Dancing in a Hurricane (54 page)

He kissed her temple. "I love you too,
cariña
. More than anything."

She gazed up at him. "And what is this craziness about us living here?"

He smoothed her hair. "You miss your friends, your old life. This was where you were running to when you wanted to leave me." His voice sounded choked. "You said you don't fit into Miami—"

She touched her fingers to his lips. "That was panic talking. I love Miami. Your family and friends. I've never felt more at home."

"You need to be sure, Bree. We could stay here a while. I checked into the psych classes at U of W Seattle. I can finish there in a few months, if I go full time." He laughed. "There aren't a lot of jobs around here working with Cuban teens, but I'm sure I can find something else."

Her mouth opened, but all that came out was, "Huh?"

His brows drew together. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Sorry, I'm really surprised you're talking seriously about living here."

"I want to be with you." His hands ran up and down her arms. "And if that means living in Washington, that's what it will be."

"Really? What about the house in Miami Shores?"

"Dayami's watching it for now. I called a realtor—"

"No!" She stepped back.

"I didn't put it on the market,
cariña
, I just asked them to do some comps."

Putting her hands on his chest, she asked, "You'd do that for me?"

He looked around the room. "Yes, of course I would. If that's what you want." He stepped away from her and walked to the front of the house. She heard a zipper, some rustling around, and he walked on the noisy hardwood floors back into the kitchen.

He held up his birthday pan. "I brought my favorite."

She laughed, snorted, and burst into tears.

He set the pan on the stove and pulled her close. "Love, no more tears, okay? Please?"

"I…can't…"

"We need to get in bed. Upstairs?"

She nodded and he picked her up. Carried her up the creaky stairs to her bedroom.

At the top landing, he asked, "Which way?"

"Right." She was breathless. It had been too long.

He elbowed the switch, turning on the overhead light, looked around quickly and made straight for the bed. He set her on it, reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, and turned off the overhead light.

She sighed. "Mmmm. Romantic."

He smiled, she reached her arms up for him. He strolled to her side. "It's romantic, but cold. Can we…" He looked around.

She got up and slid her hand under his sweatshirt. "The electric blanket is on. Take your clothes off and get under the quilt."

Reaching over, he snuck his hand between the sheets. "Yes! Let's do this. Extremely fast."

She smiled. "I hope you mean undressing."

He tugged off her pajama top, her breasts bounced and her nipples tightened when the cold hit them.

He exhaled a groan. "Forgive me if the whole first time is fast?" He cupped her breasts. "I'm desperate for you."

"The first time, okay." She helped him out of his sweatshirt and unbuttoned the top button of the floral shirt underneath.

He grabbed the bottom and stripped it off.

She shivered, looking at his beautiful chest.

He shivered, too, as he lifted one foot and hopped a couple times taking off his boot and sock, repeated it on the other side.

Unbuckling his belt for him, she slid her fingers into his waistband and touched him.

"Damn, I'm glad your hands are warm," he said and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulled them and his red underwear down, freeing his cock.

"Yum." She stroked it then grabbed her pajama bottoms and pulled them off. She jumped into bed and held the blankets up for him. "Quick, before you freeze."

"Oh, yeah!" He jumped on her bed, the frame cracked, but held. He laughed, "Sorry, I don't know my own weight."

She covered them both with the blankets. "It's a very old bed. Don't feel bad if we break it."

"Mm, baby. That'll be our goal." He laid partially on her and kissed her, completely dominating, taking what he needed. His tongue sucked hers into his mouth. He let her take over.

She licked every centimeter of his mouth, his lips, loving the taste of him, which she'd almost forgotten in the last few days.

The memory of their argument and days apart turned her frantic. She pushed him gently back, ended the kiss, and looked into his eyes. "I want to love you first."

His body shuddered, his hips jerked. "Yes,
cariña
. I would like that."

Spreading her hands over his chest, she caressed him, trailing kisses from his throat down over his pecs. She pulled the covers up over her head and moved lower.

"God, baby. Feels so good." He closed his eyes, caressed her back and neck, and as she moved down, kept a hand gently on her head. "You know what you're doing."

"I've been watching HBO."

"Yeah, good channel," he groaned.

She trailed kisses across his hip and down a thigh. Positioning herself between his legs, she used her feet to un-tuck the bedding at the end of the bed and stuck her feet out into the cold.

Settling in, she kissed her way toward him, brushed her lips against the base of him, loving the way it hardened even more. He moaned and his body tensed.

"Sixto?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me if I do anything you don't like."

"Baby, anything you do will be perfect."

She smiled, ran the fingers of one hand up his long shaft and down again on the other side. She replaced her fingers with soft kisses that turned his breathing loud enough for her to hear under the covers.

Reaching the top, she licked a circle around the underside of the head and felt his thighs stiffen. Broadening her tongue strokes, she licked the top, feeling the slit down the middle. She lapped down and back up, covering every inch of him. Holding the length in one hand, she bent her head and touched her tongue on his sack.

He gave a broken cry and she licked again, from under his sack all the way to the tip of his hard on. He tasted salty, the curly hairs tickling her nose. She felt powerful, beautiful. Loving.

When she finished touching him everywhere, she moved up and set her lips at his tip. Opening them and sliding her mouth over him strained her jaw.

His hands touched her head, brushed down her hair. They fell to the side and grabbed the sheet.

Slowly she took him into her mouth, about half of him fit and she increased the suction and pulled back. Sliding her hand around him, she coordinated her mouth and hand and quickly found a rhythm. After a minute, his legs tensed, his hips thrust in rhythm. She cupped his sack and felt his balls tightening up against his body.

"Bree, yes, now!" The blankets muffled his voice.

She increased the tempo, tightened the pressure, and felt him release, hot and salty into her mouth, shooting down her throat in waves.

When he relaxed, she took the last drop.

His hands grasped her arms, pulling her up and on top of him. "Damn,
cariña
." His eyes closed, his breathing rapid.

Wrapping her arms around him, she wanted to stay like this, with him, forever. The cold from her feet trailed up her legs and she shivered. Maybe not in Port Angeles, though.

He turned them on their sides and pulled the covers over them. A safe nest where she could let herself love him again. Her fears and doubts disappeared. Things would work out for them. She promised herself she'd make it happen. She prayed for guidance and—she giggled—she vowed to watch more HBO.

He squeezed her. "What are you laughing about, love?"

"Isn't it nice to be back together again?"

"Bree. I have nothing if I don't have you."

She bit her lip, holding back tears. "I feel the same. The last few days—actually since I found out about Club Quay—were the worst of my life."

Against her temple, he whispered, "Sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. For everything."

His voice was a sexy rumble. "Let me make it up to you."

"I will." She grinned. "How, exactly, are you going to do that?"

Hi chuckled. "I have something in mind." He kissed her lips, nibbled his way to her breast, and feasted on her nipple. He looked at her. "I'm going under." He pulled the blanket up over his head, bit a trail down to her core and within minutes had her screaming his name.

***

Sixto woke, cocooned in Bree's bed, her sweet body wrapped on top of his. He checked the clock. It was only three in the morning. He was tired enough to stay in bed, but his stomach growled loud enough to wake her. He slipped out of her arms, heard her grumble quietly. Quickly, he tugged on his sweats and jeans, grabbed his socks, and put them on, too. Shit. Even the floors were cold here.

He bounded down the stairs. They squeaked like angry parrots and he slowed his pace, treading softly. Flipping on the kitchen light, he went right for the refrigerator. Not much in there, but he pulled out some cooked salmon, opened a Tupperware and smelled garlic mashed potatoes and, "Hello!" some kind of pie.

Warming the fish and potatoes in the huge, vintage microwave, he switched on the little radio on the counter. An oldies station played a Beatles song. He cut a big slice of pie—looked like apple—and slid it on a plate. He went to the drawer next to the refrigerator looking for a fork. Opening each drawer, he found the silverware halfway around the room. That must be why Bree could never find anything in their Miami kitchen. Totally and illogically unorganized.

When the bell rang on the microwave, he stuck his finger into the food. "Good enough." He was starving. He poured a cup of hours-old coffee and sat at the table and ate, looking around at the way Bree lived. No wonder Miami was such a shock for her. It would be like going from the set of Leave It to Beaver to The Jetsons.

"You found my pie." She padded up behind him and kissed him on the neck.

"You mean upstairs in bed?" He grinned. "You thought I forgot where it was?"

She blushed and softly smacked his arm. "You're so naughty." She pointed to his plate on the table. "I used apples I'd picked from the tree in the yard and had frozen."

"You made this?"

"Mm hm. I was bored." She filled a glass with water.

"Bree, love, pour one for me too?"

She looked back at him. "Would you rather have a beer? I found a liquor store that carries Red Stripe."

His head hurt with the reminder of yesterday's hangover. "I'm off it for a while, thanks."

Setting their water on the table, she slid into a chair. "Really? Is it something you want to talk about?"

"I…uh…was bored, too."

She sat, tipped her head. "So, what did you do? Tie one on?"

"Yeah." He ate, waiting, knowing she'd ask more.

"A big party?"

"Solo."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Can we talk about that? Our drinking, I mean?"

He nodded and set down his fork. "I've been thinking about that, too. I used it to forget." He looked into her eyes and his heart double-pumped. "I told myself it was to help me forget you, but I know now that I was trying to forget what I'd done." The pain of his cruelty to her burned like a fist to the gut.

She reached out and held his hand. "It's all forgiven. It'll take a while to forget, though. For both of us. But I don't think alcohol is the answer."

He linked their fingers together. "It's not going to be a problem any longer. I know my limit. With everything we've got going on, it's going to be easy to find other distractions." He grinned, thinking of her creaky, warm bed upstairs.

"We do have a lot going on." She blushed and smiled. "Besides whatever naughty thought is causing that gleam in your eye."

"We have a lot to talk about, too." He circled his thumb on her palm. "Like our living arrangements."

"Sixto, I truly appreciate your offer to live here with me, but…" She touched the spot over her heart. "I love Miami. I love your family. That's where I want to be."