Dancing in a Hurricane, page 19
Sixto stared at a spoonful of Blizzard. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course. I'm not the type of girl to get a man all sugar-buzzed and take advantage of him."
The corner of his mouth curved up. "I've tasted your soufflé. You could use that secret weapon to get anything you want."
Licking her cone, she sat back and watched the waves. "Anything?" If that were true, she'd lead Sixto down the aisle of her church, him in a tuxedo, her in a jumbo white gown, matching hot pads on her hands, carrying a chocolate soufflé just out of the oven, "Pachelbel's Canon" playing in the background.
"What's going on in that brain?" he asked.
She shivered. Her daydreams ranged from sensual to ridiculous, but always featured Sixto. Was she completely out of control? She looked at him. "You'd be sincerely afraid if you knew." She started the engine, shifted into gear, and left the beach. She was sincerely afraid, herself.
***
Bree sat in her sister's—no, her office, tapping the business card she dug out of the box in the trunk of the Miata. Greg, Cloe's co-worker and boyfriend. He said to call if she ever needed anything. Looking at the clock, she saw eight thirty. Not too late to call.
She dialed.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Greg?"
"It is. Who's this?"
"This is Bree Prentis, Cloe's sister."
After a few moments of silence, he said, "Hi Bree. I'm sorry, but your voice sounded so much like hers when you said her name."
"Is this a bad time?"
"No, no. What can I do for you?"
"I need a lawyer to handle some property issues and an investigator to look into…" How did she tell him she wanted to investigate her sister's life?
"Cloe's side business?"
She was surprised by his question. "Yes, but how did you—"
"I always wondered about Cloe's income. I know what she made as a photographer and she would have barely been able to pay the taxes on that house."
"You have no idea what she was into?"
"No. She never confided in me, other than to say she had property that brought in a lot of revenue." He sounded like he was walking. "I have a good real estate attorney whose investigator helped with my divorce settlement."
"Now that sounds like an interesting story."
"It is. Can I take you out for dinner some night and tell it to you?"
Bree took a deep breath. He wouldn't ask her on a date, would he?
He laughed. "Ah, that sounded terrible. I'm not asking you out. I just thought you could use a friend."
"Thanks. Can I take you up on that some other time? I'm trying to get licensed to work as a physical therapist and I've been putting off studying for the test."
"Yes, any time. You call me back when you've passed your test and we'll go out and celebrate."
"I will." He seemed like such an uncomplicated person. How did he get involved with Cloe?
"Here's the attorney's name and number. But I should warn you, his investigators are tenacious. They'll do as much as they have to to get information for their clients."
"This sounds dangerous."
"No, just be careful to set limits."
She shivered, envisioned a man in a trench coat, fedora, and brass knuckles questioning Sixto. Strange, why did she always come back to Sixto as the missing link between the management company and whatever über-profitable enterprise was run out of those warehouses?
***
Two days later, the last rays of sun disappeared as it dropped behind the house. Sixto sat at the table by the pool and logged into his bank account. The deposit from the management company hit this morning, just like it did every two weeks. He moved the bulk of it to his savings account, predicting a frugal future if this money stopped coming in.
Damn, sitting in front of the east warehouse last night, he'd wanted to confess. Wanted to tell her everything. He had the words in his head, ready to speak them out loud, when she'd said, "Dairy Queen."
Why was it so difficult to tell her? It became less and less about the money, and more and more about Bree's complete faith in him. If he told her now, when they were both beginning to explore their feelings for each other, he'd never have a chance.
"Shit." He sat back and rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he should tell Bree everything, let her buy him out of the house. He could start fresh with her. Date her, court her, see if they were…compatible.
That last word set a flood of panic through him. He logged off his laptop, and put it in his room. Were they compatible? How could he tell for sure? What if he made a mistake? Believed she was something she wasn't? The clenching fear of his dream nearly doubled him over. "¡Coño!" He needed a beer.
With a half-empty bottle, Sixto walked to the storage closet in the garage and brought the small box marked "Halloween" into the house and set it on the table. A week away. He loved seeing the neighborhood kids dressed up like ballerinas and pirates. Sometimes his nieces and nephews stopped by. They liked to trick-or-treat on his street because they said the rich people gave handfuls of candy and in their neighborhood of Little Havana, it was one piece each. Cubans were a loving but thrifty people.
And he needed to warn Bree, he'd invited his family for dinner. He knocked on her door.
"Come in."
He walked in, she sat on the bed cross-legged, studying.
She stretched her back. "What's going on?"
He ignored the way her breasts pressed against her t-shirt, and the way his shaft jerked in his shorts in response. Plopping down in her big stuffed chair, he threw a leg over the arm. "Not much. I haven't seen you in a few days."
"I'm gone during the day, you're gone at night." She patted her stomach. "But thank you for leaving all the leftovers in the fridge. I look forward to it."
"You're welcome."
She pulled her long braid over her shoulder and played with the ends. "I feel guilty not doing my share of cooking."
"You pay for half the groceries. And you do most of the cleaning."
She looked at his bare calf.
Did she realize why it had hair and his chest didn't? She had very little experience with men. What would she think if she knew he shaved his chest and trimmed his leg and arm hair for modeling?
She smiled. "It's a symbiotic relationship."
Biology class was a lot of years ago and it took him a moment to come up with the meaning. "Accurate, but not very human."
She closed her book. "You're right. Enough studying musculature." She swung her legs off the edge of the bed and sat facing him. "What are you doing this evening?"
He shrugged. "I started to decorate for Halloween."
"Oh, that sounds like fun."
"We don't have much."
"Shopping?" Her eyes sparkled.
Chapter Nineteen
Sixto was content to just sit and talk, try to figure out what made him obsess about her, what personality traits she hid from him. "Sure." She wanted to go shopping, he'd take her.
She grabbed her purse and stood.
He got up. "But we're taking the truck this time." He walked out of her bedroom.
She followed him. "The big, loud, manly truck."
He stopped and looked back at her. "You got a problem with my truck?"
That cute, teasing smile lit her face. "You know what they say about men with big trucks, don't you? She walked around him to the garage door, slid her sandals on, and looked him in the eye. "Big truck…" She held her index finger and thumb an inch apart in front of her face. "…teeny, tiny little ego."
He laughed. Good, they'd found their way back to a friendly relationship again. The days they spent feeling uncomfortable and ignoring each other weighed on his nerves. Backing the truck down the driveway, he said, "I'm going to have my family over the Saturday after Halloween."
"All of them?"
"The whole battalion. It's my dad's birthday."
"I'll mark my calendar and make myself scarce." Her voice sounded small, lost.
Pulling onto the street, he shifted into drive and looked at her profile. She sat staring, unmoving. Empathizing with her solitude, he wanted to take her hand and reassure her she wasn't alone. But touching always proved too much for them—for him. "Uh uh. You're not getting out of it that easily. You've got to help me keep those little monsters from trashing the house."
She looked at him. "Really?"
"Yes. Of course." A grin broke across her face and he could barely keep his eyes on the road. The emotion in her eyes was magnificent.
"My family will love you."
"Mmm." She flopped back onto the seat and looked straight ahead again. "Marisa and I aren't on the best of terms."
"I know." He was getting calls from his sister. Bree wouldn't answer her cell phone or return Marisa's calls. What the hell happened that night? "Riss said to apologize for her, but I don't want to be in the middle of this thing." He had a theory about what happened and it somehow involved him.
He looked over at her and caught her staring.
He turned into the Target parking lot, pulled into a spot, and turned off the truck. He sighed, doing the shrink thing. "But if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."
She released her seat belt and picked up her purse. "No. It's time I called Marisa. I've just been stubborn. What she did, she did because she thought it best for everyone." She opened the door.
"Was it? Best for everyone, I mean?"
She looked at him, her eyes uncertain. "I don't think so." She swung out of the truck and closed the door.
He jogged to catch up to her. "You haven't gone out with Élian again since that night."
"Nope." She marched toward the front doors. "Are you keeping track now?"
"No, I just thought…" Shit, he almost sounded whiny. "Nada."
She looked at him, an eyebrow raised.
He held open the door and let her go in ahead of him. Best to let this subject drop.
The store was closing in a half hour and they had the Halloween aisles to themselves. Things were pretty well picked over, but they filled half the cart with decorations and candy. She called from the next aisle, "Sixto? Do you wear an XXL?"
He walked around the endcap.
She held up a Captain Jack Sparrow costume and put her hand through a hole in it. "I think I can patch this. And it's marked way down." She held it up toward him.
He took it and measured it across his shoulders. "It would fit."
She looked him up and down, her blue eyes darkened, her lids slowly lowering.
Was she thinking sexual fantasy, just like he was? Find her a wench costume? Rub his pirates' sword against her soft belly? His body reacted, hit him with the urge to grab her and kiss her right here in the middle of Target. He groaned. No one was around.
She turned suddenly and walked away, leaving the cart. He grinned. Was she weakening? "Hm." He'd play her game. Tossing the costume in the cart, he searched through the women's stuff. He had fantasies, too. He found a black and white maid's uniform in a medium, ruffley short skirt with white petticoats underneath. He could see her long legs in black stockings, spiky black pumps.
He stuffed it under his costume in the cart. She'd say no if she saw it and he wanted to lie in bed at night and think about her trying it on. For him. And now…he was hard. Perfect. He used the cart to camouflage the tent in his shorts and went to find Bree.
At the checkout counter, she unloaded everything onto the conveyor belt. When she came to the maid costume, her face looked confused for a moment. She gave him a nasty smirk. "Do you think this will fit you, Sixto?"
The young man at the cash register looked at him and snorted.
Sixto chuckled. "It's for you, sweetheart. For when you're cleaning the house?"
"Ugh." She tossed it on the belt. "I'll try it on because I need a costume, but I know I'll be returning it."
The cashier smiled at Sixto. He shrugged for the boy's benefit and turned and winked at Bree. "She won't."
She glanced at him, a flush pinkening her cheeks.
He smiled his most charming grin—the one that made ladies giggle.
She shook her head, her eyes shooting death rays at him.
"Fifty-seven twenty," the cashier said.
Sixto ran his credit card, signed and took the receipt. "Now you can't return it. I've got the receipt." He shoved it in the front pocked of his jeans and watched her eyes follow his movement.
She turned away and grabbed one of the bags, rushing out of the store. He picked up the other and followed her. "Bree?" Shit, had he gone too far?
She stopped in the middle of the dark parking lot. "Boundaries have been set, remember?" she snapped.
Stunned by her anger, he nodded and waited for the rest of the lecture.
"Buying a trampy costume for me crosses the line, don't you think?"
He shook his head and walked around her toward the truck. "It was a joke, okay? Throw it away if you're that pissed."
"Sixto."
Her footsteps followed behind him. "Yeah."
"If it was really just a joke then I apologize for overreacting. But if it wasn't…"
Could she read his mind? No, it wasn't a joke. He was juiced to see her model the uniform for him. He opened the back door and set his bag on the seat. Taking the bag from her, he put it on the floor. Closing the door, he walked around and opened the passenger door for her.
She followed, but stood her ground and stared at him. "If it wasn't a joke, if you still have ideas about us having a casual affair, please stop trying. I'm not interested."
"Fine." He gestured for her to get in.
She sighed and pressed her fingers to her temple.
When she didn't move, he walked around the front of the truck and got into the driver's seat. She climbed in and closed the door, carefully buckling herself in. She pulled out her phone and started texting.
He turned the ignition and listened to the reassuring roar of his "big, manly truck." Did he want to stop trying to seduce her? Or did he actually want to try a real relationship? The idea sent a skitter of terror down his spine. He shifted the truck into drive and headed home.
Not only was he scared shitless for emotional reasons, but too many things stood in the way of their ever making it. His self-admitted fear of commitment being the main one. And, of course, the swingers' club she didn't know about…and he did.
Her phone beeped and he looked over, seeing a return text message. She started thumb-typing again, a half smile on her face.
He turned on the radio, a rap song boomed from the speakers.
She looked at the radio then at him, one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, I like rap. Problem?"
She gave him the evil eye and went back to texting.
He intentionally goaded her, but she didn't respond. He preferred arguing to this silent treatment.
When they were a block from home, she put her phone in her purse and pointed left. "Turn here."
He did. "Why?"
"I drove by here the other day." She sat forward and looked out the windshield. "There." She pointed to the left side of the street. "Stop by that For Sale sign."
He pulled over to the left curb, she hopped out of the truck and went to the realtor's sign, opened the brochure box, and pulled one out. Reading the paper, she walked up to his window
He rolled it down.
She held out the flyer to him. "Look at the price."
He did. It was higher than he thought it would be. He looked at her. "So?"
"Have you thought any more about selling?" Her eyes searched his face.
"What the hell? I buy you a stupid costume and you're ready to kick me out?"
She sighed, walked around the front of the truck, and got into her seat. She crooked a leg under her and sat facing him, her hand out toward him, palm up. "I have to be honest, Sixto. I have urges, too."
Urges? Shit, she sounded like his middle-school phy-ed teacher.
"But…" She tipped her head. "…I know how guilty I would feel if I let myself."
He recognized guilt as a major component in Bree's life. But also integrity. "I understand."
"I'm glad you do, because you live a life full of self-indulgence, free of guilt."
Ouch. "Isn't that judgmental?"
"Possibly, but do you deny it?"
The sincerity in her gaze told him she wasn't criticizing him, just stating what she saw as the truth. She didn't see it all, though. She saw his sex life, but she didn't see the hours he worked to help provide for his family. She didn't know how desperately he wanted to finish school and help marginalized youth as a social worker. He'd told her more about his life than he'd ever told any woman. He wasn't going to spread out any more of his sad story for her, hoping she'd take pity on him. Not in this lifetime.
"No, I don't deny it. I'm a self-indulgent asshole." Shifting the truck into drive, he pulled a fast u-turn and drove the short block home in silence. He pulled up to the garage and reached for his door handle.
"Wait." She tipped her head. "I didn't mean to offend you. What I was trying to say is that we have different needs and different goals in life. Our friendship is important to me." She took a deep breath. "If we can't control this thing between us—"
"Our urges?"
She nodded. "Yes, our urges." She pointed to the realty flier. "Maybe we shouldn't be in the same house."
He took a huge breath and heaved it out. He had to think, he had to decide what the right thing was for both of them. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.
No, the last thing he wanted to do was make a decision they'd both regret.
***
Sixto jumped out of the truck, hauling the bags into the house with him.
Bree sat a moment before sliding out of the truck and walking into the garage.
He passed her, walking the other way.
"Going out?" she asked. Dumb question.
He kept walking. "Yeah. Goodnight."
The finality of it upset her, until she considered how he must feel right now. He needed time to mull over what she said. She did, too. She watched him drive away.
