Dancing in a Hurricane (25 page)

He grabbed the wheel with both hands, his knuckles turning white. "I know you're looking for someone to get serious with. But until you get this sorted out with Sixto, I'm stepping back."

How had things gotten so twisted? Bree sighed and collapsed into her seat, all the energy leaving her body replace by a numb dejection. Not only was this depressing, but she was embarrassed beyond belief. Everyone she'd gotten close to in Miami knew her secrets and took pleasure in manipulating her, directing her life the way they chose.

She was such a fool. Her naïve trust in them made her an easy target. Stupid, small-town girl. She had no immunity against this wild, dynamic city and its animated people.

He pulled into her driveway.

She got out of the car, slamming the door and stomped to the garage door, choking back tears, not even caring to say goodbye.

He followed. "Bree. Wait a minute."

She stepped into the garage. Damn it, there was Sixto's truck. She just wanted to be alone. "Goodnight, Élian."

He grabbed her arm. "No. I won't let it end this way."

She pulled out of his grasp. "You won't let it?"

"I'd like us to be friends."

"Oh. Nooo." She plopped her butt on the trunk of her car and dropped her face into her hands. "Not this again." She bit her lips to keep the tears inside.

"I'm serious. Sixto's my friend. I'll be seeing you a few times a week minimum and I don't want this to be standing between us."

Crap, he was right. Her drama would only make things more uncomfortable. She contained her emotions and dropped her hands onto her thighs. "Okay, Élian, you win. We'll be
socios
."

He smiled. "Not so fast, lady. You're not very convincing."

"What do you want?" She let her bitterness surface. "A handshake? A high-five? You wanna find a sports bar and we can watch the basketball game?"

His smiled indulgently. "Tell me something about my friend Sixto."

"I don't understand." Her brows drew together.

"What do you feel for him?"

For a hotel desk manager, he had sharp analytical skills. "I have mixed feelings."

"Good start. What are these feelings?"

"Like." Her face warmed as she admitted, "Lust."

"One more "L" word? The big one?"

She couldn't believe it. He asked if she loved Sixto. She should walk away now, but she wanted to hear what Rico told him about Sixto. "If I said no?"

"If you said you didn't love him…" He pointed toward the house. "I'd walk through that door with you, we'd say goodnight to Sixto, and go right into your bedroom."

She smiled and shook her head. "You think I'd go to bed with you that easily?"

"No. I'm using hyperbole to make my point." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I can tell you're not…easy. Even though you hide it behind your sarcasm, you're transparently inexperienced."

"Great." Giving off those unsexy vibes again.

"It is great." His voice came out a mix of sincere and stern, the way her father used to lecture her. "And some man will be lucky to be your lover. But you won't let it happen until you fall in love. Am I right?"

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat. At least now she knew what Sixto had confided in Rico. Confided? Hell, he couldn't have done a better job of spreading her secrets if he'd hired a skywriter.

"So tell me, Bree. Should we walk into your room together, let Sixto know you belong to someone else? That you don't love him? Start fresh and see where this takes us?"

Gazing down at her bright red toenails, she frowned. This afternoon as she painted them, she thought of Sixto and wondered if he would think her feet were sexy. Crap, while she primped for a date with Élian, all she could think of was Sixto.

Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She looked at Élian. God, she wished the answer was yes. "No."

"No?"

"No. It wouldn't be fair to you." Tears leaked from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

"You love him."

She shrugged. "I'm a foolish girl." Her voice cracked as a wave of emotion swamped her, and the tears poured. Her voice squeaked, "I know it's one sided, but I can't stop my heart from beating for him."

Élian pulled her into his arms.

She stiffened.

"I'm a friend, Bree. You can cry on me."

She sagged onto him. Her tears flooded mascara onto his nice suit coat. After a minute of sobbing, she gasped, "What should I do?"

He stood her away from him, reached into his pocket, and handed her a packet of tissues. "I don't know how he feels about you, but Rico tells me it's more than physical."

She looked at him, waiting for more. Searching for a direction to follow.

"I'm not going to get involved. And I'm going home and talk to Rico and Marisa—no matter what I interrupt—and tell them to stay the hell out of it." He patted her arm. "Go inside, work it out." He turned toward the driveway.

She sighed. What a fantastic guy. "This was a bitch of a first date."

He laughed and grinned at her over his shoulder. "The food was good. And free. I made Rico pay for it and I'm not going to pay him back."

Bree giggled. "Oh, Élian. Thank you. For helping me through this and for being my friend." She looked at the stain on shoulder of his coat. "I'll pay for your dry cleaning."

"No. I get it free. A perk of working at a hotel."

She tipped her head. "Remember when I told you to start teaching dance lessons?"

He nodded.

"I think you should take up relationship counseling instead."

He grunted. "I can't find a woman who'll have me." He opened the garage door. "How could I tell anyone else what to do?" He took a step onto the driveway.

"Élian?"

He stopped.

"If I'd met you first…"

He looked at her. "I hear that a lot." He set his jaw and left.

She put her hand over her mouth. He might have been perfect for her. If not for Sixto. She could have lied to Élian, but she'd be lying to herself, too. That was not how she lived her life.

She looked at the packet of tissues he gave her. So considerate, so kind, so honest. He deserved a woman equally perfect.

She turned toward the house, but couldn't take a step. Sixto was in there. The most imperfect man for her. He wouldn't see what they could have together. He stared at her body, but never saw her soul, he closed himself off emotionally. And she loved him despite all that.

She let the tears out, feeling dizzy with the effort to breathe through the sobs. Making a run into the house, she didn't look toward the living room. Didn't care if he heard her crying. She reached her bedroom and locked the door. After she cried this out, she needed to do what she should have done weeks ago. E-mail her lawyer and get him working.

***

Ten minutes earlier, Sixto sat on the couch reading a Doc Ford mystery. His uncle included the new Randy Wayne White paperback in the box with the fish. This one talked about fishing tarpon. He would give it to Bree when he finished.

He heard a car pull up and moments later, voices in the garage. He tried to tune them out. Bree was getting kissed by Élian. He swallowed the jealousy and concentrated on reading.
They're perfect for each other,
he told himself three dozen times.

Five minutes later, he still heard their voices. Huh, not much kissing going on. The garage door flew open, Bree ran in sobbing, raced into her room, and locked the door.

He jumped up and reached her door in five strides. "Bree!" He knocked twice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really. I'm just PMS-ing." Her voice sounded frail.

A car started outside. He turned and bolted out the door and ran through the garage.

Élian swung out of the driveway onto the street.

Sixto unlocked his cell phone and pressed the quick dial number for Élian.

The car stopped, Élian turned his head and spotted him then picked up his phone.

"Sixto, it's not what you think."

"Get the hell out of the car…"

Chapter Eighteen

Sixto stalked toward him, his bare feet slapping on the warm concrete. "What did you do to her?"

"No." Élian shifted into drive. "I'm not getting out and I'm not telling you what happened, but I didn't hurt her."

"Then why's she crying?" he yelled.

"Man, just ask her—"

Sixto kept walking. His fury flooded out with a Cuban accent. "Get out of the car!"

"
Socio
, I'm leaving." He squealed his tires racing away. "Talk to her. She's as confused as you are."

Sixto made a fist. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Ask yourself first. Then ask her."

"
Bocón
, I'm the shrink. Don't mess with me."

"You need to know your heart before you let your mind screw this up for you."

"What?" Was his friend watching too many soap operas? "Screw what up?"

"Ask Bree." Élian hung up.

Sixto stormed back into the garage. His steps grew heavier and slower the closer he got to the house. Did he really want to know what made Bree cry? All evening he pictured their date, Bree smiling at Élian, Élian holding her hand, both of them growing attached to each other. After a few hours, the sick feeling went away and he forced himself to feel happy for the two of them. He didn't need to know more. Shit, he was just fine in his cocoon of denial. Why expose himself to torment? He passed Bree's door on the way to the kitchen.

All he needed was beer.

***

Bree woke and looked at her pillowcase. Red lipstick, black mascara, pink blush. "Yuck." She looked at the clock. Three in the morning. That seemed to be her witching hour. She wobbled into the bathroom, washed her face, and brushed her teeth. After changing into pajamas, she crawled back into bed.

Exhaustion must have overtaken her, because the next thing she knew, Sixto's voice called, "Bree?" She peeled open one eye. The sun shone bright on the patio as he knocked on her inside door. "Telephone."

She padded to the door, but didn't open it. "Who is it?"

"It's Marisa. She's worried about you."

She couldn't handle that conversation right now. "I'm still in bed. I'll call her later." Like in a few days, when she wasn't so damn angry with her. She walked back to her bed as Sixto's voice faded away. He must be talking with his sister.

A few minutes later, he knocked again. "Bree, let me in. Or come out." She could imagine him staring a hole through the door. "Damn it, talk to me."

"I'm still in bed. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" She just needed some privacy to figure this out.

"Élian called earlier," Sixto said. "He tried your cell, but you didn't answer. He's concerned about…" He groaned. "Bree, what's going on?"

"Still sleeping."

"Everyone is calling but Rico…" He mumbled a curse. "Did Rico do something to you?" he roared.

"Unbelievable." She stomped across the room and yanked open the door. "No one did anything to me, so jump down off your fire truck and leave me alone."

He stared as if she'd grown a third eye. "Yeah, okay. But if you want to talk—"

She made a sickly-sweet face. "You'd be the last person I'd want to talk to." She closed the door and locked it then realized what she'd just said. "Oh, perfect." Now he'd think the whole situation revolved around him. She flopped onto her bed, bouncing, shaking up her empty stomach.

Just like her life. Empty. But she'd be shaking things up from now on. No more coasting through her days. Time to get serious. Time to take charge. She got up and fired up her laptop.

***

Marisa closed her cell phone as Rico walked into the bedroom carrying two mugs of coffee. "Bree won't talk to me." She sighed.

"Do you blame her?"

"Not really."

He handed her a cup and sat next to her on the bed. "I still can't believe you talked me into that crazy spy shit last night."

"And Sixto's pissed, he wants to know what happened, but Élian wouldn't talk. He told him to ask Bree." She sipped the bitter brew. "I told Sixto the same thing, and he's mad enough to shake the story out of somebody."

"And Bree?"

"She won't talk to anyone."

He tapped his mug on hers. "Good job ruining her evening."

She stuck out her tongue. "I ruined her evening, but I saved her life. She'd have gone on denying her love for Sixto, married some poor schlep—"

"Like Élian."

"Yes, like Élian."

"Made him extremely happy, given him smart kids, taken care of him in his old age."

"But…" She poked him in his flat stomach. "She'd never be truly happy."