Dancing in a Hurricane (3 page)

A blush stained her cheeks. What was that about? "I'm Briana, but I like to be called Bree."

"Bree?" That fit her much better. "
Mucho
gusto
."

"Good to meet you, too. Officially."

Unofficially, he'd already envisioned pulling her close for a kiss. Damn, he had to get rid of that visual. "How about a beer?"

"Yes, that would be great." She looked relieved. "I could use one."

He sure as hell could. He started to rise and she jumped up. "I'll get them, you keep playing. That's one of my favorite songs." She picked up her water glass and walked into the kitchen.

He should've stopped himself, but he had to watch. Her ass in those jeans. Very nice. "Cloe's, too. Sing along if you want."

She bent over, looking in the refrigerator.

He leaned forward to see. "
Un peligroso,
" he mumbled. Trouble.

"I can guarantee you'd be sorry," she called. "I have no musical talent, according to my high school band instructor."

"Let me guess. Tuba, right?"

She giggled as she pulled out a couple Red Stripes. "Even worse. Trumpet."

He cringed. "You didn't bring it with, did you?"

"No. You're lucky." She twisted off the tops, came back to the couches, and set his beer in front of him. "What do you do for a living?"

"Mostly, I'm a model."

"A male model?" Her face reddened again and he fought back the urge to brush his fingers over her soft cheeks.

"We've already determined that I'm not female."

"I didn't mean that to sound…" She sighed. "I'm just chowdering on like an idiot."

"Chowdering? Never heard that one."

"It's from growing up in a fishing village."

"You're a fisherman—fisherwoman?"

"No, I'm a—I
was
a physical therapist in the town hospital…" She pulled a serious face. "I didn't tell you. I quit my job and put my house up for sale. I'm going to live here."

He stopped playing and the last note hung in the air between them. He stared into her eyes and she stared right back, obviously looking for a reaction.
¡Coño!
would have been appropriate, but he nodded a couple times and went back to playing. Damn, what a mess. The sexual attraction he could handle—hopefully. But if she found out about the business that Cloe's management company fronted, things could get complicated quickly. If Bree went back to Seattle, she'd probably never find out what Cloe was in to. But with her living here, he'd have to work to keep it buried.

Not that it was illegal. Technically.

"What made you decide to move to Miami?"

She shrugged and averted her gaze. "Lots of reasons. Nothing very interesting."

He doubted that. In his chosen field, every major decision came with a host of reasons. He'd wait until she got herself settled, then probe a little deeper.

"Do you ride a Harley?" She took a pull and set down her beer.

She was good at changing the subject. "No. The leathers and boots?"

She nodded.

"Wardrobe from a photo shoot today. They let me keep a lot of the clothes."

"Do you enjoy it? The modeling?"

"It's easy work and it pays well." He picked up his beer and drank half of it, the cold, bitter brew easing down his dry throat. "I work a couple nights a week bartending. And I'm in school." He set down his beer and retuned the D string.

"Cosmetology?"

His gaze flew to hers. Her smile was teasing and he grinned. Strumming a flat chord, he said, "You're almost funny. No, I'm in the masters program at the University of Miami."

"Really?"

Why was she surprised? "Yes. Psychology. I want to be a social worker when I grow up."

"I'm impressed." She stifled a yawn.

He chuckled. "It's hard to believe you're impressed when you're yawning."

"Sorry." She blinked a couple times. "Social work is a difficult occupation. It's emotionally turbulent." She fought to keep her eyes open.

Only his mother knew the reason he'd chosen social work. It wasn't something Bree needed to know. "You're exhausted. Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

"Mmm." After a minute, she yawned again and glanced at him. "Well, it's good to meet you…Sixto." She looked at him for approval.

"
Muy bien
. We'll have you speaking Cuban in no time."

She smiled and stood. "I'd like that, thanks."

He set his guitar aside and got up. When he held out his hand, she shook it. "Good to meet you, too, Bree." He dropped her hand. Her soft, warm hand, that felt nothing like her sister's. "And I want to apologize again for what happened earlier." He gestured toward her bedroom.

She looked away. "It was just mistaken identity. Consider it forgotten." Picking up her beer, she walked toward her bedroom, turned, and said, "Good night." She disappeared inside, shutting and locking the door.

He sank onto the couch. How could a woman have a face and body just like her sister's, but have the exact opposite personality? Bree was funny and easy to talk to. She smiled a lot, didn't take herself so damn seriously. And what was that intense connection that popped up between them? Three times? As if their hearts beat the same rhythm. He'd never felt anything that strong before. Definitely not with Cloe.

She'd been a high-maintenance roommate. She complained when his friends came to the house, she nagged him about stupid shit, and barged into his bedroom, demanding, not asking, whenever she wanted something.

Still, they were business partners for years, roommates for months. He shuddered at the image of her violent death. He would have flown to Washington for her funeral. He was raised to respect life and death was a part of it.

He put his guitar behind the couch, brought his beer bottle into the kitchen, and rinsed it. After checking the doors, he turned out the lights. In his bedroom, he looked out his patio door across the moonlit pool toward her room. Slivers of light showed through her blinds. He looked at the window of Cloe's office. Her bathroom was between the bedroom and the office and if he was lucky, Bree left the office unlocked.

He couldn't do anything until she was asleep. Then he'd go through Cloe's desk, look through the management company files, and take anything that referenced the business in the east warehouse. Especially anything that showed his name as an employee.

Sitting in his recliner, his nerves twisted into an anxious energy. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Bruce Willis was dying hard—again—but he couldn't concentrate on the action.

The only way to insure the business kept operating and guarantee the income he desperately needed, was to show her that the management company ran itself. Convince her she didn't need to get involved.

Bree seemed conservative, definitely not into casual sex, which was the real moneymaker for the business. He had to keep her from finding out exactly what she inherited.

***

Bree tossed around on the hard mattress for an hour before giving up and getting out of bed. Opening the vertical blinds covering her bedroom's patio doors, she sat in the dark on the overstuffed chair and stared out at the pool. Sixto's room was directly across from hers, the next window was his bathroom and around the corner from that was the window of his fitness room. Next to that was Cloe's office. She shivered. Going through her sister's personal papers would not be pleasant.

Was that why she couldn't sleep? Her to-do list? Or was it the videos running through her brain every time she closed her eyes. Sixto staring at her, searching deep into her soul. The way he said
Briana
in the bathroom.

Every inch of her vibrated with need, she wriggled in her seat, wanting… what? What did she want?

The stunning link she'd experienced with him couldn't be denied. It resonated within her, and ignoring it would be difficult. But necessary. Not only did he own half the house, but he and Cloe had a history, even though it wasn't a romantic one. She'd keep it friendly, treat him like a brother, and with time, the connection should fade and disappear.

Yeah, right
.

She looked back at his room. His reaction to her thinking he was a woman made her smile, but it slid from her face. He'd stared at her in frozen shock when she told him she was moving in permanently. She could empathize with his concern. Hopefully, they'd get past the awkward stage. He was remarkably handsome and outrageously sexy, but there was more to him. An intelligent man, talented.

If only they'd met under different circumstances.

In her peripheral vision, she saw a light go on in Cloe's office. She stood and stepped closer to the patio door, holding aside the blinds. A small desk lamp was on and someone moved around the room. Fear made her numb, her breath caught. Should she yell for Sixto?

The intruder sat at the desk and bent to pull something out of a drawer, casting light on his face. It was Sixto. She sat on the arm of the chair and watched, her heartbeat returning to normal. What was he doing? He typed at the computer for a few minutes. The light went off and she watched his room. A minute later his blinds closed and a light snapped on.

"Hmm." In a few seconds, Sixto's light turned off. She closed the blinds and slipped into bed. Was he telling the truth about him and Cloe being platonic friends and roommates? He'd seemed honest when he answered her question, but something was just not right. She had to be missing clues. With that on her mind, sleep didn't come for a long time

She woke late the next morning, dug her robe and slippers out of her suitcase, and opened the blinds to a beautiful, clear blue sky. "Hello, Miami!" Stretching, she smiled and squealed. This was her new life. In a town where no one knew her. In Port Angeles, everyone had either babysat her, went to school with her, or worked with her. And absolutely everyone knew the embarrassing story of how she was left standing at the altar. She rubbed her stiff pinky finger, which wasn't as painful as it usually was. "Yes! This is a good sign."

She practically skipped out of her room, through the dining room and living room area, and into the kitchen. Standing on tiptoe, she looked out the window. No ocean view, but the neighborhood was lush and tropical. An unfamiliar variety of bird sat on one of the lampposts in the yard, a long piece of grass hanging from its mouth. "You're making a new nest? Me, too."

Bree found the coffee and filters and struggled to work the big, silver espresso machine. When the brew finally started spurting, the smell brought back memories of her parents. Her eyes washed with tears. Was her sister with them right now? She hoped so. She prayed Cloe had changed and become a person worthy of floating on a cloud. The alternative, Cloe standing on brimstone, sadly seemed more likely.

"Oooh, harsh," she reprimanded herself as she brushed away the moisture from her eyes.

"The coffee?" Sixto's gravelly voice asked from behind her. He leaned on the counter and stretched his arms up, lifting his worn t-shirt to reveal a nice set of washboard abs. His hands came down in fists to rub his eyes and he yawned loudly.

"Nope." She smiled, willing away her melancholy. "The coffee smells delicious. I was being harsh and judgmental."

He smiled back sleepily, his rumpled clothes and messy hair made Bree all cozy inside. She had the indecent urge to sidle up to him and wrap her arms around his waist, smell his morning breath and kiss him despite it.

Wow, where did that come from? She looked away and gave herself a mental head slap.
Roommate. Off limits.

"You? Harsh? No."

She turned back to the coffee machine. "It's been known to leak out of my Goody Two Shoes façade."

He chuckled.

She looked over her shoulder at him. Now was the time to attack, while he was groggy. "What were you doing in Cloe's office last night?

Sixto froze but quickly recovered. Without blinking an eye, he said, "I needed to get some of the bills paid. And since she usually handled that…"

Bree nodded. Good excuse. She should ask why he waited until the middle of the night, but she'd let it go. For now.

Chapter Three

Sixto shook his head, watching Bree hunt through the kitchen cabinets for coffee cups. You'd think she'd start her search in the cabinet right above the espresso machine. Some people didn't have the most logical minds. But she was sharp. She probably wasn't fooled by his midnight impulse to pay bills.

Last night he found some of the files he wanted—wanted to keep from her. But a few significant documents were missing. Were they at Cloe's downtown office?

He couldn't get into Cloe's computer, couldn't find anything on the desk or under the monitor with her password. The woman had a devious mind and she wouldn't trust anyone enough to leave her password sitting out. The upside was that if he couldn't find it, Bree wouldn't be able to either.

She circled the kitchen and found the mugs above the coffee maker. Surprise!