Okay, so he was a little amped up. Dipping his big toe into the freaked-out pool he rarely swam in. Basically, doing a piss-poor job of hiding it or dealing with it now that Sara’s family wasn’t around and he didn’t have to pretend.
But coño! The situation was snowballing out of control, and this Conch who’d never even seen snow was wide-eyed by the avalanche of repercussions that had been tumbling their way all day.
This was why he never shook things up, like Carlos had recommended. It only led to messes and confusion and problems. Case in point, his current situation.
First, there’d been his and Sara’s heart-to-heart this morning, which had him fighting not to slide deeper into the comfortable saver-of-all role. As if he wasn’t in deep enough already with her.
Then, spending the day with Sara and her family, even prickly Robin, who Luis would bet a dive trip’s gas money often snarked from a place of hidden pain similar to Sara’s. Today had chased away a loneliness Luis had refused to acknowledge for years. Until his captain’s edict and his brother’s ass chewing. No, until he’d met Sara.
Not that he was ready to do something monumental to change the situation. Like walk into St. Mary’s with Sara at his side, basically inviting the Cuban Inquisition from his mom. If she rallied his tías to join the interrogation, he didn’t stand a chance.
Yet, what was the alternative?
No way was he dumping Sara at some café on her own, making her miss mass. Talk about an even worse sin in his mami’s eyes. Not that she’d ever find out. But the Catholic guilt would inevitably weigh on him.
San Navarro.
That damn nickname Carlos had given him after the church retreat in high school heckled Luis like an adolescent teen in sex ed class. Eight years of private school at St. Mary’s and a lifetime of rosaries, rituals, and Holy Days of Obligation under his mami’s and abuela’s watchful eyes had him mastering Catholic guilt as well as a monk housed on a high mountaintop monastery.
If Sara regularly attended mass like her mom had implied, no way was she skipping because of him.
Sara pushed off the doorjamb. Her blue nightie flirted with her upper thighs as she strolled toward him, giving rise to un-saint-like cravings that thrummed in his body.
“I thought we settled this yesterday?” She crossed behind him to snatch up the pillow and throw it back on the bed. “But, if anyone has to sleep on the floor, it’ll be me.”
“No way, you will not—”
“Which I don’t plan to do either,” she interrupted, hands fisted on her trim hips. “This is a perfectly good bed that should fit the two of us just fine. Unless you’re a bed hog.”
She arched her brows in challenge.
Luis scratched his head, then dropped his hand to hinge on the back of his neck. He could already feel the ache in his back muscles he’d wake up with if he slept on the hard floor. The idea held little appeal.
If she didn’t have a problem sharing a bed, why should he?
One of her thin straps slid off Sara’s slender shoulder. She pushed it back up with her index finger. He imagined sliding it down again. Trailing kisses along its delectable path.
Dios lo ayude, por favor.
Yeah, he was definitely in need of divine help here. His thoughts were careening dangerously out of control. He hadn’t felt this tied up over a woman since—
Luis stomped the brakes on the memories revving in his head. The ones he avoided, knowing they’d burn rubber on his psyche—worse, his heart—if he unleashed them.
His gaze moved to the queen-sized bed, then back to Sara, her hands still fisted on her waist. Brows still arched, daring him. Her kissable lips now pursed with impatience.
A litany of curses pricked the tip of his tongue. Curses directed at himself.
He’d been acting like a moody, hormone-raging teen from the moment they’d entered the privacy of their room. Not the calm, self-possessed man he prided himself on being, both on and off the job.
Sara deserved better than this from him.
“Fine.” He closed the wardrobe doors. The tinny magnetic click when they latched was a reminder to keep a lock on his lust-driven imagination, as well as old memories and emotions that tended to color his present.
“Fine?”
“Yeah, I’m good with sharing. As long as you’re not a sleep kicker.” He turned to face her in time to catch her puzzled frown.
“A what?” One fist slipped down her hip, leaving her arm dangling at her side. And there went that loose strap, sliding down her shoulder again.
“You know. A mover-sleeper. Playing soccer in your dreams. Only, it’s not a soccer ball you wind up kicking. Enrique was notorious for taking potshots in his sleep if we had to share a bed on family trips.”
Sara’s perplexed expression relaxed into a grin. “I only played soccer one season in middle school. Wasn’t that coordinated but loved the running. The next year I went out for cross-country.”
Luis couldn’t help himself. His gaze scanned her long legs, admiring the smooth dips and curves of her adductors and quads, the rise and slope of her calves. Definitely runner’s legs. Legs his hands itched to trace.
“So, we’re good here.” Sara pulled back the ocean reef–inspired comforter on her side, then crawled onto the mattress. The front of her silky pj’s gaped when she leaned forward to adjust the sheet, giving him an enticing glimpse of her breasts.
Luis swallowed and looked away. Not fast enough, though. Not before the flash of those pale mounds was emblazoned on his brain.
He walked stiffly to the other side of the bed, absently rubbing a palm over the center of his chest. His heart pounded like he was a horny teen on his first date with the hottest girl in school.
Cálmate, chico, he ordered himself.
It had been an eventful day. Alternating between pretending to be her attentive partner and squashing his desire to be her real one. The stress from learning about her recovery and the mental calisthenics trying to stay on guard, mindful of potential triggers. Then Ruth’s assumption that Sara would attend mass with him in the morning.
He should be mentally spent. Feeling like one of the limp deadweight simulation mannequins they used for practice drills at the fire station.
Knowing his body would benefit from rejuvenating sleep, certain he’d get very little tonight, Luis swiped a hand along the inside bathroom wall to flip the light switch. When he turned back around, the low-wattage bulb in the bedside lamp, its glass bowl filled with seashells, bathed Sara in a soft, inviting glow.
She lay in their bed, the covers tucked primly under her arms, her blue-green eyes watching him intently. “I’m sure there’s a Starbucks or breakfast café near the church where I can wait.”
Luis climbed in beside her. Painstakingly careful to stay on his half of the far-too-small mattress. “You can’t miss mass on account of me. Or my familia.”
“I don’t want to cause a problem. So, if—”
“How ’bout we drive together and walk in separately. My parents like to stay and enjoy fellowship over donuts and coffee after mass. I’ll do a quick round of hello-good-byes, then meet up with you at my truck. We’ll clear out of the parking lot before anyone sees us.”
It was doable. The weekly catch-up that his parents, tías, tíos, extended relatives, and friends engaged in following mass often turned into a lengthy gabfest. Chisme flying between groups. Even the men were known to gossip, though his papi would never admit it.
As kids, Luis and his siblings wound up drifting over to the elementary school playground to run off the donut and red fruit punch sugar high. As teens, they’d lived for the day Carlos turned sixteen and bought his first car. That beat-up old Hornet with its rusty patches, faded blue paint, and threadbare seat cushions had seen better days, but to them it meant freedom.
Sara worried her lower lip as she considered his idea. “You think that’ll work?”
Luis slid underneath the cool sheets. “Yeah,” he answered, more
confidently than he actually felt. Pulling a fast one on his mami was not an easy feat.
The worried furrow between Sara’s brows eased. Though it didn’t completely smooth away. “If you’re sure, I’d like to go. I haven’t been to mass here, and I have a tradition when I visit a new location.”
Chin tucked, she poked at the dark green embroidered design swirling along the top few inches of the sheet. He waited, expecting her to elaborate. Instead, Sara propped herself on her left elbow to reach up and switch off the lamp.
Luis had a tantalizing glimpse of the length of her slim figure hugged by her silky pj’s before the room plunged into muted darkness. Overhead, the skylight offered a picture-framed view of the starry midnight sky. Moonbeams streamed in, stretching across the bed like a lazy lover.
Lying on his back, Luis folded his hands on top of the sheets and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to ask about her tradition. What it was. What it meant to her. How it started.
Hell, he wanted to know everything about her. That increasing need, the fear of it taking off in a blazing fire he couldn’t contain, made him keep those questions to himself.
Sara shifted beside him. Her arm brushed against his, and Luis immediately tensed. Hyperaware of her nearness.
“Sorry,” she murmured. The sheets tugged as she slid away.
An awkward silence joined them, another unwanted bedmate.
Luis forced himself to lie still. Measuring his breathing. Ignoring the faint citrusy scent that perpetually lingered on her skin. Sleep eluded him. For the second night in a row, he accepted the fact that, thanks to the enticing woman lying only a few inches away, he wouldn’t get much rest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
He shrugged, then realized she probably couldn’t see his reaction in the dark. “No problem.”
Sara’s soft chuckle sounded in the quiet; then she rolled onto her side to face him. Luis swiveled his head to find her watching him, her right arm bent at the elbow, tucked between her head and the pillow.
Her beautiful face with its classic features was a pencil artist’s study of light and dark. The moonlight reflected in her eyes, tiny bright squares in the shadowed pools. The corners of her mouth curved in a teasing, impish grin.
“What?” he asked.
“No problem? Seriously?”
He shrugged again, uncomfortable under her teasing scrutiny. Secretly admitting that being with her had quickly become a big problem, only not in the way she probably thought. Finding it more and more difficult to maintain the emotional detachment that enabled him to excel at his job. Or not blow up what remained of his tentative relationship with his younger brother.
More important, it kept him from making the same mistake of falling for the wrong woman again. Someone who took his trust and love and twisted them into grotesque weapons used to deeply wound him.
“You’ve put up with my sister’s bluntness and, call a spade a spade, her snobbery,” Sara continued. “You’ve buddied up with my brother. Bowled over my parents, especially my mother. And survived our hypercompetitive family game night. Most men would have hopped in a speedboat and gunned the engine to get away.”
“I’m not most men.”
Her grin widened, the flash of her straight white teeth drawing his attention to her mouth, her kissable lips.
“No, you’re definitely not like most men. And for that, I’m immensely grateful.”
“Yeah?” Despite his better judgment, Luis found himself rolling onto his side to face her. Mimicking her position, he tucked his left arm under his head.
They weren’t touching. In fact, a good six inches separated them. And yet the quiet of a house tucked away for the night, the moonlight bathing them in soft shadows, and their hushed conversation created an air of intimacy that pulled at Luis. It drew him to her like a fishing hook ensnared in his chest, slowly reeling him in.
“Yeah,” she murmured. A lock of her golden tresses slipped across her cheek when she nodded.
Luis reached out to gently comb her hair away, tucking it behind her ear.
Sara’s lids drifted closed and it took all his willpower for him not to lean in, sample her sweet lips. A good-night treat he hungered for.
Reluctantly he pulled his hand away, leaving it in a tight fist in the space between them on the bed.
Eyes downcast, Sara feathered her fingertips over the back of his hand. Once. Twice.
Luis held his breath. Wanting more. Craving all of her. But firm in his conviction that he not make a move unless she made it clear she wanted him to. The moment she did—
The warmth of her soft sigh filled the small space separating them. She set her hand next to his. Her thumb caressed the side of his pinkie finger and damn if it wasn’t both the sweetest and sexiest sensation. Blood pooled low in his body, urging him to throw caution to the high-seas wind. Let her know he was interested in taking this pretend relationship to a very real, very satisfying place.
“So, let me clarify. Thank you, for being such a stand-up guy,” she said softly.
He nearly groaned in frustration. Talk about a splash of ice water on his libido and the un-stand-up-guy impulses he barely held in check.
“I’ll stay in the back pew at mass in the morning,” she continued. “Your family won’t have a clue about me. I promise. There won’t be any problems with them for you when this is all over.”
Because—mood buster—it would eventually be over.
He’d do well to remember that. Along with his vow to never give another woman the power to hurt him by abusing his trust and compassion.
That hadn’t happened with Sara. Yet. He needed to keep it that way.
Without another word, he rolled onto his back and stared at the patch of inky black sky. A faint star winked in the distance, like it was in on some cosmic joke unknown to him.
After a short while Sara’s breathing evened out, and he sensed that she had fallen asleep.
Luis lay awake long into the night thinking about the last time he’d been convinced he could save a woman deeply wounded by her broken family situation by showering her with love and his commitment to building a happy life with her. Only to have it all blow up in his face. Him left reeling at the truth, dealing with the irreversible damage.
If he made the same error with Sara, nothing would pull him out of the deep abyss—screw trying to call it a rut—that mistake would leave him in. Not even if his brother gave him another ass chewing.
He’d simply have to stay on guard. And pray the walls of St. Mary’s didn’t tremble in protest when his lying butt walked through the doors tomorrow morning.
Chapter 13
“¿Qué te pasa?”
At his mami’s harsh whisper Luis swiveled his head around to face the front of the church so fast pain seared the left side of his neck.
“Nothing’s wrong; why?”
Seated beside him in the third row, she frowned, her worried mother hen impersonation in perfect form. On the other side of her, wearing a freshly pressed gray guayabera with black slacks, his father shot Luis a questioning frown of his own.
Up on the altar, Father Miguel continued with his homily. Thank goodness for the reprieve. His mother was a stickler for no chitchat during mass. Each of her kids had received the surreptitious swat of her fan or a swift elbow jab in the ribs enough times growing up to know that much.
“¿A quién buscas?” his mom rasped.
With Father Miguel still in the midst of explaining the value of the day’s readings, Luis’s mami breaking her silence rule to ask him who he was looking for was so surprising, he nearly answered her truthfully. Seconds before Sara’s name slipped off his tongue, Luis clamped his mouth shut.
He ducked his head in deference to the crucifix and eye-catching stained-glass image of Stella Maris, the church’s namesake, centered high in the altar’s pale blue back wall. With a mental sign of the cross for the half-tru
th, he whispered back, “I thought I saw someone I knew when I came in.”
His mother’s brow furrow deepened, a sure sign she wasn’t convinced. Keeping his gaze straight ahead, Luis rubbed the pain still warming the side of his neck after his whiplash move moments ago.
Father Miguel wrapped up his teaching with his customary “And the church says . . .”
The congregation answered, “Amen,” as they all stood to recite the Apostles’ Creed. The rustle of feet shifting rippled through the open nave, ricocheting off the vaulted ceiling decorated with pressed-metal panels.
Luis stopped himself from angling sideways to peer through the crowd again, searching for Sara. He figured her multicolored sundress would be easy to spot. But since they had parted ways in the far back corner of the parking lot before mass, he hadn’t spotted her.
This morning, when his cell phone alarm had chimed at seven forty-five, he’d woken to the warmth of her snuggled up to his side. Her head pillowed on his shoulder. His palm cradling her hip.
It was the best good morning greeting he’d had in years.
Based on the way she had scrambled off the bed with a mortified, “I am so sorry!”, Sara obviously hadn’t felt the same. She politely offered to head downstairs for coffee first, giving him some privacy to shower and change. Then she’d hurried from the room like they were in the midst of a fire drill.
Luis had gotten ready in record time. Afterward, he’d sipped a cup of coffee on the back patio alongside her dad, leaving her alone in the room to get ready and Luis stuck trying not to remember the welcome warmth of her body cuddled with his.
By the time they climbed into his truck for the short drive to St. Mary’s, Sara’s earlier jumpiness had passed. Good thing, too, because, as they neared a potential run-in between his familia and Sara, his agitation mushroomed.
Sara tried making small talk. Until his monosyllabic responses quieted her. At St. Mary’s, before leaving the sanctuary of his truck cab, she had tried reassuring him that everything would work out. His familia would never know she’d been there.
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