Dancing in a Hurricane (5 page)

***

Bree changed into shorts and an old t-shirt and dug into Cloe's closet, bagging clothes to give to charity. She stopped mid-afternoon for a sandwich and knocked on Sixto's bedroom door to offer to make him one, but he wasn't home.

She pulled a Vera Wang dress from its hanger and shook her head at the impressive price tag. A number of her sister's clothes still had store tags on them and Bree felt the temptation to try them on. Unfortunately, Cloe wore two sizes smaller than she did. Size four seemed unhealthy for someone five feet eleven inches tall. Cloe must have been heroin-thin.

After she bagged the clothes, she sat on the closet floor drooling over the shoes. She tried on an expensive Manolo Blahnik sandal and squealed in excitement when it fit.

Her bedroom door stood open and when the phone rang in the living room, Sixto answered it. He knocked on her door as he walked in, but didn't see her in the closet.

"Sixto?"

He jumped then handed her the phone. "It's Cloe's office. They'd like you to come in and clean out her desk."

"Oh, really? Thanks." She reached up and took the phone from him.

He shook his head, looking perplexed and walked out.

She rolled her eyes. Why didn't guys just accept the powerful relationship between women and shoes?

"Hello?"

"Ms. Prentis, this is Cloe's manager, Christi?"

"Hi, Christi. Sixto said you'd like me to pick up Cloe's things."

"Would you, please? We'd hate to clean out her desk ourselves and we'd all like to meet you."

Why would they, since Cloe never said a word to anyone about her? "How about tomorrow morning?"

"Perfect." Christi sounded relieved. "And will you bring her keys? They're for the building and her desk."

"Of course." Bree had received Cloe's purse by FedEx from the police department in Boise, but didn't get a chance to look through it, except to find the house keys.

"Do you know how to get here?"

"No." She struggled up from her nest among the shoes. "Let me get a pen." She dug her notebook out of her purse. "Okay, shoot."

She wrote down the directions and promised to be there first thing in the morning. She brought the phone back to the living room. Sixto stood at the stove, cooking again.

"Is it supper already?" She sat on a stool at the counter.

He shrugged. "I eat a lot.

"You're a big guy."

His shoulders started to shake. "Yesterday I was macho. Today I'm a big guy."

"Are you laughing at my lack of subtlety?" She did have a habit of blurting things out.

He turned and smiled. "You just can't help flirting, can you?"

"I…" Was she flirting? Evidently he thought she was.

Had he been flirting with her this morning? All his compliments about how she'd make a great girlfriend. Was she just too naïve to catch his meaning? He reached into the refrigerator and she stared at his fine butt. When he turned and caught her, he gave her a wink.

The gesture warmed her blood and flooded her brain with too many visuals of her in Sixto's arms—something that she just couldn't let happen.

Okay, they were
both
guilty of making flirty comments and it had to stop before things went too far. She wasn't interested in a physical relationship without a commitment, and he'd just admitted that he only tended bar for the "social benefits." Sexually, he was way out of her league.

It was time to tackle the issue head on. "Sixto, we've been dancing around it since yesterday, but…"

He looked over his shoulder at her. "What?"

"We both know our boundaries, right?"

He closed the fridge and went back to the stove.

She smelled onion, garlic, peppers, and some fantastic spices. Over the sound of her stomach complaining hungrily, she heard him mumble, "Yeah."

She waited, but he didn't say more. "I mean, we live in the same house and you and my sister were…" She searched furiously for the right word.

"Roommates." He turned toward her. "We were roommates. Nothing more." He stalked toward the counter where she sat.

Chapter Four

Bree braced her hands on the counter, expecting some kind of disclosure. Sixto squatted down on the other side of the counter and opened the cabinet underneath. He wasn't going to say any more?

She stood on the barstool's foot rail and leaned across the counter, looking down at the top of his head as he rooted through the contents of the cabinet. "You never dated? Like boyfriend/girlfriend?"

He looked up at her. "I know the meaning of the term
dating
, thank you." He went back to rummaging. "And no, we didn't click that way."

Maybe she shouldn't ask what kind of clicking they did do. But she was perversely curious. "So, what kind—"

He pulled out a small kitchen tool—a mystery item to her—stood and slammed the cabinet door shut all in one motion.

Before she could pull herself off the counter, he leaned down close to her face and annunciated, "Just. Roommates." He stared into her eyes for a few provocative seconds before he turned and walked to the stove.

That look. He melted her inside with just his sexy brown eyes. She slithered back into her chair, flustered speechless, staring at his broad back. Well, he definitely cleared that up, and she felt a little guilty for pushing him the way she had. She spun her stool to make a quick exit.

"Are you going to Cloe's office tomorrow?"

"Um, yes, in the morning."

"You want me to come with? I can drive you."

"No, but thank you for offering. I should be okay."

"I'll let you know when supper's ready."

"Thanks." She slid off her stool and snuck back to her room. Why did it feel like she'd been dismissed?

***

Sixto knew when Bree left. The room felt empty. She had a way of livening up the space around her. What did she think of his comment, "just roommates?" That's all it was between Cloe and him, they owned the house together. And, of course, Cloe's hiring him to handle the maintenance on the club. Which Bree would hopefully never hear about.

He added a quartered chicken to his
Fricase
de
Pollo
, adjusted the flame, checked the clock, and let it cook for a couple hours while he went for a jog and worked out in his fitness room.

After he showered, he knocked on Bree's door and told her supper was ready. Back in the kitchen, he sliced tomatoes and onions for a salad, arranged them on a plate and put it on the dining room table. He opened the china cabinet and took out a couple chunky blue candles in tall holders and set them in the middle. He chose plates to match the candleholders, hand blown wine and water glasses in red and blue, and linen napkins.

Standing back, he inspected the setting. Hold on—what was he was doing? He only set the table when he had a date. Running his hand down his face, he groaned. He should stop thinking of Bree that way. He'd kill for a night with her, but the way things stood right now, did he dare risk it? She was his new roommate. His new boss, even though she didn't know it. Would a wild sexual fling complicate things?
Hell, yes!
He'd keep it platonic. For now.

As he picked up the candles to put them away, she walked out of her bedroom wearing a sky blue sundress that highlighted the blue of her eyes.

"How beautiful." She smiled and stood next to him. "They look handmade." She picked up one of the plates. "It's signed." She set it down and looked at him. "You're so kind to make my first dinner here special."

He set the candles back on the table. All right, they'd have a formal dinner tonight, but it was "not a date." He repeated it twice, but his libido wasn't listening. The act of setting the table ramped up his excitement like ringing a bell for Pavlov's dogs.

She explored the contents of the china cabinet, stretching up onto her toes to see the top shelf. Her calf muscles bunched attractively. She turned to him and her hair swung over the creamy skin of her shoulder. "Can I help in the kitchen?"

He quickly turned away. "Sure." His mind wouldn't let it go. Her body, all that curly yellow hair, her sweet lips, those legs…

She followed him in and he gave her a lighter and an open bottle of Pinot Noir. "I'll get the rest."

She went back to the dining room. He spooned the fragrant chicken dish into a large bowl, yellow rice in another, and sliced bread he'd warmed in the oven.

He heard the stereo playing rap. Good, she found the remote. She changed music until she found something quiet. "Damn it," he mumbled. This was the seduction song list he played when he cooked for a woman. Shakira quietly sang "En Tus Pupilas." It was going to be a fucking difficult evening. He adjusted himself in his shorts.

He brought the bowls and bread out to the table. She stood by the couches, sipping wine and looking at the pool. The underwater lights in the pool cast a blue aura around her.

She smiled and walked toward him. "I haven't been swimming yet."

He forced himself not to hold her chair for her. This was not a date.

She pulled out her chair and sat. "I need to buy a bathing suit."

He took his seat and handed the rice and chicken to her. "You should look through your sister's dresser. I'm sure she has a few you could wear."

"Doubtful. She was quite a bit thinner than I am." She spooned the rice and
Fricase
onto her plate and passed the bowls to him. "Which I can't understand seeing as how she lived with an excellent cook, like you."

Staring at her face, he ignored the compunction to glance at her full breasts.

"This smells delicious." Raising her fork to her lips, she blew on the steaming rice.

He shifted in his chair. Her mouth, puckered the way it was when she blew, gave him sexy ideas of kissing her, tasting her, nibbling on those perfect lips.

She took a bite and hummed a pleased sound.

Her sexy groan shook his self-control and sent blood low in his belly, stretching him, making him crave her like a starving man.

He downed his wine and refilled their glasses.

She set down her fork. "Are you all right? You seem a little on edge."

He looked into her eyes, the candlelight sparkled and turned them soft and seductive. "I was thinking about what you said earlier. About our boundaries." Shit, he'd jumped right into it, without warming her up. Without waiting for the wine to kick in.

Her smile turned thoughtful. "You're okay with that, right? Setting boundaries?"

He gazed at her lips then back into her eyes. No, he wasn't okay. He wanted her. In his arms, in his bed. He had to know if she felt it, too. "What's the alternative?"

Sixto shouldn't have asked. But every time she came near him, she made him hard for her.

She met his gaze levelly. "I'm not looking for a lover, if that's what you're asking." She settled back in her chair and sipped the Pinot, staring outside, a serious expression on her face.

God, she was beautiful. Her features softer than her sister's, her easy-going attitude irresistible. He would get her talking. He could be persuasive when he wanted something bad enough. "What are you looking for, Bree? Who's the perfect guy for you?"

She sighed and shrugged but didn't answer.

He went to the kitchen and brought another bottle to the table, opening it to let it breathe.

She glanced at the wine then at him, a distrusting look on her face.

"Guilty. I'm hoping to get you loosened up." Then whatever happened between them…

"You don't want to get me too loose. I can get pretty chatty."

"Get chatty. Tell me everything."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Okay. What am I looking for in a man? This might surprise you." She set down her wine glass and met his gaze head-on. "I want someone who's even-tempered, with a good sense of humor. Kind. A gentleman. And he's interested in a future with me, not just a good time."

"That narrows it down." Sixto sat back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. He wasn't that man. He lived a busy life, and there was no room in it for a complicated relationship.

But there was this thing between them. A meeting of minds, a linking of souls. He couldn't let go of the need to explore deeper. To put a name to the intense connection.

And then there was the physical lure. The pheromones that kept him hard and ready. He looked at her perfect, round breasts, could almost feel them in his hands. Despite all the reasons he'd listed earlier, he wouldn't object to sharing Bree's bed, if she'd let him.

She smiled crookedly. "One in a million. Good luck finding him, right?"

He shrugged his eyebrows and camouflaged his analytical intent with a scholarly expression. "I wrote a research paper last year on male/female relationships. You might find it interesting."

Her head tipped slightly. "What are the highlights?"