Dancing in a Hurricane (8 page)

He cleared his throat. "So she found a cheap house in a nice neighborhood. She paid for the house and the materials, I took a break from school and did all the work. We sold it for three times what she paid for it."

"You must be good."

He bit his tongue to keep from making a sexual comment and instead, nodded. "We found this place, bought it half and half and it took me two years to finish it."

She pulled off her glasses. "You remodeled this house? Sixto, I'm amazed. This place is fabulous! I had no idea you did all this."

He smiled. It felt good to have someone admire his work. "She had the money to buy the best of everything. After I finished, we liked it so much, and the housing market slumped, we decided to move in. That was six months ago."

She set down her drink and her sunglasses and moved toward him. "Sixto, I want to ask you about the money."

Damn, time to tell the truth. A very small part of the truth. "Yeah?"

"Do you know anything about the management company?"

"A little. She started it when she moved here, spent her inheritance to buy some warehouses. The management company is just that. They do all the work, hire the employees, pay the taxes. She didn't have to do anything." Damn, he was pushing too hard. He took a drink and pasted an unconcerned look on his face.

"But how can it be so lucrative? She's bringing in five figures every month. It seems outrageous."

He shrugged. "There's a lot of money in renting warehouse space, especially in a port city."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you talking about drugs?"

Sixto laughed. "No. Your sister was too smart for that. The management company operates completely within the law." Even if the nightlife in the east warehouse hovered on the brink of illegal activity.

He paused, let her think, gave her time to process everything. He took a breath. "I'm on the payroll, too."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You are?"

"Yeah. And there's no way I'd take a paycheck from criminal activity."

She stared at him. "What do you do for the company?"

He took a drink to hide his discomfort. "I do freelance work, advertising, building maintenance, I update the—" Shit, he almost said website. "Update the, uh, building maintenance."

Her brow furrowed.

"You know, work with the fire marshal to make sure we're up to code."

"Hmm. Will you show me on a map where the warehouses are?"

"I can, but you probably don't want to go there alone. I'll drive you."

Her eyes narrowed and he was again glad for his dark glasses. They hid his guilty expression.

"
Chica
, you look like you could use another drink."

She paused, looking like she had more to ask him. Visibly relaxing, she nodded. "Sure. Tell me how to make a Sixto on the Beach and I'll give it a try." She reached for his empty glass and stepped out of the pool, bending over to pick up hers.

He watched her tempting curves shift and jiggle.

Grabbing her sunglasses, she slid them on top of her head as she walked. The graceful sway of her full hips had his blood running hot. How did she do that to him?

Standing behind the bar, she looked at him expectantly.

Keep it together, man!
"A shot of tequila, a shot of cassis, a squeeze of lemon and ginger ale."

"Got it." She bent down below the bar. "You want another beer?"

"Sure."

She opened the bottle and carefully poured it in his cup, minimizing the foam.

Sweet. That strange domestic feeling hit him again, like this moment was perfect—she belonged there and he belonged here and they belonged—together?

She walked to the edge of the pool with his glass, bending over to hand it to him. He gritted his teeth to keep his mind on the beer and off her body. She dragged a lounge chair into the shade and sat. Touching the side of her icy glass to her cheek, she said, "Whew, I'm not used to the hot sun."

He lifted his sunglasses. "You look a little red." He set down his beer, jumped off the floater and muscled himself out the side of the pool. He poured a bottle of water in a glass with ice and handed it to her, taking her cocktail and putting it on a table.

"You'll get used to the heat."

"I don't know. I was raised in rain and fog. It might never happen."

"Then you'll love the rain during hurricane season." He picked up his beer sat on the end of a lounge chair facing her, their knees almost touching.

"A whole season of hurricanes. That scares the crap out of me."

He pointed above the patio door. "We've got roll-down shutters for every window. I should show you how to use them."

"Mmm, yes. And I have a few questions about things around the house. Like garbage and recycling and bills."

"How about tonight? Are you free?"

She smiled. "Let me check my schedule." She shifted her eyes. "Yes, I'm free every night from now until forever."

He shrugged. "Hey, I invited you to the club. If you want to start having fun, you gotta start saying yes once in a while."

"You're quite the deep philosopher."

He could talk philosophy for hours. "I think we all should embrace life more intensely. We never know when it'll be over." Like Cloe. From the look on Bree's face, she was thinking of her, too. What did Cloe do that blocked Bree from grieving for her? The therapist side of his personality manifested itself and he composed an open-ended question to get her talking.

She beat him to it. "You know, I found out something at Cloe's office."

Shit.

Chapter Six

Sixto tensed then forced himself to relax. He took a sip of his beer and set it on the pool deck next to his lounge chair. Wouldn't she be more animated if she knew she owned a business that catered to carnal sin?

Her face looked sad. She tipped her head. "Cloe was dating someone she worked with."

Relief flooded through him. He took a breath, calming his racing heart. "Huh. I figured that."

Her brows drew together. "You did? How?"

"She didn't come home a lot of nights. How long was she seeing this guy?"

"I don't know, but he said he was serious about her."

"That's a surprise. How could anyone be serious about Cloe?"

She sat forward in her chair, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

The way she leaned forward, those luscious breasts pressed tight against the white cotton of her shirt. He focused on her eyes. "You know your sister. She's not the type for a real relationship."

"How did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"How did you know that she wasn't the right woman for you?"

What was she digging for? "For me? I told you,
chica
, we were just roommates. There was nothing emotional there."

She waved a hand, as if to erase and start over. "I know that, but…" Her face showed concern. "…what was it about her that kept you from getting closer to her? Maybe finding stronger emotions?"

Suddenly it clicked. She wanted to know what was missing in her sister because she assumed she had the same flaws. He smiled, all those years of psychology classes finally paying off.

"Bree, I don't know how you did it, but you grew up the exact opposite of your sister."

Her mouth opened then closed and tears formed in her eyes.

"She had no compassion in her soul. She was myopic, unpleasant, unhappy. You are…"

A tear trailed down her cheek.

"You are a…" What? A goddess? A princess? What the hell was she? He couldn't help but look at her breasts again. The body of a porn star, the face of an angel, the personality of a saint, the wit of a comic.

He forced himself to look her in the eye—and keep it there. "You're so damn nice, I hate to introduce you to my friends, because I know they're not good enough for you."

She shook her head. "Yes, I'm a nice girl and I can get guys to like me, but it's as if I'm their little sister. They scruffle my hair and give me a piece of candy and forget about me." She sniffed and her tears came faster.

"Aw,
chica
, you'll meet the right guy one day and he'll be down on his knees, begging you to marry him."

Through her tears, she smiled a little. "It'll never happen. I'll be an old maid, like my Aunt Prudence."

"No you won't…you have an Aunt Prudence?" He made a face.

She laughed a little, but tears still snuck from her eyes. "And I'm genetically disposed to become her."

"That's ridiculous. Do you know what you need? An attitude adjustment. Repeat after me—"

"No."

"Listen, I paid a lot of money to the University of Miami to learn this stuff. Just do it. 'I am a beautiful, desirable woman and goddamnit, men want me'."

She laughed, stuck her fingers in her ice water, and flicked them at his forehead. "You are crazy!"

He made a shocked face. "That was just plain mean." He grabbed her glass, but she held on tight and he shook it so half the water and ice hit her breasts and stomach.

"Eeeeooooow! That's cold, you jerk!" She laughed as she held her t-shirt away from her body.

He smirked. "You deserved it—"

With a wicked grin on her face, she dumped the rest of her ice water over his head.

The cold hit him like a brick. He shook his head like a wet dog, laughing harder than he had in months.

She squealed as the drops pelted her.

He stood and let out a primal yell. Bending, he grabbed her up in his arms.

"Woman," he chuckled. "You're gonna pay for that!"

She laughed and snorted. "No! Don't you dare!"

She kicked her legs but he held on tight and walked to the pool's edge. God, she felt good. Soft skin over solid muscles, and where his hand rested below her breast, his thumb touched the perfect swell. He affected his most Cuban accent, "Lucy, I'm doin' this for your own good," and tossed her in.

When she came up laughing and grabbing for her sunglasses, he cannonballed her, completely swamping her. He surfaced beside her, she held his shoulders and pushed him back down. Grabbing for her waist to pull her down with him, he snagged the side of her bikini bottom. Surprised, he stopped for a moment then tugged.

Opening his eyes, he saw the murky shape of her bare hip, the sweet flesh where her leg met her belly. Too quickly, she pushed away from him, squirming to pull the fabric back into place. He surfaced and took a stroke toward her.

She was halfway up the ladder. "No! Stay back, Sixto, or you'll be sorry."

Her voice sounded half serious. He swam to the shallow end and lounged on the steps, taunting, "Running away again?"

She climbed out. Picking up her cocktail and her towel, she announced, "You, Sixto Doria, may kiss my bright white ass."

He smiled his most devilish grin. "Really?" He stood and took the steps two at a time. If he got his hands on her ass, he'd bite her. Lick and nibble, kiss and massage.

Her eyes popped wide open as if she just realized what she invited. Holding out a hand, she cried, "No! Forget I said that!" She ran into her room, closed and locked the patio door, and shut the blinds.

He laughed, picked up their glasses, and took them and the liquor into the house. Damn, she was fun. The last time he took a girl's bikini bottom off in the pool, he stayed down there pleasing her with his tongue until he needed air. He'd floated her at the shallow end and finished her off. Closing his eyes, he visualized doing it to Bree. "Shwing." Every time he thought about her, he got hard.

In the shower, he eased his suffering by rubbing one out. Once he finished, he collapsed against the tile wall, breathing heavily. He wasn't making any progress with Bree. How long could he last before he had to give up and find another woman? One who wanted him?

***

Bree kept five great recipes in her head and that's all she usually ventured to cook, but after Sixto whipped up culinary delights for every meal, she wanted to reciprocate. She showered off the pool water, giggling at the memory of his face when she'd dumped the ice water on him, but sobering quickly as her blood heated at the memory of being held in his arms, carried across the pool deck. His hard bicep pressed across her shoulders, his pecs pressing into her breast. And those beautiful, brown eyes sparkling mischievously.

What would he have done if she'd let him remove her bikini bottom? Sucking in a breath, a shiver rocked her insides. Damn. She turned the water to cool, shocking her body into remembering all the reasons she shouldn't be drooling after Sixto. They owned a house together, lived together, she wanted long-term, and he wanted "just sex." And now the newest speed bump; he worked for the company she owned.

Why hadn't he mentioned that before? What was it that she was missing here? Did Sixto know more than he was sharing? Or was he as uninformed as she—and her attorney—remained?