what I'd like to try and avoid. At least until I can talk to her, see what she feels for Sixto." She snuggled into him and batted her eyelashes. "And until you tell me what Sixto told you about Bree."

He smiled and tugged gently at a lock of her hair. "Guys don't talk about shit like that. We talk sports and politics."

She flattened her palm on his chest. Rico loved to gossip. He always had. "Just one thing. Please?"

"Ha." Rico spun her in a wild three-turn flourish. "One thing and that's all. Don't tell Bree—or Sixto—that I told you, but she's only been with one man."

"Really? I should have figured that, hearing the story of her fiancé."

"All this talk about sex… Do you want to go sit in the back of the Lincoln for a while?"

Tempting. But her bladder protested. She looked at him through her lashes. "Not until our second date."

***

Bree got up early the next morning and drove to the gym. Her duffle bag held cute workout separates she'd found at Target and her iPod, filled with a new high-energy mix. After a half hour of Stairmaster and a half hour of weights, her knees wobbled and her brain begged for a nap. Slipping out of her clothes and into a towel, she relaxed in the steam room, letting her mind drift.

Élian seemed like a nice guy. She could see herself going out with him. He was funny, sweet, unpretentious. He walked her to the door last night, but there was no kiss, just a handshake. After Tim's overeager attempts, that was okay with her.

She closed her eyes and pictured Élian's face. Young, but the mustache and little tuft of fuzz under his lower lip gave him an urban look. At the beginning of the night, his hair had been combed into handsome waves, but by the time he dropped her off, it was ruffled and downright sexy. He hadn't said anything more about going out dancing together. Had her response to his suggestion on the dance floor been too unenthusiastic?