Dancing in a Hurricane (22 page)

She looked into his eyes, he was so handsome, so smart and kind and sexy. She tipped her chin up, willing him to kiss her, wanting him to love her the way she loved him. "Oh, God." Tears filled her eyes. She loved him? No, it had to be the liquor and Midol, combined with raging PMS.

He looked concerned. "You gonna throw up?"

She shook her head. "No." Sucking in a choppy breath, she said, "I ruined your life, didn't I?" She blinked and a tear ran down each temple.

His eyes turned that warm, sweet brown that shook her world.

Her heart thumped. Would he ever admit there was something more than just sex between them? That he wanted her for more than just a lover? She smiled softly. He'd better hurry. Guys were lining up to go out with her.

A half-smile curled his perfect lips. "Not my life, only one date." He tucked the quilt under her shoulder. "You can't help it if you're a clumsy exhibitionist."

Chapter Sixteen

"What?" Bree was waiting for Sixto to pour out his heart to her, and he berated her?

He shook his head, looking down at her all tucked into her bed. "Goodnight, Bree." He walked out, flipping off the light and closing the door.

***

Bree woke at three in the morning, her mouth as funky as an old sock and her head pounding an irregular beat. She stripped out of her ridiculous outfit, scrubbed her face, and brushed her teeth. She pulled on her robe and snuck out to the kitchen for water. Slamming down the first glassful, she looked out the kitchen window, reliving the horrors of last evening. The ocean was nearby. If she swam out far enough, would she drown?

She refilled her glass.

With her luck, Sixto would happen to be kayaking by and would save her, call her an idiotic child and send her to her room for a time-out. Why had she suddenly become the well-meaning but awkward heroine constantly in need of rescuing?

Back in her room, she took another Midol, put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, and slid into bed. It took a while for her to nod off and when she did, she dreamt of Sixto as her Earl, saving her, the peasant girl, who stumbled through her life as klutzy as an ogre. She woke at ten feeling slightly better. Maybe Sixto would think the whole situation was funny. She blew air out of her lips, making a horse sound. She had a better chance of turning into a princess and living happily ever after.

"Okie dokie. No more historical romances."

She opened her blinds. The sun stabbed her eyes, and she covered them with her forearm. Slowly she lowered her arm, squinting, blinking, adjusting to the light. She slid open the patio door.

"Headache?" he asked.

She stepped out onto the patio, visoring her hand over her eyes.

He sat on a chaise, his guitar on his leg.

"More like a rock tumbler full of nails in my skull."

He grunted. "Drink a lot of water."

"I have been." She stood at the edge of the pool and looked down into the sparkling water. "I'm really, really sorry about last night. I don't know what happened to me. I'm not usually freaky like that."

"Freaky is right."

She glanced at him. "Is there anything I can do? Can I call Helena? Maybe e-mail her and apologize?"

"You know her name?"

Should she confess to being nosy? "You yelled her name after I fell."

"Hm. Surprised you remember that."

"Unfortunately," she shrugged. "I remember it all." She closed her eyes, but her body swayed, so she opened them to keep herself from falling in. "Let me know what I can do to make it up to you. I feel like crap."

"You look like crap."

At least he was talking to her. She may not have done irreparable damage. "You can do better than that. Yell. Rage. Throw something at me."

"Don't be a martyr." The tone of his voice dismissed her.

Yikes, he was too mad to rip into her. This was bad. She turned to slink back inside but stopped and looked over at him. No, she'd pull out her inner clown. She backed up to the pool, her heels hanging over the edge and flung her arms straight out from her sides.

"Bree, what the hell are you doing?"

"I deserve to die," she intoned dramatically.

"Uh uh. Not in my pool."

"I'll be sure to stay on my half."

She heard him set down the guitar. "Don't, Bree. I'm not going to pull you out if you drown." He walked toward her.

"Goodbye, cruel world." She let herself fall back into the pool. The cool water shocked her at first but the quiet settled her frayed nerves. She swam downward, keeping herself at the bottom of the deep end. Opening her eyes, she made out a blurry image of him leaning over the edge. She waved to him. He didn't move. She let herself rise slowly to the surface and floated, face up.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He said something, but it was garbled.

"Sorry." She pointed to her ears under the water. "Can't hear you." She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she caught him staring at her breasts. Funny, if he was such a breast man, why did he date a chestless model?

He dropped his arms, walked to his chaise, and picked up his guitar, and stalked into his room.

She sighed. "What do I need to do to be a better person?" She floated for a few minutes before an insight popped into her conscious mind. Maybe her drinking caused problems. Bad judgment, foolish behavior, dangerous behavior. She could have died last night. Well, maybe not died, but sustained an injury.

She turned over and swam a few laps until the exhaustion of her hangover made her muscles quiver. She dripped dry on a chaise in the warm sun.

Élian would expect her to be a fun date tonight. She should find a hangover cure, take a long nap, and primp and fuss for a couple hours, but her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't cancel. She's the one who instigated the date.

"Suck it up and make it happen, Briana Prentis."

***

Sixto changed into shorts and a sleeveless shirt, laced up his Asics, and took off for a long run. He smiled, picturing Bree falling backward into the pool. When she didn't come up, he'd felt a twinge of fear, then she'd floated up, her top clinging to her breasts, her puckered nipples making his tongue circle in his mouth, wanting a taste.

At least she hadn't heard what he asked her. "You want to make it up to me?" What an ass. He was thinking with his cock.

Sweat ran down his face and back as his lungs struggled in the heavy, humid air. Running across the bridge to the beach, he willed his hard-on to deflate. Damn, she was sweet. And he was too fucking horny. "Shit." Her in that pink thing last night, her lips red and juicy. He wanted that lipstick smeared all up and down his shaft.

"Shit." Swearing didn't help and when he tried to remember what Helena's kisses felt like, his mind went right to Bree's face. He ran down the beach, yanked off his shoes and socks, and charged into the water. Diving into a wave, he swam as hard as he could, thinking of nothing. Nothing. Bree.

When his muscles exhausted, he let the waves carry him back in, washing over him, rolling his limp body with the tide, surfacing for air then giving over to the water again. When he felt sand under him, he forced his muscles to work and stood. As he walked out of the surf, he spotted a lifeguard watching him. Sixto collapsed on the beach next to his shoes.

Helena wanted him last night. For an hour, she tried subtly to lure him into his bedroom, but something stopped him. Her body seemed too thin. What he wanted to feel under him was a soft, round woman. He didn't blame her for leaving. He was close to asking her to go.

A shadow fell across his face. He opened his eyes.

The lifeguard stood over him. "Were you trying to kill yourself out there?"

"Woman problems." He sat up.

"I hear you,
socio
. But it would have risked both our lives if I had to swim out to save you."

"Sorry, bro. I'll use alcohol to forget her from now on."

He laughed. "Do I know you? You work at a bar around here, right?"

"Yeah, at Mango's. Fridays and Saturdays."

"I'll stop by some weekend and see how the alcohol's working for you."

"Drinks are on me for saving my life."

"Yeah. See you around."

Sixto brushed dried sand off his feet, pulled on his socks and shoes, and ran home with his back full of beach.

He walked in from the garage. Bree's bedroom door stood open. She sat on her bed painting her toenails, listening to an annoying Josh Groban song.

Cloe had weekly manicure and pedicure appointments at the most exclusive spa in Miami. It was as if the sisters were born generations apart, instead of just minutes.

Bree straightened out her leg and looked at her foot. She jerked her head toward him, her face startled, then she relaxed and smiled.

He was thoughtless, sneaking up on her after she'd been through a recent trauma. He turned to go.

"Sixto?"

"Yeah." He looked at her, hoping she didn't want to apologize again.

"You got a delivery. It said keep refrigerated, so I ingeniously put it in the fridge."

"Thanks." His Uncle Leo fished commercially out of Tarpon Bay and every few months he sent a big tarpon fillet and asked when Sixto would come for a visit.

He walked to his room and jumped in the shower fully dressed. He watched a pint of sand sluice off his body and slither down the drain.

Maybe this would be a good time to take a long vacation to the other side of Florida. Help take his mind off Bree and refocus on having fun with the ladies. His uncle was close to the same age and always had a
chica
picked out for him when he visited.

He dressed, looked in the fridge, and hefted out the package. The box weighed about five pounds. This would be a treat. Bree mentioned needing a new fish to cook. Since he'd acted like an irritable old fart this morning, he should try to show her he wasn't a complete jerk. He walked to her closed door and knocked.

She opened it, her face plastered in a hard, green mask.

"Incredible Hulk?"

She smiled. "Mud mask. To make me pretty."

"You're al…" He cut himself off from telling her she already was. "Already looking prettier. Leave it on."

She smiled and the mud cracked on her cheeks. "You're a meanie."

He chuckled, glad to see her smile. "The package—it's from my uncle. It's fish."

"Really?"

"Yes, long story. But if you'd like, I'll show you how to cook it."

"Right now?" Her voice bubbled.

"Maybe after you take off the mud? You're starting to flake."

"Okay, I'll be out in a few minutes." She smiled, flaking away more of her mask.

He went into the kitchen and selected spices and fillet knives. He'd work on getting back to a normal, platonic relationship with Bree.

***

Seven hours later, Sixto sat on the couch picking his way through a new song on his guitar. Bree had been a lot of fun this afternoon, cooking and listening to stories about his uncle's sport fishing fleet as he showed the best way to cook an oily tarpon.

She was fascinated and now he didn't want to visit his uncle unless he could take Bree with. He wanted to show her Sanibel Island at sunset and let her fight to pull in a tarpon by herself. Could he do it though? Could he be just her friend?

They'd eaten a pound of fish each and now sprawled on the couches.

She sat cross-legged, holding her stomach. "Do you write at all?"

He grimaced. "I've tried, but it's not good."

"I'll need a sample please." She lifted her brows.

"You'll be sorry."

"Not as sorry as you'd be if I played my trumpet."

"Is that a threat?" He narrowed his gaze at her.

"Mm hm." She nodded, her smile teased.

"All right." He played softly. "This is a love song I wrote for a college girlfriend." He sang in Cuban.

"Next verse in English?"

"It won't rhyme," he warned.

"That's okay."

"When love is at your door," he sang. "Open it wide and let me in. I have everything you could want, but you have to tell me what you need—"

She snorted and covered her mouth, her eyes growing wide and watery.

He stopped and smacked the side of the guitar. "You're laughing at me?"

She shook her head and let the laughter out. "I'm sorry, you evidently gave that a lot of thought."

"No. I just wanted to get into her dorm room."

She laughed harder. "Oh, stop." She held her side. "You're so naughty."

He smiled. He'd like to write something to impress her, but his talents lay elsewhere. "I'll switch back to Cuban so you won't be offended." He played softy, changing the words, making it about Bree.

A few moments after he finished singing, she tipped her head. "May I ask you a personal question?"