Dancing in a Hurricane (36 page)

She shook her head. "What?"

Sixto set his hand on her back and eased out a breath, looking into Bree's eyes. "Her ex used to hit her."

She gasped. "No."

"And she thinks he intentionally got her pregnant."

"Oh, Jesus. Poor Marisa." She blinked, tears in her eyes.

Helpless frustration surged through him and made his own eyes moist. To cover, he lay back on the bed, his wrist over his forehead.

After a minute, Bree lay next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and her arm on his chest. Something amazing expanded through his body, replacing the powerless feeling of seconds ago. Bree's gentle love.

He wrapped his arm around her, laid his hand over hers on his chest. She lifted hers and linked their fingers.

Over his heart.

Another burst of unknown emotion swarmed through him and he had the terrible urge to tell her that he—loved her? No. It couldn't be real. It was just an overemotional moment. His concern for Marisa, his vengeant anger toward Victor, and his uncertainty about Rico's reaction.

That's all it was. That's all it could be. It was too soon for love. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, pushing aside the stress.

He woke an hour later on his side, Bree had her back pressed against his chest, his upper arm held her close, his lower arm lay like a pillow under her head. He kissed her hair, smelled her sweet scent, and tried to move his hard cock away from where it pressed against her tight ass.

"Don't move," she murmured and snuggled closer. "I want to enjoy this for one more minute."

He groaned and put his hand on her hip. "Stop wiggling like that."

She giggled. "Sorry."

He liked the feel of her hip, firm muscles, curvy. "We'd talked about going out to dinner tonight."

She squirmed onto her back and touched his cheek. "Maybe we should stay in, in case Marisa needs us?"

"You're so damn wonderful, Bree." He rolled half on top of her, his cock pressing into her thigh.

She sucked in a breath, her eyes darkened, and her lips opened a fraction.

Damn, how he wanted her. It was outrageous. The extreme pleasure of her body under his was almost… "Too much." He rolled off her, jumped off the bed. He looked back at her glowing face, a Mona Lisa smile curving her lips.

"Where are you going?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Going to jump in the pool."

Bree waived her fingers at him. "See you later, sexy feet."

***

The buzzer for the downstairs door woke Rico. Who the hell would be looking for him this early? He rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and shuffled out to the living room. Holding the talk button, he growled, "Yeah?"

"Rico, it's Marisa."

Shit. She came here to break up with him. He held the door-open button for a few seconds, unlocked the condo door and opened it an inch, and went into the bedroom for a t-shirt. When he came out, she stood inside the door. Her face was too serious.

He stopped, his stomach clenching in fear. How would he live without her?

She looked pale, the dark circles around her eyes aged her, but the emotion shining in them brought him back fifteen years.

He gestured to the couch. "Have a seat."

She walked slowly and sat, looking up at him, that beautiful face he'd loved for so many years.

"Get it over with, Riss."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Marissa shook her head. "Get what over with?"

Rico sat on the couch next to her. "You're here to break up with me, aren't you?" Hearing the pitiful tone in his voice, he replaced it with anger. "Just do it and get out of my life."

Her face crumbled and her eyes filled with tears. "Rico. I don't want to break up with you. But I have something—a couple things actually—I have to tell you."

She didn't want to break up? The clamp around his heart loosened. He sat next to her on the couch. "The article?"

She nodded. "That's part of it. But I should tell you something else first."

The urge to hold her was powerful, but first he'd let her talk—then he'd have his say. He was ready to tell her he loved her, wanted to spend forever with her. He'd make her admit she loved him, too. He opened his mouth and closed it again. He almost blurted it out, but he saw fear in her eyes. What the hell?

"The man I lived with in Orlando…"

"The lawyer?"

She nodded, looked down at her hands—they twisted around each other. Looking him in the eye, she said, "I'm pregnant with his child."

It took a minute for the words to register. She got herself pregnant with another man's child? His brain switched to shock mode and he almost laughed. Freaky. He was just thinking about Cindy—the same fucked up situation.

He waited for her to say more, like what she planned to do about it, but she sat silently. Was he supposed to say something? "And?"

"And…" She swallowed and choked out, "I don't want to have an abortion."

He sat back. The clamp of pain renewed its grip on his chest. "What are you asking me?"

She put a hand on his arm.

He didn't mean to, but he flinched and she drew back, a hurt look crossed her face. "I'm asking you to think about it. So we can talk about our options."

He shook his head. "Our?" He sighed, resignation crushing the hope that inflated him just moments ago. Shit, two minutes ago he almost asked her to move in with him, to save up and get a place together. Maybe get married.

Now she was having a baby neither of them could afford. "No, Marisa." He looked out the window. "I'm not interested in raising another man's child." The weekends when the biological father came and took the boy on expensive vacations and bought him things that a restaurant owner couldn't afford.

Tears ran down her cheeks.

It killed him to say it, but it was best for the child—and probably for her. "Riss, you should try to work it out with the father. He's got money, he can give you everything."

She looked panicked and blurted, "No, Rico, you don't understand. He's not a good—"

"Are you saying he wouldn't want the baby?"

"No, I'm sure he would, but—"

He stood. "Okay, I'll put it to you straight."

She looked up at him, alarm in her eyes.

If Marisa thought he still wanted her, she wouldn't give the relationship with her child's father a chance. He smiled, tried to make her believe he wasn't dying inside. "I like you, Riss, but this is all too complicated for me."

She held up a hand to stop him. "First, let me tell you about the article I wrote. It's about—"

"No, I don't care." Why was she changing the subject? He reached for her purse and handed it to her. "To tell you the truth, I've met someone else." He walked to the door and put his hand on the knob. The blonde beach bimbo, as Élian called her, was nothing like his Marisa, but she helped him take his mind off the woman he loved.

She stood, teetering. "Someone else?" she said in a tiny voice.

He shrugged, the casual gesture was meant to convince her, but he could barely convince himself. "You haven't been available, so I moved on."

She walked toward him, he opened the door and stepped back. Looking into his eyes, she said softly, "Forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you." She turned and walked out the door.

He watched for a minute as she exited his life. A volcano of grief boiled inside him, ready to erupt. Everything in him told him to run after her, grab her, hold her, tell her they could work it out. His brain cells overrode his emotions—her life would be better if she went back to the lawyer. He closed the door. "God, I love you." He banged his forehead on the frame.

Élian padded toward him. "I hope you're not talking to me."

Rico looked at his friend. "I was talking to a ghost."

"Deep." Élian yawned. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Rico walked to the couch and collapsed. "If you have time, yeah." He looked at the door. "My life just went to hell."

***

Bree was disappointed when she met with her new lawyer for the first time that afternoon. The transfer of the house into her name was going smoothly, but the management company proved more difficult. Licenses and city permits were being held up because of the unconventional structure of the company.

She left his office and drove to the state offices in Tallahassee to pick up her physical therapy license. After, she found the offices of the local chapter of the American Physical Therapy Association and registered her license.

As she drove home, she glanced at the list of available jobs in Miami. She'd take her time and find the perfect position. Staying home with Sixto was a lot of fun, but she needed something more. Her work as a therapist was rewarding, and it gave her life meaning.

She didn't understand how Sixto could plod along without those defining elements in his life. He could be doing so much more for the community—she shook her head. It wasn't right to judge him. She would encourage him to finish school, though, whether he liked it or not. She had the right to do so, now that they were dating.

A smile curled her lips. Dating Sixto. How much more perfect could her life be?

After a half hour on the road, her phone rang. "Hello."

"Hi, Bree? This is Christi, at your sister's office?"

"Hi. This is a surprise."

The woman chuckled nervously. "I hope you don't mind. Greg gave me your phone number. Um, we found something when we were going through Cloe's file cabinet—the one we thought was all work related?"

Bree moved her cell to her other ear, and turned down her radio. "I remember. What is it?"

"Well," Christi said, "the box was marked Uncollectable Accounts. But it's a couple dozen envelopes that have your name on them, evidently mailed to you, and returned to sender?"

"Oh." Greg mentioned that Cloe threw the letter away. She must have saved some of them. "How odd."

"Yes, I'm sorry we just found them." She cleared her throat. "How would you like us to handle them?"

Bree's first inclination was to say, "burn them," but she answered, "I'm close to your office right now. Could I stop in?"

"Of course. I'll leave them at the reception desk."

Bree took a u-turn and drove to the downtown office. She wasn't sure she would do with the letters, but at the very least, she wanted to see them. Hold them in her hands and know that her sister had written them in hope of reconnecting with her. She pulled into the parking lot and walked into the building. The receptionist pointed to a small box, which was indeed marked Uncollectable Accounts in her sister's eccentric penmanship.

"Is Greg in today?" Bree asked.

The receptionist eyed her curiously. "He is. Shall I call him for you?"

"Please."

She took the box and sat on one of the decorative but uncomfortable chairs. She pulled out an envelope from the box, dated July. That was the last one she'd received—and returned.

"Bree?" Greg came from the hallway, walked toward her.

She stood and shook his hand. "Hi. Are you busy? I just stopped by and thought I'd say hello."

"Not busy at all. Come on back—would you like coffee or water?"

She smiled at his professionalism. "No, thank you."

In his office, she acted like a child in a candy store looking at the amazing photos on his wall. "What's this one?"

"Bangkok, a beggar catching a coin."

"Wow. You've been all over."

"I have." He sat behind his desk and pointed to the box under her arm. "I heard about the letters."

She looked at the box, set it and her purse on a guest chair, and sat in the one next to it. "I'm almost afraid to look at them."

"Why?"

"I guess I'd have to give up my grudge and start feeling some sort of grief?"

He chuckled. "You wouldn't want that, now would you?"

"The anger's been a part of me for so long, it's taken hold."

He shook his head and sat back in his chair. "I don't think so. You're a charming young girl."

His compliment surprised her. "I'm the same age as Cloe."

He rubbed his chin, looking pensive. "She was hard, adrenaline driven. Her life was one adventure after another, never stopping to enjoy anything."

"It's what she chose." She eyed him. "May I ask you about something I found in her purse?"

"Ya." He sat forward.

Bree pulled out the red business card from Club Quay and handed it to him.

His astonishment appeared genuine. "A swingers' club?"

Bree nodded. "You weren't…"

He shook his head. "Uh uh. Not me." He laughed. "I have trouble with one woman at a time."

She laughed. He was such an open soul, easy to talk to. Why was the card in her sister's purse? Bree could easily believe she'd been cheating on Greg. "Well, I've taken up enough of your time." She picked up her things and stood.