Dancing in a Hurricane (19 page)

His smile beamed angelic, as if he hadn't just groped her. She sighed, put her hand in his, and let him pull her out of the chair.

He linked their fingers together and they walked along the beach to a small cinderblock building with Men's and Women's signs.

Why was Tim showing her the bathrooms?

He walked around the back of the structure where an outdoor shower was tucked away in corner, hidden by a wall. He gestured for her to go ahead of him and she stepped in, pressed the button and the water sputtered out, lukewarm. She rinsed the sand out of her flip-flops and stepped aside to let him have a turn.

He attacked.

He grabbed her arms, pushed her back under the showerhead, and moved in for a kiss. Her head banged on the concrete wall and bounced, throwing her face forward into his jaw, driving her upper lip into her teeth. She tasted blood.

He pressed his body hard against hers and his mouth made another try at a kiss.

"No, stop."

This wasn't really happening! Tim wouldn't rape her. Would he?

His hand moved to Bree's breast.

"Tim, don't do—"

He pinched her nipple as his mouth covered hers, his tongue forcing between her teeth, cutting off her words. His other hand went low to slip underneath the elastic at the leg of her swimsuit.

This was not going to happen to her. Years of self-defense classes prepared her for this moment. She wedged her hands between them and shoved him away a few inches as she jerked up her knee and connected hard with soft tissue between his legs.

He screamed and choked, she pushed him away from her, stumbled and stepped around him as he fell.

Adrenaline pumped through her. "You bastard!" She touched her lip with her fingertips, wincing at the pain. Her fingers came away red with blood. "I should have tazered you the first day I saw you in produce!"

Curled in a fetal position on his side, he retched but nothing came up.

"Oh, God." Her body began to shake and her vision blurred. He'd attacked her on a public beach. What should she do now? She looked behind her. A few people walked toward them.

A woman stepped forward and handed her a paper towel. "Honey, my husband went to get the lifeguard. Are you okay?"

She nodded. The emotional letdown flooded her eyes. She touched the paper towel to her mouth, pulled it away, seeing a lot of red, and pressed it against the cut to stop the bleeding. "I am. Thank you."

A man appeared at the woman's side. "Do you know this guy?"

She almost laughed. "He's my date." She looked down at Tim who began hurling up his Subway, followed by her salads and the cherry nut squares she'd spent hours making.

A lifeguard ran into the enclosure, looked at Tim, and bent over him.

Bree stepped back.

"What happened here?" the lifeguard demanded as he checked Tim's pulse.

"I kneed him in the balls." Her voice sounded so shaky, she barely grasped that the nasty words came from her.

The lifeguard looked up at her, his eyes narrowing and his jaw clenching when he saw the paper towel. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. It's just a split lip."

"Do you want me to call the police?"

She shook her head. "No. I think he's learned what happens when he goes too far."

The lifeguard fought to suppress a smile, but lost. "I think you're right, ma'am."

Another guard arrived and they got Tim into a seated position.

He looked pale and weak. "Bree, I'm sorry. I thought you were ready for this."

"It's our third date." The screech in her voice startled her, and she moderated her words. "Why would you even dream that I wanted to have sex in a public shower?"

The lifeguards exchanged a look. "Ma'am, can I call someone for you?"

"Just a cab, please."

"No." Tim tried to stand, got halfway up, and the lifeguards pulled him to standing. "I'll give you a ride."

A lifeguard stepped in front of Tim, facing her. "It's shift change. I can drive you home."

She shook her head. "Thank you, but a cab will be fine."

He nodded and radioed the office, requesting they send a cab to their location.

Tim looked stronger and stepped toward her.

Involuntarily, she flinched and sucked in a breath.

The lifeguard moved to her side. "I'll walk with you to get your things."

"I'd appreciate that, thank you."

Tim took another step. The other lifeguard put a hand on his shoulder. "Hang on, buddy. You're not done here." He started in on a lecture. Good. Maybe he'd talk some brains into him.

With her knees all Jell-O-y, it was difficult to walk, and she paced herself.

"You okay?" he asked. "Do you want to sit a minute?"

She shook her head. "I just want get away from here." At the umbrella, she slipped into her shorts and t-shirt and grabbed her cooler. "My first time on a beach and I end up bruised and bloody."

"Bruised? Do you have another injury?"

She looked into his concerned eyes. A tiny flutter in her stomach took her by surprise. He was about her height, thinning brown hair, startling blue eyes, and he looked amazing in his lifeguard tank and Speedos.

"Ma'am?" he said a little louder. "Where else were you injured?"

She blinked and her face warmed. She needed to work on her concentration around hunks. She touched the back of her head and winced. "I bumped my head." Great, now she sounded like a three-year-old.

He walked around behind her and parted her hair, probing gently.

She made a little whiney sound.

"Sorry." He felt around it. "You've got a bump." More hair parting. "The skin's not broken. Put some ice on it. If you feel any dizziness or nausea, get to a doctor right away."

"Thank you." Her cab pulled up and honked twice. "I appreciate your help."

He took her cooler from her and they walked across the sand to the street. "You're vacationing?"

"No, I just moved here."

"Oh. Good."

She looked at him and enjoyed seeing him blush.

"I mean, it's good that you'll have other chances to visit the beach without him. That way you can get over any residual fears you might have from today."

"You sound like my roommate, the shrink."

He glanced at her. "I deal with a lot of trauma."

She huffed out a breath. "You're right. I didn't realize how upsetting this was." Her body ached, her mind felt fatigued.

He opened the cab door for her, she slid in, and he handed her the cooler. "Get a lot of sleep. Talk with your roommate."

"Thanks again…" His name was embroidered on his shirt. "Mark."

He grinned and bent closer. "Stop by lifeguard tower 44 any day, Friday through Tuesday. I'd like to hear that you're okay."

"I will. Bye."

He closed the door, the cab took off, and she glanced back to see him jogging toward the cinderblock building. Tim would be getting another earful from Mark. He deserved it.

The cab dropped her off. Sixto's truck sat in the garage so she snuck into the house. It embarrassed her that she'd let herself be attacked, even though rationally she knew it wasn't her fault. Making it to her room without being seen, she looked out her window. He sat on a chaise lounge in the shade working on his laptop.

She tapped on the window and when he looked over, she waved her fingers at him. He gestured for her to come out. She shook her head and closed the shades. In the bathroom, she cleaned her lip and put rubbing alcohol on it, created two makeshift ice packs with the ice from her cooler and washcloths and lay down.

A soft knock at her patio door had her sitting bolt upright, sending a slicing headache through her brain. "Yes?"

"Everything okay?"

"Fine." She loved his concern. "Just too much sun," she improvised. "I'm going to take a nap." She hated to lie, but she didn't need a lecture right now.

"Do you want some water? Or aloe?"

"I've got both, thank you."

"Just yell if you need anything." Sixto. Such a caring person.

"Okay." Her voice warbled. Why did the soul of a perfect person have to be trapped in the body of a man whose mind was afraid of commitment? She had to laugh at that inscrutable thought.

Could her life get any worse than it was right now? Depression set in and she let tears wet her pillow. She hadn't followed her gut instinct with Tim. He'd been too bold, too immature, too…Public Display of Affection. Why had she agreed to go to the beach with him? Duh—because what could possibly go wrong on a public beach?

Was she so desperate to find a man that she ignored her own intuition? Or was she just anxious to distance herself from Sixto and dating was the only way to show him she wasn't interested?

Chapter Fourteen

The next afternoon, Jazz filled the house as Sixto dropped fruit slices into a glass pitcher, poured red wine over them, and covered it and put it in the refrigerator. All in preparation for his date the next evening. He worked tonight, and had a photo shoot in the morning and didn't know how late he'd get home. He unwrapped the steaks to age them and reached for the spices.

"Damn." They were out of pepper.

The phone rang, he turned the music down.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Bree. I'm at the grocery store. Do you need anything?"

Coincidence? "You
are
telepathic. Would you pick up a jar of whole black pepper?"

"Sure. Anything else? I'm in the chocolate aisle."

Bree and her chocolate addiction. "Bad day?"

He heard a sigh. "Bad month. Do you need anything else?"

"No." He set the steaks on a grate in a pan. "Are you on your way home?"

"Mmm hmm. Be there in fifteen." She paused. "Sixto?"

He hated that tone of voice on her. It meant something serious. "Yeah?"

"I have a question I need to ask you. Will you be home for a little while?"

"All night."

"See you in a few."

He hung up, his paranoia increasing, tensing his chest muscles. Something about the swingers' club? He picked up his beer and took a drink and within minutes, finished it. Fortifying his nerves? No, it was probably just the whole dancing thing. He'd apologized, but she was the type to analyze everything to death.

Shit, he
needed
analyzing. Holding her in his arms on the dance floor—he'd never been that close to a woman, emotionally. His body responded to her instantly, but his soul wanted to connect to hers. What the fuck was happening to him?

The doorbell rang and he nearly dropped his empty bottle. "
¡Coño!
" Only salespeople and religious pamphleters used the front door. He looked through the sidelite. A wiry blonde kid held a pathetic bouquet of flowers. He opened the door. "Yeah?"

The boy stepped back and looked at the numbers on the house. "Is this Bree's house."

"Yeah."

"Is she here?" The kid looked nervous.

"Not right now, but—"

He moved back another step. "Okay, I'll come back—"

"Wait." Teenagers showing up at their door with flowers. For Bree. Interesting."Come in. She's on her way. Should be here in a few minutes."

He hesitated. "I suppose I'd better wait. All right."

What the heck was the kid talking himself into? Sixto stepped back, the boy walked past him, staggering, almost like he had pain with every step.

"You must be Sixto." He pulled a face. "I’m…Tim."

Sixto put out his hand and shook the boy's. "Good to meet you." He had a firm grip. What was all this hesitancy?

"Same here," Tim said, looking relived.

"Have a seat."

He walked to the couch and sat, very slowly, rearranged his parts a couple times before moving forward to sit at the edge. Leaning with his forearms resting on his legs, Tim clutched his flowers in two hands, his face pale and sweaty.

Sixto crossed his arms. His intuition, based on years of clinical observation, told him something wasn't right. Not just physically, either. The kid seemed nervous. If he'd done anything to hurt Bree… He gritted his teeth. He was dead meat.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
No.
He needed to stay the hell out of her life. She was a big girl, she could handle it. "You want a beer?"

"Yes, thanks."

Sixto pulled a cold one from the fridge, twisted off the top, and walked over to Tim. Just for fun, he said, "Can I see some ID?"

Tim automatically rolled to the side and grabbed his back pocket. He glared at Sixto. "You're a comedian."

He chuckled. "Sorry. You look young."

"Twenty-four."

"Hm." Sixto doubted it. He went into the kitchen and used the remote to turn off the music. In the sink, he rinsed tomatoes and peeled an onion.