Dancing in a Hurricane (4 page)

Holding up two cups, she grinned at him. "I'm not very bright before I've had my coffee."

He smiled. Good thing she could laugh at herself. She looked damn silly this morning. Her braided yellow-blonde hair hung down nearly to her ass. Over her pink poodle pajamas, she wore a robe with Seattle Mariner logos plastered all over it. That outfit had to have come with her from Washington. Cloe wouldn't own anything with poodles or the Mariner's logo, unless it was made by Versace. "Baseball fan?"

"Mmm hmm. You?"

"Of course. The Florida Marlins."

"I love outdoor stadiums. I'd love to see a game." She opened the fridge and asked, "Cream and sugar?"

"Black and sweet."

She nodded and closed the fridge. "Me, too."

After putting three teaspoons of sugar into a cup, she looked at him. "How many?"

"One."

She spooned the sugar, poured coffee into both cups and stirred.

The domestic scene caused a tug of longing in his heart. It had been months since he had a woman stay the night, stay for breakfast. That was taking the relationship to the next level and there was no one in the last year he was ready to make that commitment to.

Bree walked toward him with the cups, smiling. "Only one sugar? You're not as sweet as me."

"
Chica
, I don't think anyone's as sweet as you."

The smile left her face as she handed him his coffee.

"That was a compliment, in case you thought otherwise."

"I know." She moved around him to the other side of the counter and sat at one of the heavy wood and red leather barstools. "I'm kind of a dopey optimist." She glanced at him, down at her coffee, and frowned. "I get a lot of grief about it."

This was getting interesting. "Really? Why? You've got a great personality."

"Uh." She flinched. "You have no idea how many times I've heard that."

"And that's bad?" He sipped his coffee. She brewed it dark and thick, just the way he liked it.

Her face broke into an exaggerated grimace. "No, but the line that follows it is. 'Bree'," she said in a low voice. "'You have a good personality, but I don't feel 'that way' about you. I want us to be friends, though'."

"That's bullshit." He put his hands on the counter and looked into her eyes. "You'd be a kick-ass girlfriend."

She leaned back from him, wide-eyed, looking ready to bolt.

Shit, he'd gone too far. Yeah, he'd like to get her into his bed, but he didn't want to scare her off. He opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to his mind. "I can think of three men who'd jump at the chance to meet you."

She smiled, even as a red blush crawled up her neck and onto her face. "Really?" Her voice shook. After a moment, she slapped her hand on the counter. "All right, call them up and get them over here. Let's get this party started!"

He laughed and straightened. "I'm serious. Guys get sick of the drama and the games." He sure as hell did. He shrugged, and said quietly, "You seem unassuming and honest."

She set her elbow on the counter and dropped her chin into her palm. "Yeah, but that's not what men see. I'm just—you know." She raised her eyebrows. "Not attractive…that way."

"That way?" What the hell was she talking about?

Her mouth opened then closed. She swallowed. "Not sexy," she whispered.

He nearly choked trying to keep from spewing "Oh, yes you are!" Instead, he affected his therapist voice. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged and made a resigned face. "I know what I am. I'm just plain. I've always been a tomboy. I play first base on the hospital softball team. I like to climb trees and play tag with the kids." She grinned. "I don't have that pizzazz that turns men on."

His eyes darted to her breasts then down to his coffee cup. From seeing her in a t-shirt last night, he knew they were a full C cup and the perfect shape. And her legs, long and firm looking. She was plumper than Cloe and he liked the solid muscle look of her. And strangely, she didn't remind him at all of her sister. She wasn't sexy in an obvious way, but she drew him in whenever she got within ten feet.

He was screwed.

He turned away. "I'm starving. You hungry?"

"Yes." She was quiet for a moment. "Sorry. I'm being a little too talkative this morning."

He pulled eggs, bacon, and bread out of the refrigerator. "No. I invited it. It's my psychologist's curiosity. Prying into people's lives is what I do."

"I appreciate it. I was kind of hoping we'd be friends. You're the only person I know in Miami."

He put a pan on the stove and looked back at her. Friends. He could do that. For now. "
Huevos
?"

"Si, gracias." She smiled and looked proud of herself.

He winced. "We'll work on your accent."

She gave him a worried look and he laughed. "You've got a heavy northwestern twang."

"You have no accent at all."

"I do when I get angry." He turned the burner to medium flame and flipped on the light over the stove.

"Remind me to make you mad sometime so I can hear it."

He shook his head. "Very rare." The last time was when Cloe told him not to have his family at the house so much. God, they'd yelled at each other for ten minutes. She'd left for Boise the next morning and a couple days later called to apologize. Whining, wheedling, and promising to make it up to him. He'd been a little rude. Now, he sure as hell wished he hadn't.

"Tell me about your name. Sixto."

Shifting gears, he shrugged off the guilt. "It's my father's name and my grandfather's name. Traditional Cuban."

"Would that make you Sixto the Third?"

"Uh uh. Dad decided to start over when he came to America. I'm a junior."

"Did you live in Cuba?"

"No, my parents came here in the late '50s."

Her slippers brushed along the tiles as she walked toward him. "More coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She stood at the coffee pot, her back to him. She was a sweet girl. Élian or Rico would go for her. As she stirred sugar into their cups, he recognized the murky feeling in his chest. Jealousy. He wanted her for himself. He looked away quickly.
Whoa
. He needed time to process that thought.

She stepped right into his space and set his cup down next to him. "Can I help?"

He laid bacon in the pan and pulled out another one, setting it on the burner. "I think I've got it."

"Nice pan." She leaned close and he smelled her soft floral scent. Yesterday, she'd smelled like expensive bath products. Cloe's. Today, she smelled the way she should. Sweet and delicate. Her skin would be velvety smooth under his palm… Shit. He shook off the fantasy. "Uh huh. My parents gave it to me for my birthday in July."

She looked up at him. "Do you have a big family?"

He nodded, but focused on cooking. She was too close, too tempting. "Yeah. Mom, dad, and five sisters. I'm the youngest."

"Yikes!"

"Exactly. Three sisters are married, two have kids, one is
embarazada
."

"Embarrassed? Oh, pregnant, right?"

He looked at Bree and nodded. "Very pregnant. Seven nieces and nephews, one more on the way."

She smiled and her eyes looked watery. "You're lucky."

He cracked an egg into the crooked yellow pottery bowl his oldest niece had made him for Christmas. "I guess I am."

She sighed as she walked away.

Picking up his cup, he turned and watched her stare out at the pool, rubbing her little finger. She did that a lot, rubbed that one finger. That sort of physical habit usually resulted from a strong emotional connection to an event. What was the story behind it? He shook his head. He had to stop analyzing everything she did. Hell, her life was full of tragedies. She was completely alone in the world. It must be an empty feeling for her. His family was his heart, his life.

He finished his coffee and turned back to the eggs. He'd have his family over to meet her. Soon. Once they got to know her, she'd feel like a Doria. His relatives embraced people and surrounded them. Except for Cloe. His sisters hated her, but he didn't blame them. He grinned. She was a bitch. She'd admitted it herself a dozen times.

"What's that smile for?" She stood next to him again, her coffee cup almost empty.

"I'm thinking about my sisters."

"I'd like to meet them."

"You may regret saying that." He wagged his brows at her. "Once they meet you and find out you're single, they'll set you up with a new guy every night. It'll be like The Running of the Bulls"

Bree laughed so hard she snorted. She stopped and looked at him, seeming embarrassed.

He affected a shocked expression and she laughed even harder. He chuckled, loving her little snorts and hiccups. Liking everything about her.

He shook his head and stirred the eggs. He started out feeling this way about every woman he dated. Within a month or two, they showed their dark side, and his interest died. He lived by the rule that it was easier to say goodbye than to spend time fixing a marginal relationship.

Something about Bree, though. Everything inside him told him this was different. And it was damn frightening.

Pulling a spatula out of the drawer, he handed her his mug. "I'll fix our plates if you'll refill our coffee."

"It smells delicious." She poured coffee and sat at the counter.

He brought their plates, heaping with eggs, bacon, and warm buttered bread. He opened a white bakery bag and set
pastelitos
on a plate, put it on the counter between them, and sat next to her. Grabbing a fork, he dug in.

She used her fork to poke at her food. "Where did those yummy things come from?" She looked at the
pastelitos
.

"I stopped at a bakery by my sister's house yesterday. Try one."

She chose one of the pastries and set it on her plate. "Your whole family lives in Miami?"

"Yeah." He couldn't imagine life without them. "What happened to your parents?"

Setting down her fork, she folded her hands on the counter. "When I was nineteen, they were killed in a car crash on a foggy, iced-over bridge."

"Sorry." Nineteen was young to be on her own.

"Thanks. I was in college, living at home. I just crossed the same bridge an hour before and it was dry." Her brow furrowed.

"Strange how life throws things like that at you."

"Yes. I remember someone saying the same thing at the funeral." She shook her head. "He said it was just their time to go."

He shrugged. "A lot of people take solace in that theory."

"It's difficult not to question a preordained cosmic plan when bad things happen to you personally." Picking up her fork, she played with her eggs again. "At the hospital where I worked, I did PT with a lot of people recovering from tragedies and many of them had difficulty resolving their anger toward their higher power."

He dipped his sweet, buttered bread in his coffee and bit into it, enjoying the mix of flavors. "So you're a psychologist as well as a physical therapist?"

She laughed. "Sometimes it seems like that. I became a PT because I like being involved with people." She ate a few bites. "Is that why you're studying psychology?"

He chewed more sweet bread and swallowed. "I want to work with marginalized juveniles and their families." It was his standard answer to that question, and revealed nothing of his personal issues.

"That's wonderful." Her eyes sparkled. "Really important work. How much longer until you graduate?"

He shook his head, sat back, and swirled his mug on the counter. "It'll be a while. I'm not taking a full load."

"Why?"

"I'm working to…" How did he explain that most of his income supported his family. "Just working too much."

"Yes, I can see why it'd be difficult to work two jobs and attend classes."

"I get a lot of modeling work, which is time consuming. Bartending brings in good tips, plus the social benefits…" Ah, crap. Had he just said that out loud?

She made a shrewd grimace. "I don't even want to know what that means." Her face softened. "But you're going to be a great asset to the community once you get your degree."

He looked sideways at her. What would he do if she boarded up the business in the east warehouse? He needed that payroll check to hit his bank account every two weeks. Between his school costs, helping his sisters pay off their student loans, and investing in his parents' business, he'd never make the mortgage payment and basic expenses without that money.

She dissected her eggs before setting down her fork and picking up her pastry. "This looks delicious." She bit into a flaky circle, and guava marmalade dripped onto her lip. "Oh, yum," she mumbled.

His earlier assessment of her was accurate. Conservative, innocent. Not the right person to be running a business that was marginally legal and highly immoral. He had to make sure she didn't shut it down, which meant he had to make sure she never found out what went on at Club Quay.