Dancing in a Hurricane (26 page)

He touched her neck, traced her jaw with his thumb. "Are you happy?"

Marisa turned her head and kissed his palm. "Very."

"It was a rocking night."

Her belly heated and a ripple of pleasure stole up her spine. They'd spent the night learning every inch of each other's bodies. Tasting and sucking, slapping and tickling. "It was hot," she agreed. "Up until Élian barged in and made us listen to his lecture." She shook her head. "I didn't realize he was that profound."

"I've only seen it after a half dozen shots of tequila. I didn't think it would come out of him sober."

"It was inspiring."

"Élian? Or us, all night?" He set down his cup, took hers, and set it next to his.

She licked her lips. "The night doesn't have to be over. I don't have a job to go to."

He picked up the phone. "I'm calling in sick."

She laid him back on the bed, eased his briefs down, sheathed his shaft, and mounted him, sliding his long, thickness deep inside her as he told his mother some story about why he couldn't come in to work that day.

He explained about the deliveries that were expected while Marisa used her thigh muscles to ride up and down on his hard cock. Just looking at Rico's face made her nipples pucker, and her opening contract, desperate to possess him.

His face strained as he talked, held himself from feeling the wild motion of their bodies in sync. She worked her body on his for a couple minutes. When he said, "One more thing, Mom," Marisa couldn't resist. Reaching behind her, she tugged on his balls, making him come immediately. She took the phone from his shaking hand and hung up.

She was a bad, bad girl.

***

Bree walked out of her room when hunger outweighed her embarrassment. She made an omelet with some leftover shrimp fajitas—thank you, Sixto—and sat on the couch with her plate and a sugary cup of coffee. She picked up a Randy Wayne White book from the coffee table and read, fascinated, for two hours. The book smelled like fish and the setting of the novel was the Sanibel-Captiva islands. Sixto's uncle must have sent it.

When the overhead garage door rumbled and Sixto's loud truck pulled in, a cold chill of panic ran through her. She jumped up to hide in her room but with a deep breath, she swept away the urge, sat, and tucked her legs under her. She never was the run-away type and her mushy feelings for a man would not change her behavior.

He walked in the door. "Hi."

She looked back at him. "Hi."

As he walked by, he handed her a large envelope. "Mail."

"Thanks." She took it and held up the novel, her thumb marking her place near the middle. "I hope you don't mind. I glanced at the first page and couldn't put it down."

He picked up her empty plate and fork and walked into the kitchen. "Go ahead. I read about half, but I won't have time to finish it this week." His broad shoulders filled out the black and red sleeveless Miami Heat jersey.

"Were you playing basketball?"

"Yeah." He looked at her. "Me and Rico and Élian."

Was he waiting for her to say something about last night? She broke eye contact and looked at the envelope. A Seattle return address. Her attorney. She opened it and read the cover letter. He did all he could from Washington, now Bree needed to find a Florida attorney to finalize the papers.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Sixto asked. "I'm fixing a sandwich."

"No, thanks." Bree didn't know anyone who ate as much as he did. "I just polished off your leftovers."

"Good." He opened the refrigerator door. "Beer?"

"Uh uh."

She flipped to the second page of the attorney's papers. The amount due at the bottom forced a squeak from her throat.

"Something wrong?"

She dropped the papers into her lap. "Attorney's fees."

He brought his sandwich and a beer to the couch opposite hers and took a bite of the colossal stack of meat, cheese, and vegetables.

Her social life this last week had kept her busy. She hadn't taken time to think about her sister's mysterious income. "I need to find a local attorney."

He stopped chewing with his mouth full and looked at her, his brows drawn together.

"Why that face?"

He chewed and swallowed, chasing the food with beer. "The management company has an attorney. You should use her and let the company pay for it."

Bree sensed some anxiety in him. Was the thought of her hiring an attorney worrisome? Sixto was an employee of the company. And lived with her sister. How much did he know? Was there something he was not sharing with her?

"Are you busy tonight?" she asked.

He'd just taken another bite of his sandwich and froze with his mouth full.

She laughed, "Sorry, I'll let you eat."

He shook his head, chewing. "Nn-nn."

"Finish your sandwich." She sat up and planted her feet on the floor. "Let's go for a drive."

Thirty minutes later, Bree steered the Miata onto an access road along the docks. Sixto sat crammed into the passenger seat, directing her to the warehouses. She turned onto the street where the last warehouse stood. Checking the address with the paperwork her attorney sent her, she pulled to the curb and looked at the building.

"It looks just like the other warehouses. Why does this one make ten times the money the others do?"

Sixto shrugged, staring at the building. "Maybe it's got refrigeration?"

She glanced at the back of his head. Something wasn't right. "You said you worked maintenance on the warehouses. Wouldn't you know if it had refrigeration?"

He turned to face her. "I've never been in this one."

That seemed odd. Was he lying? She stared into his eyes, but couldn't read his expression.

"I'm going to request the keys from the management company," she said.

He looked straight through the windshield, his face as neutral as Switzerland.

"Sixto."

"Yup." His voice was quiet, he didn't look at her.

She needed to find a local attorney and get them on retainer. Fast.

"Dairy Queen?" she asked.

He nodded and visibly relaxed. "Your treat, since you stuffed me into this car."

"My treat."

Bree got a small cone dipped in chocolate, Sixto got a large Blizzard and a chocolate shake. "A malt to wash down the ice cream?" she teased.

He shrugged. "You paid, so I wanted to take advantage."

She laughed and drove to a parking lot overlooking the beach. The sun shone its last rays from behind them and a warm, feather-light breeze brushed past. They watched beachgoers packing up, shaking sand out of towels, and dumping ice out of empty coolers.

"How's the Blizzard?"

He loaded his spoon and stuck it toward her mouth. She leaned over and wrapped her lips around it as if it were the most natural thing to do.

As he pulled the spoon back, his gaze fastened on her lips.

Oops, had he meant for her to take the spoon from his hand? Instead, she let him feed her. What the heck was she thinking? She felt a drop of ice cream on her bottom lip and licked it off.

He groaned and covered the sound by clearing his throat. "More?"

She shook her head and their gazes locked. Desire blasted through her so fast and so hot, her heart double-pumped. Bree recalled Sixto's words.
"Allow yourself to experience the beauty of purely physical love."
Her body craved his touch, the sexual tension between them grew every minute they were together, until it swirled like a force of nature compelling them together.

For him, it was just sex. For her, it was becoming so much more. She'd admitted it to herself and to Élian. And that made everything different. If she truly…loved…Sixto, she couldn't go on living with him, wanting him physically and spiritually, knowing a relationship would be one sided.

The attorney's letter suddenly had her thinking about her options. She had to save herself before she did something stupid.

Without preamble, she blurted, "Do you want to sell me your half of the house?"

His eyes went from warm and sexy to hurt and confused in the beat of a heart. "What?"

That had been rude. "I was thinking," she licked her cone, searching for a reasonable cause for her request. "Since it's going to cost a fortune to transfer the title from Cloe to me, if you wanted to get out of the house, now would be the time."

His eyes darted around her face. "Do you want me out?"

She put her hand out to touch him but immediately pulled it back. "No, but I saw the paperwork showing what you paid for the house and I know what it's appraised at now. You could walk away with enough to buy your own home."

He nodded and looked out at the ocean.

She ate her cone, watching him. His strong profile and that wild ponytail made her crazy to grab him, kiss every inch of his face and tickle his long hair over her skin. Holy crap, why did her mind take her right into the bedroom with him?

Sixto stared at a spoonful of Blizzard. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course. I'm not the type of girl to get a man all sugar-buzzed and take advantage of him."

The corner of his mouth curved up. "I've tasted your soufflé. You could use that secret weapon to get anything you want."

Licking her cone, she sat back and watched the waves. "Anything?" If that were true, she'd lead Sixto down the aisle of her church, him in a tuxedo, her in a jumbo white gown, matching hot pads on her hands, carrying a chocolate soufflé just out of the oven, "Pachelbel's Canon" playing in the background.

"What's going on in that brain?" he asked.

She shivered. Her daydreams ranged from sensual to ridiculous, but always featured Sixto. Was she completely out of control? She looked at him. "You'd be sincerely afraid if you knew." She started the engine, shifted into gear, and left the beach. She was sincerely afraid, herself.

***

Bree sat in her sister's—no, her office, tapping the business card she dug out of the box in the trunk of the Miata. Greg, Cloe's co-worker and boyfriend. He said to call if she ever needed anything. Looking at the clock, she saw eight thirty. Not too late to call.

She dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Greg?"

"It is. Who's this?"

"This is Bree Prentis, Cloe's sister."

After a few moments of silence, he said, "Hi Bree. I'm sorry, but your voice sounded so much like hers when you said her name."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, no. What can I do for you?"

"I need a lawyer to handle some property issues and an investigator to look into…" How did she tell him she wanted to investigate her sister's life?

"Cloe's side business?"

She was surprised by his question. "Yes, but how did you—"

"I always wondered about Cloe's income. I know what she made as a photographer and she would have barely been able to pay the taxes on that house."

"You have no idea what she was into?"

"No. She never confided in me, other than to say she had property that brought in a lot of revenue." He sounded like he was walking. "I have a good real estate attorney whose investigator helped with my divorce settlement."

"Now that sounds like an interesting story."

"It is. Can I take you out for dinner some night and tell it to you?"

Bree took a deep breath. He wouldn't ask her on a date, would he?

He laughed. "Ah, that sounded terrible. I'm not asking you out. I just thought you could use a friend."

"Thanks. Can I take you up on that some other time? I'm trying to get licensed to work as a physical therapist and I've been putting off studying for the test."

"Yes, any time. You call me back when you've passed your test and we'll go out and celebrate."

"I will." He seemed like such an uncomplicated person. How did he get involved with Cloe?

"Here's the attorney's name and number. But I should warn you, his investigators are tenacious. They'll do as much as they have to to get information for their clients."

"This sounds dangerous."

"No, just be careful to set limits."

She shivered, envisioned a man in a trench coat, fedora, and brass knuckles questioning Sixto. Strange, why did she always come back to Sixto as the missing link between the management company and whatever über-profitable enterprise was run out of those warehouses?

***

Two days later, the last rays of sun disappeared as it dropped behind the house. Sixto sat at the table by the pool and logged into his bank account. The deposit from the management company hit this morning, just like it did every two weeks. He moved the bulk of it to his savings account, predicting a frugal future if this money stopped coming in.

Damn, sitting in front of the east warehouse last night, he'd wanted to confess. Wanted to tell her everything. He had the words in his head, ready to speak them out loud, when she'd said, "Dairy Queen."