Dancing in a Hurricane (46 page)

"
Cariña
, your middle name is horny."

"What does that make your middle name? You're hornier than I am."

"My middle name is Horatio." He sucked her baby toe. "Which in Cuban means…" He nibbled on her middle toe. "Hornier than Bree."

She giggled. "I knew it!" She leaned forward, her hands following his ribs, sliding lower until she reached him. Wrapping her hand around him, she stroked, the salty water making him slick.

His eyes rolled back and shut. God, he wanted her again. He moved his hand between their bodies and found her opening. Hot and tight, he eased a finger in, then two.

She bit him on the shoulder.

"Careful, baby," he moaned. "I have a photo shoot."

"Do they have makeup there?" She bit harder.

He chuckled. "Vampire."

She bit and sucked as her hand worked faster on his shaft.

He slid his fingers in and out of her and touched his thumb to her clit. "Here or on the bed?"

She sounded breathless. "On the bed, please."

He jumped up, helped her up and they dried each other off, licking, biting, tickling and sucking.

She took his hand and led him to her bed. He stopped her and pulled the clip from her hair. She turned and took the clip from his. Touching the band that held his hair, asked, "Do you ever take this out?"

"If you'd like."

"I would."

He reached back and pulled off the band.

She laced her fingers through his hair, slowly massaging his scalp, ran her fingers down its length, and pulled it forward over his shoulders. "Your hair is so soft. And it's thick." Her eyes darkened. "I want you on top. I want to feel your hair."

He growled and picked her up, set her on the bed, and lay on top of her, wrapping his arms around her.

She threaded her fingers in his hair as he kissed her, twining his tongue with hers, sucking it into his mouth, lapping it unhurriedly, wanting this moment, this perfect instant, to last.

Spreading her legs, she invited him inside. He nearly entered without a condom. "Crap." He reached for a packet, opened it, and slid it on before she could complain about the delay.

"I'm going to the doctor's this week," she said. "I'll ask about birth control."

"I'd love that. I want to do this…" He entered her. "With both of us naked." He reached down and guided her leg around his back. She lifted the other one and he slid deeper into her.

Drawing in a breath, she looked into his eyes. "You look different with your hair loose."

"Pretend I'm…" He almost said, "Pretend I'm my twin brother," but caught himself before he blurted it out. That would have been a ball buster. "A Vampire?"

She nodded and grinned, turning her head to reveal her neck.

He bit gently, licking a zigzag up her neck to her ear. Biting her lobe, he affected an accent and whispered, "I want to suck your clit."

"Blood."

"No blood. I'm a clit sucker."

She snorted a laugh.

He laughed, too. Their lovemaking was just as intense, but her playfulness added a new dimension.

After they both came, he rolled off her, their bodies moist with the humidity from the bathroom, she flung herself across him, holding tight. He couldn't get enough of her.

A few minutes later, she said, "Sixto?"

"Yes,
cariña
?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"No."

She softly pinched his nipple.

"Violent." He rubbed it. "Yes, ask me."

"Would you tell me about your fear of spiders?"

He heaved a deep sigh. He wasn't anxious to reveal it to Bree. "Is that my phone ringing?" He moved an inch.

"No." She hugged him so he couldn't move. "I told you my most traumatic incident. Now it's your turn."

"It's a sad story. Wouldn't you rather hear about the time I talked the head cheerleader into giving me a blowjob in her dad's limo?"

"Eeew, no!" She paused. "Well, maybe later." She lifted her head and looked at him. "After your spider story."

"Bree, the only person who knows about this is my mother."

"Oh, okay. I understand." She kissed his pecs and laid her head back on his chest. "Some day when you want to talk about it, I'd like to hear it."

His heart beat fast. The whole spider-thing was humiliating. Would she see him as weak? He twirled a blonde curl around his finger, straightening it out and letting it bounce back. It all came down to how much he trusted her. He was keeping the swingers' club a secret from her. Maybe revealing this secret would be cathartic, would give him the room to open up to her.

"I liked this girl. Sara."

She tensed then relaxed. "Mm hm?"

"I was about fifteen, she was a senior, so about seventeen. She was dating another senior, a big jock on the football team. She broke up with him to go out with me."

"I can understand why."

He strained to look down at her face. "Why?"

She lifted her head. "You've got it all. Looks, brains and you're a gentleman."

"Tell me more."

She smiled and lifted one eyebrow. "Anyway…"

"Anyway," he grumbled. "We were out on a date, she drove because I was too young."

"Did you have the ponytail?"

"No."

"Sorry, go ahead."

"She dropped me off at the bus stop. Her parents wouldn't let her drive into Little Havana at night."

"Why?"

"She came from a rich neighborhood and everyone heard rumors about how dangerous minority areas were."

She frowned. "That's unfair."

"Yeah. That's life. I waited at the bus stop and the jock pulled up."

"Oh, God." Her whole body tensed.

"Yeah. He wasn't alone."

She shook her head, her eyes looked terrorized.

"Three of them. They roughed me up a little." They actually beat the shit out of him. Broken ribs and a bruised kidney, knocked his head against the ground and gave him a concussion. They didn't hit him anywhere that Sara could see bruises. "Told me if I didn't break up with her, they'd do the same thing to each of my sisters."

"Bastards!"

He eyed her. "I thought you didn't swear."

"The situation called for it." Her face tightened into a nasty frown.

He could see Bree taking on those boys herself. "They drove me to the football field and locked me in the pump house." He shivered.

She wrapped her arms around him. "There were spiders, weren't there."

"Yeah." He shook, swamped by the intensity of the memory. "A lot of them." He could feel them crawling on him.

"How long…" Her voiced cracked, tears in her eyes.

"A few hours. One of them told his mother and they came and let me out. Mom arrived and picked me up, took me to the hospital."

"You could have died." Her tears coursed down her face onto his chest.

"I suppose I could have. But I didn't and the only scar is arachnophobia."

"I'm so sorry I made fun of you…" She heaved in a breath. "In front of your family." She really cried now.

"
Cariña
, no. It's not an issue. My family teases me about it all the time. Don't feel bad."

She dropped her head on his chest. "It's so sad." A couple minutes later, her tears subsided. She sniffed and got up and blew her nose. "I'm a mess, huh?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "But I'm getting used to it."

She sat next to him on the edge of the bed, her perfect body bare, her long hair curling around her shoulders and down her back. "Is that the reason you're going into social work?"

"It's the main reason." He lay behind her, playing with her hair. "I've seen too many kids make stupid choices and end up in trouble. I want to help them see there are options out there."

"You're amazing." She smiled and touched his stomach.

It growled.

"Big breakfast?" she asked.

"I'm starving."

"Then you can tell me about the BJ in the limo with the head cheerleader." She stood and pulled a t-shirt over her head.

"Guess whose sister she was?"

As she tugged the bottom of the shirt down over her irresistible mound, Bree looked at him. "Who?"

"The football jock."

Her eyes opened wide. "Revenge is sweet?"

He nodded. "Forgiveness is sweeter."

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dressed in her work clothes, Bree pulled her convertible into the driveway.

Dayami sat in her car in front of the garage.

Bree waved as she pressed the button to open the overhead door. "Sixto will be home in a bit. Come on in." She pulled into her spot in the garage, Dayami walked in, her arms crossed in front of her.

Bree closed the overhead and held the door to the house open. She never saw Dayami down. She was always so full of life.

Kicking off her athletic shoes, she asked, "Would you like a drink?"

Dayami looked at her, her eyes red.

"You've been crying," Bree said. "Can I do anything?"

"
Nos abuelita
." She broke down crying.

Bree couldn't understand, but took her in her arms.

Dayami sobbed for a minute before pulling herself together. She stayed in Bree's arms. "Our grandmother died."

Bree gasped. "Abuelita Ximena? I'm so sorry. Sixto visited her last week." She rubbed Dayami's back.

The door opened, both women turned as Sixto walked in. He stopped and looked at them. Toeing off his shoes, he asked, "Do you girls need a minute?"

"
¡Callarse
, Sixto!" Dayami said. "Bad news." She went to him. "Abuelita Ximena left us yesterday."

His face drained of color. He pulled Dayami into his arms and asked her something in Spanish.

Bree snuck into her room, letting them mourn their grandmother in private.

The funeral was held at a huge old church in Little Havana. Organ music played, the mass of requiem was recited in Latin, candles, flowing robes, incense and all the solemnity due a woman of Ximena Doria's stature in the community. Bree surreptitiously audio taped the eulogies which, for half an hour, extolled Ximena's virtues in Spanish. She would ask Sixto to translate for her.

Better yet, she'd get her butt in gear and learn the language herself. At work, she'd surely have patients who didn't speak English. That was scary. Who would translate for her until she became proficient enough to carry on a conversation?

Sixto kneeled and she knelt with him. He looked terribly handsome in his Armani suit. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand, whispering, "Thank you for being here."

She wouldn't be anywhere but at his side. For the rest of her life. She glanced at him, but kept her lips pressed together. How could she tell him something like that without sounding like a soap opera diva?

Marisa and Cheena sat with their arms around each other, crying. Dayami knelt next to her mother, both of them weeping. Sixto Sr. knelt, stiff backed and dry-eyed. Glancing at the other men, she didn't see any tears. Including Sixto. It was three days and he hadn't cried. He talked about his
abuelita
, but always stayed in control.

What would it take to make this rock of a man cry? She prayed she never found out.

They processed from the church to the cemetery at the back of the property and stood watching the coffin being lowered. As they walked back to the church, she glanced behind her and saw Sixto Sr. and his sister standing by their mother's grave holding hands. The scene flooded her with emotion and she drew in a ragged breath.

Sixto stopped and looked at her then back at the gravesite. "They're saying goodbye."

She nodded, tears flooding her eyes, trailing down her cheeks.

He stared at her, looking as though he wanted to say something. He took her arm and guided her back to the church.

In the vestibule, she said, "I'm going to fix my makeup." She slipped into the ladies' room and wiped the runny mascara from under her eyes. She tightened the bun at the nape of her neck. When she came out, Sixto stood in a group of guys, most of whom she'd met at the party. His high school friends.

She turned the other direction and strolled the entryway, looking at the stained glass, the posters on corkboards, and the graphic art Catholics liked to see in their churches. A table held dozens of different pamphlets written in both Spanish and English. She chose a few to use as language tools. Plus, it wouldn't hurt her to learn more about Sixto's religion.

"Are you thinking about becoming Catholic?" That suave voice was unmistakable.

"Hi, Rico. You look nice."

He smoothed the lapels of his black suit. "We match today."